Deon Meyer - Dead at Daybreak

He should have known Joubert wouldn’t miss a trick.

“First,” he said slowly and in a measured tone, “we’re going to reach an agreement about the sharing of information.”

O’Grady gave a scornful laugh. “Jesus, just listen to him.”

“I don’t think you’re in a position to negotiate,” said Bart de Wit, his voice slightly higher, slightly more nasal.

“Let’s listen to what he suggests,” said Mat Joubert.

“But we can’t trust the motherfucker.”

“Inspector, we’ve spoken about your language before,” said De Wit.

O’Grady blew out his breath loudly. It obviously wasn’t a new topic.

“Superintendent, this is the way I see the situation,” said Van Heerden. “You have the law on your side and you can force me to reveal everything.”

“Indeed,” said Bart de Wit.

“Damn right,” said Nougat O’Grady.

“But you’re also forced to work within the confines of the regulations if you take over the investigation. If Military Intelligence pulls strings, you’ll have to cooperate. And as long as I share information, you can’t stop me carrying on the investigation.”

De Wit said nothing. Finger and mole met again.

“I suggest a partnership. A working relationship.”

“And you call the shots?” Nougat, snorting.

“Nobody calls the shots. We just do what we have to do – and share the information.”

“I don’t trust you.”

Van Heerden made a gesture that implied it didn’t bother him.

A silence fell.

♦

“Where were you?” Hope asked when he eventually opened the door. “I don’t know how to handle the calls. A man phoned to say someone was coming to attack us, and the media, the Argus and eTV, want information and – ”

“Take it easy,” he said. “I had to negotiate with Murder and Robbery.”

“A man phoned. He said Smit was De Jager.”

“Rupert de Jager,” said Van Heerden.

“You knew?”

“The call that came in when Military Intelligence was here – ”

“Military Intelligence?”

“The two clowns, black and white.”

“They were from Military Intelligence?”

“Yes. The call was from a Mrs. Carolina de Jager of Springfontein in the Free State. Rupert was her son.”

“Good gracious.”

“It seems as if it all goes back to 1976. And the Defence Force.”

“The man who phoned also spoke about ’seventy-six. He said the murderer was a Schlebusch who was with them.”

“Schlebusch,” he said, rolling the name on his tongue.

“Bushy,” she said. “That’s what he called him. Do you know about him?”

“No. It’s new. What else did the man say?”

She looked at the paper in front of her. “I didn’t handle it well, Van Heerden. I had to lie because he assumed we already knew a lot of stuff. He said Schlebusch is dangerous. He’s going to shoot us. He has an M16.”

He absorbed the information. “Does he know where Schlebusch is?”

“No, but he said Schlebusch would find us. He’s scared.”

“Did he tell you what happened in ’seventy-six?”

“No.”

“What else did he say?”

“Schlebusch…he said Schlebusch likes killing.”

He looked at her. Realized she wasn’t up to this kind of thing. She was afraid.

“What else?”

“That was all. And then the Argus phoned and eTV.”

“We’ll have to hold a news conference.”

The telephone rang again.

“Now you must answer.”

“You must go to Bloemfontein.”

“Bloemfontein?”

“Hope, you’re repeating everything I say.”

She looked frowningly at him for a moment and then she laughed self-consciously. Tension breaker.

“You’re right.”

“You must fetch Mrs. Carolina de Jager.”

He picked up the receiver.

“Van Heerden.”

“I know who the murderer is,” a woman’s voice said.

“We would welcome the information.”

“Satanists,” the woman said. “They’re everywhere.”

“Thank you,” he said, and replaced the receiver. “Another crazy,” he said to Hope.

“We’ve uncovered something nasty,” she said, her face worried.

“We’re going to solve it.”

“And the police are going to help us?”

“We’re going to share information.”

“Did you tell them everything?”

“Almost. Simply said that we suspect it has to do with the Defence Force and something that happened years ago.”

“Shouldn’t we hand the case to them?”

“Are you scared, Hope?”

“Of course I’m scared. This case is getting bigger and bigger. And now we’re getting threats from a man who is going to kill us. Because he enjoys it.”

“You’ll learn. There are always a thousand stories about something like this. And most of them are pure sh – nonsense.”

“I still think we should hand it to the police.”

“No,” he said.

She looked pleadingly at him.

“Hope, nothing will happen. You’ll see.”

♦

He arranged for an answering machine to take messages, upset with himself that he hadn’t thought of it before. He tore a piece of paper off the writing pad, made notes of the new information, tried to arrange it in sequence, listened to callers who were acting out their minor delusions, waited for the answering machine to appear.

“I can get a flight to Bloemfontein early tomorrow morning and be back by late afternoon,” Hope came in to report. He gave her Carolina de Jager’s phone number, asked her to arrange it all.

The answering machine was delivered, and the technician helped him to install it. The number of calls decreased, but he knew they would increase when bored children came home from school.

Marie’s head appeared again after a soft, scared knock. “There’s an American who wants to talk to you.”

“Send him in.”

An American? He shook his head, drew another square on his notepad. The whole world was in on the deal. Hell, the newspaper article had worked…

Marie opened the door. “Mr. Powell,” she said, and wanted to close the door behind her.

“Call Hope,” he said quickly, and extended his hand. “Van Heerden.”

“Luke Powell,” said the American in a heavy accent. He was black and middle-aged, slightly overweight, with a soft, round face and eyes that wanted to laugh.

“What can I do for you, Mr. Powell?”

“No, sir, it’s what I can do for you.”

“Please take a seat,” he said, indicating one of the chairs on the other side of the desk. “And I must apologize for the fact that I have to answer the telephone.”

“No sweat. Have to do your job.” The wide mouth smiling broadly to reveal flawless white teeth.

Hope opened the door and he introduced her to Powell. She sat down, her arms folded, body language indicating that she didn’t want to be there.

“I’m with the U.S. Consulate,” said Powell. “Economic adviser. After we heard about this on the radio, I thought I’d, you know, pop in to offer our cooperation. You know, with dollars being involved and all.”

“That’s very kind of you, sir,” said Van Heerden.

The broad smile again. “It’s our absolute pleasure.”

Van Heerden smiled back. “So you have some interesting information for us about the origin of the dollars?”

“Oh, no, I was hoping you could tell me. The radio news was pretty brief, you know, just that quite a few dollars could be involved in this thing. But if you guys point us in the right direction, I could pass the information along to…I don’t know, whoever can help. That’s one thing we do have…resources.”

“Tell me, Mr. Powell, what does an American economic adviser do in South Africa?”