He counted the body bags. “There were four?”
“Your mother hit one with a spade. He’s also in the helicopter.” Carolina de Jager didn’t look up from her busy hands, her voice a monotone.
“Carolina shot two,” said Joan van Heerden.
“Lord,” he said.
“The Lord was on our side today,” said Carolina de Jager.
“Amen,” said Tiny Mpayipheli behind him, and then Carolina cried, for the first time.
♦
In the calm before the storm, before Hope came in her partner’s car, before Bester and his troops arrived, before the police, with Mat Joubert in command, turned up, before the media and their squadrons streamed in at the gate, before the glaziers could start their repairs, before Orlando Arendse and his retinue, before Kara-An, he walked to one of the two body bags outside and pulled down the zip.
“What are you doing?” asked the soldier with the pack radio, sergeant’s stripes on his sleeve.
“Identification,” he said.
“The colonel said hands off.”
“Fuck the colonel.” The face in the body bag was that of a stranger, no similarity to Rupert de Jager’s photographs of twenty years ago. He slid his hand quickly over the jacket, looking for a wallet.
“That’s enough,” said the radio man.
He got up, walked to the other body bag, unzipped it, the soldier watching him. He tried to turn his back on the man, the pale face in the bag unknown, quick hands in the jacket, nothing. He got up, walked to the one in the living room, not wanting the sergeant to follow him, bent over the body, opened fast, found a bulge in the clothing, pushed in his hand, wallet, took it out. He heard footsteps, looked at the face but didn’t recognize it, zipped the bag, stood with his back to the door. When he looked round, the sergeant was there, suspicious.
“I don’t know them.”
“Samson, Moroka, come and fetch this one, put him with the others.”
Van Heerden went to the kitchen, transferred the wallet to his own pocket.
He borrowed Mpayipheli’s cell phone and phoned Murder and Robbery, looking for O’Grady, because he wanted them here. Then he phoned the newspapers one by one and the radio stations and the television. He didn’t trust Bester Brits, wanted nonmilitary involvement, everything open and aboveboard, transparent.
Hope arrived first, fear in her eyes, wanting to know what had happened, the mark on her cheek bright. She pulled him aside, told him about the second call, but didn’t tell him everything.
“He watched us, Van Heerden, every move we made. They were in my house, they know what book I’m reading and how fast I read.”
He merely nodded.
“He had a message for us. Your mother…the attack…he said they’d warned you, Schlebusch had warned you.”
“Schlebusch is dead.”
“Dead?”
“They shot him. This morning. Bester said it’s because I put the photo in the paper, because Schlebusch became a high risk. I think it’s only part of the story.”
“He said he found the will in the safe.”
“Who?”
“The man who phoned this morning. He said he would’ve given it to us but then we went to the newspapers. So he burned it yesterday. He said there was nothing left and we can drop the whole thing now.”
“He’s lying.”
“Do you think it still exists?”
“It’s leverage, Hope. He would be stupid to destroy it.”
“Why would he say so?”
“I don’t know.” He looked at her. At the way she controlled her emotion. She’s strong, he thought. Stronger than he was. “Shall we drop it, Hope?”
“I want to get him, Van Heerden, with everything I’ve got, but I’m scared. Billy…your mother…”
“We don’t need a will. Those dollars belong to Wilna van As.”
“There was another caller as well, one of the ’seventy-six ones. He was scared that we would use his photo as well. He wants to meet us. He said he’d phone back. I told Marie – ”
“Bester and company tap our phone, Hope.”
“How?”
He laughed without humor. “Any way they like.”
“Did they hear everything? This morning?”
“They were in Hout Bay a few minutes after me.”
“What do we do now?”
“If he phones again, tell him…Jesus, it’s difficult…They’re probably tuned in to your cell phone as well.” He thought. “Tiny’s phone. If he phones again, tell him the line isn’t secure. Tell him to phone Tiny’s cell phone. I’ll get the number in a minute.”
“And if he’s already phoned? Spoken to Marie?”
“What will Marie tell him?”
“There was a crisis, I’m not available, and he must phone at two o’clock this afternoon.”
“He’ll phone again. He’s frightened.”
She nodded. She said she was going back – perhaps the other call would come in – and he went to fetch her cell phone and Tiny’s number and walked with her to her partner’s white BMW, and then they saw Bester Brits and his convoy of troops arriving and he felt the rage growing in him again but suppressed it.
Brits jumped off the truck, barked orders left and right, walked to the sergeant, ignored Van Heerden.
Then they heard the sirens, saw the blue lights.
The SAPS, he thought. The cavalry. Too late. But it pleased him. He would thwart Brits. In every possible way. Just wait until the media arrived.
♦
At first there were five juniors from Murder and Robbery and then, fifteen minutes later, O’Grady, Superintendent Leon Petersen, and Mat Joubert arrived in a white Opel Astra. “You’re going to spoil my wedding, Van Heerden.”
“You’ll thank me one day.”
Joubert looked at the damage, whistled through his teeth. “What happened?”
“Four of them attacked the house this morning.”
“Them?” asked Petersen.
“I only see three body bags,” said O’Grady.
“Who was in the house?” Joubert asked.
“My mother, two female guests, and a…a…security guy. He’s critical, in the Milnerton MediClinic. One of the attackers was still alive. The SANDF took him away as well.”
“And the women?”
“They’re safe. And very shocked.”
“One security man handled four armed attackers?”
“He shot one. A farmer’s wife from the Free State got two with a shotgun, and my mother hit the other one with a spade.”
They looked at him, waiting for him to say he was pulling their leg.
“I’m serious.”
“Jesus,” said O’Grady.
“That’s the general feeling,” said Van Heerden.
“And what are Brits and the SANDF doing here?”
“It’s a long story. Let’s talk in there.” He gestured to his house, away from it all and undamaged. They walked toward it.
“You were looking for me yesterday?” Van Heerden asked. “A message?”
Joubert had to think for a moment. “Oh, yes, I think I know how they found out about the will. I asked around. Someone phoned Murder and Robbery, said he was from the Brixton branch in Gauteng, made all the right noises, could they possibly help, and asked a lot of questions. Snyman, who took the call, is young. He swallowed the story and gave the information.”
“But it wasn’t Brixton.”
“No.”
They were at Van Heerden’s house, but Mat Joubert halted. “Wait.” He walked over to Bester Brits, alone with his men, a clique in camouflage.
“Brits, I don’t need you here. It’s a crime scene and your men are ruining all the forensics.”
Van Heerden hung back, filled with satisfaction.
“The hell they are, Joubert. It’s my jurisdiction.”
Joubert laughed. “You don’t have any.” He turned to Petersen. “Leon, get the uniforms from the Table View branch. And you might as well get Philadelphia and Melkbos and Milnerton’s people as well. Tell them we need crowd-and-riot control. Live ammunition.”