His fifteen minutes expired. 'And something had to give,' he said. 'Someone had to do something.'
'No. It was too late to do anything. Our habits with each other were too set, the patterns had become part of us, we couldn't live any other way any more. Past a certain point there is nothing you can do.'
'Nothing?'
She shook her head again.
'There is always something you can do.'
'Such as what?'
'If the pain is bad enough, and the humiliation.' He needed more than this. He took a chance, gave her something to work with: 'When he starts cursing and threatening you. When he assaults you ...'
She turned her head slowly towards him. At first expressionless, so that he couldn't tell if it was going to work or not. Then the frown began, initially as though she was puzzled, but with increasing comprehension and a certain restrained regret. Eventually she looked .down at the tissue in her hand. 'I don't blame you.'
'What do you mean?' but he knew he had failed.
'You're just doing your job.'
He leaned forward, desperate, trying another tack. 'We know enough, Mrs Barnard,' he said still with empathy. 'It was someone with inside knowledge. Someone who knew where he kept his pistol. Someone who knew about your ... condition. Someone with enough motive. You qualify. You know that.'
She nodded thoughtfully.
'Who helped you?'
'It was Willie Mouton.'
'Willie Mouton?' He couldn't keep the astonishment out of his voice, not sure what she meant, though a light seemed to have gone on for her.
'That's why I asked the other detective ... Griessel to come.'
'Oh?'
'I must have been thinking like you. About the pistol. Only four of us knew where it was, and only Adam had the key.'
'What key?'
'To the gun safe in the top of his wardrobe. But Willie installed that. Four, five years ago. He's good at that sort of thing, he was always practical. In the old days he did stage work for the bands. Adam couldn't do anything with his hands, but he didn't want to bring outside people in, he didn't want anyone to know about the gun, he was afraid it would be stolen.
This morning . . . Willie was here, he and the lawyer, it was a strange conversation, I only realised once they left ...' She stopped suddenly, having second thoughts, the hand with the tissue halfway between bed and face.
When she stopped he couldn't stand the suspense. 'What did you realise?'
'Willie always wanted more. A bigger share, more money. Even though Adam was very good to him.'
'Ma'am, what are you trying to tell me?'
'Willie came and stood here at my bed. All he wanted to know was what I could remember. I last saw Willie more than a year ago. And then here he was this morning, as though he actually cared. He made all the right noises, he wanted to know how I was, he said he was so sorry about Adam, but then he wanted to know if I remembered anything. When I said I didn't know, I was confused, I couldn't understand ... he asked again: "Can you remember anything - anything?" Only when they left a while later ... I lay here, the medication . . . but I heard his words again. Why was he so keen to know? And why was his lawyer here? That's what I wanted to tell Griessel, that . . . it was strange.'
'Ma'am, you said he helped you.'
She looked at him in surprise. 'No, I never said that.'
'I asked you who helped you. And you said Willie Mouton.'
The door behind Dekker opened.
'No, no,' said Alexandra Barnard, totally confused, and Dekker wondered what was in the pills she had taken.
'Inspector,' said the nurse.
'Another five minutes,' he said.
'I'm sorry, that's not possible.'
'You misunderstood me,' said Alexa Barnard.
'Please,' said Dekker to the nurse.
'Inspector, if the doctor says fifteen minutes, that is all I can give you.'
'Fuck the doctor,' he said involuntarily.
'Out! Or I'll call security.'
He considered his options, knew he was so close, she was confused, he wouldn't get another chance, but the nurse was a witness to this statement.
He stood up. 'We'll talk again,' he said and walked out, down the passage to the lift. He pressed the button, angry, pressed it again and again. So close.
The door whispered open, the big lift was empty. He went in and saw the G-light on, folded his arms. Now she wanted to point at Willie Mouton. He wasn't going to fall for that.
The lift began to descend.
He would go and talk to the maid, Sylvia Buys. He had her address in his notebook. Athlone somewhere. He checked his watch. Nearly twenty past four. To Athlone in this traffic. Maybe she was still in the house in Tamboerskloof.
Willie Mouton? He recalled the chaos this morning in the street, the militant Mouton, the black knight, shaven-headed earring- wearer on his fucking phone. To his lawyer. Mouton, who was desperate for him to arrest Josh and Melinda.
The lift doors slid open. People were waiting to come in. He walked out slowly, thoughtfully. He stopped in the entrance hall.
The lawyer who had been with him all day, the spectre of a man, so grave. Mouton and Groenewald here, with Alexa. 'What can you remember?' Why?
Was the drunk woman lying?
Adam phoned me last night, some time after nine, to tell me about Ivan Nell's stories. His cell phone rang. He saw it was Griessel, who believed she was innocent.
'Benny?'
'Fransman, are you still at AfriSound?'
'No, I'm at City Park.'
'Where?'
'At the hospital. In the city.'
'No, I mean where in the hospital?'
'At the entrance. Why?'
'Stay there, I'll be with you in a minute. You're not going to believe this.'
Chapter 46
With the crooked pliers of the Leatherman that had saved his life, Benny Griessel cut Rachel Anderson's hands free. Then he went and fetched four sleeping bags, asked Vusi to call for backup and medical support, spread two sleeping bags on the floor for her to lie on and covered her shivering body with the other two.
'Don't leave me,' she said.
'I won't,' but he heard Oerson groan and went to find the Metro officer's pistol before sitting down with her, taking out his cell phone and calling John Afrika.
'Benny, where the fuck are you? I've been phoning ...'
'Commissioner, we got Rachel Anderson. I'm sitting with her now. We're in Observatory, but I just want to ask one thing: send us the chopper, she needs medical assistance, she's not bad, but I'm definitely not taking her to Groote Schuur. ‘There was a heartbeat of silence before Afrika said: 'Hallelujah! The chopper is on its way, just give me the address.'
'I'm sorry, Mr Burton, but I just don't believe you,' said Bill Anderson over his cell phone. 'There's a warning right here on the US consulate's website, stating that fourteen Americans have been robbed at gunpoint after landing at the OR Tambo International Airport in the past twelve months. I've just read that a South African government Minister has said police must kill criminal bastards, and not worry about regulations. I mean, it's the Wild West out there. Here's another one: "More police were killed in the years since the end of Apartheid than in the previous period in that country's history."
‘“Armed robberies at people's homes have increased by thirty per cent." And you are telling me we won't need protection?'
'It sounds worse than it is, I can assure you,' the American Consul reassured him.
'Mr Burton, we are flying out this afternoon. All I want you to do is to recommend someone to protect us.'
Dan Burton's sigh was audible. 'Well, we usually recommend Body Armour, a personal security company. You can call a Ms Jeanette Louw ...'