at Joubert.
'I've done my bit, Benny. Everything I could for the new country. What are my options at this age? I'll be fifty in July. There's a man recruiting police for Australia, he came to see me, but why would I want to go there? This is my country, I love this place ...'
'OK,' said Benny Griessel, because he could see how serious Joubert was. He suppressed his own frustrations.
'I just wanted to let you know.'
'Thanks, Mat.. .When are you leaving?'
'End of the month.'
'Isn't Jack Fischer a bastard?'
Joubert smiled. Only Benny would say it like that. 'How many bastards have we worked for, Benny?'
Griessel grinned back. 'A lot.'
'Jack and I were together in the old Murder and Robbery. He was a good detective, honest, even though he stopped at every available mirror to comb his hair and moustache.'
Bill Anderson hurried down the stairs at nine minutes past six in the West Lafayette morning. His lawyer, Connelly, and the city Police Chief, Dombowski, were waiting in the hallway with his wife.
'Sorry to keep you waiting, Chief,' said Anderson. 'I had to get dressed.'
The Police Chief, a big, middle-aged man with the nose of an old boxer, put out his hand. 'I'm really sorry for the situation, Bill.'
'Thanks, Chief.'
'Shall we go?' asked Connelly.
The other two men nodded. Anderson took his wife's hands in his. 'Jess, if she calls, just stay calm and find out as much as you can.'
'I will.'
'And give her the number of the Captain. Ghree-zil, she
'Would you rather stay, Bill?' asked Connelly.
'No, Mike, I have to be there. I owe it to Erin and her folks.' He opened the front door. The cold seeped in and his wife pulled her dressing gown more tightly around her body. 'I've got my cell. You'll call,' he said to her.
'Right away.'
They walked out on the porch. Anderson closed the door behind him. Deep in thought, Jess returned slowly to the study.
The phone rang.
She started, with her hand to her heart in fright and an audible intake of breath. Then she ran back to the front door, pulled it open and saw the men getting into the police car.
'Bill!' she shouted, her voice shrill and frightened.
He came running and she hurried to the phone.
Rachel Anderson sat at the table where Piet van der Lingen's laptop and a myriad reference books and papers were strewn across the table. In her ear the phone kept ringing on another continent - far too long, she thought, what was her father doing?
'Rachel?' Her mother said suddenly, anxious and out of breath.
'Mom!' Rachel was caught off guard, expecting her father's calm.
'Oh, my God, Rachel, where are you, are you all right?' She could hear the underlying hysteria and fear.
'Mom, I'm fine, I'm with a very kind man, I'm safe for now ...'
'Oh, thank God, thank God. We've spoken to the police over there, we've spoken to the Ambassador and the Congressman, it's going to be all right, Rachel. Everything's going to be ... Bill, she's safe, she's with somebody, a kind man, Rachel, this is such wonderful news, I love you honey, do you hear me, I love you so very much.'
'I love you too, Mom ...'
'Now, I'm going to put your father on, listen very carefully, he's going to give you a number to call. Promise me you will do exactly what he says, Rachel, please.'
'I promise, Mom. I'm OK, I know this must have been really tough for you ...'
'Don't you worry about us, we are going to take care of all this, honey, it's so great to hear your voice, I can't believe it, here's your father, I love you, you hear, I love you very much.'
'Love you too,' said Rachel Anderson, and smiled through the sudden tears of longing and gratitude. Her father came on the line: 'Honey? You're OK?'
'Yes, Dad, I'm OK, I'm with a very kind gentleman, I'm sitting in his house, I'm perfectly safe.'
'I can't begin to tell you what a great relief that is, honey, that's really great news.' Her father's voice was calm. 'We've been pretty busy on this side, trying to get you help, I've spoken to the Consul General in Cape Town, they are standing by, I'm going to give you their number, but first, I'm going to give you the number of a police Captain. Now, I know you said something about the police when you last called, but this man was recommended by their top structure, and I spoke to him personally. He's in charge of your case, and he gave me his word that he'll make sure you are safe, OK?'
'Are you sure?'
'Absolutely, even their Secretary of ... their Police Minister knows about you, the Consul General is talking to them, so this is very high level, nothing can happen to you. So can you take down the numbers?'
She looked across the desk and spotted the end of a yellow pencil under a printed document, pulled it out and turned over one of the typed sheets.
'I'm ready,' she said with determination and inexpressible relief. The nightmare was nearly over.
Mbali Kaleni parked on the Parade. In bright sunlight she walked down the alley of flower sellers, past the old post office, between stalls selling anything from shoes to packets of nuts. For a second she contemplated buying some candy-coated cashews, but reconsidered, she wanted to get to Upper Orange quickly. She just wanted to go back to that house ...
She walked faster, swinging her big, black handbag with every stride.
'Just explain one thing to me,' said Griessel to Oliver Sands. He was standing: Oliver sat at the table wide- eyed, as though the attention was too much for him to handle.
'Why did the girls bring backpacks with them to the club?'
'Those bags ...' Sands said. 'They never went anywhere without them. It's a girl thing, I think. You know, make-up and stuff...'
Griessel considered the bag that Oerson had brought. Small and compact. That made sense. He would have to sort through the plastic refuse bag, but not here. He would have to go back to Caledon Square.
'Jeremy speaking,' Oerson answered his phone and Fransman Dekker could tell he was a coloured man, and he was probably in a car.
'Bro', my name Fransman Dekker, I'm SAPS, howzit that side?' he said, because Griessel had warned him the Metro officer was a 'difficult character'.
'No, things going with springs, and you?'
'Just so, bro', listen, there was a helluva surprise in that bag of stuff your people found, a shoe, number ten and a half, if I can just find out where it was picked up.'
'No idea, bro', but I'll get the men to come in and tell me.'
'Many thanks, it's a murder case, I have to run, you know how it goes.'
'I know. Give me ten minutes, I'm sort of tied up at the moment.'
'Will you call me?'
Dekker rang off and knocked on the door of the accountant, Wouter Steenkamp. There was no answer so he opened the door. Steenkamp was on the phone, saying:'... fucking police will have to help, or I'll have to make another plan.' He saw Dekker and said over the phone 'Hold on,' then to Dekker: 'The press are blocking reception. You'll have to help control them.'
'OK.'
'They'll help,' he said into the phone. 'Right, bye.' He looked at Dekker expectantly.
'I will go and tell them to wait outside. It would be best to lock the front door.'
'What a mess,' said Steenkamp.
