Thirteen Hours (46 page)

FRITZ. His son. His feelings about tonight descended
on him again, the date with Anna at seven o'clock made him instinctively look
at his watch. A quarter to three; another four hours. Should he phone and say
tonight was going to be difficult?

'Fritz?' he said wondering whether his son knew
anything about Anna's intentions.

'Dad, I'm done with school.'

'What do you mean?'

'Dad, we got this fat gig ...'

'We?'

'The band, Dad.
Wet en Orde,
that's our name, but you don't
spell the "en", it's just that "and" sign, you know, that
looks like an "s", Pa.'

'An ampersand.'

'Whatever.
Wet en Orde
, like your job, Law and Order, it was my
idea, Pa. Don't
you think that's cool?'

'And now you're leaving school?'

'Yes. Dad, this gig, we're
opening for Gian Groen and Zinkplaat on a tour, Dad, they are talking about twenty-five
thousand for a month, that's more than six thousand per guy.'

'And?'

'I don't need school any more, Pa.'

The call came through at 14:48 to the office of the
Provincial Commissioner: Western Cape. The little Xhosa answered, forewarned by
his secretary. It was Dan Burton, the American Consul.

'Mr Burton?'

'Commissioner, could you please tell me what's going
on?'

The Commissioner drew himself up behind his desk.
'Yes, sir, I can tell you what is going on. We have every available police
officer in Cape Town looking for the girl. We have what we believe is the best
detective in the Peninsula leading the task force, and they are doing
everything in their power, at this very moment, to try and find the young lady
in question.'

'I understand that, sir, but I've just had a call from
her parents, and they are very, very worried. Apparently, she was safe, she
called this Captain Ghree-zil, but he took his sweet time to get there, only to
find her gone.'

'That's not the information I have, sir ...'

'Do you know what's going on? Do you know who these
people are? Why are they hunting her like an animal?'

'No, we don't know that. All I can tell you is that we
are doing everything we can to find her.'

'Apparently, sir, that is not enough. I am really
sorry, but I will have to call the Minister. Something has to be done.'

The Commissioner stood up from his desk. 'Well, sir,
you are most welcome to call the Minister. But I am not sure what else we can
do.' He put the phone down and walked out, down the passage to John Afrika's
office. On the way he said one word in his mother tongue; the click of the word
echoed off the walls.

She did not hear them arguing on the other side of the
wooden door. She sat with her naked back against the pillar, dreadful pain in
her foot, blood still running from the two stumps and the severed toes lying on
the cement floor. Her head drooped and
she wept,
tears and mucus streaming from her nose, mouth and eyes.

She had nothing left.

Nothing.

They told Vusi Ndabeni that Senior Inspector Jeremy
Oerson was out. He could reach him on his cell phone. They had the same sullen,
'it's-not-my-problem' attitude and thinly disguised superiority that he could
not fathom. It had been like this the whole day - the ponytail at the club, the
Russian woman, the man at the pound, the woman at Administration: nobody cared,
he thought. In this city it was everyone for himself. He suppressed his
escalating unease, the frustration. He must try to understand these people -
that was the only way to deal with it. He took the number but before he could
phone they said: 'Here he is now.'

Vusi turned, recognised the man; he was the one who
had been at the church this morning - dreadful uniform, not quite so neat now,
face shiny with perspiration.

'Inspector Oerson?' he asked.

'What?' Hurried, irritated.

'I am Inspector Vusumuzi Ndabeni of the SAPS. I am
here about a vehicle that was booked out of the pound at twelve thirty- four, a
Peugeot Boxer panel van, CA four-oh-nine, three-four- one ...'

'So?' Oerson kept on walking towards his office. Vusi
followed, amazed by his attitude.

'They say you signed the form.'

'Do you know how many forms I sign?' Oerson stood at a
closed office door.

Vusi took a deep breath. 'Inspector, you were at the
scene this morning, the American girl...'

'So?'

'The vehicle was used to abduct her friend. It is our
only clue. She is in great danger.'

'I can't help you, I just signed the form,' said
Oerson, shrugging and placing a hand on the door handle. 'Every day they come
running in here, those girls down there, wanting someone to sign. I only check
that everything is in order.'

Behind the door a telephone began to ring. 'My phone,'
said Oerson and opened the door.

'Was everything in order with that vehicle?'

'I wouldn't have signed it if it wasn't.'

The phone continued to ring.

'But they say there is no receipt or anything.'

'Everything was correct when I signed it,' said Oerson,
going into the office and closing the door.

Vusi stood there.

How could people be like that?

He pressed a hand on the closed door's frame. He must
ignore them; he had a job to do. What he should do is investigate the whole
process from the beginning. Where would you begin if you wanted to retrieve a
vehicle from the pound? Who took your particulars; did anyone ask for an ID?

He sighed, ready to turn away, when he heard Oerson's
voice say something inside that sounded familiar ...
Cat and Moose ... Wait,
hold on .. .

Vusi stood spellbound.

The door opened suddenly; Oerson's face accused him.
'What are you still doing here?'

'Nothing,' said Vusi and left. Halfway down the
passage he looked back. Oerson was leaning on the door to monitor his progress.
Vusi kept on walking. He heard the door shut. He stopped at the stairs.

The Cat & Moose? What did Oerson have to do with
that?

Coincidence?

Oerson had been there this morning, very early. A
Senior Inspector from Metro.

He was the one who had found the rucksack. He was the
one who had walked up with it, full of bravado; he was the one who had rummaged
in it before handing it over. In the club, Benny Griessel had talked to
Fransman Dekker, he had told Dekker to call Oerson about the bag of stuff they
had picked up.

Oerson had signed the form. His attitude, arrogance,
the sweat on his brow. Cat & Moose. Snake in the grass.

Vusi wondered whether he ought to phone Griessel
first. He decided against it. Benny had a thousand things to think of. He
turned and went back to Oerson's closed door.

They told Fransman Dekker he could not see Alexandra
Barnard now. 'Doctor says she's on medication,' as if the burning bush itself
had made the pronouncement. It irritated the living hell out of him. 'You are
obsessed with Doctor, fuck Doctor' - that was what someone should tell them
sometime, but he did not. Benny Griessel's words today had struck home.

They say you are ambitious, so let me tell you, I
threw my
fokken
career
away because I didn't have
control...

It was the first time in his life that someone had
spoken to him that way. It was the first time anyone had taken the trouble. He
had been crapped out by the best, but that was different, usually no more than
disapproval and criticism. With Griessel it was different.

'When will I be able to see her?' he asked the woman,
under control now.

'Doctor says sometime after four, the medication
should have worn off by then.' He checked his watch. Ten to three. He might
just as well get something to eat; he was hollow inside, thirsty too. It would
give him a chance to think - and what else could he do, he had let Josh and
Melinda go home? 'I want to know if you leave the city,' he threatened and
avoided the reproachful eyes. He had gone over to Natasha and said: 'Can you
give me the contact details of all the staff?' and she gave him a look that
said she knew why he wanted them.

He left the hospital feeling ravenous.

Vusi stood and listened at Oerson's
door. He heard English spoken.
But if they don't know what we're looking for, let's
wait. Sooner or
later they'll move the stuff. A long silence. Are we
absolutely sure? A short, barking laugh, scornful. And then the words that
stopped Vusumuzi Ndabeni's heart: Let's make sure, and then kill the bitch.
Before she fucks up everything. But wait for me, I want to see
...

Vusi's hand dropped to his service pistol, took hold
of it and pulled it out. He lifted his left hand to open the door and saw how it
was shaking, realised his heart was beating wildly and his breathing was
shallow, almost panicky.

No, I'm fine. They have nothing, no proof Oerson,
inside, so smug.

It gave Vusi pause, he froze. Because all he had were
suspicions and a conversation overheard. He caught a glimpse of the coming
minutes: he would burst in, Oerson would deny everything, he could arrest him
and he would refuse to cooperate, demand a lawyer, it could take hours and the
girl would die. Oerson's word against his.

I'm coming, Oerson had said in there. Wait for me.

Vusi Ndabeni whispered a prayer. What should he do?

He shoved the pistol back in the holster, turned and
ran down the passage. He would have to follow Oerson. While he was contacting
Benny.

Oh God, he must not let this man slip away.

There was no parking in Long Street. A SAPS patrol
vehicle was already double-parked. Griessel pulled two wheels onto the broader
pavement in front of the 'Travel Centre - Safari Tour Specialists' building
beside the Cat & Moose, leapt out and, seeing the metre maid a hundred
metres down the street, knew he was going to get a ticket. He muttered a curse,
locked the car and jogged to the entrance of the building with its garish pink
and orange colours. He sidestepped a young couple at the door conversing in a
foreign language. The plump girl was behind the desk, in animated discussion
with two uniformed men, one of the Caledon Square patrols. He ran up to them.
She did not recognise him. He had to say: 'Benny Griessel, SAPS, I was here
this morning. I hear you recognised one of the men.'

Her face changed in the blink of an eye from insecure
receptionist
to
indignant witness. 'I've just been telling your colleagues, they just waltzed
in here and said they were taking the luggage, can you believe it?'

'And you recognised one of them?'

'Tried to bluff their way past me, telling me they
were her friends, do they think I am stupid?'

'But you knew one of them?'

'I don't know him, but I've seen him. So I just said:
"Why don't you guys go talk to the SWAT team in there?" and they,
like, stopped dead, and the next thing ...'

'A SWAT team?' Griessel asked.

'Yes, those buddies of yours guarding the luggage in
there, and the next thing, they just waltzed right out again.'

'Miss, where have you seen this man?'

'Here ...' She waved her hand. Griessel wasn't sure
what it was meant to include.

'In the hostel?'

'Well, he might have been in here, but I've seen him
around, you know, he's in the industry, I'm sure.'

'What industry?'