Thirteen Hours

'Can't be,' said Cloete, but as a policeman he knew people were capable of anything and he was already considering whether it might be true. Then his face fell. 'Oh man, the press ...'

'Ja,' said Griessel.

'Benny!' All three turned when they heard Vusi Ndabeni's voice. The black detective came jogging down the pavement and reached them, out of breath. 'Where is the Commissioner?'

As one, all three pointed accusing fingers through the glass doors where a doctor had now joined the Mouton conference.

'The other girl - she's still alive, Benny. But they're hunting her down, somewhere in this city. The Commissioner will have to organise more people.'

Without haste, she walked down Marmion Road in the direction of the city. There was an absence in her, an acceptance of her fate. Ahead she saw a car reversing out of a driveway, a small black Peugeot. The driver was a woman. Rachel did not increase her pace, continued to walk towards her, unthreatening. The woman drove to the edge of the street and stopped. She looked left for traffic, then right. She saw Rachel and for an instant made eye contact, then looked away.

'Hi,' said Rachel calmly, but the woman didn't hear her. She stepped forward and softly knocked on the window with the knuckle of her middle finger. The woman turned her head, irritably. Her mouth had a peculiar shape, the corners pulled down strongly. She turned the window down a few centimetres.

'May I use your telephone, please,' said Rachel, without emotion, as though she knew what the answer would be.

The woman looked her up and down, saw the dirty clothes, the grazed chin, hands and knees. 'There's a public telephone at Carlucci's. On Montrose.'

'I'm in real trouble.'

'It's just around the corner,' and the woman looked again for traffic in Marmion Road. 'Just turn right at the next street, and walk two blocks.'

She wound up the window and reversed. As she turned left to drive away she looked once more at Rachel, suspicion and aversion in her face.

Barry studied the map on the hood of the vehicle and said over his phone: 'Look, she could have gone left into Chesterfield, or she could have taken Marmion, but I can't see her. The angle's not good from here.'

'Which one goes down into the city?' The voice was out of breath.

'Marmion.'

'Then keep your focus on Marmion. We're two minutes from the Landy, but you will have to tell us where she is. It's going to take ten minutes to get the cops there. And by then she could be anywhere ...'

Barry took the binoculars and held them to his eyes again. 'Hang on ...'

He followed Strathcona to where it led into Marmion, which was thickly lined with trees. The binoculars stripped the image of perspective, there were too many double storeys and it was too overgrown; only here and there could he see the western pavement and parts of the street surface. He followed the trajectory north towards the city, glanced swiftly at the map. Marmion ended in ... Montrose. She ought to turn left there, if she wanted to reach the city.

Binoculars again. He found Montrose, broad and more visible from here. He followed it west. Nothing. Would she have turned right? East?

'Barry?'

'Yeah?'

'We're at the Landy. We're going to Marmion.'

'OK,' he said, still looking through the binoculars.

He saw her, far and tiny in the lenses, but unmistakable. She crossed the intersection.

'I have her. She's in Montrose ...' He looked down at the map. 'She just crossed Forest, heading east.'

'OK. We're in Glencoe. Now just don't lose her.'

Chapter 13

John Afrika walked out of the glass doors of casualty alone. Apparently, Willie Mouton and the sombre lawyer, Regardt Groenewald, had gone into the hospital. 'Good news, kerels,' said John Afrika as he took his place in the circle. 'Alexa Barnard is out of danger. The damage is not so bad, she's just lost a lot of blood, they're keeping her... Oh, Vusi, morning, what are you doing here?'

'I'm sorry, sir, I know you're busy, but I thought I should come and ask for help ...'

'Don't apologise, Vusi. What can I do?'

'The American girl at the church ... there were two of them, we know that now ...' Vusi Ndabeni took out his notebook from the pocket of his neat jacket, stood up straight and said, 'The victim is Miss Erin Russel. Her friend is Miss Rachel Anderson. They came in with a tour group yesterday. Miss Anderson was seen on Signal Hill at approximately six o'clock this morning, pursued by assailants. Sir, she's an eyewitness, and she's in great danger. We need to find her.'

'Damn,' said John Afrika, but the English expletive seemed ineffective in his mouth.

'Pursued by assailants? What assailants?'

'Apparently five or six young men, some white, some black, the witness says.'

'And who is this witness?'

'A lady by the name of ... Sybil Gravett. She was walking her dog along Signal Hill when Miss Anderson came up to her and asked her for help. She then ran in the direction of Camps Bay after she asked Mrs Gravett to call the police. A few minutes later the young men came running past.'

The Commissioner checked his watch. 'Fuck it, Vusi, that was more than three hours ago ...'

'I know. That's why I need more people, sir.'

'Bliksem.' Afrika rubbed a hand over his jaw. 'I don't have more people. We'll have to get the stations involved.'

'I've already asked the stations, sir. But Caledon Square has to police a union march to Parliament, and Camps Bay has only two vehicles in operation. The SC says they lost one patrol van to theft on New Year's Eve and the other one was crashed ...'

'Neeo bliksem,' Afrika swore before Vusi could finish.

'I've put out another bulletin, sir, but I thought if we could get the chopper, and put some pressure on the SCs ...'

Afrika took out his cell phone. 'Let me see what I can do ... Who the hell is chasing her?'

'I don't know, sir. But they were at a nightclub last night. Van Hunks ...'

'Jissis,' said John Afrika and called a number. 'When are we going to clean out those dens?'

Rachel Anderson walked in through the front door of Carlucci's Quality Food Store, straight up to the counter where a young man in a white apron was busy taking change out of small plastic bags.

'Is there a telephone I can use?' Her voice was expressionless.

'Over there, next to the ATM,' he said and then he looked up. He saw the stains on her clothes, the dried blood on her face and knees. 'Hi... Are you OK?'

'No, I'm not. I need to make an urgent call, please.'

'It's not a card phone. Would you like some change?'

Rachel took the rucksack off her back. 'I've got some.' She went in the direction he had indicated.

He noticed her beauty, despite the state she was in. 'Can I help you with something?' She didn't answer. He watched her with concern.

'Jesus Christ,' Barry said over the cell phone. 'She's just gone into a fucking restaurant or something.' 'Shit. Which one?'

'It's on the corner of Montrose and ... I think it's Upper Orange .. .Yes that's it.'

'We'll be there in two minutes. Just keep looking ...'