?Benny . . .? said Joubert and Griessel knew what was coming and said: ?You?re not taking me off this case, Sup.?
?Benny . . .?
?Not a fock, Matt. Not a fock, you won?t take me off.?
?Just give me a chance . . .?
?Who are these cunts?? he asked Cloete. ?Who gave them this??
?Benny, I swear I don?t know.?
?Benny,? said Joubert. ?This is not my call. You know I wouldn?t take you off if it was my call.?
?Then I?m coming along to the commissioner.?
?No. You have enough to do. You have to get the media sorted. Go. Let me talk to the commissioner.?
?Don?t take me off, Matt. I?m telling you.?
?I will do my best.? But Griessel could read his body language.
He struggled to concentrate on his strategy with Cloete. He wanted to know who the shits were who had sold him out to the press. His eyes strayed back to the copy of the
lying on Cloete?s desk.
Jamie Keyter, the well-known newspaper informant? He would kill him, the little shit. But he had his doubts: it was too political for Keyter, too sophisticated. It was interdepartmental. Organized Crime must have got wind of his plans. That was what he suspected. He had four people from Domestic Violence in his task team. And Domestic Violence fell under OC in the new structure, God knows why. Was Captain Helena Louw the tattle tale? Perhaps not her. One of the other three?
When he had finished with Cloete, he drove into the city. He bought a newspaper at a streetlight and parked in a loading zone in Caledon Street. The SAPS Unit for Organized Crime was located in an old office building just around the corner from Caledon Square. He had to take the lift up to the third floor and he could feel the pressure of rage inside him and he knew he must slow down or he would stuff up everything. But what did it matter, they were going to pull him anyway.
He walked in and asked the black woman at reception where he could find Boef Beukes and she asked, ?Is he expecting you??
?For sure,? he said with emphasis, newspaper in hand.
?I?ll find out if he can see you.? She reached out for the telephone and he thought what shit this was, policemen hiding behind secretaries like bank managers, and he slapped his ID card down in front of her and said, ?Just show me where his office is.?
With wide-open eyes that clearly showed her disapproval, she said, ?Second door on the left,? and he walked out down the corridor. The door was open. Beukes sat there with his fucking ridiculous little Western Province hat. There was another detective present, seated, collar-and-fucking-tied, and Griessel threw the newspaper down in front of him and said: ?Was it your people, Boef??
Beukes looked up at Griessel and then down at the paper. Griessel stood with his hands on the desk. Beukes read. The detective in the suit just sat and looked at Griessel.
?Ouch,? said Beukes after the second paragraph. But not terribly surprised.
?Fuck ouch, Boef. I want to know.?
Beukes pushed the newspaper calmly back to him and said: ?Why don?t you sit down a moment, Benny??
?I don?t want to sit.?
?Was I ever a backstabber??
?Boef, just tell me?do you guys have anything to do with this??
?Benny, you insult me. There are only ten or twelve of us left from the old days. Why would I nail you? You should look for traitors at Violent Crimes. I hear you are one big happy family there after all the affirmative action.?
?You are pissed, Boef, about Sangrenegra. You have the motive.? He glanced at the other detective sitting there with a taut face.
?Motive?? Beukes queried. ?Do you think we really care if you keep Sangrenegra busy for a few days? Do you think it makes a difference to us . . . ??
?Look me in the eyes, Boef. Look me in the eyes and tell me it wasn?t you.?
?I understand that you?re upset. I would have been too. But just calm down so you can think straight; was I ever a backstabber??
Griessel examined him. He saw the mileage on Beukes?s face. Police miles. He had them too. They had been together in the dark days of the eighties. Copped the same deal, ate the same shit. And Beukes had never been a backstabber.
Griessel sat in the back of the courtroom and waited for the moment when the state prosecutor said, ?The state does not oppose bail
your honor.? He watched Sangrenegra and saw his surprise, how he stiffened beside his lawyer.
?But we do ask that it be set at the highest possible figure, at least two million rand. And that the defendant?s passport be held. We also ask the court to rule that the defendant reports to the Camps Bay Police Station every day before twelve noon. That is all, Your Honor.?
The magistrate shuffled papers around, made some notes, and then he set bail at two million rand. Lawyer
