hands: 20.38. Why were they so early? Why not wait until the early hours of the morning when I was fighting sleep?
Did they suspect that I was alone? Were they so confident, these experienced night stalkers, hunters of what they thought was unsuspecting prey?
The pick-up’s engine was hard to hear, and then it was completely quiet. They must have stopped at the homestead. Don’t go and look, don’t worry about them, just wait here. Wait for them.
Faintly, I heard them calling at the house. ‘Lemmer!’ The last syllable stretched out. They called three times. It was quiet again.
20.43. Nothing but the night sounds.
My night sight returned to normal. I looked slowly up and down the front, holding my breath so I could listen.
Nothing.
20.51 came and went.
I couldn’t work out their strategy. Why send in the pick-up for any reason besides diversion? Were there another three or four lying flat on the back, as if in a Trojan horse? That made no sense. You diverted attention so that you could surprise from another direction, another place, but if the timing was off, it fell flat. You had to keep the focus on point A while your buddies infiltrated at point B. If the focus shifted, the strategy failed.
21.02. I had to suppress the urge to get up and stalk over to a vantage point to look at the homestead. What were they up to? Why were they so quiet?
Were they inspecting the terrain? Did they have two-way radios to give the others instructions? We can see there is only one road in; you must do such and such.
I would just have to wait. There was no other way. But I was growing less sure of that. No, that’s what they want. Doubt. It generates mistakes. I had the upper hand. I had to keep it.
I heard them calling again, around 21.08, my name and something else that I couldn’t make out. I ignored them. The dock’s grip was sweaty in my palm and the stones and tree roots pressed uncomfortably against my legs and chest.
Silence.
By 21.12 they had been there for half an hour and there had been no movement, no sound from the boundary fence or the roadside.
Three minutes later I heard the pick-up engine again, soft at first, then growing louder. They were coming back. I saw the headlights through the bush.
The lights were plain idiotic. It deprived them of vision; they would be blind in the darkness. Why did they do it?
They stopped in the middle of the bush, switched off the lights and then the engine.
‘Lemmer!’
It was Donnie Branca’s voice.
‘Are you there?’
The bush fell silent, the nightlife intimidated.
‘Lemmer!’
He waited for a response.
‘This is Donnie Branca. We want to talk to you. There are only two of us.’
I didn’t look at them; I focused on the visible no man’s land.
There was nothing.
‘Lemmer, you’ve made a mistake. It wasn’t us. We would never harm Emma le Roux.’
Of course you wouldn’t. You are just innocent animal rehabilitators.
‘We can help you.’
They spoke to each other, not quietly, but I couldn’t hear what they were saying.
There was the sound of pick-up doors opening and closing.
‘Lemmer, we got out. We’ll just stand here by the pick-up. If you can see us, you will see that we’re unarmed. Have a good look. We’ll just stand here.’
Now was the time for the others to arrive; now that they believed they had my attention. I swung the barrel of the Glock from left to right, following with my eyes. No movement, no footsteps, not a twig cracking, just the silence and the insects.
‘We can understand why you would suspect us. We can understand that, we can see how it must look. I swear to God it wasn’t us.’
Ah, just swear to God? That will convince me.
Did they consider me a complete idiot?
But where were the others? Was there someone on the back of the pick-up? Were they creeping through the undergrowth to surprise me from behind? I turned around slowly and carefully. It would be tough to hear and see them. That would be brilliant, keep my attention and stalk me from the direction I least expect.
I heard their voices in discussion again, but devoted all my attention to the thickets around me. The front was now 360 degrees, it was getting more complicated, but they didn’t know where I was or even if I was really here.
‘H. B. stands for “haemoglobin”,’ another familiar voice said. I couldn’t place it immediately and then I recognised its slow measured cadence. Stef Blinking Moller of Heuningklip.
Stef? Here?
There was a long silence. I turned around, the Glock in front of me. There was nothing to see, just the silence of the bush.
They growled something at each other. Donnie Branca called, ‘We’ll be on our way, then,’ with disappointment. I heard one door open and I shouted, ‘Wait!’ and stood with my chest against a tree trunk to reduce the angles by 180 degrees.
36
‘Lie down in front of the pick-up, on the ground,’ I told them, and moved north in the direction of the homestead, immediately, then east, closer to them. I found another tree as partial cover.
‘We’re lying down.’
I moved again quickly. I wanted to approach the pick-up from behind to make sure there was no one on the back.
‘I’m coming,’ I called, and ran, dodging through the trees to make a difficult target. I saw the pick-up, a Toyota single-cab. I stopped for a second and swung the Glock west then north, and then I ran for the back of the pick-up, pointing the pistol at it. If they got up now I would blow them away, before they got me. I reached the vehicle; there was nobody, the back was empty. I kept running to where they lay in front of the pick-up. Stef Moller was on the left, Donnie Branca on the right, and I pressed the pistol to Moller’s chest and said, ‘The idea is for you to lie face down, Stef. Don’t you watch TV?’ and he said, ‘Oh! Urn, no, actually, sorry,’ and he turned over. I wanted to laugh from the mixture of adrenalin and anticlimax.
I put my knee on Moller’s back and pointed the Glock at the back of his head and said, ‘Where are the others?’
‘There’s no one else, just us,’ said Donnie Branca.
‘We’ll see,’ I said. ‘Put your hands where I can see them.’
He shifted his hands far out ahead. ‘You’ve got it wrong, Lemmer. It wasn’t us that attacked you.’
I began to search Moller for weapons. I found none. ‘Yesterday you talked about an accident, now suddenly it’s an attack.’
‘I wanted to express sympathy yesterday, it was just a word. My Afrikaans …’
I went over to Donnie Branca and patted him where I thought he might have a weapon concealed. ‘Your Afrikaans is good enough when it suits you. Put your hands behind your head and turn over. I want to see if you’re armed.’
He did as I asked. ‘We’re not armed. We’re here to talk.’
