Деон Мейер - Cobra

‘So you want insurance.’

‘Just so.’

‘Why didn’t you say so?’

In the little room where Tyrone Kleinbooi lived, the cupboard doors and drawers were pulled open. The floor was strewn with clothing, most of it black, dark grey, or dark blue. Cleaning products and cloths, a few bits of cutlery, and some documents were spread in front of the sink.

‘Even if the pickpocket was in a big hurry, I don’t think it was him who did this. It was the Cobra. And he was looking for something,’ said Cupido. ‘But look at this first.’ He led Griessel to the bathroom.

In the corner of the small room lay a thin black sweater. Cupido picked it up with his rubber gloves and held it up for Griessel to see. It had a long, blood-clotted tear across the back. ‘That’s a lot of blood,’ said Cupido, ‘looks like he was badly cut. And look there by the shower and the basin. Blood washed off. The pickpocket was here. In the last hour or two.’

‘Shooter followed him?’

‘Must be. And no fresh blood. The pickpocket escaped, I think. Maybe he saw the Cobra coming.’

‘His sister is a student,Vaughn, we must . . .’

‘Look, there on the floor, in there. Those invoices from Stellenbosch. For a Nadia Kleinbooi.’

They walked back out to the room. Cupido had to pick up the documents, because Griessel was not wearing gloves.

‘There’s an address. West Side 21, Market Street, Stellenbosch 7613.’

Griessel looked up from the document in concern. ‘Vaughn, the shooter could have seen this too.’

‘ Fok ,’ said Cupido.

And right on cue, Mbali appeared in the doorway, like their conscience.

Tyrone sat at one of the little tables in Shireen’s Kitchen. The aroma of the peri-peri chips Gatsby made him realise suddenly how terribly hungry he was. He gobbled his food in a hurry, washing it down with Coke. Before he was finished, his mouth still stuffed with bread and chips, the Nokia rang, an ancient tune as ringtone. It was the first call that he had received on it, and he didn’t immediately realise it was his phone. He gulped the food down, took the phone out of his pocket.

Nadia’s number.

‘Hello,’ he said as he rose to his feet, not wanting the man behind the counter to overhear. He walked out into the cacophony of Victoria Street where the hooters of the minibus taxis shrilled and bellowed back and forth like migrating herds.

‘Nadia tells me you don’t have a car.’The same accented voice.

‘Yes.’

‘But you have the wallet you stole?’

‘Yes.’

‘So you have money.’

‘Yes.’

‘I want you to take a taxi. Do you know the Fisantekraal Airfield?’

The pronunciation was so odd that he couldn’t decipher the words.

‘The what?’

‘Fisantekraal Airfield.’

‘No, I’m not going.’

‘What did you say?’

‘I’m not going there. If you want the card, I will tell you where we will meet.’

‘You want me to kill your sister?’

‘No, I want my sister alive. But you want the card. Let me tell you where I will meet you,’ he said, and he wondered whether the man could hear how wildly his heart was beating.

30

It was while he was walking away from the Company Gardens an hour ago that Tyrone had begun to understand the whole thing.

He realised that there was something on the memory card that this guy wanted so badly that he, cool like a swimming pool, strolled in at the V&A and blew away five mall cops, in cold blood, with not even a blink of those chilly eyes. The man had shadowed him all the way to Schotsche Kloof, then had gone and kidnapped Nadia in Stellenbosch. Broad daylight. Capital crimes. Serious, serious stuff.

You didn’t do that for a memory card with your holiday snaps on it. You did that for something with more value than Tyrone could imagine. And you wanted it back with a vengeance.

He realised it was a fact he could use. Leverage. And that was what he needed. Because he had to get Nadia out of this mess, clean and quick.

And that was when he grew angry. What sort of cunt involved innocent women? If you want the card, motherfucker, you come after me . But nobody messes with my sister. He had never tolerated that, not since he was five years old. And he was going to keep it that way.

Tyrone wanted to hurt the bastard. He wanted to punish him. Get revenge.

Then he thought, steady now, don’t get ahead of yourself. Just get Nadia back first, keep her safe.

But how was he going to do that?

You ask yourself, Ty, what is your exit strategy? Doesn’t matter where you steal, you’ve got to have an exit strategy. Just in case.

And slowly he put together a rough plan, and with PC Carolus, he added the finishing touches. And now Tyrone stood on the pavement in Victoria Street, with buses and lorries, cars and taxis rushing and rumbling by, the tension gnawing at him, cellphone to his ear, as he waited for the man to answer. It took some time, and it sounded as though the man was holding his hand over the phone.

Then the voice was back suddenly. ‘Where?’

‘Be in Bellville at ten to three. And then you call me on this phone.’

‘No. You will meet me next to the Fisantekraal Airfield at that time.’

‘No.’

With as much firmness as he could muster.

‘I am now going to hurt your sister. I am going to shoot her through the left knee, and then the right one. She will be . . . un infirme . . . a cripple. Then I will shoot her in the elbows . . .’

Tyrone’s body twitched, but he knew there was only one way to get himself and Nadia out of this alive.

‘If you touch my sister, if you hurt her in any way, I will burn this card. I am not stupid. I saw you kill five guys. I know you will kill us anyway when you get the card, so don’t try to fool me. But I swear I will give it to you if Nadia is there and she is not hurt. I will give it to you when you have let her go. But if you touch her, I will destroy this card.’

Again the phone was muffl ed. Then, ‘You think you are very clever. It is a bad mistake. I warn you: if you are not alone, I will shoot your sister, and I will shoot you. If you don’t show up, I will kill her, and I will hunt you down, and I will kill you slowly. If the card is not there, or if it is damaged, I will kill you.’

‘OK.’

Fear made his voice hoarse.

‘Where in Bellville?’

‘At the corner of Durban and Voortrekker Roads. Ten to three. Then call me. And bring a laptop or something. I want you to check the card. I don’t want any misunderstandings.’

Griessel and Cupido switched their cellphones on when they were on the N1.

The instruments beeped in a duet of text messages. Benny saw he had five voicemails, four from the same number: the Hawks’ Bellville office.

He called, and listened. Nyathi’s voice:‘Benny, I need you to contact me very urgently. I need you to terminate the investigation of the Cobra case immediately and return to the office. You, Vaughn, and Mbali. Immediately.’

He deleted the message and listened to the next three. All from the Giraffe, all to the same effect, but his voice growing increasingly urgent and impatient.

The last one was from Alexa: ‘Benny, I left you some meals in the fridge – there’s something for every evening. Miss you already. I will phone tonight, when the function is over. Love you. Bye.’

He felt guilt at the relief that washed over him. He could sleep at home. And his little rascal was safe, for the next few nights at least.

He put the phone down. Cupido had also finished listening.

‘Nyathi?’ he asked.

‘ Ja ,’ said Cupido. ‘We have to go to the Kremlin. Mbali as well.’

‘Call her.’