Gun Dealing (The Ryder Quartet Book 2) (18 page)

He waited. Still nothing from inside
the house. He retreated back to the top of the driveway, from where he could
again see the light in the bedroom. Still nothing happening there. It was not
possible to get any closer in order to see who exactly was in the house. Or
what alarms and cameras and other stuff there might be. He watched the window
with the reading light, just in case someone came to the curtain to have a look
outside. But nothing. He waited. And waited.

Should he attempt a break-in at the
far corner, at the room on the other side of the house from the reading light?
The only room which didn’t have a curtain drawn or a blind closed. Just a black
space beyond the closed window. Would the sound of a break-in there travel that
far? What if there was an alarm that had been set? No dog, that’s for sure. Any
dog would have sensed him outside by now. But maybe worse than a dog was the
cop himself. He had been doing some research on the guy. Came across stuff
while he was searching to see what had happened last night. Ryder was a tough
guy. He was unlikely to come running to check on the sound of a break-in unless
he had a weapon with him. He was known as one of the top shots. That guy never
missed. Seldom used his gun but when he did they went down, every time. The
guy’s reputation was scary, thought Thabethe. Maybe he should think through
this some more.

 He gave up, after another half
hour. Whoever it was in the bedroom was reading late into the night. Or maybe
they had forgotten to switch the light off.

He retreated slowly to his car in the
street. He got in and sat thinking for a minute. Then he started the engine and
drove slowly up the hill.

He headed down to the beach near
Suncoast Casino. He knew it well. He derived comfort from the silence in the
bushes on the beach.

23.15.

As Thabethe moved down the driveway,
in the single room in the house where the curtain hadn’t been drawn closed
there was a slight movement. Ryder stepped forward and stood against the glass
of the window and watched. He saw the man he had been observing for the last
twenty minutes walk down to the road, stop, turn and look back at the house,
then walk twenty paces down the road to a car. Ryder couldn’t make out the
details of the vehicle. He wasn’t great on car models at the best of times. It
was too far away to discern any features, let alone a
licence
plate.

 He stood immobile, watching the
man as he got into the car then sat for a short while before driving up the
road. Even then Ryder couldn’t make out any features of the vehicle that might
help with identification.

Interesting, he thought. Just a burglar
casing the joint, or what? He re-set and put his service pistol back into its
holster. Then he drew the curtain. He returned to the bedroom, where Fiona had
fallen asleep with the Kindle on her chest. He removed it gently and placed it
on the cupboard next to her side of the bed. Then he put his pistol back in its
normal position in the wardrobe, under a T-shirt.

He switched off the light and lay on
his back in the dark. Is this just a solo player taking his chances? Or is he
connected in some way to the events of last night? If Sugar-Bear had been here
instead of on the farm with the kids, the guy would have scarpered within a
second of setting foot on the property. Sugar-Bear had an uncanny knack of
knowing when someone - even an inquisitive cat - had merely set foot on the
property. Almost as if he had built-in sensors that were triggered by the
slightest movement of a grain of sand in his marked-out terrain.

With the dog away, thought Ryder, it
was time for extra vigilance. Just in case.

He closed his eyes and, not unlike
Sugar-Bear, envisaged himself falling asleep with one ear up and one ear down.

Just in case.

08.05.

Nadine Salm had set up a full
shooting scene reconstruction at the home of Lucky Dlamini. Laser beams,
strings, diagrams, notes, printed photos from her first visit, a laptop, and a
protractor were all in play when Koekemoer, Dippenaar and Mavis Tshabalala
arrived, having been shown through by the Folweni constable on duty at the
front of the house.

After the greetings, Nadine went
straight back to work, but answered their questions while she was at it,
telling them quite freely what she was doing. She was conscious that Mavis was
a little nervous about being there.

‘What’s your latest thinking on this,
Nadine?’ asked Koekemoer, partly in an attempt to entice Mavis into asking her
own questions.

‘Just having a closer look at the
blood spatter.’

‘Finding the convergence?’ asked
Mavis.

They all stopped and turned to look
at Mavis.

‘That’s exactly right, Mavis,’ said
Nadine.

‘So you can tell where the bullet
came from.’

‘Spot on, Mavis,’ said Nadine, as she
continued with her measurements.

Koekemoer and Dippenaar exchanged
glances before Dippenaar risked his own question.

‘Don’t we already know where the
bullet was fired from?’

‘Nope.’

Dippenaar thought better of pursuing
that point, as the emphatic response from Nadine didn’t seem to invite any
further discussion. There was a pause while they moved around the room behind
her, taking care not to tread where she had put her various markers.

‘Your assistant not with you this
morning?’

‘No, Koeks... Can I call you Koeks? I
hear they all do.’

‘
Ja
,
of course. Everyone calls me Koeks. Except my wife.’

‘What does she call you?’

‘I’d rather not say.’

‘Oh. OK. Sorry. Anyway…’

‘And please call me Dipps. Everyone
calls me Dipps.’

‘Including your wife?’

‘Ah,
ja
. Including my wife.’

Mavis giggled, then caught herself
and covered her face with her hands as Nadine continued.

‘OK. Good to know. Could be helpful
in a crisis, I suppose.’

The two detectives looked again at
each other, quizzically, and shrugged their shoulders.

‘And I believe that when I’m talking
to both of you at the same time I can call you
KoeksnDips
?’

‘
Daarsy
!’
said Dippenaar. ‘And when you and I have a moment alone, Nadine, I’ll tell you
what his wife calls him.’

‘Can’t wait,’ said Nadine as
Koekemoer smacked Dippenaar across the head. ‘As a return
favour
,
I might even tell you what my assistant calls me when no-one is listening.
Anyway, speaking of her, I was going to say, Koeks, that my assistant is busy
with the ballistics guys. Doing tests on that slug I took out of the wall on
Wednesday. I’d really prefer to have her here with me to do this stuff I’m
doing right now. We work well together. Been doing it a long time. But it’s
more important for her to ensure that they get the ballistics done. She’s up in
Durban, Mavis, at Forensic Services, where they’re doing ballistics on the
bullet that killed Sergeant Dlamini. You should come up to the lab sometime and
see how they do it.’

’Thank you, Ma’am.’

‘Nadine.’

‘Thank you Miss Nadine.’

‘It’ll be our pleasure.’

Dippenaar then risked a question on
the blood spatter.

‘These angles and distances you’ve
drawn here, Nadine, what’s this telling you?’

‘Well, Dipps, let’s see. How’s your
trigonometry?’

‘My trigger what?’

‘I don’t want to be pedantic, Dipps.
I could say that the width of the bloodstain divided by its length is equal to
the sine of the angle of impact, or something like that...’

‘
Ag,
jirra
, Nadine, no, please don’t say something like that...’

‘Say it in Afrikaans for him,
Nadine,’ Koekemoer couldn’t help intruding as he watched the consternation on
his partner’s face. ‘Whenever he wants to look intelligent he speaks Afrikaans.
As you’ve noticed, Mavis, Detective Dippenaar speaks very little Afrikaans.’

‘Can’t do that, Koeks,’ interjected
Nadine. ‘My Afrikaans is what you guys would both call
kak
. Tell you what, Dipps. You tell me what Koeks’s wife calls him
and I’ll tell you in English what I mean about the blood spatter analysis.’

‘She calls him
Koeksister!
’ said Dippenaar.

‘
Vuilgoed
!’
said Koekemoer.

‘
Hau!
’
said Mavis.

‘How sweet!’ said Nadine. ‘Your wife,
that is. I already know
koeksisters
are sweet. What a sweet thing for her to call you, Koeks. What do you call
her?’

‘
Yissus
.
You two are as bad as each other. Let’s get back to the blood stains. I’ll find
some dirt on Dipps to tell you some other time.’

‘OK, sorry, guys. Let me tell you
what I’m thinking, then.’

While continuing to work, Nadine gave
the three of them a brief run-down which even further enhanced the already
considerable respect they had for her. She explained to Mavis the traditional
textbook differences between passive drip stains, transfer stains and spatter
stains, teasing the two detectives about their own doubtless splendid
performances in exams on this subject during their training as detectives. Then
she illuminated for all of them various current theories and debates about
blood spatter measurement and analysis.

She decided, despite not really
wanting to divulge anything important before compiling her report, to share one
piece of information, largely for the benefit of Mavis.

‘Let me show you quite a good example
of a transfer stain, Mavis. Have a look here.’

She placed on the floor a large A3
colour
photograph of Dlamini’s body in the position it had
been discovered on Wednesday morning. She pointed to a very small smudge on the
left lapel of Dlamini’s jacket. They all leaned in to see what she was pointing
to. A miniscule smear of blood.

‘Now that’s what I call an
interesting transfer stain. A transfer stain, as the textbooks tell us, Mavis,
happens when something comes into contact with blood that’s already there and
transfers it to another surface. So let’s have a closer look at this particular
stain.’

She pulled out another photograph,
this one a close-up of the smear in question.

‘See what I mean? Now I would say
that after the poor unlucky sergeant had parted with some of his blood, some
nice guy or gal decided they would lift up his right lapel, reach in, and take
care of whatever might have been in his right breast pocket. Something like a
wallet, perhaps. And as he or she withdrew the wallet, it picked up a little
spot of blood here, and transferred it … here.’

The two detectives were intrigued,
and immediately leaped into a likely scenario, built on a theory involving a
thief entering the house after Dlamini’s death, but Nadine stopped them in
their tracks.

‘Yes, sure, guys, anything like that
might
be possible, but, you know, we
need to get all the evidence in place first before we start developing any
theories about what might have gone down here. Ever read Arthur Conan Doyle,
Mavis?’

‘No, Miss Nadine. But he writes that
book on Sherlock Holmes,
nè?
’

‘Exactly, Mavis. And what he says
there is quite important.
It is a capital
mistake to
theorise
before one has data. Insensibly
one begins to twist facts to suit theories, instead of theories to suit facts
.
Very pompous English, don’t you think, Koeks? Dipps? But quite a useful
observation. So let’s get all the evidence together, first, before we decide
whodunnit
.’

There were some witticisms about how
Sherlock Holmes might have sounded in Afrikaans, but Dippenaar didn’t really
want to go there, so he closed that down quite quickly.

The two detectives eventually decided
it was time to take Mavis with them back to Durban. They only did so when it
appeared that Nadine had completed the work in Dlamini’s front room and said
she now wanted to do a thorough search of the bedroom. They couldn’t really see
why she wanted to do that, so they decided to head back to Durban.

They all said their goodbyes, Mavis
expressing profuse thanks and promising to come and visit her in the laboratory
in Durban. Nadine watched them go. Then she walked into the bedroom. She
paused, looked around at the room, then went straight to the two pillows. She
picked them up, quickly inspected them, and put them aside. She then carefully
pulled off the blanket. Then the single sheet. She lifted the top end of the
mattress away from the headboard and inspected it. Nothing. Then she turned the
mattress over to see what might be underneath. Nothing. She looked at both
sides of the mattress and again there was nothing. Then she moved round to the
foot of the bed and squatted, looking closely at the edge of the mattress.

She smiled as she saw the little
hole. As close as it was possible to get to being the exact
centre
of the bottom edge of the mattress. She reached for her camera.

The Folweni constable guarding the
front of the house would tell his family that night that the strangest part of
his day was when the woman from that laboratory in Durban asked him to help her
carry Lucky Dlamini’s mattress from the house to her car and fold it with great
difficulty into the vehicle. He had stood, perplexed, shaking his head, as she
had driven away in her four-door Citi Golf.

11.15.

Koekemoer, Dippenaar, Cronje and
Pillay were completing notes and reports related to the various cases they were
each handling. Cronje was putting pages and forms into their appropriate files
in the cabinet
 
behind the door, as
each of the detectives handed things across to him.

‘
Jirra
,
Navi. Last week alone you took three guys down. You break one
oke’s
leg. You send one guy off to meet
his maker, and you scar one guy’s face for life and make him
poep
all over the place. All of this
means extra forms to fill in both for you and for me. Can’t you just let some
of these crooks off the hook, man?’

‘
Ja
,
hey, Piet,’ added Dippenaar, ‘I heard from a guy at Addington Hospital that
ever since Navi joined the unit the number of broken bones they treat there has
escalated. Me and Koeks, we just talk nicely to the guys and then they behave
themselves. No need to get so rough, you know? Actually, I heard one guy in the
holding cells say...’

Actually
? There you go again, Dipps,
actually
.
Yissus
, man, when you going to
praat
proper Afrikaans again?’

‘
Ja
,
Koeks, you’re right, hey? He’s becoming more and more like Jeremy. And like old
Ed. I asked Dipps the other day whether I could get him a coffee and he asks me
if I got any caffeine-free. Caffeine-free?
Yissus
.
I nearly asked him if I could get him some clotted cream scones or cucumber
sandwiches for high tea.’

‘You
okes
.
Jirra
.’ Dippenaar
just shook his head in despair and carried on reading.

11.40.

Ryder was in the car park about to
get into the Camry when the call came through.

‘Yep?’

‘Detective Ryder?’

‘Nadine. How nice to hear your
voice.’

‘All the detectives say that. I have
something for you, Detective.’

‘I’m listening, Nadine. Hit me.’

‘I’m not that type, Jeremy. You
should know that. But what I’m calling about I think you’ll still find very
interesting. Remember how I was a bit unimpressed with the theories about Dlamini’s
suicide?’

‘Uh-oh.’

‘Yes.’

‘Good grief.’

‘Yes. I was a bit concerned at the
suggestion that the guy could turn his own Vektor Z88 on himself. It wasn’t
only the suggestion that if he was going to shoot himself he would choose to
put the bullet into his throat. You know. Instead of his mouth, I mean. Or his
temple. Or something else. The throat is a bit strange, don’t you think?’

‘I suppose so, Nadine. Yeah. True.
Very strange, now that I think of it.’

‘Not only that, Jeremy. I did some
careful stuff down there, firstly on Wednesday morning and then again this
morning, and one would expect to find gunshot residue all over the place from a
self-inflicted shot at that distance, right?’

‘Sure thing.’

‘No GSR, Jeremy. Well, I mean hardly
any GSR. Certainly none of the kind that one would expect at a distance of a
few inches. This morning I did a full reconstruction of the scene along with
BPA.’