7 Days (23 page)

‘How can you be sure about the time?’

‘Because I left the office at exactly ten past seven,’ the woman said. She was in her late forties, her hair heavily sprayed, a severe face.

‘Down in Rugby.’

‘Yes. It’s five minutes from here. No more than that.’

‘OK. Where was he parked?’

‘Right here.’

Mbali looked around her. It made sense. He would have had a perfect view from here, a clean shot. Eighty metres, maybe. ‘And then you came past.’

‘I was in the left lane. I’m always in the left lane, because a lot of traffic turns right at the Bosmansdam intersection. And then he shot out of the parking area, right here, he just swerved right into my lane.’

‘But he was in front of you?’

‘I wanted to give him the finger. So I came past.’

‘And then you saw him.’

‘Clear as day. I hooted at him, and he looked at me. He had this little baseball cap, like faded red, and the long hair. Blond. Real hippy type, and he had these really crazy eyes, like he was going to kill me. Creepy, really, really creepy.’

‘Did you see what clothes he was wearing?’

‘Not really. I was too furious, the asshole. If I didn’t look where I was going …’

‘And you said it was a delivery vehicle?’

The woman nodded with great certainty. ‘Light beige, or faded white, and it wasn’t new. A Kia.’

‘A Kia? On the telephone you said you weren’t sure.’

‘Well, after I called, I remembered that it was the same as the vans used by the people who deliver our spares. So I called them. They use Kias. The K2700, they say,’ she said with enormous satisfaction, as though she had just solved the whole case.

It took him fifteen minutes to phone back and forth between Sloet’s two friends – Aldri de Koker and Samantha Grobler – before he got a joint appointment for half past two. He phoned Prof Phil Pagel, the pathologist, and Hannes Pruis of Silberstein Lamarque. The lawyer was none too pleased to hear from him, giving a deep and heavy sigh when Griessel asked if he could see all the colleagues who had worked with Sloet, at five o’clock.

Then he drove to Roch.

On the way through Stellenbosch he thought of his daughter. How should he manage the situation with the muscle man? Why hadn’t Carla told him about it?

He stopped himself. He mustn’t let his detective’s imagination run away with him. He had a good relationship with his daughter. She would have told him if there was something. And Fritz was desperate, about the tattoo. Ten to one it was just a photo taken at random, during Rag. Carla would never fall for a man with a face like that anyway – the brow so heavy, the eyes too close together. And that tattoo …

He would phone her later. Just to make sure. If he could think of what to say.

Over Helshoogte Pass he saw the dark green vineyards on either side of the road, the beauty of the mountains behind them. He came here too seldom. He too seldom went anywhere, it was just work and sleep and a bit of music with Roes, and now and then dropping by at Alexa’s. Maybe he could bring her here to one of these guesthouses one day.

Maybe. If he ever got back on his feet financially.

The Bonne Espérance Estate was much quieter on a Tuesday morning. He parked in front of the wine tasting centre again and walked straight over to the coopers shop, because he didn’t want his arrival to be announced.

As he pushed open the door, he smelled the wood smoke, felt the heat. Roch was standing at one of the workbenches, a water bottle to his mouth, raised high. He saw Griessel and lowered it slowly. Not too overjoyed at the repeat visit.

‘Captain,’ he said tersely, and put the bottle down on the workbench.

‘Mr Roch.’

‘I hear you got hold of Danielle after all. Or don’t you believe her either?’

‘We believe her.’

‘Hallelujah.’

‘Can we talk?’

‘Do you have some new accusations?’

‘It depends whether you’re going to withhold information again.’

Roch raised his eyes to the roof. ‘I didn’t …’ He sighed. ‘Come through.’

This time he didn’t offer coffee. He sat down in his chair, his body language irritable. Griessel ignored it. ‘You must have wondered who murdered Hanneke,’ he said evenly.

‘Of course.’

‘Any ideas?’

‘You’re asking me?’

‘That’s right.’

He looked at Griessel with dislike. ‘No wonder the crooks are taking over the country.’

‘I’m here because I need your help,’ Griessel said.

‘After you insulted me.’

‘Mr Roch, in more than eighty per cent of cases like this, the murderer is known to the victim, or in a relationship with her. You have metal tools on your wall that are similar to the murder weapon. And you didn’t disclose the whole truth …’

Roch made a gesture of barely suppressed frustration. ‘I wasn’t even here.’

‘Will you help?’

Roch looked down at his hands for a long time, and then up again. ‘OK.’

‘It seems as though there are two possibilities. She opened the door to someone she knew, or the murderer had her spare key. Have you any idea who she might have given it to?’

‘When she was still living in Stellenbosch … she gave her spare key to me. She said then it was no good her keeping it inside …’ The negative attitude lifted as he slowly sat up straight.

‘And the key of the new apartment?’

‘I don’t know … Definitely not to me. But … it was important to her that someone should keep her spare key. I used to tease her about it, she was so organised, I told her there was no chance of her losing her keys. Then she said that was not what she was afraid of. She was afraid she would fall in the shower, or something …’

‘So you think there is a good chance she gave it to someone?’

‘Yes …’

‘Who?’

‘I don’t know. Maybe one of her girl friends. Or … Did you ask at her work?’

‘Her assistant says she doesn’t know either.’

Roch merely nodded.

‘You believed there was a new man in her life,’ Griessel said.

‘I was wrong.’

‘But you did think that at first.’

‘I suppose it’s the way a guy reacts …’

‘Is that all?’

‘Why? Did you find something?’ With the same subtle reaction as yesterday, the movement of the eyes that showed there was something that made him uncomfortable.

‘Mr Roch, I will treat everything as confidential as far as I can. I understand it’s difficult, in the circumstances, to talk about personal things. But I would be glad if you would tell me why that was your first reaction.’

Roch put his elbows on the arms of the chair, intertwined his fingers, peered thoughtfully over them at Griessel. ‘It
is
difficult. I always believed you don’t talk out of … you know …’

‘I understand.’

‘It’s just that Hanneke … She was … Hell, Captain, this is … This doesn’t feel right.’

‘It might help us, Mr Roch.’

‘I wonder. Let’s just say … She was very … physical. From the start. I mean, before Hanneke, it’s not as though I had many girlfriends, but at least, you know …’ He blushed bright red, and looked down. ‘A guy has a certain experience, especially with Afrikaans women. They are … reserved, if you know what I mean. Hell, I’ve never talked like this with a strange man … Hanneke … As I said, from the start, she was … 
physical
. And she wasn’t embarrassed about it. She said she
liked
sex. It was because … She was a late starter, right through to the end of her studies she was still … you know, a virgin. And then she went to Europe for a year and she met this guy, an Aussie …’ The jealousy obvious in his voice. ‘And they travelled together for about a month, and apparently he had it bad. He kept on at her until she gave in, and then she discovered the whole sex thing. As you can imagine, I didn’t want to hear about it. But she said they … you know, were wild, and she couldn’t understand why she’d waited so long. And that she would never deprive herself that way again …’ He gave Griessel a look, one that said that was that, he wasn’t prepared to expand any further.

‘And that’s why you thought there was someone else?’

‘That’s right.’

‘Did you tell her why you thought that?’

‘I did. And I’m sorry for it. I said things … But then she said it
wasn’t such a priority for her any more.
Now
was her chance at work. To make her mark.’

‘Did you believe her?’

‘I only believed her when we saw each other again last year. Here …’ He pointed towards the mountain.

‘Why?’

‘Because she was … so intense. As though it was a long time … you know.’

‘Since she had had sex?’

Roch dropped his eyes, and nodded.

‘So you don’t think there was another man in her life?’

‘Not since that last time. No. I don’t believe it.’ Roch shifted in his chair, leaned forward. ‘Hanneke was … This was something that I realised from the beginning. She was so different. It was as though she had this very specific, powerful image of herself. A kind of vision.
This
was who she was,
that
was what she wanted to be. I’m not like that. I … sort of follow my heart, I let life happen, see where it takes me. But Hanneke … To her it wasn’t about the journey. It was about the destination. That was all that counted.’

‘What was her destination?’

He waved his hands to show he didn’t really know. ‘I never asked her outright. Maybe because … I don’t know if she could have explained it. At first I thought it was professional success. Boss of the company. Money. Then I thought it was a moving target, once she had one thing, it led to another. But later I thought she had father issues. The old man sort of disappeared, in her teens. He struggled … She didn’t really want to talk about it, but that’s the idea I got. She had this rage, at his weakness. So, I think her goal was to get him out of her system. His genes, in a way.’

Griessel digested that before he asked, ‘Who would she have opened the door for?’

‘For very few people. Her parents, her girl friends. For me. A few from work …’

‘Were there any of her colleagues who didn’t like her?’

‘One never knows, with that bunch of lawyers. They are so obsessed with money, as long as she was valuable to them, they would like her.’

‘You didn’t like them?’

‘I didn’t really know them. I was at a Christmas party, and we were invited to dinner with some of the directors once or twice, but then it was ten or twenty people. They are not really my sort.’

‘Do you have a theory? About who killed her?’

‘I just assumed, you know … I mean, this is the country we live in. I just assumed it was some black man who was stalking her, from the street, who waited until she opened the door. Murdered her because he could. That’s what I thought.’

At nine o’clock the sniper bought ten cans of red spray paint and two rolls of masking tape at Melkbos Hardware. He was nervous when he got out of the Audi A4, tormented by the vague fear that someone would suddenly point an accusing finger at him, and shout, ‘That’s him!’

After that he bought another ten spray cans and two rolls of masking tape at Makro in Montague Gardens, and at a café in Blaauwberg Road he bought all the morning papers.

In the twilight of the garage, two things dominated his thoughts as he covered the windows, chrome and lights of the Chana with the newspaper and masking tape: How was he going to explain that the last shot was an accident? That he was not a murderer. And were the twenty cans enough to paint the whole vehicle?

In his mind he composed emails to the police and the press over and over, but he couldn’t find the right approach.

It would be twelve o’clock before he realised the paint was not enough.

Griessel drove out through Bonne Espérance’s avenue of oaks, marvelling at a world where a big, strong, handsome and apparently intelligent man could blush blood red one minute when discussing intimate matters with a policeman. And the next minute, without blinking an eye, calmly admit to a racist prejudice.

People were never simple.

Just like life.

And where did Roch get that nonsense about ‘no wonder the crooks are taking over the country’? He heard and saw that more and more, the public idea that crime was out of control. It was simply not true,
the statistics showed that, the SAPS was slowly winning. But that was just one more thing he blamed the media for, that misconception. Because it sold more papers.

Roch was well-read and well-travelled, he ought to know better. It was something Griessel learned time and time again: with people you never knew what you would get.

Which brought him back to Carla. She didn’t have the life experience to understand these things. She could easily get mixed up with the wrong sort.

And the thing about Hanneke Sloet’s ‘father issues’ had disturbed him.
The old man sort of disappeared, in her teens
. Griessel himself had disappeared in a haze of booze when Carla was a teenager. What effect would that have had on his daughter, on her choice of men?

Did it help that he was rehabilitated now?

As he drove through Stellenbosch, he couldn’t contain it any more. He called her number.

‘Hi, Pappa!’ Surprise and joy in her voice.

‘I’m driving through your town, so I thought I would call you.’ Which was more or less the truth.

‘Let’s go and have coffee!’

‘I can’t, I have to get back to Bellville.’

‘I’ve been telling everyone it’s my pa who’s doing the Sloet case.’

‘How did you know?’

‘Drama queens read newspapers too, Pappa.’

‘So, what’s new?’ One of Fritz’s phrases, one he had never used with his daughter. He was certain she would smell a rat now.

‘
Ag
, not much. Just very busy. But it’s
such
fun, Pappa, I’ve just had Theatre Studies, it’s
so
interesting …’

‘You mustn’t work too hard.’ He wanted to fish with, ‘You should go out too,’ but he knew that was one step too far. ‘You should relax as well,’ he said.

‘Oh, don’t worry, Pa, we do that a lot.’

The sentence came out before he could stop it, ‘You and the girls …?’ The query disguised as much as possible.