Thirteen Hours (27 page)

'Mr Mouton ...' Dekker made a gesture indicating he should
slow down. 'Centre Stage?'

'It's a rival label. They only had English acts before the
Afrikaans wave and then they tried to steal people from other labels. Nikki
Kruger went over to them, and the Bloedrivier Blues Band. And Ministry of
Music. But Nerina came up with this harassment suit.'

'And so there were other women who came forward?'

'It was just for the fucking publicity. Tanya Botha and
Largo, they both bombed and so ...'

He saw Dekker's frown. 'You know, bombed, sales took a nose
dive. Tanya went all deep suddenly, her first two CDs had been covers, we
developed a nice sound for her, but suddenly she wanted to sing her own stuff,
all pain and suffering, and nobody wanted to listen to that. And Largo ... I
don't know, I suppose her sell-by date had arrived.'

'And did they also accuse Adam Barnard of sexual harassment?'

'Front page of
Rapport."Sangeresse span saam teen seks",
Singers Speak Up
Against Sexual Harassment, or something.'

'What was the nature of Nerina Stahl's complaint?'

'A load of rubbish, I'm telling you. All about how Adam could
never leave her alone, couldn't keep his hands off her in his office, wanted to
take her home with him all the time, but everyone knew Xandra was sick at home
and that wasn't the way Adam operated.'

'And then?'

'We told Nerina she could go and the storm was over. Tanya
Botha and her lawyer sat down with us, we offered her thirty thousand and she
was happy with that. I see she's launching a gospel CD now for some or other
new label. Everyone's singing Afrikaans gospel now, the market is hot.'

'When last was there any talk of this?'

'I'm not sure ... only every time the newspapers have nothing
to write about. Regardt?'

'It's been quiet for the last five or six months. But now
that Adam is dead ...'

'Can you imagine what a circus it's going to be? And no one
will remember that he saved the Afrikaans music industry.'

'How so?' asked Dekker.

'Nobody has done more for the
luisterliedjie
than Adam Barnard. Anton Goosen maybe ...'

'What is the
luisterliedjie?'

'It was before your time, early Eighties. But you have to
understand the scene in those years. In the Seventies Afrikaners just listened to
fluff... Jim Reeves, G Korsten, Min Shaw, Groep Twee, Herbie and Spence ...
pop, like "I love, you, I love you" lyrics. It was the golden era of
Apartheid and people didn't want to think, they just wanted to hum along. Then
along came Anton Goosen and Koos du Plessis and they wrote original stuff,
great lyrics ... In any case, they talked about the Music and Lyrics Movement,
don't ask me why. Or just the
luisterliedjie,
because you had to listen to the words, you couldn't just hum it. In any case,
Adam was in his twenties, working for De Vries & Kotz, one of those
gigantic legal firms, but he wasn't happy and he was crazy about music. He
listened to everything, the pubs, the small clubs, and he noticed there was all
this raw talent, but the big record labels were not interested; they only
wanted the big stars. Then he discovered Xandra. Did you know Alexa Barnard was
a major star?'

'I heard ...'

'He resigned his job and started AfriSound, signed Xandra and
a few others. He got hold of the best songs and he marketed them cleverly,
because he knew that was the future. They did OK. Not great, but they did more
than survive and then came
Voelvry,
and he
played both sides of the fence ...'

' Voelvry
? Like in "free as a bird"?'

Mouton sighed. 'Have you ever heard of Johannes Kerkorrel and
Koos Kombuis?'

'Yes.'

'They were part of it. That's where I began, touring with one
of those guys. We slept in kombis and we didn't have a studio or a label. We
sold tapes out of the back of a minibus in the late Eighties. I did everything
from driving the van to trying keeping the guys sober, buying food, building
sets, fixing the amplifiers, putting up posters, collecting the ticket money ..
.Those were wild days, it was great.
Voelvry
was protest music in Afrikaans, you know, against Apartheid. The students
bought into that like you wouldn't believe, in their thousands, while mom and
dad in the suburbs were listening to Bles Bridges' love ballads. This new wave
happened right under their noses. It was then that Adam came to see me - that's
when we began to work together. We were the men who made
Voelvry
legit. We gave them a label that took them
mainstream, with management and marketing and promotion. It just got bigger and
bigger and just look at Afrikaans music now. In the last five or six years it
has exploded because the language is under threat, and all the papers can write
about is harassment, I fucking ask you, or about that "De la Rey"
hit, but few people listen to the whole CD. Do you know most of the songs are
about sex and booze?'

'What songs?'

'On the "De la Rey" CD.'

Dekker shook his head, thinking before he replied: 'Did Adam
Barnard say anything during the past week about a DVD?'

'What DVD?' There was genuine surprise.

'Any DVD.'

'We are busy with a couple of DVDs. Josh and Melinda's is
scheduled for the KKNK, a live recording ...'

Dekker shook his head again. 'Did Barnard say anything about
a DVD that he received in the post?'

'Why would anyone send him a DVD? Production and promotion is
my department. If he did receive anything he would have passed it on to me.'

'There is a possibility that he did receive a parcel
containing a DVD. Last week. Did he mention anything?'

'Not to me. What kind of DVD was it? Who said he received
one?'

'Did he open his own post?'

'Adam? Yes, who else would do it?'

'Didn't he have a secretary?'

'Natasha is PA to both of us, but she wouldn't open our post.
We do almost everything electronically. If there were a DVD, she would have
brought it to me. What was on this DVD?'

'I can't divulge details at this stage, Mr Mouton. Who can I
speak to about payments that Mr Barnard would have made during the past week or
so?'

'Payments? Why would you want to know
that?

'Willie ...' Groenewald cautioned.

'It's my company, Regardt, I have a right to know. What are
the Geysers going around saying?'

'Willie, his investigation is
sub
judice.
That means he doesn't have to—'

'I know what it means, Regardt, but it's my company now that
Adam is no longer with us.'

'Mr Mouton, unfortunately you are obliged to answer my
questions.'

The Adam's apple bobbed; the hand fiddled with the silver
earring. 'What was your question?'

'Who can I talk to about payments that Mr Barnard made in the
past week?'

'To whom?'

'To anyone.'

'Adam was in charge of finance and admin. He signed the
cheques. But Wouter would know. He's the accountant.'

'Where would I find Wouter?'

'Next door down.'

'Thank you,' said Dekker and rose. 'I will also have to
search Mr Barnard's office. Has anyone been in his office since yesterday
night?'

'Ask Natasha, I don't know.'

Dekker went to the door.

'They're lying,' said Mouton. 'The Geysers are lying to save
their own butts. Payments? What payments?'

'Willie ...' said Groenewald.

Griessel sat in the absent director's office. The big chair
was comfortable and the desk very broad and clean. He studied the sheet of
white paper the Provincial Commissioner had given him.
Bill Anderson
was written on it. Plus a number with
overseas codes.

He was reluctant to make the call. He wasn't good at this
sort of thing. He would try too hard to reassure and that would spark false
hope, and he knew how the man felt. If Carla were to phone him from London and
say there were people trying to kill her, people who had killed already, he
would go out of his mind. He would climb on the first fucking plane.

But that wasn't all that was worrying him.

Ever since John Afrika had walked out of here and shut the
door behind him, Griessel had been worrying about the other alternative. What
if Rachel Anderson were not a mule?

Gennady Demidov was notorious, with an extensive web of
activities. Rumour had it that there were city councillors in his pocket. SAPS
members as well. At least a few uniforms. There had been a complaint of
assault, something about people being beaten with baseball bats because they
didn't want to sell property to Demidov - property that the city council needed
to buy to build the World Cup soccer stadium. The docket disappeared from the
Sea Point station and witnesses stopped talking. Six months ago the Organised
Crime Unit had been cleaned up with great fanfare.

There was a new commanding officer, new detectives, quite a
few from Gauteng and KwaZulu, but six months was a long time. The Russian had
deep pockets.

He would not be very popular with the Commissioners for that
theory.

Griessel sighed, lifted the receiver and heard the dialling
tone.

He would say: 'This is Captain Benny Griessel.'

At least that would feel bloody good.

Vusi Ndabeni, Mbali Kaleni and the young man in the
apron stood at the computer in the small cubicle of an office at Carlucci's.
They watched the email download.

'Don't you have ADSL?' asked Kaleni, as though it were a
crime not to.

'We don't need it,' said the young man.

Vusi wondered if he was supposed to know what ADSL was, but
he was saved by a cell phone ringing. Kaleni's.

'Yes,' she answered sharply, irritable. She listened for a
long time. 'Hold on.' She took her big black handbag off her shoulder, plunged a
hand into its depths and brought out a black bound notebook and pen set. She
opened it solemnly, put it on the table, clicked the pen in readiness and said:
'OK. Shoot.'

Then: 'I mean, give it to me.'

She made a note, said, 'I've got it,' and ended the call.
'Vusi, I am going to Parklands. They have a hit on the registration number.'

'The Land Rover?'

'Yes. A Mr J. M. de Klerk of Twenty-four Atlantic Breeze in
Parklands registered a Two thousand and seven Land Rover Defender One-ten Hard
Top in September. Registration number CA four-one-six, seven-eight-eight-nine.
And he was born in Nineteen eighty-five. A young guy.'

'Not a Russian,' Vusi said in disappointment.

'Must have a rich dad,' said the young man in the apron as he
opened an email.

'Those Landies cost three hundred grand.'

'Where does he work?' Vusi asked hopefully.

'Same address. He works from home.'

Griessel heard the phone ring on another continent. It was
crystal clear and he wondered what time it was in West Lafayette, Indiana.

'Anderson,' said the voice on the other end.

'Mr Anderson, my name is Benny Griessel ...' Griessel was
aware of his Afrikaans accent, and for a fraction of a second the logical next
sentence lay on the tip of his tongue,'... and I'm an alcoholic.' He bit it
back and said, 'I am a Captain in the South African Police Services and I'm in
charge of the search for your daughter. I am very sorry for the circumstances,
but I can tell you we are doing our absolute best to find her and protect her.'

'Thank you, Captain, first of all, for taking the time to
call. Is there any news?' The voice was polite and American, making the
situation feel unreal to Griessel, like a TV drama.

'We have a police helicopter searching the area where she was
last seen, and we have more than ten patrol units looking for her in the
streets, with more coming. But so far, we have not located her.'

There was a silence over the phone, not just the usual static
of a local call.

'Captain, this is a difficult thing for me to ask, but when
Rachel spoke to me over the telephone, she said that she could not go to the
police ... I hope you understand, as a parent, I am very concerned. Do you know
why she said this?'

Griessel took a deep breath. It was the question he had been
afraid of. 'Air Anderson, we have been thinking about this ... matter ...'
Those were not the right words.'... this question, I mean. It could mean
different things, and I am investigating all the possibilities.' It didn't seem
enough. 'I want to tell you, I have a daughter the same age as Rachel. My
daughter is in London at the moment. I know how you feel, Mr Anderson. I know
this must be very ... difficult for you. Our children are all we have.' He knew
it sounded odd, not quite right.