Thirteen Hours

'In my big bag,' she shrieked, because the pain, the brutality and the humiliation was too much.

'Good. Where is the bag?'

'At the youth hostel.'

Then Jay's cell phone rang and they all jumped in fright.

The superintendent came back through the glass doors with bloodied clothing in a large transparent plastic bag. Griessel told Bill Anderson: 'I am really sorry, but I have to go. If there is any news, I will call you, I promise.'

Silence over the line. 'I don't think your promises mean all that much,' and then the audible click as the American put down the phone. Griessel stood frozen to the spot, torn between the injustice and the knowledge that, as a father, he would have felt the same.

The superintendent held out the bag to him. 'Captain, this is everything, I don't know whether it will help you.'

He came back to the present, replaced his phone in his pocket and took the plastic bag. 'Have you got a pair of rubber gloves around here?'

'Miss, get the captain a pair of surgical gloves,' the doctor ordered. The nurse trotted off down the corridor. 'Will that be all, Captain?'

'Doc, my colleague, Inspector Kaleni?'

'The black woman?'

'Yes. Any news?'

'Her chances are better than the young man's in there. The gunshot trauma to her neck ... it looks like the jawbone deflected the projectile, so that it only damaged the edge of the carotid artery above the fourth cervical vertebra. Apparently she received treatment on the scene to control the bleeding, which made a great difference.'

'Will she make it?'

'It's too early to say.'

The nurse returned with the gloves. 'Thank you,' he said.

'Let me know if you need anything,' the superintendent said and walked towards the lift.

'Thank you very much, Doc,' he said and put the big plastic bag on the nurses' desk. He pulled on the gloves hastily. It looked like a pair of trousers, shirt, a pair of brown boots ... He opened the bag and took out the shirt. White T-shirt, dark with blood. That meant no breast pocket. He took out the shoes and put them to one side. Then the trousers, jeans, with a worn leather belt. He felt in the pockets and took out a bunch of keys, studied them. Car keys with Mazda on them, four other keys - two that would open a house door and two smaller ones. For padlocks? No use. He put the keys beside the shoes. Nothing else in that pocket. In the other he found a handkerchief, clean and neatly folded. He turned the trousers over and immediately felt the back pockets were empty. But there was something on the belt, heavy, a pouch of rust-brown leather with a flap folded over some object. He undipped the flap.

Inside the flap something was written, but he concentrated on the contents of the pouch - a Leatherman, it seemed. He pulled it out. Red handles, printed with Leatherman and Juice Cs4. The multi-tool was not new and bore the marks of use. Fingerprints, he could get fingerprints off it. He applied himself to the flap, lifting it up again. Three letters were written on it with permanent ink marker: A. OA.

Initials?

What is your name, fucker? Andries? He thought of Joubert, of the word Mbali had scribbled. Jas. He would have to phone Mat back, but first he must finish this. He put the Leatherman back in its pouch and went back to the plastic bag. Only a pair of underpants were left, and a pair of socks. He took them out and turned them over in his hands looking for more initials, a laundry label, anything, but there was nothing. A.O.A.

Jas?

'Miss,' he said to the nurse, 'do you perhaps have a small plastic bag?' He pulled the brown belt out of the jeans and took off the pouch.

She nodded, penitent, eager to help after the good example set by the superintendent.

She searched under her desk and produced an empty pill packet.

'That's perfect,' said Griessel, 'thanks a lot.' He placed the Leatherman, pouch and all, in the packet. Then he put the packet in his shirt pocket. He pushed the clothing back into the big bag and looked up. The nurse was gazing intently at him, as though any minute he was going to perform a miracle.

He pulled off the rubber gloves, hesitating, where could he dispose of them?

'Give them to me,' she said softly.

He nodded his thanks, passed them to her, took out his cell phone and called Mat Joubert.

'Benny,' the deep voice said.

'Jas?' said Griessel.

'J.A.S. Just the three letters. Did you find anything?'

'Another three letters. A.O.A. With full stops between. I think they are the fucker's initials.'

'Or an abbreviation.'

'Could be.'

'J.A.S. Could also be an abbreviation, I don't know ... Or a suspect wearing a coat, in this weather ...'

A spark lit up in the back of Benny Griessel's mind, two thoughts coming together ... then it collapsed.

'Say that again.'

'I said J.A.S. could be an abbreviation too.'

Nothing, the insight was gone, leaving no trace.

His cell phone rang softly in his ear. Now what? He checked. It was the Caledon Square radio room. 'Mat, I've got another call, we'll talk.' He manipulated the phone's keys, said: 'Griessel.' The Sergeant said: 'Captain, two men just tried to collect the girl's luggage at the Cat & Moose.' Griessel's heart lurched.

'Did you get the bastards?'

'No, Captain, they ran away, but the manager says she knows one of them.'

'Jissis,' said Griessel, grabbing the plastic bag and starting to run. 'I'm on my way.'

'Right, Captain.'

'How the hell do you know about the Captain?' Griessel asked as he stormed out through the door into the street, nearly knocking two schoolgirls head over heels.

'Good news travels fast,' said the Sergeant, but Griessel didn't hear. He was too busy apologising to the girls.

Chapter 40

The woman at Cape Town Metropolitan Police: Administration pulled out the form from a file. She frowned and said: 'That's funny...'

Vusi waited for her to explain. Distracted, she laid the form to one side and paged through the file, searching. 'I couldn't have ...' she said.

'Ma'am, what's the problem?'

'I can't find the receipt.'

'What receipt?'

She put the file aside and began pulling documents out of a basket that was three storeys high. 'The form says the pound and traffic fines were paid ...'

'Would it help if we knew whose signature that is?'

'These people, they sign like crabs.' She kept on looking through the decks of the in-basket, found nothing, picked up the single sheet, studied it and put a fingernail on the form. 'Look, the boxes are both clearly marked -