7 Days (40 page)

‘Victoria West?’ said Griessel, dumbfounded, because that didn’t fit any scenario.

‘Give me the number,’ said Mbali, and pulled the phone on the desk closer.

He read it out to her. She phoned.

‘Put it on speaker phone,’ said Nyathi.

She pressed the button. They all listened to it ringing.

‘South African Police Service, Victoria West,’ a woman’s voice answered.

‘This is Captain Mbali Kaleni, Directorate of Priority Crime Investigations in Cape Town. I would like to speak to your station commander, please.’

‘Please hold.’

They all sat irritably listening to tinny electronic music.

‘Captain Kaptein.’

‘May I speak to the station commander?’ Mbali asked sternly, suspecting a practical joker.

‘That’s me.’

‘What is your name, Captain?’

‘Leonard Kaptein.’

‘They are going to
have
to promote him,’ one of the IMC people whispered, because
‘kaptein’
was the Afrikaans for captain.

‘This is Captain Mbali Kaleni, Directorate of Priority Crime Investigations in Cape Town. I am investigating the shooting of several police officers this past week …’

‘Solomon?’ asked Captain Kaptein.

‘Yes,’ said Mbali. ‘So I don’t have to tell you how urgent this is.’

‘Blikslater
. But what can we do?’ the station commander asked in his distinctive Northern Cape accent.

‘Someone from your station called the cellphone number of a Mr Frederik ’Frikkie’ de Vos on the nineteenth and twentieth of January, and left voicemail messages. Mr de Vos owned an accounting firm in Edgemead in Cape Town, and is involved in this case. I need to know who it is that called, and why.’

‘
Blikslater.’

‘Can I give you the de Vos number?’

‘Yes.’

She read the number slowly, every word formed with care, as if she was talking to a child.

‘Can I call you back?’

‘No, Captain. I will hold the line.’

In the room of the Hawks Information Management Centre in Bellville, they could hear Captain Leonard Kaptein, five hundred kilometres to the north-east as the crow flies, shout loudly and excitedly:
‘Julle
!’ Followed by the sound of his government issue chair being knocked over and clattering to the floor.

‘Julle
!’ the cry came again, but quieter, as he must have gone out of the door. ‘I want everybody. Now! It’s about Solomon. Get everyone on the radio …’ Then he was beyond the receiving distance of the telephone, only the cooing of a dove in Victoria West sounding calmly down the line.

Nobody spoke.

They waited.

Nine long minutes. Too scared to hope.

A train rattled past on the far side of Tienie Meyer Street, on the way to Bellville station.

They heard voices and rapid footsteps. ‘… you sure, Wingnut?’

‘
Ja
, Captain.’

‘Hello?’ said Leonard Kaptein. ‘I’m here,’ said Mbali.

‘I’m putting on Sergeant Sollie Barends. Tell the woman, Wingnut.’

‘Hello, this is Sergeant Sollie.’ It was a younger voice, uncertain, as though finding the occasion quite overwhelming.

‘This is Captain Kaleni.’

‘Captain, my English is not so good.’

‘Hold on.’ Mbali turned to Griessel. ‘Can you talk to him?’

He nodded, shifted his chair quickly up to the table and said in Afrikaans, ‘Sollie this is Captain Benny Griessel. What do you know about the call?’

‘OK. Captain, it was me who called that de Vos.’

‘Why?’

‘About the little rifle, Captain.’

‘What rifle?’

‘The triple-two, Captain.’ Something happened in the IMC centre, intangible and inaudible, a subtle electric charge.

‘Sollie, explain to me carefully, from the beginning.’

‘OK.’ They heard the rustle of pages. ‘It’s all here in the case file, Captain,’ said Sollie Barends. ‘That Monday, that’s the seventeenth of January, Aunty Jacky Delport phoned – that’s Mrs Jaqueline Johanna Delport of the farm Syferfontein this side of Vosburg – and she said the little rifle was missing. That’s her late husband’s triple-two. Because on Sunday she began clearing out and cleaning up and she noticed the rifle was gone, and she swore it was the
mannetjie
from the bookkeepers, that’s the
mannetjie
who came to do the books for the estate. Then I drove out there, to investigate—’

‘Sollie, just hang on a minute. Where is Vosburg?’

‘A hundred kilometres from us here. Little place. But the farm is only seventy.’

‘Do you know who the
mannetjie
is?’

‘He’s a Samuel. From the Cape.’

‘Is that his surname?’

‘No, Captain, the aunty thinks it’s his name.’

‘She thinks?’

‘Captain, Aunty Jacky is eighty-seven, the old brain is not so
lekker
any more.’

‘When was this Samuel there?’

‘Here at the end of November, Captain.’

‘It took her two months to realise the rifle was missing?’

‘That’s what I asked her too, Captain. She said she didn’t need the rifle. And she didn’t have the heart to clean up the Oom’s workroom.’

‘Why did she get someone from the Cape to do the books?’

‘That’s what Oom Henning told her to do. In the letter.’

‘What letter?’

‘That would be the letter he left. Along with his will.’

‘What did he say in the letter?’

‘He said she can get married again, but just not to Willem Potgieter. Potgieter is the neighbour there. A bachelor. He and Oom Henning had a big fight …’

‘Sollie, what did the letter say about de Vos?’

‘Only Frikkie de Vos was allowed to come and do the books.’

‘Why so?’

‘It looks like de Vos had been doing Oom Henning’s books for the last eight years. The aunty said it’s because of the
klippies
and the gambling.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘Oom Henning … Captain, everyone in the district knew Oom Henning was smuggling diamonds. Before my time already, I believe the diamond branch came here to try to catch him out, but he was too clever. He went up to Sun City about twice a year, or down there to your side, then he would come back and tell everyone how he had won. But really it was diamond money. The aunty said Oom Henning met de Vos in a gambling den, one time. Ever since then, he had to do the books, to hide the money from the diamonds from
Jan Taks
, the taxman. Everything got sent down to Cape Town, at the end of the financial year. But when Oom Henning died, she said she wasn’t sending anything away, de Vos could come to the farm himself and do the books, under her four eyes. But then he sent that
mannetjie
. Samuel.’

‘And Samuel stole the rifle?’

‘She said it could only be him, the rest of the time the Oom’s workroom was locked. So I phoned de Vos, but he never answered his phone. I sent letters too.’

‘You’re absolutely sure this Oom Henning owned a triple-two?’

‘Yes, Captain. A Sako, three years old. Receipt is on the farm, the licence, everything.’

‘Sollie, we think this Samuel could be the shooter. Solomon.’

‘
Grote Griet
, Captain.’

‘So you must tell me everything you know about him.’

‘But I really don’t know anything,’ said Sollie nervously, the anxiety that he might let them down almost audible on the line.

‘Aunty Jacky didn’t like the
mannetjie
. She said he was too skinny, you couldn’t trust such a skinny little man. And he drove a shiny car.’

‘A shiny car?’

‘That’s all she could tell me, Captain.’

‘Does she live all alone on the farm?’

‘No, Captain, there are farm people too. The aunty is still farming.’

‘How long was Samuel there?’

‘Two days, Captain.’

‘Where did he sleep?’

‘On the farm, Captain.’

‘Sollie, thank you very much. You’re a good detective …’

‘
Jissie
, Captain …’

‘But now I must talk to your SC.’

‘He’s standing right here, Captain. Thank you, Captain.’

‘Hello?’ said the station commander.

‘This is Benny Griessel, Leonard. We need your help badly now.’

‘Just say.’

‘How good are you people with fingerprints?’

‘We’re OK.’

‘The first thing is, send Sollie and your best fingerprint man back to Aunty Jacky. To the room the man slept in. Tell them to work very carefully, tell them we want every last print. And then they must race back and send them to us.’

‘We’ll do it.’

‘But while they are there, get Sollie to talk to everyone on the farm. Every single one. Everything they can remember about the man. Everything. Anything. His surname, his appearance, his clothes, his car. And send all the other people you can spare to Vosburg. House-to-house, anyone who might have seen the man. Maybe he filled up with petrol there, or had a meal, or something.’

‘We’ll do it.’

‘Leonard, our problem is time. You’ll have to be thorough, but you’ll have to be fast.’

‘We
can
be fast.’

They had to wait.

The word spread through the Hawks’ building like wildfire – there was hope, there might be a breakthrough – so that the IMC room was soon overflowing, and Colonel Nyathi had to ask everyone to please go and wait in the parade room, he would personally let them know if there was any news.

But Cupido made himself at home at Griessel’s side, as though he belonged there. And Bones Boshigo said, ‘Colonel, you might need someone who understands the art of bookkeeping,’ and planted himself, leaning against the wall.

Half past four came and went, without a word.

By five o’clock the IMC night shift arrived. The day shift did not want to leave. Van Wyk didn’t have the heart to force them, but Nyathi put his foot down, ‘We need you to be fully rested tomorrow, we don’t know if this will bear any fruit. Please.’

They dawdled, wasting time. It was twenty past five before the last one went home.

It was the hate that drove him now.

The sniper put the late Oom Henning Delport’s triple-two Sako rifle in the boot of the Audi, closed it carefully with his left hand and walked around to the driver’s door.

He was dressed in black – he might have to stand in the dark shadows of the trees beside the railway line, if it got late. If he couldn’t get a clean shot from the car.

He got into the silver car. The pain in his right hand was constant and sharp, especially when he didn’t keep the hand raised. He had gulped down a handful of headache pills at ten – he didn’t dare walk into a pharmacy with this wound and ask for anything stronger. He didn’t know whether Griessel knew that he’d been injured. He had lain down, between eleven and three, slept maybe forty minutes, waking often, panicked, bathed in sweat. No more painkillers. He had to be alert now.

For vengeance.

He switched the engine on, pressed the remote.

The garage door slid open.

Sergeant Sollie Barends, detective of the SAPS at Victoria West, went by the nickname of ‘Wingnut’, because of his very prominent ears.

But the eighty-seven-year-old Mrs Jaqueline Johanna Delport called him
‘seunie’
or my boy. She sat at the big kitchen table, busy peeling figs. ‘No,
seunie
, I told you: he was bad-tempered and he was skinny.’

‘Aunty, the police are looking for him down in the Cape. For terrible things. I’m asking Aunty please to think nicely about then.’

‘The old head isn’t so strong any more,
seunie.’

‘Can Aunty remember what colour hair he had?’

‘Sort of mousy.’

‘Mousy brown or mousy blonde?’

‘Yes. Something like that.’

‘Mousy blonde?’

‘Something like that.’

‘Was he tall or was he short?’

‘Not
too
tall.’

‘But tall.’

‘Not too much.’

‘Taller than me?’

‘Stand up so I can see … Ja. You’re
darem
not too tall either.’

‘Did he have a moustache or a beard?’

‘No.’

‘Did he wear glasses?’

‘Rita,’ she called to one of the ageing maids standing at the stove, stirring a big pot full of boiling fig jam. ‘Did he wear glasses?’

‘No,
mies
, not that I can remember.’

‘No,’ said Jacky Delport, ‘he didn’t wear glasses.’

Sergeant Sollie sighed. ‘Aunty, his car …’

‘I don’t know.’

‘Aunty said it was shiny …’

‘Ja.’

‘Like in shiny silver?’

‘Rita, was it shiny silver?’

‘
Ja
,
mies
, like shiny-shiny.’

‘Like shiny-shiny,’ Jacky Delport repeated. ‘A flat one.’

‘A sports car?’

‘No, I wouldn’t say a sports car. But, you know, flattish.’

‘
Diets
,’ said Rita.

‘
Diets
, you say?’ asked Mrs Delport.

‘
Ja, mies
,
Diets.’

‘Is that
Deutsch
?’ asked Sergeant Sollie hopefully.

‘
Ja
,’ said Rita.

‘A BMW?’

‘Is a BMW
Diets
?’

‘Ja.’

‘Then it could have been a BMW.’

‘Anything else, Aunty? Please.’

She thought for a long time before she asked, ‘What did the
mannetjie
do down there in the Cape?’

‘He shot policemen. Didn’t Aunty see that on the TV? The Solomon shooter …’

‘Does it look like there’s a TV here?’

‘No, Aunty, I’m just saying …’

‘There’s no signal here. Then Oom Henning said he wants to get a satellite dish. Six hundred rand a month. So we can sit and watch naked people swearing. Six hundred. I put my foot down.’

‘I understand, Aunty.’

She tossed another peeled fig into the big white enamel dish. As though it had suddenly occurred to her. ‘Shot policemen?’

‘
Ja
, Aunty. Shot one dead. Injured a whole lot of them too.’

‘What for?’

‘We don’t know.’

‘That’s not right,
seunie.’

‘I know, Aunty.’

‘That’s not right. Policemen. Just making a living like everyone.’