“Yes,” said Jan Kleyn without hesitation. “He works in the military sector which deals with top secret security measures.”
“When did you last see him?”
“In connection with the terrorist attack on the restaurant near Durban. We were both called in to assist with the investigation.”
“Are you aware of a secret group of boere who call themselves simply the Committee?”
“No.”
“Are you sure?”
“My client has already answered once,” protested Kritzinger.
“There’s nothing to prevent my asking the same question twice,” snapped Scheepers.
“I am not aware of any such Committee,” said Jan Kleyn.
“We have reason to believe the assassination of one of the black nationalist leaders is being plotted by that same Committee,” said Scheepers. “Various places and dates have been mentioned. Do you know anything about that?”
“No.”
Scheepers produced the notebook.
“When your house was searched, the police found this book. Do you recognize it?”
“Of course I recognize it. It’s mine.”
“There are various notes in it about dates and places. Can you tell me what they mean?”
“What is all this?” said Jan Kleyn, turning to his lawyer. “These are private notes about birthdays and meetings with friends.”
“What do you have planned for Cape Town on June 12?”
Jan Kleyn’s expression did not waver when he replied.
“I have nothing planned at all,” he said. “I had thought of going there for a meeting with some of my fellow numismatists. But it was canceled.”
Scheepers thought Jan Kleyn still seemed totally unconcerned.
“What do you have to say about Durban on July 3?”
“Nothing.”
“You have nothing to say?”
Jan Kleyn turned to his lawyer and whispered something.
“My client declines to answer that question for personal reasons,” said Kritzinger.
“Personal reasons or not, I want an answer,” said Scheepers.
“This is lunacy,” said Jan Kleyn, with a gesture of resignation.
Scheepers suddenly noticed Jan Kleyn was sweating. Moreover one of his hands, resting on the table, had started trembling.
“All your questions so far have been completely lacking in substance,” said Kritzinger. “I shall very soon be demanding an end to all this and insisting on the immediate release of my client.”
“When it comes to investigations concerning threats to national security, the police and prosecutors have wide powers,” said Scheepers. “Now, will you please answer my question.”
“I am having an affair with a woman in Durban,” said Jan Kleyn. “As she is married, I have to meet her in extremely discreet circumstances.”
“Do you meet her regularly?”
“Yes.”
“What’s her name?”
Jan Kleyn and Kritzinger protested with one voice.
“OK, we’ll leave her name out of it for the time being,” said Scheepers. “I’ll come back to that. But if it’s true you meet her regularly and, moreover, note down various meetings in this book, is it not a little odd that there’s only one reference to Durban?”
“I get through at least ten notebooks a year,” said Jan Kleyn. “I throw full ones away regularly. Or burn them.”
“Where do you burn them?”
Jan Kleyn seemed to have recovered his composure.
“In the kitchen sink, or in the toilet,” said Jan Kleyn. “As you know already, my fireplace has no chimney. It was bricked off by the former owners. I never got around to opening it again.”
The interrogation continued. Scheepers reverted to asking questions about the secret Committee, but the answers were always the same. Kritzinger protested at regular intervals. After three hours of questioning, Scheepers decided to call it a day. He rose to his feet and said curtly that Jan Kleyn would remain in custody. Kritzinger was absolutely furious. But Scheepers overruled him. The law allowed him to detain Jan Kleyn for at least another twenty-four hours.
It was already evening by the time he went to report to Wervey, who had promised to remain in his office until he arrived. The corridors were deserted as he hurried to the chief prosecutor’s office. The door was ajar. Wervey was asleep in his chair. He knocked and went in. Wervey opened his eyes and looked at him. Scheepers sat down.
“Jan Kleyn has not admitted to any knowledge whatsoever of a conspiracy or an assassination,” he said. “I don’t think he will, either. Moreover, we have no evidence to connect him with either offence. When we searched his house, we found only one item of interest. There was a notebook in his safe, with references to various dates and locations. All of them were crossed out except one. Durban, July 3. We know that Nelson Mandela will be giving a public address on that day. The date we first suspected, Cape Town June 12, is crossed out in the book.”
Wervey quickly adjusted his chair to the upright position and asked to see the notebook. Scheepers had it in his case. Wervey leafed through it slowly in the light of his desk lamp.
“What explanation did he give?” asked Wervey when he got to the end.
“Various meetings. As far as Durban is concerned, he claims he is having an affair with a married woman there.”
“Start with that tomorrow,” said Wervey.
“He refuses to say who she is.”
“Tell him he won’t be released unless he tells us.”
Scheepers looked at Wervey in surprise.
“Can we do that?”
“Young man,” said Wervey. “You can do anything when you are chief prosecutor and as old as I am. Don’t forget that a man like Jan Kleyn knows how to eradicate every trace of where he’s been. He must be beaten in battle. Even if one has to resort to doubtful methods.”
“Even so, I sometimes got the feeling he was insecure,” said Scheepers hesitantly.
“He knows we’re snapping at his heels in any case,” said Wervey. “Really put him under pressure tomorrow. The same questions, over and over again. From different angles. But the same thrust, the same thrust every time.”
Scheepers nodded.
“There was one more thing,” he said. “Inspector Borstlap actually made the arrest, and he had the distinct impression Jan Kleyn had been warned. Even though only a very few people knew only a short time in advance what was going to happen.”
Wervey looked at him for a long time before responding.
“This country of ours is at war,” he said. “There are ears everywhere, human and electronic. Penetrating secrets is often the best weapon of all. Don’t forget that.”
The conversation was over.
Scheepers left the building and paused on the steps, enjoying the fresh air. He felt very tired. Then he went to his car to drive home. Just as he was about to open his car door, one of the parking attendants emerged from the shadows.
“A man left this for you,” said the attendant, handing him an envelope.
“Who?” asked Scheepers.
“A black guy,” said the attendant. “He didn’t say his name. Just that it was important.”
Scheepers handled the letter carefully. It was thin, and could not possibly contain a bomb. He nodded to the attendant, unlocked the car and got in. Then he opened the envelope and read what the note said by the light of the inside lamp.
Assassin probably a black man by the name of Victor Mabasha.
The note was signed Steve.
Scheepers felt his heart beating faster.
At last, he thought.
Then he drove straight home. Judith was waiting for him with a meal. But before sitting down, he called Inspector Borstlap at home.
“Victor Mabasha,” he said. “Does that name mean anything to you?”
Borstlap considered before replying.
“No,” he said.
“Tomorrow morning go through all the files and everything you have in the computer. Victor Mabasha is a black, and probably the assassin we are looking for.”
“Have you managed to break Jan Kleyn?” asked Borstlap in surprise.
“No,” said Scheepers. “How I got that information is neither here nor there for the moment.”