Thirteen Hours

Chapter 10

In the breakfast room of the Cat & Moose Youth Hostel and Backpackers Inn, nineteen-year-old Oliver 'Ollie' Sands sat with his head in his hands. A bit overweight, he had red hair and pale skin that had seen too much sun. His angular black-rimmed glasses lay on the table in front of him. Opposite him, close to the door, sat Inspectors Vusumuzi Ndabeni and Benny Griessel.

'Mr Sands has identified the victim as Miss Erin Russel,' said Vusi, with the photo of the victim and his notebook in front of him.

'Jeez,' said Sands, shaking his head behind his hands.

'He's been travelling through Africa with Miss Russel and her friend, Rachel Anderson. He does not know where Miss Anderson is. The last time he saw them was last night in Van Hunks, the nightclub. In Castle Street. ‘Vusi looked to Sands for confirmation.

'Jeez,' the young man repeated, lowering his hands and pulling his glasses closer. Griessel could see his eyes were red.

'Mr Sands, you arrived in Cape Town yesterday?'

'Yes, sir. From Namibia.' The accent was unmistakably American, the voice quavering, emotional. Sands placed the glasses on his nose and blinked, as if seeing Vusi for the first time.

'Just the three of you?' Griessel asked.

'No, sir. There were twenty-one of us. Twenty-three actually, when we left Nairobi on the tour. But a guy and a girl from the Netherlands pulled out in Dar. They ... didn't like it.'

'A tour?' Griessel asked.

'The African Adventure Tour. Overland, by truck.'

'And you and the two girls were together?'

'No, sir, I met them in Nairobi. They're from Indiana; I'm from Phoenix, Arizona.'

'But you were with the girls last night?' Vusi asked.

'A whole bunch of us went to the club.'

'How many?'

'I don't... Maybe ten, I'm not sure.'

'But the two girls were part of the group?'

'Yes, sir.'

'What' happened at the club?'

'We had a good time. You know ...' Sands took off his glasses again, and rubbed a hand over his eyes '... we had a few drinks, we danced a little ...' He replaced his glasses.

The gesture made Griessel suspicious.

'At what time did you leave?' Vusi asked.

'I... I was a little tired. I came back at about eleven.'

'And the girls?'

'I don't know, sir.'

'They were still at the club when you left?'

'Yes, sir.'

'So, the last time you saw Miss Russel alive was at the club.' Sands's face twisted. He just nodded, as though not trusting his voice.

'And they were drinking and dancing?'

'Yes, sir.'

'They were still with the group?'

'Yes.'

'Could you give us the names of the people they were with?'

'I guess ... Jason was there. And Steven, Sven, Kathy ...'

'Do you know their surnames?' Vusi pulled his notebook closer.

'Not all of them. It's Jason Dicklurk, and Steven Cheatsinger...' 'Could you spell that for us?'

'Well Jason, you know. J.A.S.O.N. And ... I'm not sure about spelling his surname ... Can I...'

'Is it Steven with a P.H. Or a V?' Vusi's pen hovered over his notes.

'I don't know.'

'Steven's surname?'

'Wait ... Is it OK if I get the list? All the names are there, the guides and everybody.'

'Please do.'

Sands stood up and walked towards the door. He stopped. 'I have pics. Of Rachel and Erin.'

'Photographs?'

'Yes.'

'Could you get them?'

'They're on my camera, but I can show you ...'

'That would be good.'

Ollie Sands walked out through the door.

'If we can get a photo of the missing girl...' said Vusi.

'He's hiding something,' said Griessel. 'Something to do with last night.'

'Do you think so, Benny?'

'Just now, when he took off his glasses ... he started lying.'

'He was crying before you came. Maybe it was ...'

'He's hiding something, Vusi. People who wear specs ... they have a way ... There is ...' Griessel hesitated. He had learned with Dekker to put his mentoring boots down carefully. 'Vusi, you learn things over the years, with interrogation ...'

'You know I want to learn, Benny.'

Griessel got up. 'Come and sit here, Vusi. The person you are interviewing must always have his back to the door.' He shifted the chairs around and sat on one. Vusi sat down next to him. 'You'll notice if they have something to hide ... Let's say he was sitting here, at an angle, then he'd have his legs pointing towards the door. Then the signs won't be so obvious. But with the door behind him, he feels trapped. The signs become clearer, he will sweat, keep pulling at his collar, a leg or foot will jump, he will put a hand over his eyes or, if he wears glasses, he will take them off. This one did that when he started talking about coming back early last night.'

Ndabeni had hung on every word. 'Thanks, Benny. I'll ask him about that.'

'Is he the only one here, from the group?' 'Yes. Some of them flew home last night. The rest are somewhere else, a wine tour. Or up the mountain.'

'And this one was here?'

'He was still in bed.'

'Now why would that be?'

'Good question.'

'Do you know how to watch his eyes, Vusi?'

The black detective shook his head.

'First you must get him to write something down, so you know whether he is left- or right-handed. Then you look for eye movement when he answers ...'

Griessel's cell phone rang and he saw the name on the screen. AFRIKA. 'It's the Commissioner,' he said before answering. Vusi raised his eyebrows.

He took the call, 'Griessel.'

'Benny, what the hell is going on?' the District Commissioner: Detective Services and Criminal Intelligence asked, so loudly that even Vusi could hear it.

'Sir?'

'Some lawyer is phoning me, Groenewoud or Groenewald or something, lecturing me like a missionary saying you all made a big cock-up with Adrian Barnard's wife ...'

'Adam Bar—'

'I don't give a damn,' said John Afrika. 'Now the woman has committed suicide because you intimidated her and she has nothing to do with the whole bloody thing ...'

A hand clenched his heart. 'She's dead?'

'No, she's not bloody dead, but you are there to mentor, Benny, that's why I brought you in. Just imagine what the press are going to make of this, I hear Barnard is a bloody celebrity ...'

'Sir, nobody—'

'Meet me at the hospital, you and Fransman Dekker. He can't curb his bloody ambition and if I try to cover for him they say it's because he's a fucking hotnot just like me, and I only look after my own people, where the fuck are you, anyway?'

'With Vusi, Commissioner. The church murder ...'

'And now I hear that's an American tourist, jissis, Benny, only on a Tuesday. At the hospital, I'll meet you there, five minutes.' The line went dead. Benny considered the fact that he had given Alexa Barnard the alcohol and that the Commissioner had not said which hospital and then Oliver 'Ollie' Sands walked in with the camera, crying as he stared at the screen on the back. He held it up so that the detectives could see. As Benny Griessel looked he felt that ghostly hand squeeze his heart, that familiar oppression. Rachel Anderson and Erin Russel stood laughing, lovely and carefree, with Kilimanjaro in the background. Young and effervescent, just like his daughter Carla, part of the Great Adventure.

Rachel Anderson lay on her belly behind the heap of pine logs in the cool of the garage and tried to control her breathing.

She thought they must have seen her, because she heard footsteps and voices approaching.

'... more people,' said one of them.

'Maybe. But if the Big Guy comes through, we'll have more than enough.'

She knew their voices.

They stopped right in front of the garage.

'I just hope to God she's still out there.'

'Fucking mountain. It's huge. But if she moves, Barry will spot her. And our cops will have the streets covered, we'll get the bitch. I'm telling you, sooner or later we'll get her and this whole fuck-up will go away.'

She lay listening to the voices and footsteps that faded away uphill. And our cops will have the streets covered. These were the words that echoed in her mind, that killed the last vestige of hope.

Benny Griessel said in Afrikaans: 'He will talk, Vusi. Just give him a fright. Tell him you'll lock him up. Take him down to the cells, even. I have to go.'

'OK, Benny.' So Griessel left and, outside, on the way to his car, he phoned Dekker.

'Is she still alive, Fransman?'

'Yes, she's alive. Tinkie was with her all the time, but she fucked off into the bathroom and locked the door and cut her wrists with a broken gin bottle ...'

The one he had poured her drinks from? How did she get it into the bathroom?

'Is she going to make it?'

'I think so. We were quick. She lost a lot of blood, but she should be all right.'

'Where are you?'

'City Park. Did the Commissioner call you?'

'He's the moer in.'

'Benny, it's nobody's fault. It's that fucking Mouton who made a huge scene. When he saw the blood, he just lost it...'

'We can handle it, Fransman. I'll be there now.' He climbed into his car and wondered if he had missed something in his conversation with Alexa Barnard. Had there been a sign?

Inspector Vusi Ndabeni said: 'I'm your friend. You can tell me anything,' and he saw Oliver Sands reach for his glasses and take them off.

'I know.' Sands began cleaning the glasses on his T-shirt, now with his back to the door.

'So what really happened last night?' Vusi watched for the signs Benny had talked about.

'I told you,' the voice was too controlled.

Vusi allowed the silence to stretch out. He stared unblinking at Sands, but the eyes evaded him. He waited until Sands put the glasses back on, then he leaned forward. 'I don't think you've told me everything.'

'I did, honest to God.' Again the hands went to the glasses and adjusted them. Benny had told him to give Sands a fright. He didn't know if he could be convincing. He took a set of handcuffs out of his jacket pocket and put them on the table.

'Police cells are not nice places.'

Sands stared at the handcuffs. 'Please,' he said.

'I want to help you.' 'You can't.'

'Why?'

'Jeez ...'

'Mr Sands, please stand up and put your hands behind your back.'

'Oh, God,' said Oliver Sands and stood up slowly. 'Are you going to talk to me?'

Sands looked at Vusi and his whole body shivered once and he slowly sat down again.

'Yes.'