He forced himself to relax his grip on the wheel, telling himself that worrying was counterproductive. He could only hope that she had also been delayed and wasn’t sitting alone in her lodgings, vulnerable and afraid.
To help calm himself, he glanced down at the photo on his phone’s screen: a beautiful young woman with green eyes and dark hair. His fifteen-year-old daughter, Hayley, had inherited his coloring and his height, but he wasn’t sure where she’d gotten her love of storms and thunder. And heavy metal, and anything loud.
She was his favorite person in the world, and she had just moved to Cape Town with his ex-wife. She’d planned to travel to Jo’burg to do intern work for Private in her school holidays. He’d been looking forward to it. But with everything that had happened recently, and the trouble the business was in, he guessed it would be better for Hayley to stay in Cape Town with her mother.
The last time he’d seen her, she’d pranked him by setting his phone’s ringtone to Metallica’s “Fade to Black.” He’d kept it, because it reminded him of her. Now, the tune started playing loudly.
“Montague speaking,” he said.
“Joey? It’s Paul Du Preez.” He recognized the voice of the pathologist who was doing Khosi’s autopsy.
“Paul. Is there any news?” he asked, surprised. The mortuaries were so crowded that it usually took weeks to obtain results.
“No, the autopsy’s scheduled for next Friday. But I drew blood when the body was signed in and sent it for testing.”
“Is that usual?”
“You know Khosi was a good friend of mine. Just last week we sat down for a beer together and he didn’t seem depressed.”
“I didn’t think so, either,” Joey admitted.
“I did a quick examination when the body came in. There was a spot of blood on his pants and a tiny hole in the fabric.”
“Serious?” Joey gripped the wheel so tightly his fingers hurt.
“When I took a closer look, there were clear signs of a needle prick on the back of the thigh. So I took blood, and submitted the samples. I’m waiting for the results, which should come back this evening. If they’re positive, the police are going to want to interview you again.”
“You sure about the needle prick?” Joey asked, astonished. Khosi had been tough, alert, and experienced. He wouldn’t have submitted to an injection without fighting hard.
“I’m certain,” Paul confirmed. He added, as if reading Joey’s mind, “I didn’t pick up any visible signs of defensive injuries. But in the back of the thigh like that, an intramuscular shot would be fast and easy to do, and would take effect within a minute or two.”
“So you think trickery, rather than force?”
He imagined Paul nodding, his lips pressed together as he did when thinking hard.
“Yes. I would say it’s more likely. Trickery, distraction, something like that. But until we get the results back, it’s all hypothesizing.” The line started to crackle as the rain worsened again.
“We’ll speak later,” Joey said, and disconnected, his mind reeling from this latest bombshell.
There had been foul play involved; the suicide was not, in fact, what it seemed. That word he saw on the poster, “COINCIDENCE”, had stuck in his mind for a reason; his subconscious had known what he’d been too shocked to consciously understand.
Chapter 8
Isobel discovered the lounge window had made the crashing noise. Loose in its frame, it had slammed so hard that a pane of glass had fallen out and smashed on the floor. The wind was howling through the gap, billowing out the dirty net curtain and sending rain spattering over the tiles.
“Hell!” Isobel pushed the bedroom door wide and ran over to the disaster zone. The thin soles of her trainers crunched on broken glass. Reaching for the window, she found she couldn’t close it properly; the wooden frame had warped, and she was unable to pull it hard enough. The wind snatched it right out of her grasp and slammed it again. There were five panes left in the window, one had cracked, and another two looked loose.
“Oh, damn it!” Isobel shouted. She needed to do some urgent damage control. What would happen if the window broke completely? Scenarios spun through her head, each more chilling than the last, underpinned by the fear that she might have to spend the night here alone.
Perhaps pushing the window back into its frame from the outside would be easier than pulling from the inside. Isobel rushed back into the bedroom, unzipped her suitcase, and grabbed the colorful red-and-white floral raincoat that Dave had given her for Christmas. Like all of Dave’s gifts, it was top-of-the-line, a designer garment. Hastily, she pulled it on.
She unlocked the front door and stepped into the gusting rain. Turning, she locked it behind her. It felt like a paranoid action, considering she was only going to be in the garden for a few minutes, but she couldn’t risk leaving it open. The warning from the woman at the baggage reclaim kept playing in her head. “These robbers watch the homes closely. They wait for a chance, and then they attack. All it takes is one careless moment.”
Better to be careful, especially with her instincts prickling. Isobel pocketed the key and sprinted around the house.
She grabbed the window frame to steady herself. The rain hammered on the tin roof, streaming off its edge and splattering directly onto her head. Shaking it away, she focused on the task at hand. Lifting the window would fit it back into the frame, and then she could wedge it all the way shut. Of course, the unwelcome truth was that it would be just as easy to force open again, especially with one missing pane. But if she closed it tightly enough, maybe she could find some wire or twine to secure it from the inside.
Isobel grasped the window and lifted it, pressing her face against the murky pane as she maneuvered the frame into place. For a heart-stopping moment, she thought she saw movement inside the room. She drew in a fast breath, blinking water out of her eyes and telling herself not to be stupid. It was nothing more than the rain on glass, which was also causing the optical illusion that light was coming in through the closed front door.
The window slotted back into place with a bang, but horror gripped her as she stared into the house.
No illusion, no mistake. Impossibly, her fears had become reality.
The front door was open, and a tall, lean man was moving stealthily toward the bedroom. He was dressed in black, wearing a beanie. He must have heard the sound the window made, because he turned to face her. It was then Isobel saw the unmistakable shape of the gun in his hand.
Chapter 9
Shock slowed Isobel’s reactions. It was only when the tall man raised his weapon that her astonished brain caught up. She dove down, sprawling on all fours in the muddy water, as two shots exploded through the glass above her.
Go! Go! She had no idea whether she was screaming out loud or in her head, but she knew that running for her life, as far and fast as she could, was her only option.
Which way? Adrenaline pumped through her veins, quickening her decisions as she jumped to her feet. Back the way she’d come? He’d catch her at the front door. Straight out the gate? No; she could see a car hood there, and what if there was a second man inside?
Only one choice left... over the wall.
She raced to the precast concrete barrier and launched herself at it in a desperate leap. The rough surface snagged the raincoat, ripping the sleeve open and grazing her skin, but she didn’t notice it. Her arms shook with the effort; she’d been neglecting the gym in recent weeks and spending time on her investigations instead. Using all her strength, tendons burning, she hauled herself higher and hooked an elbow over the top. A final scramble and she had made it. She flung herself over, slamming down onto the pavement before struggling to her feet again.