Thirteen Hours

Chapter 39

The superintendent of the City Park Hospital, a well-groomed woman in her forties, nodded her head just three times while Griessel was talking. She said: 'Captain, one moment, please,' and walked quickly through the glass doors with the lettering Operating Theatre. Personnel Only.

Benny could not stand still. He walked as far as the nurses' desk and back to the theatre doors. Let the fucker live, please, just long enough to get what he needed. He looked at his watch. Nearly twenty-five to three. Too much time had elapsed since they took her. Too many possibilities. But they hadn't shot Rachel Anderson, because there was something they wanted. It was his only chance, his only hope.

At the periphery of his consciousness something flitted past, ghostly visions, fleeting and intangible, leaving only an impression - this morning. He stood still and closed his eyes. What was it? His brain seemed to tell him that, no, the wounded fucker was not his only hope. There was something else. He must go back to the beginning. This morning, what had happened? At the churchyard? What were the important things? The rucksack, cut off Erin Russel...

The superintendent burst through the doors and came over to Griessel. She began to speak before she reached him. 'Captain, his carotid artery was cut, relatively high up, I'm afraid, where there is not much protection. He lost an enormous amount of blood, we had a Code Blue in there, but they were able to resuscitate him. His condition is critical, they are still trying to close the wound, under the circumstances a very difficult procedure, especially since his blood pressure is so low and the bleeding could not be entirely halted. But I am afraid there is no chance of you talking to him in the next five or six hours. Even then I doubt whether communication will be meaningful. His vocal chords have been damaged, apparently - to what extent they don't yet know.'

He digested the information, frustration forcing a curse to the surface, but he swallowed it down.

'Doc, his clothes, I want his clothes, anything he had on him.'

'I'm going to call,' said Bill Anderson decisively. He got up abruptly from the leather couch and went to the phone on his desk. He looked at the number he had written down, picked up the receiver and keyed it in. He stood listening to the initial silence on the line and then the crystal clear ring on the southernmost tip of another continent.

Griessel's phone rang and he looked at the screen, saw it was MAT JOUBERT and answered: 'Mat?'

'Benny, I don't know what it means but Mbali Kaleni wrote the word "jas" in her notebook, and I am reasonably sure it was after she was shot. There are bloody fingerprints on the pen and blood spatters on the page. I thought it might be Zulu, but it doesn't seem to be.'

'Jas?' then he heard the soft ring tone of another incoming call. 'Mat, hold for me.' He saw the long number, the unfamiliar code, and knew who it would be.

God.

He couldn't talk to them now, he couldn't, what would he say? What could he say?

Sorry?

They would be terribly worried because he hadn't phoned. This was their child. They had the right to know.

'Mat, I'll call you back.' He switched calls and said: 'Mr Anderson?'

'Oh, thank god, Captain, we were getting very worried. Is Rachel OK?' Shit.

'Mr Anderson, Rachel was not at the address she gave me. We are still trying to track her down, but we are making good progress.' 'She wasn't there? How is that possible?'

'I don't know, sir. I honestly don't know.'

Two young men full of fire and self-confidence walked into the Cat & Moose Youth Hostel, up to the plump woman at the reception desk.

'Hi,' said the black one and smiled. 'We've come for Rachel's stuff.'

'Who?'

'Rachel Anderson, the American girl. You know, the one who was missing.'

'Are you from the police?'

'No, we're friends.'

'Don't I know you?' asked the generously built girl.

'I don't think so. So where is her luggage?'

'Down there, in their room, with the police. Did they find her?'

'With the police?' The friendliness wavered.

'Yes, they're guarding it. Guns and everything. You'll have to talk to them. Did they find the girl?'

They didn't answer her. They looked at each other. Then they walked out.

'Hey!' the girl shouted, but they didn't even look back. She came around from behind the desk and ran out through the door onto the Long Street pavement. She saw them walking fast. They looked back once and disappeared around the corner.

'I know you,' she said, and hurried off to find the two men who were guarding the luggage.

He wanted to pull off her running shoes. She pressed her feet against the cement floor with all her strength, so that he swore, stood beside her and violently kicked her feet out from under her with his boots.

Her legs shot forward and she fell hard on her bare bottom. She lunged up, trying to struggle upright and hide her feet under her again, but one of the others had grabbed her legs and held them in a ferocious grip.

'Jesus, you're a piece of work,' Jay said to her.

She spat at him, but missed. She tried to jerk her legs free. It was no use. Jay began to untie her laces and pulled the shoe off her foot. He wrinkled his nose at the smell.

'Don't you Yankee bitches ever change your socks?'

She spat again, ineffectually. He had the other laces undone and pulled off the other shoe, threw it aside and pulled off both socks. 'You had better hold one leg,' he said to the third man. 'This is going to drive her nuts.'

He stretched to reach the pruning shears, a big tool with green handles. 'OK, one last time: where is the video?'

'Dead and buried,' she said.

Now there were two of them holding her legs, pressing down with their full weight so that her heels pressed painfully against the concrete floor.

'No,' Jay said to one of them. 'I want her to see what I'm doing. Move a little.'

He grabbed her right foot, his hand around the cushion and the big toe. He brought the shears closer, looked at her, put the blades around her little toe. She jerked with all her might. They were too strong for her. He closed the handles. The pain was immediate and immense. She screamed against her will, a sound she did not know she could make.

The blood made the toe stick to the silver blades. Jay shook them and the bit of flesh and nail fell in the dust.

'This little piggy ...' said the one who was holding her right leg, and giggled nervously.

She cried hysterically.

'Where's the video?' Jay asked and gripped her foot again.

'Fuck you,' she screamed.

He grinned, held the foot tightly, hooked the blades around the second toe and snipped it off.

'In my big bag,' she shrieked, because the pain, the brutality and the humiliation was too much.

'Good. Where is the bag?'

'At the youth hostel.'

Then Jay's cell phone rang and they all jumped in fright.

The superintendent came back through the glass doors with bloodied clothing in a large transparent plastic bag. Griessel told Bill Anderson: 'I am really sorry, but I have to go. If there is any news, I will call you, I promise.'

Silence over the line. 'I don't think your promises mean all that much,' and then the audible click as the American put down the phone. Griessel stood frozen to the spot, torn between the injustice and the knowledge that, as a father, he would have felt the same.

The superintendent held out the bag to him. 'Captain, this is everything, I don't know whether it will help you.'

He came back to the present, replaced his phone in his pocket and took the plastic bag. 'Have you got a pair of rubber gloves around here?'

'Miss, get the captain a pair of surgical gloves,' the doctor ordered. The nurse trotted off down the corridor. 'Will that be all, Captain?'

'Doc, my colleague, Inspector Kaleni?'

'The black woman?'

'Yes. Any news?'

'Her chances are better than the young man's in there. The gunshot trauma to her neck ... it looks like the jawbone deflected the projectile, so that it only damaged the edge of the carotid artery above the fourth cervical vertebra. Apparently she received treatment on the scene to control the bleeding, which made a great difference.'

'Will she make it?'

'It's too early to say.'

The nurse returned with the gloves. 'Thank you,' he said.

'Let me know if you need anything,' the superintendent said and walked towards the lift.

'Thank you very much, Doc,' he said and put the big plastic bag on the nurses' desk. He pulled on the gloves hastily. It looked like a pair of trousers, shirt, a pair of brown boots ... He opened the bag and took out the shirt. White T-shirt, dark with blood. That meant no breast pocket. He took out the shoes and put them to one side. Then the trousers, jeans, with a worn leather belt. He felt in the pockets and took out a bunch of keys, studied them. Car keys with Mazda on them, four other keys - two that would open a house door and two smaller ones. For padlocks? No use. He put the keys beside the shoes. Nothing else in that pocket. In the other he found a handkerchief, clean and neatly folded. He turned the trousers over and immediately felt the back pockets were empty. But there was something on the belt, heavy, a pouch of rust-brown leather with a flap folded over some object. He undipped the flap.

Inside the flap something was written, but he concentrated on the contents of the pouch - a Leatherman, it seemed. He pulled it out. Red handles, printed with Leatherman and Juice Cs4. The multi-tool was not new and bore the marks of use. Fingerprints, he could get fingerprints off it. He applied himself to the flap, lifting it up again. Three letters were written on it with permanent ink marker: A. OA.

Initials?

What is your name, fucker? Andries? He thought of Joubert, of the word Mbali had scribbled. Jas. He would have to phone Mat back, but first he must finish this. He put the Leatherman back in its pouch and went back to the plastic bag. Only a pair of underpants were left, and a pair of socks. He took them out and turned them over in his hands looking for more initials, a laundry label, anything, but there was nothing. A.O.A.

Jas?

'Miss,' he said to the nurse, 'do you perhaps have a small plastic bag?' He pulled the brown belt out of the jeans and took off the pouch.

She nodded, penitent, eager to help after the good example set by the superintendent.

She searched under her desk and produced an empty pill packet.

'That's perfect,' said Griessel, 'thanks a lot.' He placed the Leatherman, pouch and all, in the packet. Then he put the packet in his shirt pocket. He pushed the clothing back into the big bag and looked up. The nurse was gazing intently at him, as though any minute he was going to perform a miracle.

He pulled off the rubber gloves, hesitating, where could he dispose of them?

'Give them to me,' she said softly.

He nodded his thanks, passed them to her, took out his cell phone and called Mat Joubert.

'Benny,' the deep voice said.

'Jas?' said Griessel.

'J.A.S. Just the three letters. Did you find anything?'

'Another three letters. A.O.A. With full stops between. I think they are the fucker's initials.'

'Or an abbreviation.'

'Could be.'

'J.A.S. Could also be an abbreviation, I don't know ... Or a suspect wearing a coat, in this weather ...'

A spark lit up in the back of Benny Griessel's mind, two thoughts coming together ... then it collapsed.

'Say that again.'

'I said J.A.S. could be an abbreviation too.'

Nothing, the insight was gone, leaving no trace.

His cell phone rang softly in his ear. Now what? He checked. It was the Caledon Square radio room. 'Mat, I've got another call, we'll talk.' He manipulated the phone's keys, said: 'Griessel.' The Sergeant said: 'Captain, two men just tried to collect the girl's luggage at the Cat & Moose.' Griessel's heart lurched.

'Did you get the bastards?'

'No, Captain, they ran away, but the manager says she knows one of them.'

'Jissis,' said Griessel, grabbing the plastic bag and starting to run. 'I'm on my way.'

'Right, Captain.'

'How the hell do you know about the Captain?' Griessel asked as he stormed out through the door into the street, nearly knocking two schoolgirls head over heels.

'Good news travels fast,' said the Sergeant, but Griessel didn't hear. He was too busy apologising to the girls.