Cobra (21 page)

‘Where is Jerome now?’

‘He’s in the bathroom. He’s throwing up. A lot.’

Tyrone stole a Samsung S3 in St George’s Mall, from a man’s windcheater.

He hated Samsung S3s, because they have seven sorts of screen lock. Most people used the pattern, the nine dots that had to be connected in a certain order.

He tried the three most popular patterns.

Nothing. The thing stayed locked.

He didn’t have time. He tossed it in a rubbish bin and looked for his next victim.

They threaded their way through the traffic on the N1, blue lights on, but sirens off. Griessel drove. Cupido blew off some steam about Mbali.

‘Last week she tells me, a man’s worth is no greater than his ambition. Just because I was taking a break with Angry Birds. I mean, can’t a man take a break now and then . . .’

‘Who is Angry Birds?’

Lithpel Davids laughed from the back seat.

‘Not “who”, Benna, “what”,’ said Cupido patiently. ‘It’s a game. On my phone. You should try it, there’s an iOS version too. Great stress reliever. Anyway, so then I want to say to her: “Mbali, if I had as much ambition as you have, I would also be a
doos
,” but
fok weet
, then you would never get her to shut up about your swearing, and how that’s also a sure sign of weakness, she’s always got a
fokken
quote. What’s wrong with swearing? I mean, it’s just another word. What really pisses me off is people that want to say “
fokken
”, but then they
gooi
“
flippen
” instead, and that’s OK. It’s not
fokken
OK, they mean the same thing. And intent is nine-tenths of the law, pappie. But you can
ma
’ say “
flippen
” in front of Mbali,
daai’s
cool. I mean, Benna, there’s no justice when it comes to that woman.’

‘Possession.’

‘Huh?’

‘Possession is nine-tenths of the law.’

‘OK. True. But what is possession without intent?’

‘Also true.’

‘
Fokken
Mbali . . .’

Cupido was quiet for a while, and Griessel thought of a conversation he had had in the Wimpy at the Winelands Engen service station on the N1, one morning on the way back from a case in Paarl. Over coffee, Mbali had hauled a textbook out of her massive handbag.
The Law of Contract in South Africa.

‘I’m sorry, Benny, I have an exam tonight.’

He hadn’t known she was studying again. She, who already had an honours degree in Police Science. So he asked.

‘I’m doing a B Iuris at UNISA.’

‘Do you want to leave the Service?’

‘No, Benny.’ She had hesitated and looked at him in a measured way, then decided she could trust him. ‘I want to be the commissioner. One day.’ There was no arrogance in the statement, just a quiet determination.

He had accepted that she meant the national commissioner, and he had sat thinking in amazement. About people. About himself. His trouble was that he had never wanted to be
something.
He had just wanted to
be
.

A man’s worth is no greater than his ambition.

Perhaps that was why he had become a boozer and fuck-up. Perhaps you should have three- and five- and ten-year plans for yourself, higher aspirations. But how do you get there if you are still struggling with all the trouble that life throws at you?

What was he to do about this trouble between him and Alexa?

His only ‘ambition’ was to avoid a
njaps
.

What did that say of his worth?

Maybe it said everything.

Where did you get an agenda for this sort of trouble, a three-day plan. Or was he the only one who battled with this kind of shit?

25

Pickpocketing is a lucky dip,Tyrone. You take what you can get. That’s why you need more than one fence. ’Cause everything’s got value for someone.

But what do you do, Uncle Solly, if you don’t have time for the lucky dip, if you need to steal a phone
specifically
, and opportunity doesn’t exactly come knocking? And you’ve never really thought about this before, and you don’t have the time or inclination to ponder on it? ’Cause the clock is ticking like crazy, and you can’t phone your sister from a public phone, ’cause that’s exactly the problem, right, they are public, especially the row of coin and card phones up in St George’s Mall. You can’t just go stand there and say: ‘Nadia, I’m in deep trouble, if the cops phone you, say you don’t know who the call is from.’ It’s noisy there by the phones, it’s not like you can stand there and whisper. Or you waltz into a restaurant and say here’s a hundred bucks, please let me use the phone, it’s an emergency. And the maître d’ hangs around suspiciously to check that you’re not phoning Beijing. And Uncle Solly, Nadia is going to
skrik
, she’ll be so scared, and she’ll ask: ‘Now what’s going on?’ and if I don’t say, she’ll worry. ’Cause I’m all she has. I’ve always been all she has.

And in his urgency, his haste, eyes flitting from one pedestrian to the next, it hit him suddenly, out of nowhere: How had the gunman known where he lived?

The thought made Tyrone stop in his tracks, and shiver.

When the fat Muslim chick buzzed him, he thought it was the cops. But it wasn’t, and he hadn’t had the time to work that one out.

How the fuck?

Did the shooter tail him?

Must have. He didn’t want to shoot Tyrone in public. He wanted no eyewitnesses. So he tailed him, all the way behind the taxi. He’s good, never saw it coming.

He looked around, slowly, carefully, his eyes scanning for the man in the grey baseball cap. Or a reasonable facsimile thereof.

He saw nothing. He moved on, searching for possibilities.

The time, time was running out.

Why did that bro’ want to shoot him?

Because he was a witness.

Why had that bro’ come in there with a silenced gun like a secret agent and blown all those mall cops away?

Maybe a big heist in the mall?

Probably drugs, and the mall cops were all dealers who were skimming. That’s the only thing that would have brought a coloured bro’ out of the woodwork with a silenced gun.

Tyrone searched for a mark, to steal a phone.

And then he thought, what a
blerrie
fool he is, that’s what stress will do for you. Don’t steal a phone. Buy one.

The Sea Point Station commander was still leaning against the wall of the security chief’s office. He listened to Captain Mbali questioning Jerome, the official who was first on the scene. All stuff he would have asked, he thought, it wasn’t as though she was
that
clever.

Jerome was clearly still in shock. He was as white as a sheet, his voice muted, and he hesitated before each answer, as though he didn’t want to recall the events. He said the roster was such that only one official was off duty at a time. His break was from ‘oh nine hundred hours’, but he was on duty at the Clock Tower car park, and he first had a chat with a friend on his way back to the tea room. And then he wanted to see what Knippies looked like in real life, and so he went to the control room. He wasn’t even sure the super would allow him to look at the pickpocket, but he thought he would take a chance, as they had looked for the
ou
for so long.

‘So you came in?’

‘Yes.’

‘And the door was open?’

‘Which door?’

‘The one to the corridor.’

‘No. It was closed.’

‘Did you see anything out of the ordinary?’

‘Jeez, lady, I saw all of them dead . . .’

‘That’s not what I mean. Before you got to the control room. Did you see anybody or anything that did not belong there?’

‘No. It was just very quiet.’

‘Did you touch anything?’

The Sea Point Station commander’s cellphone rang. He saw Captain Kaleni give him a dirty look. He wondered: How does she think I can help it? He recognised his station’s number and walked out of the office as he answered it.

It was his charge office, and the constable’s voice was weighted with drama. ‘Captain, we have another shooting. Up in Schotsche Kloof.’

‘Yes?’ His heart sank, but he mustn’t show it.

‘A woman phoned at eleven thirty-three, Ella Street number eighteen, and reported an intruder at her gate, he was busy climbing over the fence. So I asked her, are the doors locked and she said yes. So I sent a van, they were there at eleven forty-four. The gate was still locked. They rang the bell, but no one answered . . .’

The SC’s patience ran out. ‘Is she the one who was shot?’

‘Yes, Captain. They found her there inside. One of the windows is broken . . .’

‘I’m coming.’

It was not his day.

Tyrone bought a phone from the Somalians in Adderley. First they

tried to palm an LG E900 Optimus 7 off on him for R900.

‘Nine hundred for a hot Windows phone. Do you think I’m stupid?’

‘It’s a good phone. Not hot. Cool.’

‘I don’t care if it’s a good phone. I’m not paying nine hundred for a hot phone. And I don’t want a Windows phone. Nobody wants a Windows phone. What else do you have? For under two hundred?’

‘No. Two hundred? Nothing for two hundred. We only sell good phones. Not hot phones.’

He didn’t have time to tell the Somalian with his soft eyes and big smile that he was talking shit. He shook his head, turned, and walked off.

‘Wait,’ said the Somalian, as Tyrone knew he would.

‘Two hundred.’

‘For that? It’s a relic. One hundred.’

‘One seventy-five. It has a SIM card. It works.’ The man switched the phone on.

‘Let me test it.’

‘No. I will show you. I will call my friend.’ He typed in a number and held it out so that Tyrone could listen. It rang. Someone answered.

‘You see. It works. Pay as you go, you can top up. Not a hot phone.’ He switched it off.

‘How much time on the card?’

‘Ten hours’ talk time.’

‘OK.’ He didn’t believe the man. Probably closer to an hour or two. But that was all he needed. He took out the stolen wallet.

‘So, did you touch anything?’ Mbali asked again.

‘No,’ said Jerome, the security official.

‘What about the outside door handle?’

‘Yes, I touched that.’

‘And inside?’

‘No, nothing. Wait. I touched the inside door handle too. And the toilet door, and the basin and . . .’

‘I’m talking about the crime scene.’

‘No, I never touched anything in there.’

‘OK. Did you look at the TV screen when you were in there?’

‘Yes. But just for a moment. I mean, all my friends . . .’

‘I understand. Is that Knippies on the screen?’

‘I think so.’

‘So there is a video of Knippies that was taken today?’

‘Yes, they watched him, and all the cameras are recording.’

‘OK. Thank you.’

Tyrone ran up to the Company Gardens so that he could phone Nadia without a hundred ears listening.

She didn’t answer. He got her voicemail, drew a breath to leave a message, then reconsidered and rang off. What could he say that wouldn’t frighten her?

Her phone was on silent. She was in class. It was twelve minutes to one. She would probably come out just after one.

By that time the cops would have got hold of the rucksack, and probably the phone too.

He would
have
to leave Nadia a message. He would just say that this was his new number . . . No, he would say it was a temporary new number, he had lost his old phone, and please phone him, there was something urgent . . . no, there’s something important he wanted to tell her. Phone as soon as she can.

He took a deep breath so that she wouldn’t hear the tension in his voice, and pressed the numbers.

For the first time Mbali saw the bullet hole in the door that led into the mall. She studied it carefully, and then she tried to understand the meaning of it, in the context of the whole crime scene.

She opened the door and walked into the corridor of the shopping centre. She still had her gloves and her shoe covers on. Her eyes searched for a camera that could have covered the door to the control room.

She found one, ten metres away, high up on the wall.