The October Killings (24 page)

He pointed to the rows of seats for the choir and spoke to Captain Nkobi. “Who will be in the choir?”

The captain gestured toward two of the inspectors. “Salaala and van Dyk, sir.”

Freek took a few steps toward the two officers. “You've got to look like you're singing, understand?”

“Sir,” Salaala said in a sharp affirmative. Van Dyk nodded.

“Have you ever heard this sort of music?”

“Yes, sir. I sing in our church choir,” Salaala said. “Once a year we do a Handel concert.”

“Not ever, sir,” van Dyk said. “I don't know what it sounds like.”

“Well, just look like you're singing.”

“May I join in the singing?” Salaala asked. “I'm a bass,” he added. “You need bass voices in Handel.”

“Do you know this
Samson
stuff?” Freek asked.

“No, but I catch on quickly. I…”

A light, anxious voice broke in from the doorway. “No, no, commissioner, please.” It was the impresario, a small man whose long gray hair fringed a neat, pink bald patch. “The choirmaster…”

“It was just a thought,” Freek said. To Salaala, he said, “No singing. Keep your concentration where it belongs.” Before Salaala could voice his disappointment, Freek, who had immediately forgotten the impresario, moved still closer until he was almost touching Salaala and van Dyk. His eyes seemed to have darkened and his face had taken on an angular look that forbade any possibility of humor. “From the stage you will have the best view of all. The lights above the audience will be at full strength as the audience comes in and, after that, they will not go down as far as they normally do. You should be able to make out faces better than anyone else.”

His attention turned to the others. “Let's see the twenty who will be in the audience.” Ten men and ten women, who would be attending as couples, stepped forward. “The seat positions are as planned?” he asked one of the captains.

“All except the two on the side aisle in row six. We had to move them back to row seven. There were people in those seats.”

“Good enough. The other eight will be in the foyer and garage, dressed either in municipal uniforms or in the penguin suits supplied by the organizers.” He scrutinized his team, one officer at a time. The senior men had all been chosen by him personally and the others chosen by them. “This man is very dangerous,” he told them. “I am told that there isn't one of us who could deal with him one-to-one. I want no dead heroes among us. We have all been carefully chosen and we all know what to do. So do it—according to the book. I have complete faith in all of you.” He paused for them to think about what he had said. “Are there questions?”

“The photograph, sir. It's not good.” It was van Dyk speaking.

“I know. It's the only one there is. And another thing, it's at least twenty years old. Bishop will be pushing fifty by now.”

“And this old guy will be too much for one of us to handle?” one of the younger officers asked.

“I'm told so. Let's not try it out.”

“Can we know anything about the suspect?” van Dyk asked.

“Only what I've told you. He is highly trained and very dangerous in close combat.” Freek knew that, despite their numbers, he was endangering all of them. “On no account draw attention to yourself by turning and surveying the rest of the audience. Each one is positioned to see part of the audience without turning. Don't try to do more than your share. As for communication, you can speak very softly and still be heard over the audio system. Only do it when you have to. The communications center is in a small office behind the theater. I will be in the foyer, greeting guests as they come in. I will try to shake hands with everyone. I hope that I will be able to spot him on the way in.”

“Do we expect him to be alone?” The question came from the captain who had spoken earlier.

“Almost certainly. He is known to be a loner.” He paused, again looking over the team for the evening's activities. “I believe that if he is here tonight we will surprise him. He has no reason to believe that we may be waiting for him.”

“He will definitely be here?” The question came from a female constable.

Less than fifty percent, Freek thought, maybe less than a twenty percent chance. But he could not afford to have them relaxing with the idea that their target may not turn up. “Without question,” he said. “Two more things: all the emergency fire exits will be locked in defiance of the fire regulations. The only way out will be through the front door. Also, we have one person who has seen him face-to-face before. This person will be seated in a box from which the whole theater is visible.”

After he had finished, the team was dispersed with their orders for the evening. Those who would be dressed as staff were to be back by six and the members of the audience were to drift in between seven and half-past. Freek held back Captain Nkobi, who was to be in charge in the theater, and the lieutenant, who would head the team in the lobby and garage. “Spotting him will not be easy. Pick up every possible suspect. If we arrest six and let them all go with an apology, that will be better than missing him. I want him. If he is in this theater tonight, I want to bring him in. Do you understand?”

After Nkobi and the lieutenant had assured Freek that they understood, they too were sent away with instructions to be back when the time came. Left alone in the theater, Freek looked around. It was gloomy and shadowed, only a few lights near the stage left burning. He had done this sort of thing before, but never in a place like this and never with this many men. And, in the past, only with common criminals. Michael Bishop was something different—the circumstances were different and the venue was very different. It was going to be an interesting evening. He had a feeling that it may be more interesting than anyone could imagine.

29

The parking attendant examined the three tickets Robert Mokoapi offered him for only a moment before allowing them into the garage. To Abigail, he gave the impression of having done it many times before. On other days he was known as Inspector Nkomo, but he had mastered ticket-examining after just a few minutes of training.

She watched Robert as he followed the directions of the parking garage staff, another one of whom was also a policeman. She spoke to Yudel who was seated directly behind her. “How many men does Freek have here tonight?”

“Thirty,” Yudel said.

“Do you know where they'll be positioned?”

“We've already passed two.”

“How can you tell?”

She felt Robert lay one of his large hands on hers. “Relax,” he said. “They know what they're doing.”

“Freek described his planning to me,” Yudel said as Robert parked the car and switched off the engine. “But let's wait a minute. It's still forty-five minutes before the advertised time. Let's wait a few minutes before we go in. Freek will be in the lobby and one of his men will show us to our box. We'll be safe. There'll be a guard just inside the door of the box.”

It was ten minutes before they left the car, walked the length of the parking garage, climbed the steps to street level, crossed Rissik Street where more policemen, dressed in the impresario's uniform, were watching over the arrivals, and passed into the theater lobby. As Yudel had said, Freek, immaculate in his tuxedo, was shaking hands with two middle-aged women who had just arrived. “Delighted to meet you,” Abigail heard him say. “Remember that there's a complimentary glass of wine, sponsored by Nederburg, in the upstairs lobby after the first act.”

Behind Freek, in the entrance to the manager's office, a worried-looking man in a business suit, the impresario who had organized the performance, watched Freek's performance. He had tried to object to the presence in his theater of a squad of policemen, few of whom had ever heard of Handel. “Would you prefer a mass murderer and no policemen in your theater?” Freek had asked him. It had been a short discussion.

“Thank you very much. That's lovely,” one of the ladies was saying to Freek.

“Very good of you,” the other added.

The two ladies moved on and Freek smiled at Abigail. At the same moment a voice spoke at her shoulder. “Welcome to tonight's performance.” The speaker was a tall man with dark, prematurely graying hair. He, too, was wearing a tuxedo. “Mr. Gordon's party, I believe. Let me show you to your seats.”

Abigail followed him up the stairs to the higher level. She glanced back once to see Robert just behind on her left, and Yudel another pace farther back on her right. By the time they reached the box another policeman had joined them. When they entered, he followed and took up a position in the shadows next to the closed door.

The seat that been chosen for Abigail was in the box's back row with Yudel and Robert on either side. Her seat was in darkness, hiding her almost completely from the theater below. Down below there were only eight people in the theater, but others were starting to arrive, in twos, threes and fours. A few of the men were in business suits, but most were dressed casually, in turtleneck sweaters or windbreakers, with slacks and shoes that did not lace up. The women too seemed to have come to listen to the music rather than to display themselves. So far, everyone was part of a group. No one had come alone.

As Freek had promised, the lights over the stalls were brighter than usual. Abigail found that she could see the faces far more clearly than she had expected. A quick glance around the theater seemed to indicate that he could not yet be there. He would surely be alone. Yudel took a pair of opera glasses from one of his jacket pockets and passed them to her. She tried them and in the relatively good light of the theater she studied one face after the other. The glasses drew each face up close to her in distinct focus.

Twenty years is a long time, she thought. But if I see his face, I will know it. One clear view of him, no matter how much he has changed, and I will know it.

She felt Robert's hand on her knee. On the other side Yudel was moving restlessly, also studying the people below. She was suddenly very grateful to the two men, her Robert and this strange man on her other side. They were great guys. Neither of them were violent men. She knew neither would last more than a second or two with Michael Bishop, but here they were, shielding her on both sides. A couple of heroes, she thought, each a tough guy in his own way.

Yudel leaned across and fiddled with the bodice of her dress. “Take it easy there, fella, I'm watching you,” Robert whispered so softly that Yudel could only just hear it.

“I'm just … I'm just…” Yudel struggled with the thin wire that was hidden in the front of Abigail's dress and managed to get her microphone switched on.

“I've got my eye on you, man,” Robert murmured.

Despite the circumstances, or perhaps because of them, Abigail felt a giggle rising inside her and had to suppress it. “Now, now, boys,” she whispered.

Yudel too had to stifle a chuckle. “No more talking,” he managed to get out. “We're live to the communications center now.”

The stream of people coming up from the parking garage became a steady flow. In the lobby, Freek was still trying to shake every hand and look into every pair of eyes. He had the sure belief that if he looked into the face of this man, he would know him. His life as a policeman had schooled his senses so that now it was almost impossible to lie to him successfully. When the stream of arrivals became too dense and he missed someone, Captain Nkobi stepped forward quickly to welcome the person. He, too, studied the faces of each new arrival.

An athletic-looking man in his fifties entered alone from the parking area. Freek moved forward with outstretched hand. Before the man reached him a woman of about the same age, surrounded by three teenage girls, had caught up to him. One of the girls had him by an arm and was whispering something that made him laugh.

“Welcome to this evening's performance,” Freek said. “Don't forget the free glass of wine at the end of the first act.”

“We'll be there,” the man said.

There were more young couples than Freek would have expected—some groups of ladies, a television actor that Freek recognized, middle-aged people, also in groups or couples, the city's mayor and others, drawn together by their love of the music. Another smallish man of about the right age and build entered the lobby. Freek moved forward and offered his hand. The man shook it and Freek looked searchingly into an unlined, blandly innocent face that squinted back at him through thick-lensed glasses.

The police couples in the audience had been in position half an hour before the start of the performance. They were all doing exactly what Freek had instructed them to do, studying everyone seated in their field of vision and the new arrivals as they came in, and all without turning around or making any noticeable movement.

Abigail watched as the members of the orchestra entered the pit and started making the discordant sounds that went with tuning their instruments. A little burst of violin music sliced through the other sounds, a foretaste of better things to come. With ten minutes to go, the arrivals had diminished to no more than a trickle. Only the occasional party was coming from the parking garage now.

So far, just one couple had come in directly off the street. All the other members of the audience had come in from the parking garage.

A man of perhaps eighty, walking with a cane and leaning on the shoulder of a young woman, perhaps a granddaughter, came in slowly from the parking garage and allowed Freek to shake their hands and study their faces. “Will you be able to find your seats?”

They would be able to find their seats, thank you, good of you to ask.

Captain Nkobi and two other men were in the lobby with him. He waved to Nkobi to come closer. He spoke softly. “Thoughts?” he asked.

“He's not here,” the captain said. “Definitely not.”