Деон Мейер - Cobra

‘Sign here so long,’ she said, and pointed at a document she had printed out. ‘Then I’ll see what I can do.’

Griessel had told Mbali to keep Vaughn Cupido at the DPCI head office when he returned with the cellphones. He stretched yellow crime-scene tape across the door of number twenty-one and threatened dire consequences if the caretaker allowed anyone access.

‘Except if they also throw article sixty B around here,’ the old man muttered

Griessel ignored the sarcasm.

He thanked the student again.

‘Any time, Captain, any time.’

‘And not a word from you.’

‘My lips are zipped.’

For how long, Griessel wondered, and ran down the stairs to the BMW. He put the siren on, stuck the blue light on the dashboard, and drove off as fast as he could.

On the N1, just beyond the Winelands Engen, he switched his cellphone back on. It beeped, and he saw that he had four voice messages.

They would have to wait, he didn’t want to waste time putting on his earphones now.

Tyrone grew anxious, as the minutes ticked away, the cops must be on their way already. His ears were pricked for sirens, but he heard nothing.

Maybe it takes a while to trace a phone. And if he just ran out of here, the aunty would know he was not innocent.

To his immense relief she returned with a smile. ‘Your sister is going to be OK, they say she was very lucky, that bullet must have hit something in front of her, because she only has broken ribs over here.’ She indicated the side of her upper torso. ‘There’s no internal damage or bleeding there, just external. And it’s very sore, the ribs. She’s stable so you can stop worrying.’

Stop worrying . Not for a while.

‘Thank you very much, aunty,’ he said while he tried to think what the bullet could have hit. He recalled that moment, Nadia stumbling and falling in front of him, the pistol making its dull bark. And then he had a hunch and picked up her bag, and began unpacking it on the admin desk. He held up the thick textbook: Chemistry & Chemical Reactivity. Kotz,Treichel & Weaver. At the top end was a mark, a piece of the thick hard cover and a chunk of pages were shot away.

‘Saved by chemistry,’ said the aunty. ‘Can you believe it.’

‘I’m going to leave the bag here, aunty. So she can get it when she wants her stuff.’

‘That’s fine.’

‘How long is she going to be here?’

‘I can’t say myself, but I guess four or five days.’

‘How much money must I still bring, aunty?’

‘For safety sake, another three thousand, then we can just settle at the release.’

He didn’t think he would be here at the release, he was a wanted man. And a hunted man. But he said ‘OK’, thanked her, said goodbye, and left.

On the N1, at a hundred and forty-five kilometres per hour, disgust overcame Benny Griessel. At himself, and at the SSA. It was their fault that he couldn’t use his phone. That he had to make calls in front of two idiots. With a fokken borrowed phone.

He should have phoned Nadia’s number again. He should have talked to Tyrone. If it was Tyrone. But who else could it be? A straight line of reasoning ran to Tyrone. The bullet casings at the abduction scene showed it was the Cobras. The eyewitness said it was a coloured girl who was kidnapped. The Cobras had been in Tyrone’s rented room in the Bo-Kaap, and they knew Nadia was studying at Stellenbosch. They were looking for her. And they found her. To get at Tyrone, because he had something they wanted. The Cobras were foreigners. They didn’t speak Afrikaans. It had to be Tyrone.

Somehow or other he had got hold of his sister’s phone.

Borrowed maybe?

Didn’t make sense. He should have phoned again. He should have said:‘Come in. We won’t arrest you for anything, just come in, and tell us everything. We aren’t after you, we want the Cobras. And your sister.’

But it was the one number rule that he could not call from his own phone. Because it would give the SSA a short cut.

He swore and turned off the N1, onto Durban Road, the sirens still wailing. The traffic opened up for him. He just hoped Cupido was already there with the new cellphones.

‘ Jissis ,’ said PC Carolus. ‘What have you got yourself into?’

Tyrone walked up Duminy Street, on the way to catch a taxi on Frans Conradie Drive, cellphone to his ear.

‘Nothing I can’t handle. Tell me now, what info can they get from a cellular number?’

‘Everything, Tyrone. Where you are, where you’ve been. Who you phoned, who phoned you. SMSs, the works. They can even read your SMSs, brother, so I hope you kept it clean.’

‘OK, how long will it take?’

‘Depends. Who are the people who want to trace your phone?’

‘I don’t know them.’

‘Now you’re lying to me. Is it private individuals or the cops?’

‘What’s the difference?’

‘The cops have to get a warrant first. That takes time. Private individuals can do what they like, if they have the right equipment. Within half an hour, then they find you.’

He wanted to ditch the phone. Now. Because these guys, Hoodie and the Waterfront shooter, you didn’t know what they could do. They got Nadia so fast, they knew where his room was, they stalked him there at the station. They were sly bastards. And they wanted him dead.

‘OK, thanks, PC . . .’

‘Don’t thank me. Just stop all the monkey business. You’re not a player, you’re a pickpocket, for fuck’s sake.’

Griessel found Cupido in Mbali’s office busy putting SIM cards into cellphones.

Mbali was talking on the land line. ‘Alvarez,’ she said into the receiver. ‘With a “z” at the end. No, I’m not going to hold. This is a serious police matter. You stay on the line, and give me the information . . . You know I’m a police officer because I am telling you I am. And I don’t need a room number, I just want to know if you have a booking . . .’ She looked up at Griessel and shook her head in frustration.

‘Vaughn, I need to use a phone.’ Griessel pointed at the cellphones on the desk.

‘This one is ready. Take it for yourself.’ He passed one to Benny. ‘Battery’s not completely charged yet. ZTE F Nine Hundred, sorry, Benna, it’s all I could get. Earphones are still in the plastic.’

Griessel had never heard of a ZTE. It was a simple phone with a keyboard. At least he would know how to use it.

‘Thanks,’ he said as he took Nadia’s Vodacom information card out of his pocket.

He phoned the number.

It rang for a long time.

‘Thank you,’ said Mbali over the land line. ‘That wasn’t so hard,’ and she put the receiver down.

‘Hello?’ said a woman’s voice over Griessel’s ZTE.

‘Nadia?’ he said in surprise.

‘No, this is Sister Abigail Malgas of the Louis Leipoldt Mediclinic. Who’s speaking?’

Mbali’s office door flew open and Bones’s face appeared. ‘I’ve found Lillian Alvarez,’ he said in triumph. ‘Protea Hotel Fire & Ice!, New Church Street.’

‘Hello?’ said Sister Malgas. ‘Are you there?’

40

You’re not a player, you’re a pickpocket for fuck’s sake.

Not a player?

Tyrone stood in front of Brights Electrical in Frans Conradie Drive and he thought, sure, he was a pickpocket. And usually he lived according to Uncle Solly’s code. Steal from the rich. Never use violence. Be kind to the less fortunate.

Yes, he had never been a player. Until today. Until these guys changed the game. Till they introduced a whole new set of rules. Until they shot him and chased him. Until they messed with his sister, kidnapping and drugging her, and he didn’t want to think what else. And then they shot her too.