Gun Dealing (The Ryder Quartet Book 2) (11 page)

That detective would then come
looking for Skhura Thabethe.

He paused as this thought struck him.
He had not yet got to the street. Mkhize, who stood in his doorway, some twenty
paces back, watching him, called out.

‘Is OK, Skhura?’

Thabethe turned and walked back to
him.

‘I’m thinking, Spikes.’

‘
Yebo
,
Skhura. You thinking what?’

‘I’m thinking, you saying you gotta
1974 Ford?’

‘Is a good car, Skhura, I’m telling
you. Twenty-five thousand rands only for you,
bra
.’

‘No thanks, Spikes. I’m not wanting
to buy ‘nother car. But you rent to me? You know I like to rent and not buy.
How much for one week?’

‘No problem,
bra
. For you, Skhura, special price. You want now? Tonight? I got
there at the back. Take five minutes,
bra
.
I get the papers and we do it right now.’

21.25

The three thugs made their way back
to Themba’s shack in KwaMashu M with only one scary moment. This was just as
they left the R102 for the M25 when police sirens arrived out of nowhere and
suddenly blue lights appeared in their rearview mirror. Their first reaction as
Themba pulled over onto the verge was that they had been caught, with no escape
possible.

Macks thought they might have been
followed since leaving the shebeen just north of Greyville, where Mavuso had
surprised him and Themba by suddenly pulling out cash they never knew he had,
and buying all the booze.
 
Seeing
them carrying a large box laden with bottles of gin, whisky, brandy, vodka and
beer to the car, perhaps someone had got suspicious and called the cops.

Themba thought that maybe the police
had somehow traced the false number plates. That detective who was looking for
them: maybe him. He’d thought that somehow the detective had managed to trace
them. This Jiminy Rider guy. Jimmy Rider. Whoever he was. Themba was doubly
terrified that he was carrying Sergeant Dlamini’s Desert Eagle. If he was
stopped by the cops how would be explain that away?

Mavuso panicked because, unknown to
his two companions, he had a murdered cop’s wallet in his pocket.

The moment of terror then passed as
the two cop cars swept past them, on their way to some other action.

Heart thumping, Themba cursed as he
swung the car back onto the road heading toward KwaMashu M. As the danger
receded, bravura returned. Macks and Mavuso began joking about the experience.
Themba was quiet, still shaken by it.

‘
Eish,
Mavusies!
I’m thinking there that maybe someone was telling the
boere
we had so much
isiphuzo
and they better check us,
that’s why they were coming with their sirens.’

‘
Yebo
.
Me too, Macks. I was thinking maybe they see us leave with vodka and whisky and
not just
zamalek
and they get
jealous, and they call the blue lights.’

There was a moment’s silence before
Themba picked up the same idea.

‘Where you get the bucks, Mavuso?’

‘
Yini?’

‘Where you get the money?’

‘Money? Is mine.’

‘Hey,
wena!
’

‘What you talk?’

‘Where you get the money?’

‘Yes,
bra
!’ Macks joined in with Themba. ‘Themba and me, we see you with
the big bucks back there. Where you get that money?’

‘
Nxa
,
man. What you talk? Is mine. Is my money.’

Neither Macks nor Themba was
satisfied with the response, but they left it there. Themba turned on the radio
and they drove for little more than half a minute with the thumping sounds of
some newcomer whose music none of them could identify. Themba switched it off
again and they drove in silence.

‘What you think, Themba?’ asked
Macks.

‘Nothing.’

‘
Hayi
.
Not nothing. I know you,
bra
. I know
you thinking big things.’

‘I’m thinking we get that Jiminy
Rider before he’s getting us.’

That produced a new energy as they
spoke over each other, excitedly, about getting to the detective before he got
to them.

‘How we find him,
bra
Themba?’

‘I told you, Macks. I got a friend
there at Durban North. I call him tomorrow when he starts there by the office.
He’s got a computer with the names of the
boere
.
Names and addresses. He’s got that Jim there in his office. He got that Jim
Rider there in that computer. He’s telling me tomorrow, then we go and see this
detective there at his house.’

05.45.

The Ryders were more frantic than
usual with their morning schedule. Fiona had asked him to pack the children’s
bags for their four days away, so that when school broke at midday for
half-term they would be ready for her to drop off, along with the dog. He had
done so. She had then inspected the bags and promptly started re-packing them.
They exchanged harsh words while she did so. He stormed out to get more coffee,
telling her to pack the damn things herself next time.

Sugar-Bear knew something was up and
was running all over the house, barking in excitement. He would have to wait a
few hours for Fiona to pop home from work in order to take him with the luggage
to the school, for transfer to the friends who had been brave enough to invite
the dog along with the children.

The children were fighting in one of
the bedrooms. Someone’s hiking boots had disappeared. A glove had gone missing.

The phone rang. Ryder ignored it.

‘That won’t be for me, so please
answer the damn thing,’ Fiona called.

Ryder answered the phone in the
kitchen.

‘It’s for you,’ he called.

‘Who is it?’

‘Mongezi!’

‘Coming!’

Ryder told Mongezi she was on her way
and that he was putting down the receiver. He grabbed his coffee and scarpered
before she arrived to pick up the call.

‘Mongezi!’ she said, as sweetly as
she had ever spoken into any telephone mouthpiece. ‘How are you?’

07.35.

Koekemoer, Dippenaar, Pillay, and
Cronje were more
sombre
than usual over their
coffees. They had been reminiscing about Trewhella. Koekemoer had started it
off by remarking that by this time in the morning Trewhella would normally have
told half a dozen jokes, whereas the only joke so far today had been Dippenaar,
on his arrival, greeting them all in Afrikaans for a change.

‘I’ve noticed,
ou boet
, that it’s only me and Piet that talk Afrikaans in this
place now.’

‘
Ag,
kak, man
,’ Dippenaar responded.

Cronje reported that Mavis had called
in earlier to say that she would be late. She was still broken up by the death
of Sinethemba and had had a rough night with the Ngobeni family, who were still
inconsolable.

That led to further reminiscences
about the student constable, and a further downward spiral in the mood.

In response to a question from
Koekemoer, Pillay said that Ryder would be late this morning.

Cronje’s desk phone rang and he took
the call.

‘Hullo, Cronje. Sorry? Who? Oh, yes,
Captain. Sorry, Ma’am. Sorry. I mean Miss. Yes. Yes, he’s in. I’ll put you
through, Captain.’

He transferred the call to Captain
Nyawula.

‘Station Commander at Folweni,’ he
said to the others.

‘Do they also start early down there,
Piet? I thought it was just us.’

‘I
dunno
, Navi. I thought Nyawula was the only captain that started
early. He’s asked me before to try and get some of the different
okes
on the line, and both of us
eventually
realised
that it was usually no good
trying to get a Station Commander on the phone before 8.00 am. This one sounds
different. She was quite, how can I say, sharp, you know?’

Dippenaar yawned loudly and
stretched.

‘
Yissus,
ou broer,’
said Koekemoer, ‘what were you
dopping
last night?’

‘
Ag,
nee, man
,’ came the reply. ‘Only tea last night. I actually had an early
night for a change.’

‘
Actually
?
Actually
?
Yissus
, Dipps, you becoming more like an
Engelsman
every day. I swear, hey, ever since old Ed joined us you
started talking more English and less Afrikaans. Like
English
English
, you know? Not just
Seffrikan
English.
Actually. I beg yours. May I have the next dance? Could I prevail upon
you
? Are you actually a closet
soutpiel,
jong
?’

‘
Actually
?
Ja
, Koeks,
actually
I
actually
am.’

Nyawula entered from the inner
office.

‘Koeks. Dipps. You saw Sergeant
Dlamini yesterday?’

‘Yes, Captain,’ they replied
together.

‘How was he when you left him?’

‘
Ag
,
he was in a bad way, Captain,’ said Koekemoer. ‘We left him at about three
o’clock.’

‘Very bad, Captain. He was still
messed up about Constable Xana. Actually, we were quite worried about him when
we left him, hey Koeks?’

‘That was my opposite number from
Folweni Station on the phone, men. I need you both to go back down there as
soon as you can. Now, if possible.’

‘What’s happened, Captain?’ asked
Pillay.

‘The Captain didn’t have anything
more than a first responder report, but she’s been told that Sergeant Dlamini
shot himself last night. He’s dead.’

08.55.

Maishe, the policeman friend in
Durban North, was unable to help. Themba’s exasperation had grown to bursting
point. The more he insisted that Detective Jimmy Rider’s name must be on the
database, the more the constable asserted the contrary.

‘I’m telling you, Themba, I am
looking now at this computer. I am looking at all the names in KwaZulu-Natal.
All over. Everywhere. There is no Jimmy Rider, or James Rider or Jiminy Rider.
Or Jeremy Rider. There is
fokall
 
Rider.’

‘And I’m telling you, Maishe,
wena
, that his name is there. He is a
detective in Durban, I think Durban Central. You try Durban
Harbour
?
You try Durban Point? What about maybe Isipingo? He is Jimmy Rider. Maybe
Jiminy Rider. Maybe James. I don’t know. But Rider. Detective Rider. Look
properly,
wena
!’

‘I’m telling you I’m looking. I’m
looking now. I got all the names. I’m looking at
R
and
a
. I’m looking at
R
and
e
and
R
and
i
and
o
and
u
. There is
nothing, I’m telling you.’

‘Listen, Maishe, the name is there,
I’m telling you. Look again one more time.’

‘Themba, I’m telling you. There is
Rhadebe
and there is
Rhoyi
and there is
Rice
two times, and
Richard
,
and again
Richard
, and
Richards
, and two more
Richards
, and
Richardson
.
Richey
.
Richie
. This one she is spelling
R-i-c-h-i-e
, and
Richter
, and
Rickert
, and
no
Rider
.
Fokall Rider!
No
R-i-d-e-
and whatever else. Then there is next one,
Ridgway
.
Then comes
Riggs
. There is one
Ritter
, and ‘nother one
Ritter
, and
Rivera
. Then finished with
R
and
i
. All
finish and klaar
. After that is coming
R
and
o
. I got here
Robb
, the next one. Then is coming
Robbins
, and
Roberts
, lots of times, that one, and then comes
Robertson
. Then
Robinson
. I got
Roelofse
.
Roets
.
Rohloff
.
Rolihlahla
. Just
like Mandela,
nè?
Then I got
Roodt
.
Rose. Roux. Rowe. Russel
and then also
Russell
with two times ‘
l,’
nè?
And lots of
R
and
u
and now I’m
telling you
fokkof
man, there is no
Rider
here I am telling you now.’

Themba hung up in fury with a
penetratingly shrill scream of frustration and handed the phone back to Macks.
Mavuso and Macks stared at him. All three of them suffered from the stuff they
had consumed last night. The bottles lay all around. Their heads were
splitting. This extra exertion on the phone nearly sent Themba over the edge.
It was not possible. The name
must
be
on the list.

What next?

He fumed. He had to find out how to
get to this detective that was closing in on them.

09.05.

When Koekemoer and Dippenaar arrived
Nadine Salm was already there with her assistant, along with various junior
Folweni police officers, two medics, a crowd of onlookers outside the property,
and general mayhem. Nadine was being very forceful about people not trampling
on the scene, and gave instructions to the police constables about the taping
off of restricted areas. She barked a little in exasperation about the need for
taping off both an inner and outer cordon, and wanted to know where form 297
was, asked who the responsible detective was and who had been appointed to
manage the scene. No-one appeared to know the answers to her questions. She
greeted the two detectives while muttering under her breath about more basic
training being needed to stop constables trampling on evidence at potential
crime scenes.

‘Crime scene?’ was Dippenaar’s
immediate response.

‘
Potential
crime scene, I said, Detective. I know the call you probably received from
Folweni this morning - same person who called me, I’m sure - offered suicide as
the formal diagnosis of the case. All nicely cut and dried in the space of five
seconds. First responder diagnosis accepted and filed. Takes it in at a glance
and
Bob’s your uncle
. All solved. But
my job is to look at the body and whatever else I can find and only later
someone can think about what might have gone down. Maybe suicide. Maybe not.’

‘
Yissus
,’
was all Koekemoer could offer.

‘Sorry, guys. I hope that doesn’t
sound too irritated. I didn’t want to insult anyone. I know all you detective
types have done all the training and have studied
Policy Number Two of 2005 and all that...’

The look exchanged by the detectives
told her that she had
prised
open some long-forgotten
memories, so she felt obliged to clarify.

‘Crime Scene Management.’

‘Oh,
ja
,’
they chorused together, unconvincingly.

‘But the detectives up the road at
Folweni are in a bit of a state and this scene hasn’t been managed very well
since Dlamini’s body was found. So I’m being a bit pedantic in an effort to
pull it back on track. So, I’m sorry, OK? I know the two of you are just
visitors, and the Folweni SVC guys are supposed to be handling the scene, but,
to put it bluntly, they’re not. So here I am playing both manager and
technician until they sort out their hierarchies.’

‘
Ja
.
Well. No. Fine, Nadine,’ said Dippenaar.

‘
Ja
.
No. You just go ahead, Nadine,’ said Koekemoer. ‘Fine. Don’t let us get in your
way. We came down just because Dlamini was helping us on background for the
KwaDukuza case, and it’s the Folweni team that will be handling this, but we
just, you know...’

Koekemoer didn’t bother to complete
the thought. They watched in silence as Nadine’s assistant whispered in her ear
and then snapped away with the camera. Nadine, on her knees, was now checking
the body from a position a few feet directly in front of the chair on which
Dlamini’s body lay slumped. She then moved in an arc around to the wall behind
the chair and called her assistant over. They whispered together, Nadine
advising her on the precise area she wanted recorded, and asking her to take
photos of a particular spot on the wall, before she then started investigating
it a little more closely.

Koekemoer and Dippenaar exchanged a
quizzical look and received their answer from Nadine, still kneeling with her back
to them in front of the spot she had identified.

‘Ever seen a bullet from a Vektor Z88
do this, detectives?’

‘What’s that? Do what?’ offered
Dippenaar.

‘Go through a guy’s throat, straight
through the cervical vertebrae - I can’t tell yet, because of the tissue damage
and mess but an autopsy will probably tell us that it was either C5 or C6, so
opposite either the thyroid or cricoid - but certainly passing through some
bone at the back of the neck and then straight through the chair and into the
wall.’

‘
Jeez
.
Really? Through the chair too?’ was the response from Dippenaar.

‘Clever bullet, don’t you think, for
a little Vektor Z88 9 mm?’

‘You think maybe that...’

‘I don’t think anything yet,
Detective Koekemoer. But it’s certainly interesting so far. The autopsy on this
is going to be even more interesting.’

10.15.

‘
Aweh
?’

‘Skhura?’

‘
Yebo
,
Spikes.’

‘Skhura,
bra
, is good you got a new phone.’