Michael Ridpath - See No Evil

‘Oh, hi.’ It sounded as if she were in a car. ‘I’m glad you called back. My contacts in the NIA have struck gold. I’d like to talk it over with you. Where are you?’

‘I’m in Johannesburg with your father. We’re going to Kupugani this afternoon.’

‘Where Martha was killed?’

‘That’s right. We think her diary was hidden there. We’re going to see if it’s still hidden.’

‘After all these years? There’s no chance of that, is there?’

‘It’s a long story.’

‘You must tell me.’ Zan paused. Calder could hear a change in pitch in the background engine noise as she shifted gears. ‘Look, can I meet you up there?’ she said. ‘I’d like to discuss this Laagerbond stuff with you face-to-face. And I’d like to help.’

‘I suppose you can,’ said Calder. ‘Can you get there in time?’

‘Are you flying from Johannesburg airport?’

‘I don’t know. Cornelius is arranging it.’

‘You probably will be, it’s the quickest way. I’ll see if I can get there this afternoon. I’m not too far from Cape Town airport now. I’m just about to meet someone and then I’ll go straight back to the airport and catch a flight to Jo’burg.’

‘Is this meeting something to do with the Laagerbond?’ Calder asked.

‘Yes,’ said Zan. ‘I’ll tell you about it when I see you.’

‘Be careful,’ Calder said. ‘My last encounter with a Laagerbond member was a little disconcerting.’

‘Don’t worry,’ Zan laughed, but Calder thought he detected a hint of nervousness. ‘I can look after myself.’

Calder hoped she could.

The rain was beating down on the surface of the Thames outside Madeira Quay, and Edwin couldn’t even see the top half of the Canary Wharf tower, enveloped as it was in angry grey cloud. He put his head in his hands. He had fought so hard for so long to try to maintain control of events, to stay one step ahead of the next disaster, but he had a horrible feeling he was losing it, losing everything.

He had just put the phone down to Detective Inspector Banks. After not hearing anything from Kim he had had no hesitation in carrying out his threat. Anything to muddy the waters of the police investigation. But Banks had said that she already knew about Donna Snyder, and she had been contemptuous of Edwin’s suggestion of an affair between Kim and Calder. The hostility was obvious: Banks had been warned off pursuing Edwin and Cornelius and she didn’t like it. Edwin decided to get off the phone quick.

He didn’t know exactly what Calder had discovered in South Africa, but Cornelius’s decision to rush down there worried him. And then there had come the higher offer from Evelyn Gill for The Times.

There was no way that Zyl News could match that. And there was no opportunity to repeat the strategy he had used so successfully with Lord Scotton. Peter Laxton was a different kind of man entirely. He might have skeletons in his closet, but, like Kim, he wouldn’t be easily intimidated. Besides, Laxton Media was a public company owing a lot of money to at least a dozen banks. It would be hard — no, impossible — for Peter Laxton to reject a higher bid promising hard cash.

Edwin had suggested once that Cornelius ask Caroline’s billionaire husband to come in with him as an equity partner, but Cornelius hadn’t even dignified the idea with a reply. He was far too proud, Edwin knew. And, as Cornelius had said, there were no nest eggs hidden anywhere.

Losing The Times was disappointing, but Edwin had a powerful feeling that worse was to follow, that the questions Kim and Calder were asking would set in train a series of events that would end badly for him. His father would have to retire some time in the next few years and Edwin was set to succeed him. But he was under no illusions that Cornelius was happy with that idea. It wouldn’t take much for him to change his mind.

Edwin stared out of the window again. What could he do?

He picked up the phone and dialled a number in South Africa.

Visser was pacing up and down in his study at the farm when the phone rang. He picked it up.

‘Andries, it’s Freddie.’

‘Have you heard from Kobus?’ Visser asked.

‘He flew down to the Cape this morning,’ Steenkamp said. ‘He should be finished by this afternoon.’

‘Good. The sooner we get him on a plane to London, the better.’

‘Not necessarily,’ said Steenkamp. ‘Paul Strydom just told me that Cornelius van Zyl is in South Africa. With two other men: one of whom sounds like Alex Calder, the other is tall, black and American and could very well be Benton Davis.’

‘Where are they?’

‘Cornelius is staying at the Intercontinental in Sandton.’

‘Get Kobus up there as soon as he has finished his business in the Cape.’

‘I was going to do just that,’ said Steenkamp.

Visser slammed down the phone. If only he had been more decisive earlier! He slumped into his chair. Suddenly he felt very tired. His chest hurt: it never stopped hurting, nor would it stop until the end. And he felt the end was rushing towards him like an express train out of a tunnel. At that moment he felt like lying down on the tracks in front of it.

Zan was driving through the broad Franschhoek valley. The landscape was green and lush, dotted with farmhouses and vineyards, enclosed on three sides by high rock walls. She was heading for the pass at the top of the valley.

She thought about her conversation with Alex Calder. It looked as if he was getting somewhere. She definitely wanted to be there when he found the diary, if he did. She picked up her cell phone and called her husband, saying that she was going up to Johannesburg for the night. It was an interesting new property that she would have to move fast on: she’d explain later. Piet had learned to tolerate her erratic movements. Florence, the maid, would be there to take care of the kids until Piet got back from the office.

It would be strange to see her father again after all this time. She had followed his career in the press and seen countless photos of him, but she hadn’t actually spoken to him for over ten years. At times in her youth they had fallen out, but she had always admired him: his strength, his power, his integrity. She still hadn’t got over her disappointment at the way he had left the country after Martha died. Since then she had never really felt she could trust him. She wondered what his reaction to her would be.

She passed through the town of Franschhoek with its bijoux galleries and shops and its monument to the Huguenots who had settled there three hundred years before. She followed the road sharply upwards. As she crossed over the pass, the landscape changed. Before her was a bleak expanse of fynbos, punctuated by outcrops of grey rock, sloping down to a plain and a lake shimmering light blue in the distant sunshine. No signs of cultivation, or even habitation. It certainly was a lonely spot, and presumably that was why it had been chosen for the meet.

A couple of kilometres down the slope from the pass Zan reached a dirt track. She followed this as instructed for a further four kilometres and came to a halt at a turn-off. She checked her watch: twelve minutes early. The spot was out of sight of the main road, out of sight of anything but fynbos and bare rock.

She settled back to wait. She was nervous. She knew it was dangerous to meet here, in the middle of nowhere, but she was thoroughly prepared. It seemed worth the risk.

She heard a car behind her, a dirty blue Toyota, not the mode of transport of the man she was expecting. The car pulled up twenty metres away.

She got out of her own vehicle.

The man in the Toyota got out too. He was heavy set with close-cropped hair, a moustache and a thick neck, wearing an open-necked shirt and a coat. He began to walk towards her.