John Afrika sat with the receiver in his hand listening to Griessel's phone ringing.
Opposite him stood the Provincial Commissioner.
'If we are making a mistake ...'
'Benny is clean,' Afrika said.
'John, we're talking about my career.'
'This is Benny, leave a message,' over the phone. Afrika sighed and replaced the receiver. 'He's not answering.'
'They are going to clean up when Zuma gets in. They will use any excuse. You know how it is. Zulus in, Xhosas out.'
'Commissioner, I understand. But what am I supposed to do?' 'Is there no one else?'
John Afrika shook his head from side to side. 'Even if there were, it's too late now.'
He looked at the phone. 'Benny is clean.' He didn't sound so sure of himself any more.
Jeremy Oerson turned left into Ebenezer. Vusi gave him a gap, then pulled away himself, feeling tense: don't let the man get away.
The Metro Nissan was on the way to the Waterfront under the Western Boulevard Freeway. Vusi drove cautiously, not daring to get too close, or too far. He had to see where he turned off.
Oerson drove into the Harbour Road traffic circle and then out to the right.
He was heading for the N1.
Vusi relaxed fractionally. That would make it easier.
Griessel banged open the double glass doors with the two Constables behind him. The lobby of African Overland Adventures was spacious - a long counter with two young women and a man behind it, a flat- screen TV against the wall, a few coffee tables and easy chairs. Nine young people standing or sitting, some drinking coffee. Everyone looked up, startled. Griessel pulled out his service pistol before he reached the desk. His cell phone was still ringing in his pocket.
'What did he say?' a voice asked from an easy chair.
He turned and saw the Constables had their pistols in their hands too. He nodded in approval. 'I said, just keep still and everything will be fine. Nobody's leaving and nobody is going to make a phone call.'
Everyone was quiet. Griessel's phone as well. The sound of the TV drew his attention. The big screen displayed images of an African adventure. On the walls were big posters with scenes of the continent, laughing young people with mountains, animals and lakes in the background. On the long desk were containers of brochures.
'Please turn off the TV.'
'Can we see some ID?' a girl asked from behind the desk, a sultry, stubborn beauty. He pulled out his identity card. Everyone watched TV nowadays, he thought, maybe he should start wearing it around his bloody neck like Kaleni.
The stubborn one inspected it. 'Is that for real?'
'What is your name?'
'Melissa,' It was a challenge.
'Please switch off that television, and then you call the police. Dial one zero triple one, and tell them Captain Benny Griessel needs back-up at African Overland Adventures. Tell them to call the Sergeant at Caledon Square.'
'I'll have to move,' said Melissa. 'The remote is under here ...'
'Then move,' said Griessel. She stretched and took out the remote control and aimed it at the TV. Griessel saw she had a tattoo of barbed wire on her upper arm. The room went quiet. 'Now call the police,' he said.
'It's OK. I believe you.'
'Call them.'
She walked reluctantly to the telephone and picked it up.
'Which one of you is Jason de Klerk?'
It was a while before the other desk girl answered. 'Jason isn't here.'
'They're not answering,' said Melissa.
'They will. Where is Jason de Klerk?'
'We don't know.'
'All the men, I want you to show us your IDs.' To the Constables he said: 'Check them.'
'Jason hasn't been in since yesterday,' said Melissa.
'So where can he be?'
'Your emergency number sucks. They're still not answering,' she said irritably.
Griessel exploded. He walked up to the counter and stretched over it, his face as close to her as he could reach. 'Now you listen to me, you little shit: Jason and his friends cut the throat of one of your clients last night, and they are going to kill again if I don't stop them. Right now, I'm thinking you don't know anything about it, but that can change very quickly, and you don't want that, take my word for it. So I am going to ask you one more time: where can I find him? And if you get clever with me again, you are going to be very fucking sorry, do you hear me loud and clear?'
She swallowed audibly. 'Yes,' she said. 'He might be at home. He might be at the offices or the warehouse, they are between trips, I just don't know.'
'The offices?'
'Second floor. You use the entrance next door.' 'And the warehouse?'
'Stanley Road in Observatory,' then the emergency number finally answered and she said: 'I've got an urgent message from a ... What was your name again?'
All three came back through the door. Rachel did not even look up.
'Hold her legs,' said Jason de Klerk and picked up the pruning shears from the floor where he had left them. The other two squatted down beside her and took hold of her legs.
'Rachel,' said de Klerk, but she did not respond. 'Rachel!'
'She's fucked, Jay,' one of the others said.
'We have to make sure.' He knelt at her foot. 'Rachel, listen to me. We have to make sure you're telling the truth about the video, OK? This is very important, it really is a matter of life or death, do you understand?'
No reaction.
He put the blade around the base of the middle toe of her right foot. 'So tell me again, where is it?'
'She's not even hearing you.'
'Please,' she said so they could barely hear. 'It's in the big bag.'
He cut the toe off. Her body jerked. 'Jesus,' said one of the men holding her legs.
'Are you sure?' Jason's voice was still calm. 'Are you very sure?'
'Yes, yes, yes, yes, yes, yes ...' loud and hysterical, her body convulsing.
He held another toe. 'Exactly where is the bag?'
A primeval sound erupted from her.
'For fuck's sake, Jay, what more do you need?' the other young man asked, his face misshapen with abhorrence.
Jason, furious, hit him with the back of his hand. 'Do you know what's at stake here, arsehole? You want to spend the rest of your life in prison?'
Vusi Ndabeni followed Jeremy Oerson as he took the right-hand lane on the Nl's Eastern Boulevard and then the off-ramp to the N2. He kept his distance, just over four hundred metres, with seven cars between them. He picked up his cell phone and called Benny Griessel again.
The 'offices' of African Overland Adventures on the second floor were behind a steel security door. Griessel pressed the intercom button. A woman's voice said: 'Yes?' He said: 'Police. Open up.'
The locks clicked and the door opened. He immediately looked to see if there was another exit. But he saw none, only three women, desks, computers, filing cabinets. He kept his ID card handy. 'Come with me, please, downstairs.'
'Why?' they were worried about the pistol in his hand.
'I'm looking for a Jason de Klerk?'
