Random Violence (8 page)

12

Following the route that Annette must have taken to work every day, Jade had an uneasy feeling that somebody was tailing her. In the last ten years and as many countries, her instinct had been sharpened, and she never ignored it. She glanced in her rearview mirror again. Three cars—a white van, a blue BMW and a cream-colored minibus taxi—were behind her. A few blocks ahead of her a black Mercedes with dark windows pulled onto the road. She couldn’t see whether it had number plates.

She turned left at a T-junction. The van turned left, the BMW turned left, and the taxi stopped in the middle of the road to pick up a passenger.

Jade switched the radio on to listen to the local lunchtime news. A cash-in-transit heist. One robber dead, one guard criti-cally injured. A police spokesperson said a surge of lawlessness was sweeping the country. The gas price was going up again, the rand had strengthened against the dollar, and Lindsay Lohan’s personal stylist was telling the world about the star’s addiction to shopping. That was it. Nothing about Annette. In radio terms, Jade hoped, her death was already old news.

She checked behind her again. The BMW was there. The van was there. The taxi had caught up and was trying to overtake all of them on a solid yellow line.

Jade turned down a side road, watching to see if anybody followed her. She saw no cars, although her uneasiness per-sisted. Either her instinct was wrong or the person tailing her was too experienced to be caught.

Rejoining the main road, Jade soon decided that if she were Annette, she would have moved to Cape Town too. Or found another job closer to home. Development was rife in the area, and traffic was at a standstill.

Stuck in an endless line of cars, she inched past a huge billboard announcing “A Place To Raise Your Brood” with a picture of an oversized duck swimming in a sapphire-blue lake. Below, bright red letters announced “Eagle’s Eye Estate,” “New Lifestyle Residential Properties!” “Secure Country Living! Homes Now Available!”

Further ahead on the left, all the trees had been cut down to make room for a paved maze of cluster homes surrounded by high walls topped with electric fencing that stretched as far as the eye could see.

On the right, more trees had been felled. A shopping mall that seemed to cover the same area as the Vatican City was being erected. Cement trucks and bulldozers crawled around the building site like industrious beetles.

“Eagle’s Flight Shopping Center. Secure Commercial and Retail Properties” an equally large billboard screamed.

Jade forced her way into the next lane to pass a truck piled high with gravel. It labored up the hill, chuffing gray clouds of smoke from its exhaust. If the traffic was this bad now, she didn’t want to think what it would be like when the residents of Eagle’s Eye and Eagle’s Flight moved in and started trying to get to and from work every day.

Further ahead, a row of traffic cones had been placed on the left side of the road, narrowing the two lanes into one. She watched the Jo’burg drivers struggle with the concept of giving way to fellow motorists. For every two cars that reached the single lane, one had to go first and one had to go second. But there were unwritten rules. Minibus taxis always went first. She watched a driver dispute this decision. He tried to pull ahead and cut a taxi off. The taxi driver leaned out of the window with a friendly grin and then waved a crowbar at him.

The driver let the taxi in ahead of him.

Jade laughed. It was a novelty to be back in a country where breaking the rules was practically a national hobby, where people who considered themselves honest citizens drove without licenses, dodged tax, and employed illegal immigrants. Where bribery was a way of life, whether it was to avoid a spot traffic fine or win a government contract.

The average South African’s attitude to the law had given her father gray hairs, that was for sure.

She checked her mirror again. Close behind her was an angry-looking man in a big new car. He was weaving from side to side as if hoping to find a way past the traffic cones and crash barriers that now lined the road.

The taxi ahead of her stopped to let out a group of passen-gers, then pulled off again. They stood, flattening themselves against the yellow barriers, waiting for a chance to cross.

Jade stopped when she reached the little knot of people. Three men in threadbare overalls and a woman carrying a baby. They stared at her for a moment as if they couldn’t believe a car was actually waiting for them. Then they hurried across the road.

The woman with the baby was slower. As she was crossing, the man in the car behind her blasted his horn. A long, impa-tient blast that caused the woman to jump in fright and stumble sideways. Jade looked in her rearview mirror. The man was waving his hands around his ears, shouting out words she was glad she couldn’t hear. Then he lowered his hands and honked again.

Jade got out of her car. The wind was blowing strongly, kicking up dust from the bare soil and sending it scudding along in hazy brown clouds. She could hear the groaning of machinery and the sound of drills, and closer, the thrum of idling engines in the queue behind her. She glanced at the waiting cars and noticed a black Mercedes with tinted windows in the line. Was it the same one she’d seen earlier? Luxury vehicles were so common in this part of Johannesburg, she didn’t know.

She walked towards the angry man. The taxi passengers, now safely across the road, stopped to watch her.

The man buzzed his window down. His face was red, his eyes concealed behind small round dark glasses.

“Is something wrong?” she asked, innocently.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

She looked him over. Luxury car, expensive suit. Gold watch around his wrist. And an air of supreme, aggressive confidence.

“I was letting people cross the road.”

“They could have waited.”

“For what? Christmas?”

“You were holding up traffic.”

“The roadworks are holding up traffic. Look.” Jade pointed to the cones and crash barriers. “Construction. See?”

Behind them, someone else honked.

“For God’s sake, bitch,” the man shouted. His mouth was open so wide she could see the gold fillings in his molars. “Get back in your car and drive. Because if you don’t, I’m going to get out myself, and land you such a punch you’ll be flat on your back in the road. Woman or not, I don’t give a shit.”

“All right, then.” Jade walked back and climbed into her car. Behind her, she heard the man revving his engine in triumph. She pushed in the clutch. Then she popped her car into reverse and hit the accelerator.

Her car shot backwards. There was only room for it to travel a few feet before her rear bumper collided with the front bumper of the luxury car behind her. It was a small impact. She barely felt it. But for him, it was more serious. Because his airbag deployed.

Looking in the rearview mirror, she saw his body whip-lash backwards as the powerful bag shoved him out of the way, and then slump forwards again as the bag deflated. His expensive dark glasses fell out of the open window and shat-tered on the tarmac. His hands went up again, trying to push the half-empty airbag out of the way. He’d forgotten all about Jade. He was far too busy wrestling with the flapping nylon and, Jade knew, smearing the sticky white talcum powder from the deployed bag all over his dark suit.

She saw the taxi passengers at the side of the road shrieking with laughter and clapping their hands in glee. This was a sight none of them would ever forget.

Jade put her car into first gear and drove on. There was no need for her to check her mirrors now. For quite some time, there were no other cars behind her.

She examined her rear bumper carefully when she arrived at Yolandi’s office. She couldn’t see any marks on the solid black plastic. Good. She hadn’t wanted to damage the car, or get David into trouble with the rental company.

“Control your temper, Jade,” her father would have said, with that half-smile on his face that always left her won-dering whether he was angry or amused by the headstrong behavior of his only child.

She wondered what he would say if he knew how far beyond the law she had gone, and how much further she planned to go.

13

While Jade waited for the receptionist to finish a phone call, the two managers she had seen last time walked down the corridor. They wore different ties this time. One solid red, one solid blue. She heard them discussing South Africa’s recent cricket performance.

“All out in forty-three overs. Didn’t even break the hundred and fifty mark. And Smith scored two runs. Two. What kind of a captain is that?”

“Unacceptable,” the other man said.

As they passed by, one of the men stopped and stared at her. He looked her up and down. Jade knew what he was thinking. In her jeans and jacket, she didn’t look like a sales-person or a customer. So why was she waiting?

“Can I help you?” he asked.

“I’m here for Yolandi Storr,” she said.

“Yolandi.” He frowned. “And you are?”

“Jade de Jong. Investigator assisting the police.”

The red-tied man sighed heavily. “I’d better help you, then. What is it you need to know?” He gestured to a row of silver metal chairs opposite the reception desk. Jade took one and the manager lowered himself onto the neighboring seat, shifting his weight uncomfortably in a way that made her wonder if he suffered from hemorrhoids.

“I need access to her colleague’s computer. Annette Botha. I’m investigating her murder case on behalf of Superintendent Patel.”

The manager stared blankly at her for a moment and then shook his head, as if murder, police investigation and South Africa’s cricket defeat were too much for him to handle in one morning.

“You’re here about the murder case?”

“Yes.”

“OK. Sorry, I thought this was in connection with Yolandi.”

“Why?” Jade stared at him with rising concern. “Are the police investigating her?”

“They’ll want to talk to her, I’m sure. If she wakes up.” He stared at Jade, his expression grim. “Yolandi was the victim of an armed robbery at her home last night.”

“What happened to her?” Jade recalled Yolandi’s frail body and timid demeanor. She would have been helpless against an intruder.

“Tied up and assaulted with a blunt weapon,” the man replied. “She’s in a coma now, with severe head injuries. The police say she was probably left for dead. Emergency services took her to Sandton Medi-Clinic.”

Jade clasped her hands together. Her palms felt icy cold.

“Have they made any arrests?” she asked.

The manager shook his head. “Not yet. The guys got away, whoever they were. They were interrupted. A neighbor heard something, phoned to check, and when she didn’t answer he pressed his panic button. When the robbers heard the alarm, they fled.” He adjusted his tie, tugging it away from his fleshy neck.

“And the weapon?”

“Cops reckon they forced her door with a crowbar, then used it on her. I went round there this morning. The place is a mess. And the computer is gone, I’m afraid.” He turned to her with an apologetic shrug. “Annette’s machine, the one you asked about. Yolandi had it at her house, so she could finish off the year-end. After what happened to Annette, she didn’t want to work late and drive home in the dark.” He shook his head. “I’m sorry. The robbers took it, along with everything else.”

14

Jade phoned David as soon as she was home. Moloi answered and told her he was in a meeting with Williams. She remem-bered Moloi as an enthusiastic rookie who’d joined her father’s team shortly before she left, one of the first big intake of black recruits. Today he was a captain, David’s right-hand man and, according to him, one of the few staff he could trust to do the best possible job.

She briefed him on the latest developments. A torched office, a missing detective, a stolen computer and one uncon-scious woman fighting for her life in intensive care. A black Mercedes with no number plates seen at Grobbelaar’s offices.

Moloi said he would inform his boss immediately.

With David working late, Jade had no culinary obligations in the form of cop food. After she’d updated her case notes, she began to prepare some soup for dinner. Healthy, warming soup with lentils and chopped tomatoes. She wrapped a few giant garlic cloves in tinfoil and put them in the oven to roast.

When the soup had been bubbling for an hour, she switched off the stove, unwrapped the garlic and squeezed the soft insides out of the crispy cloves and into the pot.

She tasted it. Superb. A delicious, subtle combination of flavors. And yet she felt something was lacking.

Jade glanced over at the plastic container of chili powder. She pulled it closer and had a short mental battle with herself.

“You can’t have chili with everything,” she said.

Perhaps just a pinch would do. To liven it up a little.

Jade stirred in a heaped teaspoon and tried the soup again. Now it was perfect.

As she turned to the cupboard to find a bowl, she saw the fuzzy glare of headlights through the steamed-up kitchen window and then heard a honk outside her gate. She hurried to the door, expecting to see David.

It was Robbie, sat behind the wheel of a black BMW. He leaned out of the window when he saw her. His hair was gelled back on his head. The product had tamed the tight curls into uneven waves.

“Come here, Jade,” he called. “I want to show you something.”

Jade grabbed the keys and locked the security door behind her. She hurried over to the gate, bracing herself against the cold and wondering with an uneasy shiver how the hell Robbie had managed to find her. Was there a GPS tracker in the ammo bag?

He grinned at her and swung open the passenger door.

“I got connections who tell me things,” he said.

Jade climbed into the car. The interior smelled of expen-sive leather.

“Your connections tell you there’s a cop living next door?” she asked.

Robbie’s grin widened. “They told me he’s not home.” He reversed out of the driveway and kicked up gravel as he pulled away.

“I thought you wanted to show me something in the car. Not take me somewhere in the car.” Jade tugged her seat belt across and clicked it into place.

“We’ve got to go somewhere before I can show you.” He sniffed the air. “What the hell have you been doing? It smells like an Italian just farted in here.”

“I was squeezing garlic cloves. For soup.”

Robbie made a face. “There’s a bag in the back. Grab it, will you? I got us grilled chicken takeaways. Good food. Not this garlic crap. I got extra spicy for you. We can eat while we drive.”

“Where are we going?”

“Wait and see.”

Robbie turned onto the main road and flattened his foot on the accelerator while reaching for a piece of chicken. They flew past another car, overtaking on a solid line, Jade staring in horror at the headlights of the oncoming truck.

The driver blared his horn in warning. The BMW’s engine roared as it surged forward. They nipped sideways just before the truck rattled past. It was carrying a full load of river sand. Water dripped from the tailgate.

“They must be doing night work,” Robbie observed, lick-ing his fingers. “Do you know there’s actually a shortage of cement in the country? Too much construction. It’s a great opportunity for black market product. I’m looking into it seriously.”

“Robbie, that’s interesting, but please drive slower.”

“No worries, babe. This car has got airbags and stuff.”

“Airbags are not designed to protect people from twenty tons of mass in motion.”

“Chill. I’m a great driver, you know.”

Jade trusted Robbie’s driving skills about as much as she trusted Robbie himself. Fortunately, the traffic was on her side. When they turned onto the highway heading for Pre-toria, a wall of red taillights ahead of them signaled a serious jam. Cursing, he hit the brakes. Jade loosened her grip on her seat. Now that they were moving at the same speed as an old ox-wagon she could relax.

“We’re going the other side of the boerewors curtain,” Robbie said.

“The boerewors curtain?”

“C’mon, Jade, you must have heard that expression before.”

“Nope.”

“It’s a great description. You know what boerewors is-don’t tell me you’ve forgotten just because you’ve been out of the country for so long. Well, northern Pretoria’s all farmers and traditional Afrikaners now. Little suburbs full of poor whites. In the old days, they’d have worked on the farms. Nowadays they still have that same mentality. I’m surprised we don’t need passports to get there.”

“Get where?”

“You’ll see.”

Robbie went through a tollgate and turned off the highway. A few minutes later, they were driving through suburbia. Small houses, narrow roads lined with trees. Jade remembered that Pretoria was also known as Jacaranda City. She wondered whether, in early summer, this street would be transformed into a purple-lined avenue as the trees produced their distinctive flowers. The branches were bare now, so she couldn’t tell.

Robbie pulled up at an intersection and parked on the pavement.

“Come on. This way.”

Pretoria’s more northerly location meant it was usually a couple of degrees warmer than Jo’burg. It didn’t feel warmer now. Outside on the street, Jade felt cold and exposed. Her foot-steps seemed very loud on the tarmac. The small houses were situated close to the road. Close enough for people to watch them walking past in the yellow glare of the streetlights.

The air smelled of burning charcoal and crisping fat. Somewhere, someone was braaing meat outdoors. She sup-posed that people on the other side of the boerewors curtain were too tough to be driven indoors at night just because it happened to be winter.

“Here,” Robbie whispered, pulling her arm. He pointed to one of the houses and crept forward.

Jade looked through the fence, across the narrow strip of garden. In the pool of light cast by the street lamp, the grass looked dry and untended. Behind the net curtains, Jade could see a shape moving slowly across the dimly lit front room. It looked odd—squat and square. It took her a moment to realize that it was the silhouette of an elderly woman in a wheelchair.

“What’s this about?” she muttered, staring at the outline of the old lady.

Robbie’s grip tightened on her arm. “Viljoen’s mother,” he hissed back at her. “This is where he’ll be staying when he’s out of jail. He’s going to live with his old mum. I’ve heard it from a reliable source.”

Jade continued to stare through the curtains. The old lady’s head was bowed as she struggled to maneuver her wheelchair across the small room. When she came to a halt by the window, Jade saw that Mrs. Viljoen was ancient and shriveled, beaten down by age and ill health. Her two sons were murderers. One was completing his jail sentence. The other one was dead. She watched the old lady lean forward and switch off the light. Her arm trembled from the effort. Who would have thought that a frail woman like this could ever have given birth to two such monsters?

“Come on. You’ve seen the place now. Let’s go.”

Jade waited a moment more, contemplating the humble little house. Then she turned and hurried back to the car.

Robbie started the engine. The fan blew warm air into Jade’s face.

“You brought me all the way just to see Viljoen’s mother?”she asked.

He glanced at the dashboard clock, then back at her.

“Not exactly. Just killing time.” His eyes flashed in the dim light. “I’ve got a job to do close by. Verna’s busy tonight. I need your help, I need you to hold the wheel.”

He climbed out of the car, opened the trunk and took out a set of number plates. Jade watched while he swapped the plates onto the front and rear of the car and threw the origi-nals back into the trunk.

Her palms were suddenly slick with sweat. Her mind was racing. It had been ten years since Robbie had held the wheel for her. Ten years since she’d leaned out of the passenger window and stared, with cold and merciless accuracy, down the barrel of her gun.

She’d worked and traveled all over the world since then, always on the move, uneasy about spending time in any one place. She’d told herself she was running from Viljoen, that she wasn’t prepared to return to South Africa until he was freed. Perhaps she had been wrong. Perhaps she was running from herself.

“Well?” Robbie drummed his fingers on the dashboard. “You up for it? We’ve got to get going. Deadline’s in half an hour.”

Jade didn’t reply. She was remembering how she had lined up the gun on her target. How she’d squeezed the trigger, her hand steady, her finger caressing the cool metal, arms absorbing the recoil, sighting, firing again. How the shots had echoed off the buildings in the dark street.

The second time, the third time, both deliberately wide. Winging him, only because the first head shot had been deadly accurate, and criminals who could shoot straight were rare. Why narrow the field of suspects? Let the police think it had been a random hit. A lucky bullet.

How she’d been thrown forward as Robbie slammed on the brakes. She’d grabbed the dashboard, yelling at him. What was he doing? Why had he stopped? He’d jumped out and rifled through the dead guy’s pockets, his shadow looming over the body in the glow of the headlights, darkening the blood that had splashed crimson onto the pavement. “Gotta make it look authentic,” he’d told her, swinging into the driver’s seat with a bulging wallet in his hand. “Let’s get out before the cops arrive.”

Jade shook her head to clear the memory. She’d done it once. She’d do it once more. But that was enough. Never again.

“Well?” Robbie asked again, his voice sharp.

Jade lifted her chin and stared him down. “No. I’m sorry, Robbie. I can’t do this with you.”

He looked straight at her, eyes narrow and predatory in the leather-scented gloom.

“Babe,” he said, “I’m going to make you change your mind.”