Private Gold

Chapter 7

The storm had made the Friday afternoon traffic worse. Much worse. From personal experience, Joey knew Johannesburg drivers fell into two categories. Some of them believed a storm meant they should drive at top speed to try and outrun the rain. The others believed they should stop dead in their tracks at the first sign of a storm, and wait the weather out.

The problems occurred when the two categories of driver collided.

It took Joey twenty minutes to struggle past numerous bumper-bashings onto the highway, only to discover that an earlier accident had caused a massive tailback. The blare of horns provided a continuous soundtrack to the frustrating conditions.

Waiting in an immobile queue of cars, Joey tried to call Isobel to reassure her he’d be there soon, but he couldn’t connect to her number. Perhaps she’d turned her phone off, but he thought it was more likely the storm had wiped out cell signals in that area. Whatever the reason, it meant he had no way of getting hold of her at all.

He forced himself to relax his grip on the wheel, telling himself that worrying was counterproductive. He could only hope that she had also been delayed and wasn’t sitting alone in her lodgings, vulnerable and afraid.

To help calm himself, he glanced down at the photo on his phone’s screen: a beautiful young woman with green eyes and dark hair. His fifteen-year-old daughter, Hayley, had inherited his coloring and his height, but he wasn’t sure where she’d gotten her love of storms and thunder. And heavy metal, and anything loud.

She was his favorite person in the world, and she had just moved to Cape Town with his ex-wife. She’d planned to travel to Jo’burg to do intern work for Private in her school holidays. He’d been looking forward to it. But with everything that had happened recently, and the trouble the business was in, he guessed it would be better for Hayley to stay in Cape Town with her mother.

The last time he’d seen her, she’d pranked him by setting his phone’s ringtone to Metallica’s “Fade to Black.” He’d kept it, because it reminded him of her. Now, the tune started playing loudly.

“Montague speaking,” he said.

“Joey? It’s Paul Du Preez.” He recognized the voice of the pathologist who was doing Khosi’s autopsy.

“Paul. Is there any news?” he asked, surprised. The mortuaries were so crowded that it usually took weeks to obtain results.

“No, the autopsy’s scheduled for next Friday. But I drew blood when the body was signed in and sent it for testing.”

“Is that usual?”

“You know Khosi was a good friend of mine. Just last week we sat down for a beer together and he didn’t seem depressed.”

“I didn’t think so, either,” Joey admitted.

“I did a quick examination when the body came in. There was a spot of blood on his pants and a tiny hole in the fabric.”

“Serious?” Joey gripped the wheel so tightly his fingers hurt.

“When I took a closer look, there were clear signs of a needle prick on the back of the thigh. So I took blood, and submitted the samples. I’m waiting for the results, which should come back this evening. If they’re positive, the police are going to want to interview you again.”

“You sure about the needle prick?” Joey asked, astonished. Khosi had been tough, alert, and experienced. He wouldn’t have submitted to an injection without fighting hard.

“I’m certain,” Paul confirmed. He added, as if reading Joey’s mind, “I didn’t pick up any visible signs of defensive injuries. But in the back of the thigh like that, an intramuscular shot would be fast and easy to do, and would take effect within a minute or two.”

“So you think trickery, rather than force?”

He imagined Paul nodding, his lips pressed together as he did when thinking hard.

“Yes. I would say it’s more likely. Trickery, distraction, something like that. But until we get the results back, it’s all hypothesizing.” The line started to crackle as the rain worsened again.

“We’ll speak later,” Joey said, and disconnected, his mind reeling from this latest bombshell.

There had been foul play involved; the suicide was not, in fact, what it seemed. That word he saw on the poster, “COINCIDENCE”, had stuck in his mind for a reason; his subconscious had known what he’d been too shocked to consciously understand.