Thirteen Hours

There was no parking in Long Street. A SAPS patrol vehicle was already double-parked. Griessel pulled two wheels onto the broader pavement in front of the 'Travel Centre - Safari Tour Specialists' building beside the Cat & Moose, leapt out and, seeing the metre maid a hundred metres down the street, knew he was going to get a ticket. He muttered a curse, locked the car and jogged to the entrance of the building with its garish pink and orange colours. He sidestepped a young couple at the door conversing in a foreign language. The plump girl was behind the desk, in animated discussion with two uniformed men, one of the Caledon Square patrols. He ran up to them. She did not recognise him. He had to say: 'Be

Her face changed in the blink of an eye from insecure receptionist to indignant witness. 'I've just been telling your colleagues, they just waltzed in here and said they were taking the luggage, can you believe it?'

'And you recognised one of them?'

'Tried to bluff their way past me, telling me they were her friends, do they think I am stupid?'

'But you knew one of them?'

'I don't know him, but I've seen him. So I just said: "Why don't you guys go talk to the SWAT team in there?" and they, like, stopped dead, and the next thing ...'

'A SWAT team?' Griessel asked.

'Yes, those buddies of yours guarding the luggage in there, and the next thing, they just waltzed right out again.'

'Miss, where have you seen this man?'

'Here ...' She waved her hand. Griessel wasn't sure what it was meant to include.

'In the hostel?'

'Well, he might have been in here, but I've seen him around, you know, he's in the industry, I'm sure.'

'What industry?'

'The tourist industry,' as though it went without saying.

'Look,' said Griessel, desperate that this not turn out to be a disappointment. 'A girl's life depends on the fact that we have to identify this guy, that you remember where you've seen him, so please ...'

'Really?' The responsibility came to rest on her, the indignation evaporated and enthusiasm took its place. 'Well, OK, look ... I, I know I've seen him at the cafe ...'

'What cafe?'

'The Long Street Cafe.'

'Does he work there?'

'No, he was, like, a customer ...' Deeply thoughtful, eyes squinting, the picture of concentration.

Griessel tried another tack. 'OK, can you describe him?'

'He's black. Tall. Handsome guy, you know, twenty-something ...' Then her face brightened. 'He's, like, ski

But Be

'What?' she said, but he didn't hear her, his hand combed through his hair, and lingered on his neck. He scratched behind his ear, head bent, thoughts jumbled, he must get them in order. This morning ... Griessel looked to the right where they had talked to Oliver Sands this morning, that's what his head had been trying to tell him all fucking afternoon, it was that conversation. He tried to recall it, groping in the dark. Ollie had talked about the club, the girls in the club ...

No. Nothing. Wrong track.

He watched the girl behind the reception desk, looking disgruntled after being silenced. She'd said he's, like, ski