?I don?t.?
?Where is your daughter??
?Ask Carlos.?
?Carlos is dead, you slut. And he never had your daughter.
know it and
know it.?
?How can you
that?? She began to weep.
?Save the fucking tears. They won?t work on me. You should just be fucking grateful I was following him yesterday morning. If it had been one of the others . . .?
?I don?t know what you?re talking about . . .?
?Let me tell you what I?m talking about. The team that was on duty day before yesterday said you went to his house in his BMW. And in the middle of the fucking night you take a taxi from the front of his house and you have all these Pick and Pay bags and you?re in a helluva hurry. What was in the bags??
?I cooked dinner for him.?
?And took everything home again??
?Just what I didn?t use.?
?You?re lying.?
?I swear.? She wept and the tears were genuine, because the fear was back.
?What I don?t know is where you went with the fucking taxi. Because my fucking so-called colleagues didn?t think to send someone after you. Because their job was to watch
That?s what you get when you work with the policeman of today. Fucking black rubbish. But yesterday was another story, because I was in the saddle, my dear. And Carlos drove out of there as if the devil was on his tail, straight to your little flat. Ten minutes later he comes out with this big red mark on his face, but there?s no child anywhere. But the next minute the whole fucking radio is full of Sangrenegra and before I could do anything the Task Force was there and SVC and who knows what. But one thing I do know: your child was not with him. Not the night before last, and not yesterday morning. Of all the money in that strong room of his, there is a shithouse full of rands missing. Only rands. Now why, I ask myself, why of all the dollars and euros and pounds would someone only take South African rands? I guess it was an amateur. Someone who doesn?t want to bother with foreign exchange. Someone who had time to think about what she wanted to steal. What she could use. That she could carry in Pick and Pay shopping bags.?
She realized something and without further thought she asked: ?How do you know there are rands missing??
?Fuck you, whore. I?m telling you now; this thing is not over yet. Not for
anyway.?
Griessel?s cell phone rang. He answered and told Thobela: ?They say we must drive slower.?
He reduced speed. The Nissan rattled on the dirt road. Behind them the Pajero?s headlights shone dim through the cloud of dust. The lights of Witsand twinkled on the Breede River off to the left.
?He says we must turn left at the road sign.?
He slowed even more, spotted the sign that said
He put on his indicator and turned. The road narrowed between two boundary fences. It ran down to the river. In the rear-view mirror he saw the Pajero was behind them.
?Are you calm?? Thobela asked the detective.
?Yes.?
He felt the fizz inside him, now that they were close.
In the headlights he saw three, four boats on trailers. And two vehicles. A minibus and a pickup. Figures moving. He stopped a hundred meters away from the vehicles. He turned the key and the Nissan?s engine fell silent. He deliberately kept the lights on.
?Get out and hide that pistol of yours,? he said, and picked up the assegai, pushed it down behind his neck, under his shirt. There was barely enough room in the car, the angle was too tight. He heard the blade tear the material of his shirt, felt the chill of the blade against his back. It would have to do. He opened the door and got out. Griessel stood on the other side of the Nissan.
Four men approached from the minibus?one was tall and broad, considerably bigger than the others. The Pajero pulled up behind them. Thobela stood beside the car, aware of the four in front, the two behind. He heard their footsteps on the gravel, smelt the dust and the river and the fish from the boats, heard the waves in the sea beyond. He felt the stiffness throughout his body, but the weariness was gone, his arteries were full of adrenaline. The world seemed to slow down, as if there were more time for thinking and doing.
The quartet came right up to him. The big one looked him up and down.
?You are the spearman,? he said as if he recognized him. He was as tall as Thobela, with long straight black hair down to his massive shoulders. He wasn?t carrying a firearm. The others had machine pistols.
?Where is my daughter?? asked Griessel.
?I am the spearman,? said Thobela. He wanted to keep the attention; he didn?t know how stable Griessel was.
