See No Evil

26

Benton couldn’t sleep. For a man of his height it was difficult, even in the first-class cabin. He had no compunctions about charging Zyl News for the upgrade, even though most Bloomfield Weiss trips these days were business class. But he was apprehensive about going to South Africa again.

He hadn’t been since that awful time so long ago when Martha van Zyl had been brutally murdered in front of him and he had been lucky to escape with his life. He still had nightmares about that. They had morphed over the years, until they settled into a disturbing slow-motion scene where, naked, Martha stretched out her arms towards him and he slowly raised a heavy gun and shot her several times. As she died, she mouthed, ‘Stay with me, Benton.’ Now he did not want to go to sleep. He did not want to conjure up that dream.

The police custody had been a nightmare of its own. Although it should have been evident that he had only just escaped being shot himself, the cops had arrested him. They left him alone for an hour or so, and then they asked him whether he had murdered Martha. They seemed strangely pleased when he refused to admit to anything. With unmistakable relish they began to persuade him to confess. They stripped him naked and one of them beat him with a weighted hosepipe. It hurt like hell. The pain was so bad that he passed out. When he came to they had manacled his hands and suspended him from a beam along the ceiling of the cell. His muscles, still sore from the beating, burned with pain as they bore his weight. His left arm felt broken. Still he refused to speak, apart from cursing his captors and demanding to see someone from the US embassy. It was his anger that made him hold out. He was angry that they were treating him like an animal because he was black and he was angry that they were doing nothing to find the people who really had shot Martha.

They left him there for a couple of hours in his own private hell. There was the physical pain and there was the memory, still very fresh, of watching Martha die. Then a new man came into the cell. He looked tougher and even meaner than the others. Benton had had enough. He was ready to confess to just about anything and everything. Then the man smiled. He ordered Benton to be lowered from the beam and his clothes were returned to him. Dressed, Benton sat opposite the man at a bare table.

‘Your name is Benton Davis?’ he said, leafing through his blue United States passport. Benton noticed that his wallet and his other possessions were in a clear plastic bag.

Benton nodded.

‘And you’re an investment banker?’

Benton nodded again.

‘How does that work?’ the policeman said, looking up with a thin smile. ‘I didn’t know apes could add up.’

Benton sat there, impassive. He could put up with insults all day as long as they didn’t hit him any more with that hosepipe.

‘You can go now,’ the man said, tossing the passport and the plastic bag to him. ‘We know you weren’t responsible for Martha van Zyl’s death. We apologize for any inconvenience we may have caused.’

‘The way you have treated me is outrageous—’

‘Let me stop you there, Mr Davis,’ said the man, leaning forward. ‘My name is Moolman. Colonel Moolman. The men who interrogated you here are amateurs. I’m a professional.’ Moolman smiled again. He had a thick neck, a pillar of muscle. Benton kept quiet.

‘We will never see each other again, provided you remember one thing. You were never here in this police station. You were never even at Kupugani. We’ll take you to Johannesburg and throw you in the street. You can tell everyone you were attacked and robbed.’ Moolman chuckled. ‘If we dump you in the right place, you may even be attacked and robbed for real.’ He leaned forward, his hard grey eyes looking directly into Benton’s. ‘Do you understand?’

Benton didn’t answer.

‘You see if you do mention any of this to anyone, I will find you and kill you. And believe me it will be a more painful death than you could possibly imagine. And don’t think that just because you live outside South Africa you will be safe. Our enemies come to unfortunate ends all over the world. Remember Olof Palme, the prime minister of Sweden, who was shot two years ago in Stockholm? If we can get him, we can get you.’

Benton had agreed to Moolman’s terms. He had never mentioned that awful day to anyone. And, given what had happened to Todd and then Alex Calder’s sister, he was glad. He hadn’t needed the message Moolman had left him at Bloomfield Weiss to be reminded of the ex-policeman’s existence. He knew he was out there somewhere.

Benton had never been back to South Africa. He wondered what the hell Cornelius wanted to see him about now. It had seemed odd that the old man had suddenly decided to fly down to Johannesburg. Perhaps he had uncovered a new source of equity that would allow Zyl News to support a higher bid for The Times. Cornelius had told Dower he didn’t have a secret fund stashed away somewhere, but perhaps he had lied. Benton remembered the mysterious Laagerbond that Martha had told him about just before she died. Whatever it was, Benton hoped it would strengthen the deal. He had cashed in all the chips he had to persuade the Underwriting Committee to back his pledge to Cornelius to raise the money. But his career was on the line. The deal was risky, possibly too risky even for the junk-bond market, and Benton knew that if Bloomfield Weiss couldn’t find buyers for most of the junk-bond issue, it would all be over for him. If Cornelius had access to even a hundred million pounds of equity investment, that would reduce the amount of debt that had to be raised and would make the deal a lot less risky.

At least Cornelius wanted to talk to Benton alone. No Dower. No flunkies. If the deal worked, Benton would take the credit. All the credit. For the first time in a long time he would earn himself a decent bonus.

And when you really got down to it, that was what it was all about.

The Intercontinental Hotel took up one of the towers that clustered around the indoor shopping complex that was the heart of Sandton. The dining room was quiet, early on a Sunday morning, all black, gold and mirrors. Calder and Cornelius ordered some orange juice and coffee while they waited.

Benton looked cool and confident as he strode into the room, well dressed as always, white shirt bright and unwrinkled, tie knotted just so, suit hanging perfectly from his tall frame, cufflinks flashing. He smiled when he saw Cornelius and held out his hand. Cornelius returned his smile. Then Benton saw Calder.

The surprise registered on his face, but only for a moment. ‘Alex? A pleasure as always. You do pop up at the most unlikely breakfast tables.’

‘Benton.’

‘OK,’ Benton said, taking a seat. ‘I’m not going to even try to pretend there’s nothing weird going on here.’

Cornelius was silent. The smile had left his face. He looked serious. Deadly serious. Benton flicked his glance from Cornelius to Calder and back again. It dawned on him. He knew Calder had been asking questions about Martha’s death. Now he realized Cornelius had some of the answers.

Benton’s shoulders slumped. No one said anything. Then Benton straightened. His eyes met Cornelius’s. ‘I guess this is the opportunity I’ve been hiding from for the last, whatever it is, eighteen years. I’m sorry, Cornelius. I’m truly sorry. What I did was wrong, and I regret it. It would have been wrong in any case, but given what happened to Martha...’ Benton shook his head. ‘I’m sorry.’

‘You’re fokkol, Benton,’ Cornelius said levelly. The waiter, who had been hovering to take a breakfast order, backed off.

‘I can guess what that means,’ said Benton. ‘And you are probably right.’

Cornelius shook his head. ‘We are both fokkol. She suspected something was going on with Beatrice, didn’t she?’

Benton nodded.

‘I didn’t sleep with her, you know.’

Benton didn’t reply.

Cornelius looked around the dining room in exasperation, as if there were someone, somewhere, who could undo everything, who could absolve him of what he had done. ‘I can’t bear to think that she died hating me,’ he said.

‘She loved you,’ Benton said quietly. ‘She always loved you. That’s why she was so angry with you. In a twisted way, that’s why she went with me. I guess I knew that.’

Cornelius took a deep breath. ‘You were there at the time. When she died?’

Benton nodded.

‘What happened?’

Benton closed his eyes. He owed it to Cornelius to tell him. For nearly twenty years he had been carrying the guilt of his affair with Martha. Perhaps this was his chance to atone for what he had done. To hell with Moolman.

‘We were at Kupugani, in an isolated cottage a few hundred feet from the main camp. They wanted to keep us away from the other tourists; in those days a white woman and a black man together could cause all sorts of problems, even way out in the bush. It was the morning, we were just getting up. I was in the bathroom shaving. She was lying on her bed, writing in her diary. The bathroom door was open.’

He opened his eyes. A film of sweat had appeared on his forehead. He looked down at his hands. ‘There was a shot, and the window shattered. Martha screamed. I turned and looked. There was another shot.’ Benton swallowed. ‘She stopped screaming. She stopped screaming.’ He blinked at Cornelius. ‘She died instantly. I started to move toward her and then I dived for the ground as a third shot rang out. There was a lot of blood. The diary had fallen on to the rug at the foot of the bed. I grabbed it and slid along the floor back to the bathroom. I slammed the door shut, broke the window at the back of the cottage, climbed out and ran.’

‘Did you see who fired the shots?’ Calder asked.

‘No,’ said Benton. ‘I ran down the path and then ducked into a maintenance shed. I hid behind some metal roofing material. I heard someone run past, and then a few seconds later I heard him run back. He checked the shed, but didn’t look behind the metal. I waited for about ten minutes and then crept back to the main camp.

‘I never saw her again. I mean her body. The police came and arrested me. They beat me up, tried to get me to confess. Then some big shot showed up and let me go. He said he’d have me killed if I told anyone I had been there.’ He glanced at Cornelius. ‘He meant it.’

Cornelius grunted.

‘Martha’s mother came to see me as soon as I got back to New York,’ Benton continued. ‘I wanted to tell her everything, but, well, I was scared. Scared of the South African police, and scared of you.’

‘I can understand that,’ muttered Cornelius.

‘Surely when you were back in New York you were safe from the South Africans?’ Calder said.

Benton shook his head. ‘The policeman’s name was Colonel Moolman. I will always remember him. He was very convincing. He said that they would get me wherever I was in the world, and I believed him. Especially when Todd was nearly killed after he started asking questions. So when Alex wanted to know about Martha’s letter to her mother and the diary, I wasn’t about to say anything.’

‘Can you tell us about the Laagerbond?’ Calder asked. ‘About Operation Drommedaris?’

‘A bit, but I guess I don’t know much more than you, Cornelius. Martha told me how she had read some papers about the group in a briefcase left in a car by two members who came to see you at Hondehoek. She copied down some details. She thought the Laagerbond were going to fund your bid for the Herald. That fitted with what you had told us at Bloomfield Weiss: that you were considering a new source of funds.’

Cornelius nodded.

‘Martha was very angry. She said she had wanted to do something about it, but she was too scared. I’m not sure why. I assumed it was you she was afraid of.’ Benton glanced at Cornelius, who was listening impassively. ‘I think she wanted to talk to me some more that weekend, but she never got the chance.’

‘Did the Laagerbond fund Zyl News?’ Calder asked. He wanted to make sure.

‘No,’ said Benton. ‘Bloomfield Weiss arranged all the funding from the banks and the high-yield bond market. It was tough, but we did it. As far as I’m aware, the Laagerbond never did finance Zyl News. Although it did cross my mind that that might be why you called me down here.’

‘When I turned them down, they went to Evelyn Gill,’ Cornelius muttered.

‘No!’ Benton’s eyes widened. ‘So that’s where he gets his funding?’

‘We don’t know for sure,’ said Calder. ‘But it fits.’

‘I guess it does,’ said Benton.

‘What about the diary?’ said Calder.

‘It was very important to her. She said it was like her confidante, her friend.’ Benton smiled. ‘In fact, as I was shaving, she said it was the first time she had written in it in the presence of someone else. She said it felt good to be able to trust someone enough not to be secretive about it.’ The smile disappeared as Benton glanced at Cornelius. ‘Sorry.’

‘I knew nothing about any diary until Martha’s mother mentioned it,’ Cornelius said. ‘But I guess that was the point.’

‘Did you read it?’ Calder asked Benton.

‘No, no I never did. I know there was some important stuff in it about the Laagerbond and Operation, what was it, Dromedary?’

‘Drommedaris,’ said Calder.

‘Whatever. And I guess there was a lot about me and about you, Cornelius, and the rest of your family. Besides, I was never going to read it while she was alive.’

‘But after she died?’ Calder asked.

‘I couldn’t.’

‘Why not?’

‘Because I didn’t have it.’

‘I’m sorry. I thought you said you picked it up off the floor and took it with you?’

‘Yes, I did. It was an instinct, I guess. I knew it was important and something told me that the shooting had just made it more important. But I didn’t want to take it with me back to the main camp, and so I hid it. And then, after Moolman’s warnings, I decided to leave it.’

‘Why didn’t you just stuff it in your pocket?’

‘I wasn’t wearing pants. In fact, I wasn’t wearing anything. I think I gave the camp owner quite a fright.’

‘Ah.’ Calder could feel the tension around the table. Benton’s nakedness was a reminder of why he and Martha were at Kupugani in the first place.

‘Where did you hide it?’ growled Cornelius.

‘In the maintenance shed. On a beam under a brick.’

‘Could it still be there?’ Calder asked.

‘I have no idea.’ Benton thought it over. ‘It might be. The shed was full of junk. I had to stand on something to reach the beams, and you can see how tall I am. It’s not the kind of place that got an annual spring clean, and even if it did I doubt anyone would go up into the beams. My guess is, as long as the shed hasn’t been torn down or converted into something else, the diary could still be there.’

Calder and Cornelius exchanged glances.

‘In that case, Benton,’ Cornelius said. ‘You’re coming with us to Kupugani to show us where it is.’

Benton was opening his mouth in protest when a mobile phone rang. Calder knew he had his switched off. It was Cornelius’s.

‘Yes, Edwin... Yes... Yes, I’ve got Benton here with me now... how much?... Nine twenty?... We’ll get back to you.’

He put his phone down, a scowl on his face.

‘Bad news?’ Benton said.

‘Evelyn Gill has just come up with a new offer. Nine hundred and twenty million. Laxton are going to make the announcement at seven tomorrow morning.’

‘Shit,’ said Benton.

Cornelius and Benton shared looks of resignation. ‘There’s no way we can match that, is there?’ Cornelius said.

Benton shook his head. Gloom descended on the table.

Calder broke the silence. ‘Gill’s getting his money from the Laagerbond. If we expose that, his bid crumbles. You win The Times.’

‘He’s right,’ said Benton.

Cornelius glared at Benton. ‘We definitely go to Kupugani this afternoon.’

Cornelius and Benton went up to Cornelius’s suite to make arrangements. Calder returned to his own more modest hotel near by. In his room he switched on his mobile phone. There was a message from Zan asking him to call her, but first he called Anne’s house in Highgate.

Kim answered. Anne was now definitely out of danger, and recovering well. Todd was doing well too, although they still wanted to keep him in hospital under observation. Dr Calder had just taken the kids out to the park.

‘Have you heard any more from Edwin?’ Calder asked.

‘No. But I decided to call his bluff. I phoned Inspector Banks and told her about Donna Snyder visiting Todd. I also told her that Edwin had tried to use the information to blackmail me.’

‘Is she suspicious of you?’

‘I don’t think so. I asked her if she was going to interview Edwin again, and she said probably not, but she sounded frustrated. I told her a little bit about what you had discovered and she told me to wish you luck.’

‘Really?’

‘My guess is that she’s been warned off the van Zyl family and I think she’s pissed off about it.’

Calder told Kim all about Benton and Cornelius and the diary hidden in the game reserve. She sounded pleased, although she wasn’t entirely convinced of Cornelius’s innocence. Calder promised to keep her informed.

Then Calder returned Zan’s call. ‘Zan, it’s Alex.’

‘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.

‘Stop!’ she said.

The man continued. Zan tensed. She hoped her preparations and the training she had received all those years ago in the ANC camps in Mozambique would be effective.

‘Where’s Dirk du Toit?’ she called out in Afrikaans.

‘He couldn’t make it,’ the man said.

Zan reached behind her for the pistol shoved in the waistband at the small of her back. The other man was quick. Before she could aim, he had whipped his own weapon out from a shoulder holster and was pointing it at her. He fired and she felt a thud in her chest as the round hit her body armour. She fell backwards, twisting as she hit the ground so that her own gun was pointed straight at the man who was lumbering towards her. She fired twice, hitting him in his unprotected chest. He slumped to the ground.

She scrambled to her feet and ran over to him. He was still breathing. His gun was an inch from his hand and she kicked it away. She pointed her pistol at the man’s head.

‘What’s your name?’

He shook his head.

She kicked him in the ribs, a few inches below one of the entry wounds. The man screamed in pain.

‘I said, what’s your name?’

‘Moolman,’ the man whispered.

‘Kobus Moolman? Colonel Kobus Moolman?’

The man nodded.

Zan remembered the name. He had been a leading member of the Vlakplaas death squad that had killed so many comrades in the struggle. And a minute ago he had tried to kill her; her breast still ached from the impact of the round on the Kevlar.

She glanced at his wounds. It was just possible that, if she called an ambulance, he might survive.

She pulled the trigger twice more.