He drove on to where Lower Kloof Street turned up left and then took the road round the back, to Round House. He drove up and down three times and tried to assess it as the assegai man would. He couldn?t park here, it was too open. He would have to walk a long way, above maybe, from the Signal Hill Road side. Or below. So that, when he had finished with Sangrenegra, he could flee downhill.
Or would he choose not to come through the bushes? Would he chance the street?
Ilse Brody had said. He has guts
he?s clever.
He phoned Bushy Bezuidenhout and asked him where he was. Bezuidenhout said they had found a house diagonally opposite Sangrenegra?s. Belonged to an Italian who lived overseas. They had got the keys from the estate agent. They were not allowed to smoke in the house. Griessel said he was on his way.
His cell phone rang almost immediately. ?Griessel.?
?Benny, it?s John Afrika.?
The commissioner.
Fuck, he thought.
36.
He wanted to shower, eat and sleep.
Thobela was driving down York Street in George when he spotted the Protea Forester?s Lodge. It was nameless enough for him. He parked in front of the building and had already put a hand on his bag when the newsreader began to talk about the Colombian and the child over the radio.
He listened with one hand still on the carry straps of his bag, the other on the door latch and his eyes on the front door of the hotel.
He sat like this for three or four minutes after he had heard everything. Then he let go of the bag, started the pickup and put it in reverse. He made a U-turn and drove down York Street, turned right into C.J. Langenhoven Street. He headed for the Outeniqua Pass.
The policemen who should have been guarding Christine van Rooyen?s door were not there. Griessel knocked and assumed they would be inside.
?Who?s that?? her voice sounded faint from the other side of the door. He gave his name. The guards were not inside, or she would not have answered. As the door opened he saw her face first. It didn?t look good. She was pale and her eyes were swollen.
?Come in.? She was wearing a jersey, although it wasn?t cold. Her shoulders were hunched. He suspected she knew she would not see her child again. She sat down on the couch. He saw the television was showing a soapie, the sound muted. Is that how she got time to pass?
?Do you know he was granted bail??
She nodded.
?Do you know we arranged it??
?They told me.? Her voice was toneless, as if she was beyond caring.
?We think he will lead us to Sonia.?
Christine just stared at the television, where a man and woman stood facing each other. They were arguing.
He said: ?It?s a possibility. We have forensic psychologists helping us. They say the chances are good he will go to her.?
She turned her eyes back on him. She knows, he thought. She knows now.
?Would you like coffee?? she asked.
He considered a moment. He was hungry. He hadn?t eaten since breakfast. ?Can I go and buy food? Take aways??
?I?m not hungry.?
?When did you last eat??
She didn?t answer.
?You have to eat. What can I get you? Even if it?s something small.?
?Whatever.?
He stood. ?Pizza??
?Wait,? she said and went into the kitchen. A Mr. Delivery booklet was stuck to the door of the big two-door fridge with a magnet. ?They can deliver,? she said and brought the booklet to him. She sat down again. ?I don?t want you to leave now.?
?Where are the two policemen that were at the door??
?I don?t know.?
He flipped through the booklet. ?What do you like??
?Anything. Just not garlic or onion.? Then she reconsidered. ?It doesn?t matter. Anything.?
He took out his cell phone, phoned and placed an order. He hesitated when asked for the address and she provided it. He said he had an official call to make and asked if he could go out on the balcony. She nodded. He slid
