'Risky though,' Dave says.
'Probably worth it,' Mandlakazi says. 'People pay a pretty penny for rhino horn or
We meet the Witness at an airy coffee shop on the lower level of the mall. She is sitting right at the back, curled up miserably in a booth. She's tiny, barely fifteen, with hunched shoulders that speak of a lifetime of making herself as unobtrusive as possible.
'You Roberta?' Mandlakazi asks, sticking out her hand to shake.
The girl gives a little nod so quick you'd miss it if you blinked. She doesn't extend her hand. She points at me and says, 'Just her.'
'Baby, I'm the reporter, you want to talk to me. I can send these other people away if you want to keep it private.'
She shakes her head. 'Just her.'
'Zoos got to stick together, huh. Fine. We'll be at the table outside.' She hands me her Dictaphone, disgruntled. 'It's the red button on the right.'
'Like riding a bicycle.'
I emerge forty minutes later and take a seat at Mandla and Dave's table. 'Okay, first up, she says no police. Not yet. Maybe you can talk her round. Second: she's badly scared. Too scared to go home. I need one of you to put her up for a couple of nights.'
'Why can't you?' Mandlakazi says.
'Because I live in her neighbourhood. Where the murder happened. To her friend, who happened to be a prostitute like her.'
'She can stay at my place. For the night, at least. We can make a plan tomorrow. The paper can put her up in a hotel if this story is going to go somewhere. What did she say about the murder?' Mandlakazi is practically choking on her eagerness.
'You should probably hear it for yourself. I made a note of the timecode on the most useful quotes for you,' I pass her a napkin annotated with a ballpoint pen I borrowed from the waiter.
'Well look at you, intrepid girl reporter.'
'Worth more than an 'additional reporting' credit?'
'Depends on what's on the tape.'
I skip to 05:43 on the Dictaphone. They have to lean in to hear Roberta's voice, barely a whisper, over the grind of the espresso machine, the clank of cups.
ZINZI DECEMBER: Okay, I just want to go back a minute. What exactly do you mean, 'like a spook'?
ROBERTA VAN TONDER: I'm telling you! Like there was no one there. One minute she's bending down to fix her shoe, that heel was giving her trouble all night, and then
In the coffee shop, she stabbed at the air, her face contorting unconsciously.
RVT: [contd] There is blood opening up all over her. Her head, her arms and she falls back against the wall, blood spraying everywhere.
ZD: How did her Sparrow react?
RVT: It's flying all over like it's crazy.
ZD: Like it can see the spook?
RVT: Like it can see the spook.
ZD: Like it's attacking the spook?
RVT: I don't know. I don't know.
ZD: And you didn't see what happened after that?
RVT: No. I run. I run and run and run until I think my heart gon' explode.
ZD: I'm sorry, I just need to check that I understand. You couldn't see anything or anyone. No shadows. Nothing visible at all?
RVT: No, no, nothing. Well, maybe a grey. Like a shadow. Like a demon. An invisible demon!
'Oh this is gold, baby. This is gold,' Mandlakazi says.
We spend the next few hours transcribing the tape and knocking it up into a rough.
32.
I get home well after eleven, exhausted and pissed off at having to park two blocks away because of the roadworks outside Elysium. Maybe they're finally fixing the damn water. Roberta is safely housed at Mandlakazi's place. The news story is a solid little piece, even if I had to hype up the hysteria for the
It's because I'm tired that I don't notice that the charms on my lock have been broken. I shrug Sloth off onto the climbing pole by the door and flick on the lights. Vuyo is sitting on the edge of my bed with a gun. He holds it loosely, his legs slung wide, so that it dangles between them like a penis. He looks resigned.
My phone chooses this precise moment to break into the jaunty
'You want to get that?' Vuyo offers, but he doesn't mean it.
'Nah. I'll call them back later,' I say, as casually as I can. It's a ringtone I've programmed for calls from certain numbers. Arno. Song. S'bu.
'Do you want some tea? I've had a really long day, I could use a cup,' I blather, venting some of the nervous adrenaline that just kicked in harder than a Taekwondo champion, but also covering that I'm not getting out teacups, I'm looking for a weapon. 'How do you take it? I like mine strong and black. That's not a come-on by the way.'
It takes all my nerve to keep my back turned to him. I can hear him jiggling his knee, the micro-sound of his jeans rustling. It's the only time I've seen him out of a suit, and that frightens me more than anything.
I yank open the cutlery drawer to be confronted with an anomaly worse than emails from dead people or a man with a gun sitting on my bed. It's a large carving knife with a viciously serrated edge and two broken teeth. It's tarnished with rust. It's not mine. And neither is the china figurine of a kitten with one paw playfully raised, also stained with rust. But it's not rust. It's not rust at all. Perversely, the thought that flashes through my brain is 'I can haz murder weapon?' I laugh out loud, a sobbing hiccup.
'Is this yours?' I say, turning to Vuyo, holding up the knife by the tip like a dead cockroach.
'Don't make me shoot you,' he says, sounding tired.
'You're going to shoot me over an email?'
'People have done worse for less. No girl, I'm going to shoot you because you made me look bad. Put the knife down.' He points the gun at my head. I follow instructions.
'Are you sure you don't want tea?' I say numbly. My mother was a firm believer in tea. Also, my kettle is heavy, solidly built. Less expected than a knife. I take a risk, turn back towards the counter, reach for my old- fashioned metal kettle. But in that moment, he crosses the room, yanks me round, grabs me by the throat and shoves me against the counter.
'No, I do not want fucking tea,' he hisses, spraying spit into my face. He shoves the gun into my cheek. 'I want my money.'
I start to bring up the kettle, but he slams his knee up between my legs. Everything goes white. There is
