Stolen Lives (24 page)

Edmonds wasn’t ready to think about the answer to that. It was a subject she’d managed to avoid confronting for the past few years.

The Scotland Yard canteen was on the same floor as the human trafficking department, and just a short walk away. “Good news for your stomach, bad news for your heart,” Richards had joked when he’d shown her around the building for the first time.

Now Edmonds walked with him along the blue-carpeted corridors and into the bustle of the canteen.

These days Edmonds was trying to eat more healthily—a desk job did nothing for the waistline. In fact, she was seriously toying with the idea of turning vegetarian, so it really didn’t help that the first two dishes on display were always unapologetically meaty. Today it was Lancashire hotpot or beef stroganoff. Under the clean and well-lit counter, both looked far more appealing than the vague and uncertain prospect of a baked potato and sweetcorn further down the line.

Vegetarianism would have to wait for another day.

“Could I have the stroganoff, please?” she asked the serving lady. The minute she’d said it, the hotpot looked like a better choice. At least it had vegetables in it. “Or, actually … ”

But the white-overalled woman had already ladled a large portion of the stroganoff onto the plate, and was turning to Richards, her next customer.

Discouraged, Edmonds pushed her tray along the metal rail. It caught on one of the corners and she managed to grab the plate just before it slid onto the tiled floor. Holding it down tightly with her now gravy-covered thumb, she took a bottle of sparkling water from the fridge, paid at the till with a crumpled five-pound note, and then followed Richards to the seating area.

“So,” Richards said, pulling out a plastic chair and lowering his tray onto the table, “you want to hear my news?”

His plate was piled high with what looked like a double portion of the hotpot. He tucked his napkin into his collar and dug his fork into the food.

“I’d love to,” she said, sitting down across from him.

“One of the Bosnian detectives phoned late last night.”

“And?”

“She said they’d intercepted a call to Salimovic’s home line. Apparently the call was made from a South African mobile phone.”

“Now that is interesting.”

“It is. And since the caller keyed in the access code and listened to the messages on the home line, there’s a good chance it was Salimovic himself.”

“So he’s in South Africa, too?”

“Looks like it.” Richards exhaled deeply and wiped his chin with the napkin. “I’ve emailed the info to Superintendent Patel to follow up.”

He glanced down at the piece of carrot on his fork before popping it into his mouth.

Edmonds chewed thoughtfully on a piece of beef as she considered this new development. It seemed they were all sticking together. Salimovic, Dupont and her black accomplice. Where the brothel owner went, the others followed. First to Sarajevo, and then to South Africa.

Edmonds wondered whether this pattern would help the South African detectives to track them down. What were the chances of success? Surely they couldn’t be high. She’d heard so many conflicting reports about that country. Beautiful but lawless, Mackay had told her recently. He’d said he’d been there on honeymoon years ago. Great wine, stunning food, fantastic weather, but the guests in the next-door chalet had been robbed at gunpoint the night before they left.

From what Edmonds had read, the levels of corruption in South Africa were as high as the crime, which was doubly bad news for law enforcement officials. If Salimovic paid off the right people, she supposed he could soon be back in business.

But Superintendent Patel had sounded competent when she’d spoken to him the day before, if somewhat stressed, and in her dealings with him so far, she’d found him to be extremely efficient. Perhaps he would be able to accomplish the seemingly impossible, and arrest them.

“So you’ve id’d Dupont’s partner?” Richards’ voice interrupted her thoughts. “Who is he, then?”

“His name’s Xavier Soumare. He’s French, like Dupont. According to his passport, anyway.”

“Xavier Soumare? That’s quite a mouthful.”

Edmonds nodded without speaking. She had a mouthful of her own to deal with, and the beef was proving rather tough.

“An alias, you think?”

Another nod. Edmonds’ jaw was starting to ache.

Then Richards frowned. “Hang on a minute. Isn’t Amanita’s surname also Soumare?”

Edmonds finally swallowed the much-chewed piece of meat.

“Yes, it is,” she said.

“Do you think Xavier chose that name on purpose?”

“He might have done.” But then Edmonds corrected herself. “No, he couldn’t have. That passport wasn’t a new document. I remember the lady at the Croatia Airlines counter saying she’d noticed it was due to expire in December.”

“Oh, well. Coincidence, then.” Richards began mopping up his gravy with a piece of bread.

Suddenly, Edmonds wasn’t so sure.

She remembered the uncomfortable suspicion she’d had in the hospital that Amanita had been lying to her. The black girl’s description of her South African trafficker hadn’t applied to any of the suspects on Edmonds’ list, but had been an exact match for her ward nurse. Amanita had even used the same name—Mary.

Had Amanita been trying to cover up the fact that Xavier Soumare was a relation? Or worse still, had her grandfather asked her to lie in order to protect Xavier, because he had been instrumental in trafficking her?

Surely the elderly man would never have asked Amanita to do such a thing, and even if he had, his granddaughter would never have agreed to it.

Or would she?

Back at her desk, Edmonds took her case folder out of the drawer and dialled Mr Soumare’s home number. Amanita’s flight would have landed in Dakar early that morning. She would be home by now, and Edmonds wanted to speak to her, just to reassure herself that she was wrong and that all was well with the Senegalese victim.

But the number simply rang.

She checked the folder again and found two more contact numbers. One was Mr Soumare’s personal cellphone, which he’d answered within two rings every time she’d phoned him on it, and the other one he had told her was an alternative home number.

She tried both the numbers three times, but got the same result. Mr Soumare’s mobile wasn’t answered, and nor was the other house phone.

As she sat and listened to the hollow ringing of an unanswered phone in another country, Edmonds found herself biting her lower lip hard.

She was seriously worried that her hunch was correct, and that there was a connection between Amanita and Xavier Soumare.

But Amanita had flown back to Senegal, and it was too late for Edmonds to do anything about it now.

30

Pamela Jordaan was spitting mad. Literally. Standing in the corridor outside the holding cells at Jo’burg Central Police Station, she showered Jade and Moloi with a fine but fast-moving spray of saliva as she loudly voiced her opinion of the South African Police Service, of jails in general and her cell in particular, and about the rights of women who were treated as if they were common criminals just because somebody else had tortured their husbands.

“And what kind of bodyguard are you?” She turned on Jade, who stepped back in surprise. “You did nothing to stop me getting stuck in a cell for a
whole night
with a fat, snoring gogo who’s never heard of the word ‘deodorant’, and some toked-up crack whore who tried to molest me as soon as I was locked in. Is that what you call keeping me safe?”

“Mrs Jordaan, I—” Moloi began.

“Don’t you ‘Mrs Jordaan’ me!” Jade found herself staring at Pamela’s back as the blonde woman swung round and pointed a finger in the detective’s face. “I promise you one thing right now. My lawyer is going to have a field day with this. An absolute field day. I’m calling him as soon I’m out of the building. I’m going to sue the backsides off both of you. Me, arrested. An innocent citizen. Is that how the system works these days?”

As she stalked past them towards the exit, she tripped over a crack in the tiles and would have fallen headlong, if Jade hadn’t grabbed her.

“Pamela,” she said, checking that the woman had regained her balance before she let her go, “I’m sorry about what happened, but if you’d cooperated with the detectives you wouldn’t have spent a night inside.”

Pamela spun on her heel to face them. She stood, posed dramatically in the doorway, and glared at Jade.

“You are fired,” she said. “As of now. I’m going to call Executive Limo Services to take me to Heidelberg City Clinic. I’m not riding for one minute in that cramped little runaround of yours.”

“Mrs Jordaan, you will need to inform the police where you’re—”

Yet again, Moloi was prevented from completing his sentence.

“Like I told you earlier, as soon as I’ve been to visit my daughter, I will be checking into the Sandton Holiday Inn. And I’d appreciate it if you would inform me when my own home is no longer a crime scene, so that I can call my new security company and have them make it safe for me to live in again.”

“Have you thought about your own safety in the meantime?” Jade asked.

“The hotel will take care of that,” Pamela said.

Chin high, she turned and marched outside. The retreating click of her heels was the only sound in the sudden silence.

Jade and Moloi exchanged glances. If Jade had imagined she was going to see any sympathy on Moloi’s face, she was wrong.

“Is she still a suspect?” Jade asked.

“Ms de Jong, you are not involved in this case,” Moloi said, stony-faced. “There is no reason for me to give you any further information on it, and I do not intend to.”

“Well, she is my client.”

“I am not deaf. And although English is my second language, I am still fluent enough in it to understand what the words ‘You’re fired’ mean.”

Jade sighed. “Temporary insanity,” she muttered, stomping away, bitterly regretting the fact that she’d left a helpful message on Moloi’s phone first thing that morning giving him Naude’s cellphone number.

She passed Pamela pacing up and down outside the main entrance, phone pressed to her ear. The blonde woman didn’t look up or acknowledge her in any way.

Jade climbed into her white car. The seats were in good condition; their padding firm, their design ergonomic. Stretching her legs as far forward as they would go, she could only just touch the front carpet with the tips of her toes.

“Cramped little runaround? I don’t think so,” she said aloud.

Jade took the Glenhove Road exit off the highway and drove past Rosebank, weaving her way through the one-way street system that had been put into place to accommodate construction work for the Gautrain, which seemed to be taking place everywhere at the moment. Traffic on the major highways was being halted for fifteen minutes every day so that blasting could take place. Great concrete supports were intruding into the familiar Jo’burg skyline in every area from Midrand to the airport.

Jo’burg, a city of endless change. When Jade was growing up in the humble suburb of Turffontein, the massive, flat-topped mine-dumps had been the only landmarks on the flat, dusty horizon. Most had since disappeared. New technology had made it possible for their residual gold to be extracted, and slowly but surely, ranks of bulldozers and earth-moving equipment had levelled the land.

Jade had liked the mine-dumps because she’d always associated them with home. But now, she guessed the Turffontein residents would have to learn to live without any landmarks at all.

She parked outside the Rose Anglaise hair salon and walked inside.

Raymond was busy attaching an ornate hairpiece to a dummy head on a metal stand. The mannequin stared expressionlessly at Jade when she walked in, but Raymond’s face fell when he saw her.

“Oh no. It’s you again,” he said dolefully.

“Seems everyone feels that way today.” Suddenly tired, Jade sat down on the plush orange chaise longue by the door.

“No, no, sweetie.” Fluttering his hands in apology, Raymond hurried over. “I didn’t mean it personally. It’s just that … well, for me, this salon is a peaceful haven, you see. A place where everybody leaves their cares at the door and feeds on the positive energy that’s created inside. I only try to speak about happy things in here and I’ll tell you frankly, this whole business with Tamsin yesterday has just shattered everything I’ve been trying so hard to build. I still feel that there’s a sadness in this room.” He gesticulated at the cream-coloured walls which Jade noticed were lined with posters of pouting models sporting odd-looking hairstyles. “Is there any news on her?”

“She’s been found,” Jade said. “She’s in hospital in Heidelberg. She passed out in a highway garage after what the police think was a drug overdose, but she’s expected to be fine.”

Raymond raised his head and placed his hand over his heart. “Alleluia,” he said solemnly.

Jade decided that she wasn’t going to add to the atmosphere of sadness in the room by mentioning that Pamela’s husband was fighting for his life in hospital, or by explaining that in all likelihood, his blonde-haired client was a suspect. She was certain that Moloi had only released Pamela because he hadn’t yet managed to obtain enough evidence for an arrest. But she wasn’t here to talk about that.

“Have you got time to do my hair?” Jade asked.

“What, now, sweetie?” Raymond’s eyebrows disappeared into his spiky fringe.

“Yes, now.” She still had a thick wad of cash burning a hole in her pocket. Money she’d been paid, but thanks to her abrupt dismissal, hadn’t earned. What better way to spend it than by giving some back to her ex-client’s hairdresser?

Raymond flipped through the pages of his appointment book. “Actually, yes I have. And that’s nothing short of a miracle, you know. From lunchtime today, I’m full, full, full for the next three months.”

“I want a natural look, please,” Jade said. “Nothing flashy. Something low-maintenance.”

“Darling, I understand. Trust me, I knew the minute I saw you that you wouldn’t like fuss or curls or too many highlights. We’ll keep your colour exactly the same. Just give you some shine, and add a few lowlights, and cover up those roots. I can see you’ve got a bit of early grey coming through. Although in this salon, we like to call it ‘executive blonde’.”