'Just wait here, we need to talk some more,' said Dekker.
'Now what?'
'New information,' said Dekker before leaving to go and manage the media. 'There are some who say you are cheating them.'
'Your people can go,' Vusi said to Galina Federova.
'So, you will not arrest anybody.' She was sarcastic, cigarette between her fingers.
'No. They've been a big help.'
Griessel thought Vusi was too polite; he should tell the fucking foreigner he would throw her ass in jail if she wanted to be funny. He realised his patience was worn thin. He had to get out of here, away from the smell of alcohol and the sight of bottles. The fucking thirst was just below the surface. He had absolutely no idea what he was going to do next. They knew the girls had been here, they knew there had been discussions and arguments. They knew two men had left shortly after the girls and they knew there had been a chase down Long Street, but all of that helped fuck all, because it could not tell them where she was. And then his cell phone rang and he plucked it out angrily and said: 'Benny Griessel.'
'I've been to see Alexa Barnard, Benny,' Doc Barkhuizen said.
'Is she OK, Doc?'
'She's pumped full of medication, but you know what lies ahead for her. She's a strong woman, Benny. Beautiful too. I can see why you're so concerned about her.'
'Fuck off, Doc.' As Doc Barkhuizen chuckled on the other end, he heard the beep of another incoming call.
'She said when you have a chance, she would like to talk to you. Something to do with her husband.'
'Doc, I've got another call, it's a bit crazy right now, thanks for going to see her. We'll talk later,' he said and accepted the other call.
Griessel said his name and a woman with an American accent asked: 'Is that Captain Benny Ghree-zil?' He thought, wasn't that what I just fucking said, but he answered civilly: 'Yes.'
'My name is Rachel Anderson. My dad said I should call you.'
The name burned right through him, through the disappointment over Mat Joubert, through the frustrations of the day and the desire to drink, jolting his body as he said: '
'Yes, I'm with a Mr Pete van der Liengen, the address is ...' Griessel heard a man speaking in the background. Then Rachel's voice again:'... Number six Upper Orange Street... In Orainisiegh?'
'Yes, yes, Oranjezicht, Six Upper Orange, just stay there, I'm on my way, don't open the door for anybody, I will call when I get there, please, Miss Anderson,' he pleaded. Dear God, this was good news. Griessel gestured to Vusi that they must go, jogged out the door and headed for the alley, faster and faster, hearing Vusi's shoes on the floor behind him.
'I'm not going anywhere,' said Rachel Anderson, and her voice sounded cheerful, as if she was looking forward to his arrival and Benny was out the back door, into the alley and running as fast as he could.
Barry stood on the back of his bakkie and watched the driver of the delivery vehicle get in and start the engine. He looked to the right where the upright, bold silver Peugeot Boxer panel van stood waiting. His phone was ready in his sweaty hand. He pressed the call button and held it up to his ear.
'Yes?' said the man with the grey beard.
'The truck is leaving.'
'Good. Can you see the panel van?'
Barry looked at the dirty, dusty Peugeot. 'Yes, they're moving.'
'Jay is going to call Eben, they will cover the back door. Then he'll turn the van around and come back to the front gate in Upper Orange, so the nose is pointing towards the city. When they get out and go through the front gate, you tell me.'
'Right. Stand by.'
Chapter 33
Piet van der Lingen stood next to his big work table. 'The police are on their way,' she said, 'Captain Benny Ghree-zil.' The old man witnessed a transformation - her eyes brightened and the tension melted away. He smiled at her with his white false teeth and said: 'We will have to teach you proper Afrikaans pronunciation - it's Griessel.' 'Gggg ...' she tried it, sounding as though she was clearing phlegm from her throat.
'That's it,' he said. 'And roll the 'r' as well. G-riessel.'
'Ghe-riessel.'
'Almost. Ggg-rrriessel.'
'Griessel.'
'Very good.' They laughed together. She said: 'How will I ever be able to thank you?'
'For what? For brightening an old man's day?'
'For saving my life,' she said.
'Well, when you put it that way ... I demand that you come and have lunch again, before you go home.'
'I would love to ...'
She saw him look up and away, at the window, with sudden concern shadowing his face. Her eyes followed his and she saw them, four men coming up the garden path. 'Oh, my God.' she said because she knew them. She got up from the chair. 'Don't open the door!'The fear was back in her voice. 'They want to kill me - they killed my friend last night!' She ran a few steps down the passage, a dead end. She heard someone wrenching at the front door and spun around in panic.
Then the leaded glass of the front door shattered. She sprinted back across the hall on the way to the kitchen, the back door. A hand came through the gap to unlock the front door from inside. 'Come on!' she shouted at van der Lingen. The old man stood frozen to the spot, as though he planned to stop them.
'No!' she screamed.
The door opened. She had to get away and ran through the kitchen, hearing a shot in the hall. She whimpered in fear, reached the back door and spotted the long carving knife in the drying rack. She grabbed it, tugged open the back door, and stepped outside in sudden dazzling sunlight. There were two more between her and the little gate in the corner, charging at her, black and white, with determined faces. Urgent footfalls behind her, she had only one choice. She ran at the one in front of her, the white man whose arms were spread wide to seize her. She whipped up the knife, stabbing at his chest with hatred and loathing and shrill terror. He tried to pull away, too late, the knife piercing his throat. His eyes filled with astonishment.
'Bitch!' the black man yelled and hit her with his fist. The blow landed above her eye and a cascade of light exploded in her head. She fell to the right, onto the grass, hearing their shouts. She struggled to get up, but they were on her, one, two, three of them, more. Another fist slammed into her face, arms pinned her down. She heard their short, brute grunts, saw an arm lifted high, something chunky and metallic swinging at her face, and then the darkness.
Griessel raced. He had taken the blue revolving light out of the boot and plugged it into the cigarette lighter. It was propped on the dashboard, but the fucking thing wouldn't work. So he just drove with the Opel's hazard lights flashing, but that didn't help much. He pressed long and hard on the hooter, saying to Vusi: 'I should have taken a car with a fucking siren.' They sped up Long Street through one red traffic light after another. Every time he had to slow down, stick his arm out of the window and wave frantically at the crossing traffic. Vusi did the same from his window.
'At least she should be safe,' said Vusi warily, ever the bloody diplomat. Griessel knew that what he really meant was: 'We needn't drive so madly - she said she was with a good man.'
'She should be,' Griessel said and waved wildly, hooting continuously, 'but I can't afford a fuck-up.' He put his
