Cobra (41 page)

Then Mbali said, ‘Benny, that was beautiful.’

And Bones nodded in agreement, and Zola Nyathi had a little smile on his usually unreadable face.

Vaughn Cupido, however, was never one for hallowed moments. ‘But how do we catch them, Benna, if we don’t know what is on that card?’ he asked.

‘Like you taught me,’ said Griessel. ‘With technology. Cellphones.’

‘Benny, with CI coming, there is no chance we can use IMC. They will be sifting through everything. I’ve already terminated all the existing cellphone tracking.’

‘Sir, we can use an outside operator,’ said Griessel. ‘An independent.’

He knew they weren’t going to like this. The biggest problem was that the SAPS, according to the Criminal Procedure Act, was not allowed to use independent cellphone tracking operators. Any evidence or testimony that was acquired in that manner would be angrily rejected by the court, and they would be crucified in the media. In addition, the private digital detectives were not popular with the police, because they frequently worked in the shadows and on the margins of the law, and sometimes paid key people at cellular companies a little something under the table.

But they were fast and frequently effective.

When no one responded, Griessel said, ‘We’re not looking for evidence. All we want to do is find the pickpocket.’

‘And those guys don’t need subpoenas,’ said Cupido with rising enthusiasm. ‘They’re off the grid, sir.’

‘But we’re going to have to pay them,’ said Griessel.

Nyathi didn’t look as though he liked the idea.

Griessel wondered if he was worried it would get out. ‘Sir, the private operators have to be discreet. It’s the only way they can stay in business.’

The colonel stared at his hands.

‘Do we have phones to track?’ asked Bones Boshigo.

‘Yes,’ said Griessel. ‘One to start with. But we are going to need a bit

of luck.’

‘How much money are we talking about?’ asked Nyathi.

50

Griessel turned his iPhone on when they were standing in the parking area. Seven voice messages.

He sighed, not in the mood for this now, they had a plan, they had little time, and he wanted to get going. He wanted to catch the fuckers.

He phoned his voicemail number. The first message was from Janina Mentz of the SSA.

‘I have information that can help you. Call me.’

Fuck you, he thought and deleted it.

The second was from Alexa. ‘Hello, Benny, I just wanted to tell you I’m safely here. Remember the food in the fridge. I’m going to miss you so much tonight, not having you beside me in bed. I love you very much, don’t work too hard. Bye.’

He deleted it.

The third was from Emma Graber of the British Consulate.

‘Captain, I would really appreciate it if you could give me a call.’ She provided her personal cell number, and concluded: ‘It’s really urgent.’

Fuck you, he thought, and deleted it.

The fourth was from Janina Mentz again. ‘We’re reasonably sure now why the Brits got our government’s cooperation so easily. This could help you. Call me.’

He deleted it, not without a measure of satisfaction. Because all of them – along with the arrival of Criminal Intelligence, and the calls from the national and the DPCI commissioners, meant only one thing: the bastards of the SSA had made no progress with the investigation. They were all desperate now.

The fifth voicemail was from Bellville SAPS commander. ‘Benny,
hier’s nou ’n ding
. Something’s come up. Call me, please.’

He called.

‘We had a strange phone call at the charge office, Benny,’ the colonel said. ‘A guy who said the shooting at the train station was Flats gangsters. And the girl in the hospital is a target, she knows the big guns, she has information that could be very damaging to them. And there’s a contract out on her: now I want to know, does that match with the thing you are investigating?’

It took Griessel a while to realise what was going on. ‘Yes, Colonel.’

‘So there is a real risk?’

‘Yes, Colonel. Will you be able to allocate people for protection?’

‘I have already sent two uniforms.’

Griessel shook his head. Two uniforms, against the Cobras. ‘They might not be enough, Colonel. These guys are dangerous.’

The colonel sighed. ‘I don’t really have more people, Benny. And my overtime budget . . . You know how it is.’

Griessel pondered the dilemma. There was no one at the Hawks who could help. Not with CI on the way, not with SSA eavesdropping, not with the danger that each of them that they coopted could lose their job and career. But he knew what would convince the colonel.

‘I understand, Colonel. It’s just . . . if the media finds out you knew about the risk . . .’

The station commander sighed deeply. ‘Yes, I know. Let me see if I can spare two more.’

Griessel suspected that even four constables would not be enough.

They had to hope that things would work out so that more comprehensive protection of Nadia Kleinbooi would not be necessary.

The sixth message was from Jeanette Louw of Body Armour. ‘Captain, I would love to know how the investigation is going. Remember your promise.’

What could he tell her now?

And technically speaking, it was SSA’s problem now.

He deleted her message.

The seventh message was from Ulinda Radebe. ‘Benny, we’re back. Where are you? We have five photographs and names. Five potentials. Call me.’

He ran back to Nyathi’s office to discuss this development.

‘We can’t involve them too, Benny,’ said the Giraffe. ‘Ulinda has four kids. Vusi takes care of his mother. Given the choice, I’m sure they’ll both insist on taking the risk, but I’m not going to do that. Let me handle it. I’ll get the names and the photographs, I’ll tell them we’ve been taken off the case.’

‘Yes, sir.’

‘I’ll call you.’

‘Thank you, sir.’

Then he ran to the car park, where the others were waiting for him.

They drove to Sea Point – Mbali, Cupido, Bones, and Griessel – to Dave Fiedler, the most respected freelance operator in the business.

On the way, Benny tested his theory on his colleagues. He said the key to the hunt lay in the rucksack that Tyrone Kleinbooi had with him this morning at the Waterfront. The deleted video showed Tyrone had it on his back when he was apprehended by the security men. But when he ran away after the shooting, he was without it. The Cobra team member had a similar rucksack in his hand when he followed Tyrone.

And he was sure Tyrone’s phone was in that rucksack, and that cellphone was their only way to catch the murderers.

Cupido asked him why he was so certain the cellphone was in the rucksack.

Because the Cobras, said Griessel, did not track down Nadia in Stellenbosch through her address details on the university account in Tyrone’s room in Schotsche Kloof. That account showed her flat address. But Nadia had told him and Mbali how she had been in class the whole morning. And then someone had called from Tyrone’s phone, and said he had picked it up on the pavement in the city, and made an appointment to meet her on campus. That was where they had kidnapped her.

‘I still don’t get it,’ said Bones. ‘How are we going to catch them based on that information?’

‘Because Nadia says as far as she can remember, the Cobras used Tyrone’s phone to talk to him. All afternoon.’

‘So Tyrone has another phone as well.’

‘I think Tyrone has two other phones. Three in total. Or at least one other phone and two SIM cards.’

‘How do you figure that out, Benna?’ asked Cupido, his technology mentor, who was frequently sceptical of his apprentice’s ability to grasp all the nuances.

‘There is the phone that was in the rucksack. Let us call it Phone One. That is the one the Cobras have now.’

‘Check.’

‘There is the phone that he used around one o’clock to call Nadia on her iPhone. The number was on Nadia’s register. Phone Two.’

‘Check.’

‘But tonight, while we were with Nadia at the hospital, he called her again, from another number, but definitely a cell number. Phone Three.’

‘Check. That pickpocket is a canny coloured.’

‘But now we know Tyrone wants to continue to negotiate with the Cobras. And how is he going to contact them?’

‘By calling the phone that was in his backpack,’ said Mbali. ‘Phone One. Because the Cobras still have it.’

‘We hope,’ said Griessel.

‘So we try and plot Tyrone’s phone?’ asked Bones.

‘We try and plot all three phones,’ said Griessel. ‘So we can find him and the Cobras.’

Cupido was driving, but he took a moment to look at Griessel with amused pride. ‘Who said you can’t teach an old dog new tricks?’

‘I’m trying,’ said Griessel, pleased with himself.

‘Then we and Dave Fiedler will have to get a move on. Before the pickpocket completes his payback.’

Tyrone put the three phones in a row on the guest room dressing table. He made doubly sure they were all off. He propped Number Three in his recharger, because tomorrow it was the one that had to be fully loaded.

He hung up his jacket, trousers, and shirt in the cupboard. He laid out clean underwear for the next morning. He placed the pistol beside the bed.

He gulped down another two Panados, pulled the duvet back, and slid into the bed.

Jirre
, that was good.

One day, when all these troubles were over, he would like to ask the aunty here what kind of mattress this was.

He would surely be able to afford one, with two point four million stashed away.

Then he thought about Nadia, and he prayed that the cops would take his call seriously. He had used his best Flats Afrikaans, had used all the slang of the gangs, he had dropped a few names of known mob bosses, he had said there was a contract out for any gang member who walked into the hospital and shot her.

It wasn’t easy, because when you said it, then you saw it, here in your head.

And that’s the last thing he wanted to see. Because it was his fault.

But he mustn’t think about that now. Let him go over his plan. Bit by bit, step by step. He had picked the turf that he knew.

Work the places you know,Ty.

And everything was geared so that, when all was said and done, he could get to his sister quickly.

Just in case. Because he wasn’t going to crook anyone, he would keep his part of the bargain.

But you never knew. And he was a pickpocket with a pistol now.

Outside the rain suddenly slashed against the window, rattling and raging.

And he thought, at least his plan was reasonably weatherproof. Unless it rained so much that the trains stopped running.

When they turned out of Buitengracht into Helen Suzman Boulevard, Griessel’s ZTE phone rang.

He answered.

‘Benny,’ said Zola Nyathi. ‘I think we can be fairly sure there are five Cobras. The photographs don’t show much of their faces, probably because they were aware of the cameras, had their heads down and were all wearing some sort of disguise – hats, caps, glasses, bandanas, or scarves. But they are all mid-thirties, probably. Military types. Which isn’t conclusive, of course. But then there are the names. I’m not sure about the pronunciation: Hector Malot, Raoul de Soissons, Jean-Baptiste Chassignet, Xavier Forneret, and Sacha Guitry. I’ll SMS them all to you. But Vusi had an idea, while they were waiting for their flight back. He googled the names. And that’s why I’m sure they are all part of a team. All the names belong to famous French authors. Famous deceased French authors.’

51

Dave Fiedler handed Griessel’s SAPS identity card back to him. ‘You’ve gotta be kidding me, china,’ he said in a rich baritone.

He was chunky and hairy – short beard and moustache, hair growing out of his ears, hair out of his nose, hair that pushed out from under the collar of his grey pullover, like plants reaching for light.

They were standing at the door of 2A Worcester Street in Sea Point, the double-storey where Fiedler lived and worked. The four of them only just fitted in under the small porch, with the rain falling in a thick, hissing curtain behind them.

‘We’re not kidding. Just get us out of the weather,’ said Cupido.

Fiedler stood aside and waved them inside, his luxuriant eyebrows raised in disbelief.

‘I hope you have a warrant,’ he said when Griessel walked past him.

‘We don’t need a warrant, we need your help.’

‘No wonder it’s fucking raining,’ said Fiedler, and shut the door behind Bones.

‘I will not tolerate such language,’ said Mbali. ‘Have some respect. I’m a lady.’

‘Oh, Jesus Christ,’ said Fiedler, but so quietly that only Bones, right at the back, could hear him. He walked ahead, to a large room – probably once a sitting room before he had converted it into work space. To the left against the wall was a table with a coffee machine, mugs, sugar, and milk, beside a conference table with eight chairs. To the right was a long, low table with a couple of computers. There were film posters on the walls.