Thirteen Hours

Chapter 16

Vusi Ndabeni was walking quickly down Long Street when John Afrika phoned him back.

'It's sorted out, Vusi. Inspector Kaleni's commanding officer misunderstood me.'

'Thank you, sir.'

'She's gone to Caledon Square, she will talk to the stations in the meantime.'

'Thank you, sir.'

'She will be a great help to you, Vusi. She's a smart woman.'

'Thank you, sir.'

More than 1,300 kilometres to the north, in the Wachthuis building, part of the Thibault Arcade in Pretorius Street, Pretoria, the telephone of the Acting National Police Commissioner made a single growling noise. He picked it up. 'The Deputy Minister wants to talk to you,' said his secretary.

'Thank you.' He hesitated for a second before pushing the white 'Line 1' button. He knew it would not be good news. The Deputy Minister only phoned when there was bad news about the currently-on-long-leave National Commissioner and his approaching corruption trial.

'Good morning, Minister,' he said.

'Morning, Commissioner,' she said, and he could hear she wasn't overjoyed. 'I just had a call from the US Consul General in Cape Town.'

The front door of Van Hunks was in Castle Street. There was a neon sign with the name and motto: Smokin'. Inspector

Vusumuzi Ndabeni pushed and tugged on the handle but it was locked.

'Ai,' he said, and walked around the corner to the entrance of the shop next door, a company that sold lights. He found a coloured woman at the checkout and asked if she knew whether there would be anyone at the club.

'Try the back door,' she said, and went to show him the service alley at the back. He thanked her and walked past men unloading crates of beer from a lorry and carrying them into the club, into the kitchen of Van Hunks. A white man with a short black ponytail and small eyes was supervising the unloading. He spotted Vusi.

'Hey!' he said. 'What do you want?' Aggressive, with a slight accent.

Vusi took out his SAPS identity card. He held it out for the man to read. 'I would like to speak to the manager,' he said politely.

Ponytail, a head taller than Vusi, pulled up his nose at the card and the detective.

'Why?'

'Are you the manager?' asked Vusi, still civil.

'No.'

'I would prefer to speak to him.'

'Her. She is busy.' With a faint accent. Foreign.

'Could you take me to her, please?'

'Have you got the warrant?'

'I don't need a warrant,' he explained patiently. 'I am investigating a murder, and the victim was in this club last night. I just need information.'

While Ponytail weighed him up, Vusi noticed that his eyes were too close together. He had heard that in white people it was a sign of stupidity. That would explain the man's behaviour.

'You wait, because they steal my beer.' Ponytail pointed at the black labourers carrying the beer crates. 'What will the police do about this?'

'Did you report it?'

'Why?'

'So the police can investigate,' said Vusi slowly and clearly. 'You have to go to the charge office and report the crime.'

Ponytail rolled his eyes. Vusi didn't know what he meant by that; surely he could not have put it more plainly? 'Look, my investigation is very urgent. I need to speak to the manager immediately.'

More hesitation. Then the man said: 'Down the passage. Third door right.'

'Thank you,' said Vusi, and walked out of the room.

Willie Mouton held the door to the conference room open for Griessel. The Geysers were seated at the long oval table. They were holding hands. Benny had imagined two young bubbly angelic faces, with that exaggerated joy of the newly converted. But the Geysers were on the wrong side of forty, she maybe older than him. They were tense and grim. Josh was a big man with white-blonde hair and a styled crew cut. There were deep etched lines on his face, a droopy blonde moustache trimmed carefully to his chin. Wide shoulders, big arms, a sheen of perspiration on his forehead. Beside him Melinda looked tiny, like a doll, with her round face and red-blonde hair in a cascade of tight curls, a milky-white skin and long lashes. She had a heavy hand with the make-up, the beauty of another era. There was something about her mouth and eyes that would have marked her as an 'easy girl' in the Parow of Griessel's youth.

'Willie,' said Josh Geyser getting to his feet. 'What's going on?'

'This is Sergeant Benny Griessel of the police, Josh. We would like to talk to you.'

Griessel put out a hand. 'Inspector,' he said.

Geyser ignored Griessel's hand. 'Why?' he demanded with an authoritarian scowl.

'Adam is dead, Josh.'

An invisible hand wiped the scowl from Geyser's face. Griessel watched him pale.

Silence dominated the room.

In her seat, Melinda made a little noise, but Griessel kept his attention on Josh. The big man's shock seemed genuine.

'How?' asked Geyser.

'He was shot yesterday at his house,' said Mouton.

'Oh heavens!' Melinda cried out.

'I would like to talk to you alone, Mr Geyser,' said Griessel quickly, worried that the impetuous Mouton would say too much.

'Melinda, won't you wait in my office?' asked Mouton.

She didn't move.

'You're making a mistake,' Geyser said to Griessel.

'Would you sit down, please, Mr Geyser?'

'Come, Melinda,' said Mouton.

'I'm staying with Josh.'

'Mrs Geyser, I am afraid that I must speak with him alone.'

'She stays,' said Geyser.

Vusi found the manager in a small, untidy office with files and sheaves of accounts strewn across the table and shelves. She was typing figures into a large adding machine, painted nails pecking at the keys with lightning speed. He knocked on the frame of the open door and asked whether she was the manager.

'Yes.' She looked up. Forty, maybe, short black hair, strong features, but hard.

Vusi held out his identification and introduced himself.

'Galina Federova.' She shook Vusi's hand with a self-assured grip. 'Why are you here?' in the same accented English as Ponytail's.

Vusi gave her a quick outline of the case.

'Please sit down.' Somewhere between an order and an invitation, the please was a short, powerful pits. She began to pick up invoices from the table, looking for something. She found a pack of cigarettes and a lighter, flipped open the packet's lid and offered it to Vusi.

'No, thanks.'

She took one out for herself, lit it and spoke, the smoke trickling from her mouth.

'You know how many people last night?'

No, he said, he didn't know.

'Maybe two hundred, maybe more. We are very poplar.'

The mispronunciation distracted him momentarily. 'I understand that. But something must have happened, Mrs Federova.'

'Call me Galia. It is the Russian way for Galina.'

'Are you the owner?'

'That is Gennady Demidov. I just manage.'

Vusi took his notebook from his inside pocket and scribbled a note.

'Why you write this down?'

He shrugged. 'Till what time are you open?'

'The door close at twelve on a Monday night.'

'And then everybody leaves?'

'No. Nobody can come in, but those inside, they can stay. We close the bar when everybody go home.'

'This morning, at two-fifteen, did you still have people?'

'I must ask the night manager. Petr.'

'Can you call him?'

'He sleeps.'

'You will have to wake him up.'

She wasn't keen. She drew on the cigarette and blew the smoke out through her nose like a bull in a cartoon. Then she began to rifle through invoices again, searching for the phone. He wondered how on earth untidy people managed to function.

Benny Griessel walked closer to Josh Geyser. He looked up at the colossus who was now jutting his jaw out in determination. 'Mr Geyser, let me explain your choices: we can sit here, just the two of us, and talk quietly ...'

'Regardt and I will be here too, Josh, don't worry ...' Willie Mouton said behind him.

'No,' said Griessel, taken aback. 'It doesn't work like that...'

'Of course it does. He has the right...'

Griessel turned around slowly, his patience wearing thin. 'Mr Mouton, I understand this is a difficult time for everyone. I understand that the victim was your partner and you want this case solved. But it is my job. So would you please leave so I can get on with it.'

Willie Mouton coloured. The Adam's apple bobbed faster, the voice rose to the frequency of the meat saw. 'He has the right to a lawyer and yesterday he was in my office. Regardt and I have to be present. 'The lawyer, Groenewald, came down the passage behind Mouton, seeming to know he needed to help.

Benny looked for patience and found a fraction. 'Mr Geyser, this is an interview, not an arrest. Do you want Groenewald to be present?'

Geyser looked to Melinda for help. She shook her head. 'He's Willie's lawyer ...'

'I am available,' Groenewald said primly.

'I insist on it,' said Mouton. 'Both of us ...'

Benny Griessel knew it was time to tackle Mouton. There was only one way He walked purposefully up to the shaven-headed man, the official words ready on his tongue, but the prim lawyer was surprisingly quick. Groenewald jumped in between the two men.

'Willie, if he locks you up for obstruction, there is nothing I can do for you.' He took Mouton firmly by the arm. 'Come, let's go and wait in your office. Josh, you know where to find me.'

Mouton got to his feet; his mouth moved, but no sound came out. Then he turned away slowly, but his eyes stayed on Griessel, challenging. Groenewald tugged at him and Mouton walked to the door, where he stopped to call over his shoulder: 'You have rights, Josh. 'Then they were gone.

Griessel took a deep breath and turned his attention to the duo. 'Mr Geyser ...'

'We were in church last night,' said Melinda.

He nodded slowly, asked: 'Mr Geyser, do you want legal representation?'

He looked to his wife. She shook her head slightly. Griessel saw the dynamic. She was the one with the final say.

'I don't want anybody,' said Josh. 'Let's get this over with. I know what you think.'

'Ma'am, please, would you wait in Mouton's office?'

'I'll be in the front. In the lounge.' She went over to Josh, touched his big arm, gave him a weighted look. 'Beertjie ...' she said. My little bear. Beside her husband she looked small, but she was taller than Griessel had thought. She was wearing jeans and a sea-green blouse that echoed the colour of her eyes. Ten kilograms ago her body must have been sensational.

'It's all right, Pokkel,' said Josh, but there was tension between them, Griessel could sense it.

She looked back once, and closed the door softly behind her.

Griessel took out his cell phone and switched it off. He looked up at Geyser, who stood beside the oval table with his feet planted wide apart.

'Mr Geyser, sit, please.' He gestured to one of the chairs closest to the. door.

Josh didn't move. 'Tell me first: are you a child of God?'