weight of defeat.
Now, it was just after six in the morning and, even though he was on suspension, he was freshly shaved and wearing a smart business suit with what looked like a newly pressed white shirt and a maroon tie. His dark wavy hair was combed and he was smiling as he strode through the crowd. In his hand was something small and slender, wrapped in colourful paper.
‘Sannie! Howzit!’
She laughed at his use of the typical South African greeting. ‘ Lekker, man. And you?’
‘Fine.’ He held out his hand and she shook it. It was an awkward moment. They’d shared so much she almost felt like she should lean in close to him so he could kiss her on the cheek. He smiled into her eyes. ‘Here, this is for you.’
He handed over the parcel and she let go of her wheelie bag to open it. ‘Here, let me get that for you,’ he said, grabbing the handle. She started to protest, but returned her attention to the gift.
‘You shouldn’t have, Tom,’ she said as she peeled off the paper, then laughed again at the compact folding umbrella.
‘Your British survival kit.’
She touched him on the arm, leaned close and kissed him on the cheek. ‘Thanks.’
She saw the colour rise in his cheeks as he said, ‘Not at all. You’ll need it. Now, let’s get your hire car sorted out for you.’
She smiled behind his back as he strode off, clearing a path for her through the crowd. She’d kissed him on impulse and, while it was still a bit awkward, she didn’t regret the brief show of intimacy. He was a friend, that was all. And he’d need all the help he could get in the days to come.
He asked her about the flight and her mother and her kids while they waited in the queue for her to pick up her car. It was small talk and she could sense from the way he shifted his weight from foot to foot while he spoke that there was much more on his mind. Of course there would be. Sannie really hoped he hadn’t come out to meet her so they could talk about her testimony at the inquiry. She felt sure he wasn’t that sort of cop, but one never knew.
‘What time’s your first meeting?’ he asked after she had signed the papers and collected the key. They walked to a shuttle bus stop outside the terminal and were waiting to be taken to the car park where the rentals were stored.
‘Not until two, why?’
The shuttle bus arrived, stalling the conversation, and they got on, Tom easily hefting her bag, which looked very small when he held it. She really hadn’t brought enough warm clothes. Perhaps she could go shopping for an overcoat before the meeting. ‘What’s on your mind, Tom?’
He shifted across the seat in the bus to make room for her. ‘Well, as I told you in the email, my car’s in the garage being fixed.’
‘Yes. Just as well, as I was a bit unsure about navigating my way through London.’
‘I was wondering if you’d like to take a little trip in the country with me, before your meeting?’
She leaned away from him and looked at him, as though reappraising him. ‘Whatever for, Detective Sergeant?’ she asked in a mock English accent.
He smiled. ‘Nothing improper, of course, ma’am.’ The humour vanished. ‘I’m going to talk to Robert Greeves’s widow this morning. I can take a train — she lives about an hour out of London — but I was wondering if — ’
Sannie held up a hand. ‘Tom, no. Really.’
‘I thought that…’
‘You thought wrong. You know I’m here strictly for the inquiry. I don’t have to tell you what kind of problems it’d stir up if I started taking part in an investigation over here!’
‘It’s not an investigation. I’ve been suspended. It’s just me paying my respects to Greeves’s widow.’
She shook her head. ‘No way. Look at you this morning. You’re up to something, aren’t you?’
He shrugged. They sat in silence as the bus passed long-term car parks and airport hotels whose neon signs were diffused by halos in the cold morning rain.
Sannie’s curiosity started to get the better of her. She had half expected to see an unshaven, unwashed wreck waiting for her. A man wallowing in self-pity, looking for a shoulder to cry on. She’d been pleasantly surprised to see the handsome, upright detective she’d first met and, seeing his apparent change of mood, was glad for him. If she helped crack the case and find the men who had killed Greeves, her star would be on the rise back home; if the terrorists were still hiding in Africa, and Tom was able to uncover new information which helped lead the authorities to them, the Brits would need a liaison officer in South Africa.
‘What can Greeves’s widow tell you that you don’t already know about the abductions?’
‘Nothing.’
The shuttle bus stopped and they got off and walked along a covered walkway to another office. ‘I’ll drive, if you like,’ Tom said after they collected the keys and directions to the car.
She shook her head and pressed the electronic lock of the Ford Focus, and hurriedly climbed inside to get out of the rain. She popped the boot, and Tom stowed her bag and then got in beside her, brushing droplets of rain off the shoulders of his suit jacket.
‘So if she can’t tell you anything about Greeves’s disappearance, what can she tell you about?’
‘Greeves.’
‘What about him?’
‘He was having an affair with a black South African stripper.’
Sannie’s mouth opened. It took her a moment to realise this, then she closed her jaw and started the car. She navigated her way out of the car park in silence and Tom started directing her towards the M25. The windscreen wipers slapped from side to side and the only noise inside the car was the rush of the heater fan, which she had set to high.
‘Who else knows this? Presumably the investigating police?’
He explained that there were, in fact, two parallel investigations going on. Tom had led the first, into the disappearance of Nick Roberts, to the strip club in Soho and the missing dancer, Ebony, aka Precious Tambo. It was only yesterday, however, that his talk with the reporter, Michael Fisher, had revealed a link between Ebony and Robert Greeves, which Nick may or may not have been aware of. ‘The detectives looking into Nick’s death, and the murder of Ebony, still — as far as I know — don’t know about the Greeves connection.’
‘Surely you’re going to tell them?’ Sannie asked.
Tom nodded. ‘Left here, onto the motorway. The M25’s like a giant ring-road that goes all the way around London. Of course I’ll tell them. But I want to know more about what Greeves was up to. At the moment I’m working on the word of a dead exotic dancer, as relayed by a very dodgy tabloid journalist, who freely admits he didn’t have enough to go public with. It pushed a button with Janet Greeves, though, when I told her I wanted to talk to her about the “affair”.’
Sannie took the information in as she navigated her way through the thick morning traffic. The tiredness she’d felt on the aircraft had disappeared and she had to consciously tell herself to relax her grip on the steering wheel. She was getting the same feeling that she knew was driving Tom right now. He was on to a new lead in the investigation; it might, of course, come to nothing, but she wanted very much to be a part of what happened next.
Tom told her about the mysterious reporter, Daniel Carney, and his failed efforts to find any trace of him.
‘Perhaps he’s a South African, working in London. If the girl was South African, as you say, perhaps she knew a freelancer in the expat community.’
‘I hadn’t thought of that,’ Tom admitted, frowning. ‘See, I’m already glad you’re here. At least you can get your people to check out Carney.’
She was trapped already, and she knew it. Damn it, she thought. ‘Tom, when you pass on what you know to the investigating officers, I’m sure I’ll be able to check out anyone they want me to.’
‘You could be back in London by one, at the latest. Plenty of time to change for your meeting. Did I tell you that you look great in jeans, by the way?’
Sannie snorted. Flattery would not get him very far at all. She checked her watch. It was still very early. They could stop at the hotel first and she could shower and put her suit on.
