An Ordinary Day (31 page)

The cane gave way to a small gravel road, and Durant swung the Land Rover into the road and pondered his next move. He’d hoped the mast was in a residential area or close to a shopping centre where Shezi could easily have been located. There was nothing out here. Shezi wouldn’t meet someone in the cane fields; he had no reason to be here.

Durant caught sight of a boy of about five walking along the gravel road, holding the hand of an older boy who was carrying a plastic shopping bag under his arm. The older boy saw the Land Rover and Durant raised his hand in greeting. The boy froze for a second, dropped the bag and took off back down the gravel road into the cane, leaving the startled smaller boy and the plastic bag on the ground. Durant switched off the Land Rover and walked towards the smaller boy who now appeared frozen in terror. Durant crouched down in front of him and greeted him in isiZulu. He could see the boy wanted to run but couldn’t initiate the action through pure fear. Durant kept his eyes on the boy, reached down to the wet packet, opened it without picking it up, and saw a pair of black Robert Daniels shoes he immediately recognised as Shezi’s. He felt his chest tighten as his hands started to shake. The boy was shaking too and Durant reached out a hand to him; the boy dodged to the right, and Durant fell awkwardly and ungracefully into the mud while the boy ran off down the road. Durant was on his feet in a second and bolted down the gravel path to where the kid had disappeared into the cane. It took him less than a minute to find the younger and older boy both crouching down behind a mango tree. The older boy started crying and shaking his head and Durant caught a few words as he let rip a staccato burst of isiZulu. Durant sat down next to them, in what he hoped was a nonthreatening pose. If they ran again he doubted he would be able to catch them this time.

‘Where is the man?’ he asked and pointed to Shezi’s shoes.

The older boy, shivering now, unclasped his arm from the younger boy’s, and pointed back along the road.

‘Show me,’ Durant said. ‘Take me to the man.’

Durant zipped up his tracksuit jacket – a futile effort as the
T
-shirt beneath was so drenched from the rain that it had all but formed a second skin on him – and followed the boys along the path back to the Land Rover. He locked the packet with the shoes inside in the vehicle, and then motioned to the older boy to lead on.

It took ten minutes to reach a low hill where a row of electricity pylons cut through the cane fields and their paths came to a junction. The older boy pointed to a fence at the top of the hill and Durant shrugged his shoulders. ‘What?’

‘Ezibini,’ the boy said, and Durant could see fear in his eyes. Durant looked back at the fence for a careless two seconds, which was all the time the children needed to spin on their heels and sprint away into the cane fields. Durant didn’t bother to pursue them. Instead, he followed a beaten track which led up to the metre-high fence.

It took him less than five minutes to reach the fence and he was surprised to see low buildings in the distance and a huge, apparently abandoned, construction site. Below, the earth fell away fifteen metres to an enormous rubbish dump where hundreds of black bags of putrefying household garbage had burst open and spilt their rotting contents over piles of dead branches and tree trunks. The foetid stench hanging over the area made Durant gag.

At the far end of the dump, a broken wall provided a convenient opportunity for a building contractor to dispose of his rubble. The scene completely confused Durant. Had the kids been scrounging in the dump and found Shezi’s shoes? He immediately discounted the possibility. Shezi would never dispose of a pair of r900 shoes. Besides, this area was far from any place Shezi should have been. Durant scanned the length of the road as it snaked its way around some prefabricated houses to an area where heavy equipment was parked. He stared at a car parked beside one of the bobcats before, with a sickening lurch, he recognised it. It was parked between the equipment and already covered with a sheen of dust, but there was no doubt, even at this distance, that it was Shezi’s car.

Durant scrambled over a piece of broken fence where a winding path, littered with plastic bags and tyres, led down to the dump. With his sleeve covering his nose, Durant sprinted through the site towards the embankment which led up to where the car was parked.

‘Mike!’ he called loudly, desperately. ‘I’m here, buddy!’ He reached the bottom of the embankment and saw a human body. He knew, even before he got close, that it was Mike Shezi.

‘We’re all shocked and saddened by the sudden and tragic death of our friend and colleague, Bongani Michael Shezi.’ Masondo’s voice was emotional, and the words cut into the conference room’s deathly silence like a lone bugle playing the
Last Post
. The staff sat quietly and solemnly, occasionally casting glances to Durant, sitting alone and dazed in the corner.

‘Don’t speculate, colleagues, let me give you the facts. Mike Shezi was not at work yesterday and didn’t return home last night. Durant traced his cellphone and found him close to his car in a sugar cane plantation. There was a single gunshot wound to his head. The police are investigating and we need to let them get on with their investigation before we jump to conclusions. This is traumatic for all of us. Mike and Thandi were part of our family.’ Masondo reached into his pocket and brought out a handkerchief which he wrung between his hands. ‘This is a loss to the Agency – Mike’s contribution was exemplary. He made us laugh and brought fun into an otherwise dark and depressing work environment. He was something of a legend in this organisation and we’ll miss him. Counselling’s available to anyone who needs it; please avail yourselves of it.’

Durant remained behind in the conference room as the members filed out slowly, their voices hushed, some of the women holding handkerchiefs to their bowed faces. Durant felt a hand on his arm and looked up as Amina crouched down in front of him.

‘Kevin, I’m so sorry. You weren’t to know. You did your duty by telling him.’

Durant didn’t look up. ‘I didn’t tell him.’

‘You didn’t?’

‘I didn’t get a chance.’

Amina sat on the chair next to Durant, puzzled. ‘But … then what happened? Why did he do this?’

‘I don’t know, Amina. I don’t know what to think.’

‘Did they get to him?’

‘I don’t know. I just don’t want to think about it. I could have stopped it.’

‘Kevin, don’t be silly, you can’t blame yourself. He’s an adult. He wasn’t your responsibility.’ Amina looked around, fearing she spoke too loudly. She lowered her voice. ‘Come on, he’s a colleague, he’s not your son.’

‘He was on my team. That makes him my responsibility. Damn it, he was reaching out to me, he needed help.’

‘You couldn’t solve his problems any more than me or Masondo or any of us.’

Durant frowned, as if suddenly recalling something important, and then looked into Amina’s eyes. ‘Did you put the money back in his safe?’

Amina looked away. ‘I was going to … I really was going to. And then when Mike disappeared, I thought I’d wait.’

Durant sat bolt upright. ‘So you didn’t?’

‘No.’

He laughed involuntarily, as a sense of relief overwhelmed him. He lowered his voice and put his mouth close to Amina’s ear. ‘They will investigate this thing. They will go through Mike’s things. If they find the money, and it’s dirty, well you understand the implications. He’ll be dishonoured; Thandi will lose the pension benefits; he’ll be disgraced. They’ll remember him as a traitor, a sell-out and a loser.’

Amina nodded silently. ‘We still need to report it.’

Durant nodded. ‘But how? How without doing harm?’

‘I don’t want to get involved in a cover-up, Kevin, I can’t afford it.’

‘You and me both. We’ll have to take it to Masondo.’

Amina’s voice was a whisper. ‘Isn’t it already too late?’

‘I don’t know. I don’t know what to do.’

‘Take it to Masondo, that’s what we’ll do.’

Durant put his hand on her arm. ‘No. We can’t. I can’t do it. It wouldn’t be fair on Mike.’

‘Kevin, he did this to himself. We’re not the ones who’re being unfair.’

‘I know what you’re saying, and I agree with you. But I said I’d be there for him. I wasn’t.’

‘I’ve disappointed myself too. I’m also wounded.’

‘Listen, Ami. We owe it to Mike to make sure he’s remembered as the colleague and friend he was to us. I love this work. I’m loyal to the Agency, you know that. We owe this to Mike. We can be there for him. Now.’

Amina nodded, and then wiped a lone tear that left a cold trail down her olive cheek. ‘What do I do?’

Durant felt cold, empty, like a criminal with a conscience.

‘We need to get rid of that envelope.’

‘Are we doing the right thing, Kevin? I mean, is this right?’

‘I don’t know, it just feels right. Whatever Mike did, he’s already been punished for it. I don’t want him and Thandi to be punished all over again.’

‘So if I get rid of the money, it never happened?’

‘Exactly. If we assume the money’s dirty, then we must assume Mike had to give something in return. I didn’t see him jeopardising any of our operations.’

‘But what about Ali? Hasn’t he made a run for it?’

‘Maybe, but not because of our investigation. I don’t think Mike’s done any real harm.’

Amina rubbed her hands and stood up silently, not taking her eyes off Durant, who remained seated and stared at the floor.

‘I’m a little disappointed in you, Kevin Durant. I always thought you were perfect.’

Durant shook his head. ‘I’m disappointed in myself. I wish I never had to do this.’

‘For the record, I think you should’ve reported it, just so you know how I feel.’

‘I respect you for that. If Mike was alive and could’ve defended himself, I would have, no question. I’m sorry you’re part of it. It’s something I wish I could’ve done on my own.’

‘I liked Mike a lot too. But not so much that I’d sacrifice my job for him.’

Durant nodded. ‘I owe him. This is the last favour I ever need to do for him.’

***

‘Sorry about your friend,’ Anja said and then slid a photograph across the table to Durant.

‘Thanks. What’s this?’

‘Apartment four, Merton Towers. I went in.’

‘I won’t ask how.’

‘Don’t. Mrs Farrell was very helpful. She passes messages to an American called Joe Vitoli. Ever heard of him?’

‘No. Who’s he?’

‘I checked the number she gave me. It was diverted a few times through other numbers and I lost the trail. But I did some research into the name. She mentioned he was a wildlife photographer. And, well, I found him.’

‘Good stuff, well done.’

‘He’s an eccentric guy, quite outspoken in the area. Not low profile at all. I did a travel check on him and, well, he gets around a lot, mostly to southern African countries.’

Anja now had Durant’s undivided attention. ‘And what is his link to Ali?’

‘No idea. I had to leave something for you to do.’

‘An American?’

Anja nodded.

‘Mike would’ve loved this one. He loves puzzles. Thanks, Anja, you’ve done well.’

As Anja left his office, Durant stood up, closed his briefcase and looked at the time. It was ten past three and he was exhausted. He’d gone without sleep for twenty-one hours.

***

Durant was in the driveway of his house when he got a call from his operational head summoning him back to the provincial office. When he walked in, he saw that Masondo’s face was etched with worry. He waved at a chair in his cavernous office and began speaking even before Durant sat in it.

‘Let me get straight to the point, Durant. Do you know something I should know?’

‘What do you mean, chief?’

‘A preliminary report indicates Shezi didn’t kill himself, but was shot, murdered.’

Durant jumped to his feet. ‘What! Are you sure?’

Masondo motioned to him to sit down. ‘Relax, Kevin. They’re not sure; I said “preliminary report”. But there are indicators. No powder traces on his hand, the angle of entry, the wound. They’re not satisfied it was suicide. It also doesn’t look like robbery: his car, cellphone and expensive shoes were at the scene.’

‘Well, his shoes were taken. The only reason his cellphone and watch weren’t taken was because he was lying on top of them and no one wanted to roll his body over. His Africa key ring’s gone. He treasured that thing; it was his good-luck charm.’

‘His car keys were on him. His car was parked right there. Anybody who was willing to kill for a pair of shoes would have taken the car. No, I don’t think robbery. That leaves a third possibility – a professional hit.’

Durant raised his eyebrows and nodded. ‘I know he’s been in some trouble lately with people he’s owed money to. But do they really kill people?’

‘What about work-related enemies? Which targets would want him dead?’

‘All of them. They all have the means and motive. If they lured him there, there could have been an opportunity.’

‘What about Ali?’

‘Of course. He’s had people killed for less. Mike and, well, all of us are direct threats to his criminal enterprise. He wouldn’t hesitate.’

‘But were there specific threats from anyone?’

‘Not that I know of, chief.’

‘What the hell was he doing at a rubbish dump? Meeting one of his informers?’

‘No, sir. I wasn’t aware of any meetings. I don’t know if he’d meet informers at a rubbish dump. Not a good impression.’

Masondo nodded, so Durant went on. ‘We normally act as convoys for each other’s meetings anyway, because of the risks. He didn’t ask me for any backup.’

Masondo shook his head. ‘There’s something wrong with this picture. Maybe someone lured him there. He wasn’t having an affair, was he?’

‘I honestly don’t know, but I doubt it. He never spoke to me about anyone else. I know he had problems, like all of us, marriage-wise, financial – that’s why I assumed he …’

‘Killed himself?’

Durant nodded.

‘You know suicides nearly always remove their glasses before killing themselves?’

‘Mike still had his on.’