Thirteen Hours

'Fransman, I will talk to Geyser, but you have to find the wife ...'

'Melinda?' Cloete still had trouble believing it. 'Pretty Melinda?'

'I'll get their home address from Mouton, then I'll call you. Commissioner, none of this helps Vusi. Is there no one who can help him?'

'Well, it sounds as though the Barnard affair is sorted out. If the case against Geyser is strong enough, lock him up and go and help Vusi. We can tie up the loose ends tomorrow.'

Afrika saw the look on Be

'OK. We can bring in Mbali Kaleni temporarily until you are free.'

'Mbali Kaleni?' Dekker was taken aback.

'Shit,' said Vusi Ndabeni. Immediately he added: 'I'm sorry ...'

'Nee, o fok,' said Dekker.

'She's clever. And thorough,' said the Commissioner, on the back foot for the first time.

'She's a Zulu,' said Vusi.

'She's a pain in the gat,' said Dekker. 'And she's at Bellville, her SC won't release her.'

'He will,' said John Afrika, in control again. 'She's all I have available, and she's on Be

He saw no relief on Vusi and Fransman Dekker's faces.

'Besides,' said Afrika with finality, 'it's only temporary, until Be

Easy and athletic, the young black man jogged through the trees of De Waal Park, from the Molteno Reservoir end to the waiting Land Rover Defender in Upper Orange Street.

'Nothing,' he said as he got in.

'Fuck,' said the young white driver. He pulled away before the door was even properly shut. 'We have to get out of here. He would have called the cops. And he saw the Landy.'

'Well, then we'll have to get our own cops here too.'

The white man took his cell phone out of his breast pocket and passed it to the black man. 'Call them. Make sure they know exactly where she disappeared. And get Barry down here as well. He's no use up the fucking mountain any more. Tell him to go to the restaurant.'

Griessel and Dekker walked to Loop Street together. 'What have you got against Inspector Kaleni?' Griessel asked.

'She's the fat one,' said Dekker, as if that explained everything. Griessel remembered her from last Thursday: short, very fat, with an unattractive face, severe as the sphinx, in a black trouser suit that sat too tight.

'And ...?'

'We were at Bellville together and she irritates the living shit out of everyone. Fucking bra-burning feminist, she thinks she knows everything, sucks up to the SC like you won't believe ...' Dekker stopped. 'I'm this way.' He pointed down the street.

'Come to AfriSound when you're finished.'

Dekker wasn't finished yet: 'She has this moerse irritating habit of appearing out of nowhere, like a fucking bad omen. She sneaks up, quiet as a wet dream, on those little feet and all of a sudden there she is, always smelling of KFC, though you never see her eating the fucking stuff.'

'Does your wife know?'

'Know what?'

'That you have the horny hots for Kaleni?'

Dekker growled something indiscernible and irascible. Then he threw back his head and laughed, a deep bark that echoed off the building across the road.

Griessel thought about fat policemen as he walked to his car, of the late Inspector Tony O'Grady. Fat Englishman, smartass know- it-all, always chewing nougat with his mouth half open. Didn't bath quite as often as he should. Could drink with the best of them, one of the guys, never unpopular. It was because Kaleni was a woman; the detectives weren't ready for that.

Where were the days of Nougat O'Grady?

Then Griessel had been sober, keen and fearless. Always sharp, he could make a parade room of detectives roar with laughter, every fucking Monday morning. The days of Murder and Robbery, of the ascetic Colonel Willie Theal, already three months in his grave now from cancer, of Captain Gerbrand Vos, later Superintendent, with his bright blue eyes, shot dead in front of his house by a Cape Flats syndicate. And Mat Joubert ... which reminded Griessel of what the Commissioner had said. He took out his phone and called.

'Mat Joubert,' said the familiar voice.

'I suggested to the Commissioner that we bring the Senior Superintendent in, because we need help and he says: "Don't you know about Joubert yet?" ...'

'Be

'What don't I know yet?'

'Where are you?'

'In Loop Street, on my way to arrest a gospel singer for murder.'

'I have to come to the city. I'll buy you coffee when you're finished.'

'To tell me what?'

'Be

Then Griessel knew what it was. His heart sank.

'Jissis, Mat,' he said.

'Be

Griessel climbed into his car and slammed the door hard. He turned the ignition.

Nothing ever stayed the same.

Everyone went away. Sooner or later.

His daughter. Gone to London. He had stood beside A

His daughter looked back once just before she disappeared around the corner. She was far away, but he could see the excitement on her face, the expectation, dreaming of what lay in store for her.

And he always stayed behind.

Would he stay behind again tonight? If A

What if she said: 'OK, Be

His feelings about it were complicated, he knew that. He still loved A

But that wasn't the whole story.

They had been happy, he and A

You could never get it back. That was the fuck-up. You could never go back, that life, those people and those circumstances were gone, just as dead as O'Grady, Theal and Vos. You had to start over, but this time without the naivety, i