Thirteen Hours (35 page)

'Yes.'

'Fuck,' said Dekker and made a note in his book. 'Now
how did they cheat you?'

'It may sound like a lot of money, Inspector, but that
is before tax, and there are a lot of expenses ...'

'How did they cheat you?'

'I don't know. That's why I want to bring in an
auditor.'

'Surely you must have a theory?'

'Well, last year, I did three songs for compilation
albums - one for Sean Else's rugby CD and two for Jeremy Taylor, a country
album and Christmas album. Sean and Jeremy are independents, and when I got the
rugby CD money, I started wondering, because it was a shitioad of money, proportionately
much more

than I was getting from Adam and them. When the
country CD payment came, it was the same story. So I looked carefully at the
statements, at the deductions and sales and royalties, and the more I looked,
the less sense it made. You must remember, on a compilation album you are one
of ten or more artists; so you would be getting roughly ten per cent, say, of
the royalties you would usually receive. I wasn't expecting much. In the end it
was good money. Then I started getting suspicious.'

'And you spoke to Adam Barnard?'

'I phoned him about a week ago, and said I wanted to
come and see him. I didn't say why; I just said I wanted to talk about my
contract. He said let's go and have a relaxed dinner.'

'And that was last night?'

'That's right.'

'What was his reaction?'

'He said that as far as he knew, they had nothing to
hide. When I said I wanted to bring my own auditor, he said "no
problem".'

'And then?'

'He offered me a new contract. I said "no thank
you". And that was that. So we talked about other things. Adam ... He was
great company, as always. His stories ... The thing is, usually Adam will party
to twelve or one o'clock, he never tires. But last night, at about half past
nine, he said he had to make a quick phone call, and he went and stood outside
to phone, and when he came in he said he had to leave. We got the bill and we
left about ten o'clock.'

Dekker looked at Barnard's diary. Alongside 19:00 was
written
Ivan
Nell - Bizerca
but there were no further entries for later that night. He made a note in his
notebook:
Cell phone 21:30??
and wondered what had happened to Adam Barnard's cell phone, because it wasn't
on the scene that morning.

'You have no idea who he called?'

'No. But he wasn't the sort of guy who would leave the
table to phone. He would just sit with you and talk, never mind who it was.
When I heard this morning he had been shot, once I was over the worst shock, I
started to wonder.'

She stood with one foot in the hot foam bath and
considered surrendering herself to the luxury, longing to wash her hair and
scrub her body, then just lying back and letting the pain and the fatigue melt
away.

She couldn't. She had to phone her father; they would
be insane with worry. But she wanted to bath quickly first. In the kitchen just
now, she had seen a way out for the first time since last night, a prospect of
safety. If she phoned her father, he could get someone to fetch her, someone
from the embassy, maybe, and they could question her and she would tell them
everything. It would be a long process, long discussions over everything that
had happened. That meant it would be hours before she could wash off the blood
and sweat and dust. She must take the opportunity to clean herself quickly now.

She got into the bath and sat down. The hot water stung
the scratches and cuts, but the satisfaction was immense. She slowly lay back
until her breasts slipped under the foam.

Hurry.

She sat up fast, with great self-discipline, stood up,
picked up the soap and washcloth and began to scrub her youthful body.

A waitress, two waiters and a barman remembered Erin
Russel and Rachel Anderson. Griessel had them sit at a separate table with
Vusi. He took a seat with his back to the bar so he couldn't see the bloody
bottles, but there was nothing he could do about the smell.

'The rest can go home,' Galina Federova ordered.

'No, I still need them.' The Carlucci's man still had
to see if he recognised any of them.

'For what?'

She was starting to get on Griessel's nerves. He
wanted to tell her it was none of her fucking business, he didn't like her
attitude, but his urgency to gain any available information made him hold back.
'Let them wait ten minutes,' he said, curtly, so she'd get the message, stop
messing them around.

She said something in Russian, shook her head and
walked out. Griessel watched her leave. Then he slowly turned back, trying to
clear his head as he asked the young people around the table. 'Who would like
to start?'

'They were sitting right here,' said one of the waiters,
pointing at a table close by and fiddling self-consciously with a necklace of
wooden beads around his neck. And then all the waiters suddenly looked up at
the door behind Griessel. He turned as well. Mat Joubert stood there, a bag of
takeaways in each hand.

'Carry on,' said Joubert, 'I'm with Captain Griessel.'
He approached the table, put down the bags, took out boxes and pushed them
towards Vusi and Benny. The aroma of chips made Griessel's belly stir.

'Thanks, Mat.'

'Thanks, Sup,' said Ndabeni.

Joubert just nodded in acknowledgement, pulled up a
chair and joined them at the table.

'This is Senior Superintendent Mat Joubert of the
Provincial Task Force,' Griessel told the waiters, as he saw they were
intimidated by the size of his colleague. 'He's not a patient man,' he lied,
for good measure. He looked at the waiter who had spoken first. 'Where were
we?'

The waiter looked at Griessel and then respectfully at
Joubert, his voice suddenly sincere. 'Those two in the photo were sitting alone
at first. I served them. They were drinking Brutal Fruit. This one, the
blondie, she was partying hard. The other one only had four or five, the whole
evening. A bit strange.'

'Why?' asked Griessel. He tore open the sachet of
Steers salt and sprinkled it over his chips.

'The backpackers ... usually they booze it up.'

Griessel suppressed the impulse to look at the rows of
bottles behind the bar. 'How did you know they were backpackers?' he asked,
using the plastic fork to spear a few chips and pop them into his salivating
mouth.

The waiter's face gained a sincere frown. 'I have been
working here for two years now ...'

With his mouth full of potato, Griessel could only
nod, motioning with his fork for the young man to elaborate.

'You get to know them. The tan, the clothes, the
accents ... and they don't tip much.'

'When did they arrive?'

'Um, let's see ... before my first smoke break, about
nine, say.'

Griessel speared more chips. 'And they were sitting on
their own at first?'

'For a while. Then the place filled up. I do eight
tables - I can't say precisely. They were dancing; lots of guys asked them. At
one time there were five at the table - friends, it seemed.'

'Boys or girls?'

'Ah ... both ... Listen, you have to understand ...'
He looked specifically at Mat Joubert,'... it's chaos here when the place is
full. I remember the girls, because they were pretty, but that's about all.'

'So you don't remember the men who sat with them?'

'No.'

'Would you recognise them if you saw them again?'

'Maybe.'

Griessel popped open the tab on the can of cold drink.
'And you?' he addressed the rest.

'I just saw them dancing,' said the waitress. 'My
tables are over there. They were dancing together a lot, which isn't that
strange, but they looked as though they were arguing, you know, they were
standing there arguing and dancing. But that's all I can tell you.'

With a mouth full of Dagwood burger, Griessel nodded
in the direction of the barman. 'This one ...' he said, identifying Erin Russel
with a finger tapping on the photo, 'she ... My post is the top end of the bar.
Two guys were standing there drinking, and she came up there at one stage and
talked to them. I remember her because I thought that's the ten ass of the
evening, she talked to these two ...'

'The ten what?'

'It's a game we barmen have. We give points for the
best legs and ass and ... so on. Out of ten. And ...'

'You're sick,' said the waitress.

'What about you girls? The other day when that guy
from

Idols..'

Mat Joubert leaned his arms slowly on the table, making his
broad shoulders appear even broader. The barman bit off his words and looked
guiltily at Joubert. 'In any case, she had a ten ass. The rest wasn't bad
either. Definitely nine legs and I reckon an eight
...'

'Tell me about the men,' Griessel said impatiently.

'The one ... I sort of remember his face, he's been
here before ... the other one, I don't know ... Two friends, I think, they were
drinking together, not dancing, just standing at the bar and chatting.'

'And then?' 'I told the other barmen we had a ten butt
at the bend. There, where the bar counter turns to the wall. But when I looked
back, she was gone. And the men left suddenly too.'

'Wait, wait, wait. She stood and talked with them?
What about? Could you hear?'

'No, I wasn't... paying attention.'

'You were looking at her bum,' said the waitress
crossly.

The barman ignored her.

'And then she left?'

'I didn't actually see her leave.'

'How long was she with them?'

He thought about that. 'Look, I didn't see her arrive,
we're always on the go, there are never enough barmen here. All I know is that
I saw her standing there. I had a quick look, and then I went to get more
drinks, and when I had a chance to have a decent look, I noticed her butt. I
went to tell Andy and them, but when I wanted to show them, she was gone. She
might have been there for five minutes. Or ten ...'

'When they left, were they in a hurry?'

'Absolutely.'

'What time was that?'

'Round about... Well, it was late, I can't say
exactly, sometime after one o'clock?'

Griessel and Vusi looked at each other. This was
getting interesting. 'You have seen one of them here before?'

'I think so. He seemed slightly familiar.'

'Describe him to me.'

'Tallish guy ...' His words dried up.

'Old? Young? Black? White?'

'No, a white guy about my age, early twenties, short
darkish hair, very tanned ...'

'And the other one?'

'Black guy, also early twenties ...'

The waiter with the wooden beads suddenly pointed a
finger at the door behind Griessel's back and said excitedly: 'That
oke
was at their table last
night.'

The detectives turned quickly. Against the wall,
waiting patiently, were three SAPS men in blue uniforms. One had a large,
transparent rubbish bag on the floor beside him. Between them stood Oliver
Sands and a young man Griessel hadn't seen before. 'Yes, we know,' said
Griessel.

'The other man is the guy from Carlucci's,' said Vusi,
and stood up. Griessel followed him.

'Is that the bag for me from Metro?' Griessel asked
one of the uniforms.

'Yes, Inspector.'

'It's Captain now,' said Mat Joubert from the table.

'Genuine, Benny?' asked Vusi, and there was real
happiness in his voice.