That meant he’d chosen another way of relieving his inner tensions.
Brogan was a heavy drinker. If he hadn’t had time to go down to the club, then without a doubt, he would have opened a bottle from the stash of single malt whiskey in the cellar.
A snore coming from the living room told Steyn he was correct.
The living room was spacious and sumptuous, with white tiling, dark leather furniture, and tasteful modern art on the walls that Steyn was sure Brogan did not appreciate. The man himself was slumped on his back on the couch. A whiskey glass lay on its side nearby, and the room stank like a distillery.
From the television, an episode of The Jerry Springer Show blared.
“Brogan?” Steyn asked softly, holding the gun at the ready.
The African network manager didn’t respond, but let out a loud, reverberating snore.
Time to do what needed to be done. Having the man unconscious would make it easier. The layout of the house was perfect for Steyn’s needs, with those long, exposed rafters running across the length of the living room’s ceiling.
He flung a long rope over the closest one, and quickly knotted it into a crude hangman’s noose, which he eased over Brogan’s thick neck. A man about to commit suicide wouldn’t bother with a neat knot, or so Steyn decided.
He fetched a high-backed wooden chair from the dining-room area nearby and placed it under the noose. Another snore came from behind him, but it was cut off halfway through.
Steyn spun round.
Brogan’s eyes were open and he was staring blearily at the gunman.
“You!” he shouted in a thick voice, legs flailing as he attempted to rise. “What are you doing in my...”
“Cutting off loose ends, I’m afraid,” Steyn replied calmly.
Then he yanked on the rope.
The noose tightened around Brogan’s neck, lifting him to his feet. His shouts were abruptly cut off as he struggled and choked, eyes bulging.
Thickset and overweight, Brogan was heavier than Steyn, so Steyn looped the rope around the steel banister of the nearby stairway in order to anchor it. Then it was only necessary for him to pull with all his strength. Slowly but surely, the African manager’s body was drawn into the air.
After knotting the rope around the banister and pushing over the dining-room chair, Steyn watched dispassionately as Brogan’s kicks weakened. He was deciding what to write in the suicide note. Of course, the man was very drunk, as subsequent blood tests would eventually prove. That would certainly affect his coordination. A few words in a sprawling hand would be best: a rambling diatribe of how Brogan regretted what he had done, and couldn’t live with the guilt of deceiving his boss, Dave, any longer.
Moving through the now-silent house, Steyn performed a quick search of Brogan’s study, which yielded some company letterhead and a pen.
Sitting on the couch that Brogan had vacated just a few minutes earlier, Steyn bent to his task. He needed to hurry, because there was still one target to dispose of tonight... and he was going to take a deeply personal satisfaction in completing the final phase of his job.
Chapter 30
Joey unlocked his front door and walked tiredly inside. It was just after nine p.m., but now that his adrenaline had ebbed he felt as exhausted as if he’d pulled an all-nighter. But there was still an important job to do. He needed to look at Khosi’s USB device and see what was stored on it. He thought he had a much better picture now of what it might, in fact, contain. Joey felt dread curl in his stomach as he plugged in his laptop and waited for it to power up.
He got a Coke from the fridge and took a gulp, feeling the sugar hit his bloodstream, providing a much-needed boost of energy. Sugar was a quick fix, even though you paid the price for it later, as Khosi had always joked.
Was that a noise coming from downstairs?
Joey put down the Coke can and listened, but the weird scraping sound he thought he’d heard was gone. All he could pick up was the soft humming of the laptop’s fan.
Probably nothing. Even so, he should set the house alarm.
But when Joey tried to activate it, he found that the system was offline, the red buttons flashing randomly and the screen display blank.
That was strange. It had never happened before. Still, the storm had been violent, and a power surge might have damaged the control panel. He would have to sort it out in the morning.
Joey plugged Khosi’s USB into the laptop, and felt the knots in his stomach tighten as he read the file headings.
“Initial Offer of Bribery to Stop Investigating Egoli East.”
“My Investigation into Bribery — Who’s Behind It?”
“Threats Against My Life.”
“Information for Joey if Anything Happens.”
Joey tensed as he heard another strange sound from below.
What was it?
Tree branches, heavy with rain, scraping over the garage roof, perhaps?
Trying his best to ignore this distraction, Joey focused on his computer screen again.
Chapter 31
“What do you think of this hotel, baby girl? Quite something, isn’t it?”
Isobel nodded in response to Dave’s words, although she found she was too distracted, too shaken by everything she’d been through, to take in the sumptuous luxury of the Michelangelo Hotel in Sandton, where they had just arrived.
“I planned to bring you here later this year as a surprise. Thought we could have a second honeymoon. I wanted to book the presidential suite for us, but it wasn’t available this time at such short notice, so we’re in one of the premier king suites.”
“It’s lovely,” Isobel tried bravely, even though she was trembling with exhaustion. “As long as it’s safe, and there’s a bed to sleep in.”
Dave looked at her oddly. “Safe? Of course it’s safe. Security here is top-notch, baby girl. Absolutely top.”
Isobel couldn’t help remembering the moment she had gazed into the gunman’s cold, pale eyes. He was out there, somewhere in this vast city.
Did he know where she was?
Isobel had done her best to keep a lookout for headlights behind them on the drive to Sandton. The journey had taken nearly an hour, and she was pretty sure that nobody had followed them all the way.
So, she might be safe enough in this hotel, and certainly security had seemed excellent, but what about Joey? She found her thoughts returning to him, and in a way that certainly wasn’t appropriate right now. She remembered how the defined muscles in his forearms had tautened as he pulled the knotted rope tight, and how the crow’s feet at the corners of his hazel eyes had crinkled up as he grinned at her.
She let out a frustrated sigh. Her recent encounter with Joey was blowing apart her resolution to be a better wife. She needed to have a serious talk with herself. It was time now to stop working at being an amateur sleuth and start working on her marriage.
“I organized for the boutique downstairs to send up a couple of garments,” Dave said, and Isobel’s eyes widened as she saw the selection of cocktail dresses hanging in the cupboard. “They’re all your size. Wear the one you like the best and I’ll buy it for you. If you want to take the others as well, no problem. There’s a pair of shoes that should fit, too.”
These were the dresses Dave liked her to wear — one silver, one turquoise, one black. Sleeveless, low-cut, body-hugging. She had scratches on her shoulders that she’d acquired at some stage — probably while she was scrambling over the wall. She didn’t really want to wear any of these gowns, and would have been happier going out in the jeans and long-sleeved top she’d bought from the chain store where they’d stopped to pick up cosmetics and underwear. But it wasn’t her choice — not unless she wanted to risk the potential unpleasantness of an argument. She’d wear the jeans on the plane tomorrow. At least she’d be comfortable then.