Trackers (68 page)
Authors: Deon Meyer
The older woman thought it through
before nodding slowly, turning around and going to fetch the information. She
came back with the
folder already open. '179 Green Park Road in Monte Vista,'
she said. 'And there is his cellphone number.' She put the documents down on
the counter, so that he could see them.
He wrote down the details. 'Is that the date he signed the
contract?'
'That's right.'
October twenty-eighth. The day Danie Flint had gone to
collect his new, second-hand Porsche.
'Did he arrive here with the Porsche?'
'He parked it just in front there.' The younger woman pointed
a finger at where Joubert's car was, right in front of the office. 'I remember
him well, because of the fancy car. A boy's face, wouldn't hurt a fly, full of
jokes. He stood there and told me his garage at home was too full now, he would
have to add more space. Could take six months.'
'And the rent is 3,000 rand?' Joubert pointed at the amount
at the bottom of the account.
'No. It's 1,500 deposit, and 1,500 per month.'
'How did he pay?'
'It must have been cash, because there isn't a credit card
slip stapled to this.'
He looked at his timeline. Flint had only begun making cash
withdrawals from his secret account on the third of November, and according to
Tanya's financial tables he couldn't have done that from their ordinary
account. Then his eye fell on the entry for 29 October.
Deposit of R147,000.
Add
3,000 and you have a round R150,000.
He took his Cape Town map book to the office, laid his
briefcase flat on the desk, clipped it open and took out the sandwiches. While
he ate, he checked the map index for Green Park Road in Monte Vista.
The new sandwich filling was very tasty. He ate slowly,
making it last longer.
He couldn't find a Green Park Street or Road anywhere.
Nowhere in the Cape Peninsula. There was a Green Street, Greenfield Crescent,
Green Valley Close, Greenside Close, a long list of other names with
'Green' in them, but Green Park or
Greenpark did not exist in any shape or form as a street address.
Deliberately false. Had to be.
He opened his notepad and filled in his timeline. Between
28
October: Collected the Porsche
and
29 October:
Deposit of R147,000
he made a new
entry:
28 October: Paid R3,000 cash deposit to Self Storage.
The last thing to do was to call the
cell number that Danie had given Self Storage, just make sure. Something about
the number bothered him.
A woman answered. He asked if he
could speak to Danie Flint.
'Ag, no,' she said, her tone
resigned. 'Not another one.'
'You don't know Danie?'
'Not from Adam.'
'And other people have also called
this number?'
'Just the storage people.'
'Ma'am, if you don't mind me asking,
where do you live?'
'Paulpietersburg. In KwaZulu.'
When he'd put the phone down, he
looked at the number again. Why did it look vaguely familiar?
It took him several minutes of
intense concentration to put two and two together. He paged back in the notepad,
to where he'd written down Tanya Flint's cellphone details. Her number was
almost identical. Only the last four numbers were jumbled in the number her
husband had given to Self Storage.
They sat waiting in silence while the
woman at the Absa Bank enquiries counter went to get permission from her
superiors, before she could give them information about the account. She was
away for a long time.
Joubert wondered what Tanya was
thinking about as she stared at the wall. He knew he would have to tell her
soon that her husband had been a liar and a cheat. And a slick one too. False
addresses and cellphone numbers, stories about overflowing garages and
fictional phone calls. And he knew that it was a trail that would lead to even
greater trouble. Deceit was always part of a wider pattern of behaviour. He was
going to unearth other things. After last night's break-in, Tanya believed that
someone else lay behind the whole affair. But he didn't
think so. He couldn't explain the
burglary, didn't understand exactly how it fitted in, but he had his
suspicions.
It was about the money. Four hundred
thousand rand. Find out where that came from, and you'd find the burglars, the graffiti
painters. Danie Flint was part of something. The money was dirty, stolen from
somewhere, and Danie wasn't the only one involved.
Had he been too free with his
ill-gotten gains, making his buddies nervous? Did they begin to think he posed
too great a risk?
Wouldn't be the first time.
Was the original amount bigger,
divided between accomplices, the 400,000 only Danie's share?
Then it would be easier to trace the
source.
But how did he break all this to
Tanya? Because she had no idea about this side of her husband.
The bank clerk came back, the good
news beaming across her face. She called up the savings account details on the
computer. Danie Flint had opened it on 15 October, with a deposit of R200. He
had fulfilled all the identification requirements. The email address he gave
was
[email protected]
. The cellphone number was for the phone they had found in the
Porsche.
And the two deposits for R250,000 and
R147,000 were in cash, information that made Tanya Flint shake her head in
disbelief.
'Can I see the photocopy of the ID?'
she asked. And turned to Joubert to say: 'It can't have been Danie.'
He had no idea how she could make
that assumption.
'It should be on the system,' the
woman said, and called it up from the database, swivelling the screen so that
Tanya could see.
Danie's face on the ID photo.
Tanya frowned.
'Is that his ID number?' the bank
clerk asked.
Tanya nodded.
'What about his proof of address?'
asked Joubert, because according to FICA legislation an ID alone was not
enough. Anyone who wanted to open an account also had to supply a utilities or
phone bill.
'Let's take a look,' said the woman,
clicking through tabs on the computer.
She found something, turned the screen
again. A scanned electricity bill, clearly from a photocopy. It was addressed
to D. Flint, Green Park Street 179, Monte Vista.
'That's not our address,' Tanya said
with obvious relief.
'That address does not exist,' said Mat
Joubert. 'The account is forged.'
In the shade of a street cafe's
umbrella on Tulbagh Square he spoke gently to her. He knew that he could be
physically intimidating, so he leaned back, and kept his voice low. He asked
her how she felt after all the events of the past few days.
She said she was OK, but he could see
that she was suffering.
He asked if she was getting any
sleep.
'Not much.'
'Have you thought about seeing a
doctor? To get something for the stress?'
'No.' A determined shake of the head.
He gave her a moment to think it
over.
'I have to face up to the truth some
time.'
'It doesn't have to be now.'
That shake of her head again.
When he began to speak again, he
chose his words with care. 'Years ago I was married to someone else,' he began,
'someone who worked with me in the police force. I loved her very much. She was
... in so many ways ... the person I wanted to be. Like Danie. An extrovert.
Funny and smart and ... sunny. She shone. Brightly. Everyone loved her. And
every day I gave thanks that I'd found her. And then I discovered a different
side to her. By accident. And it was ... painful. I felt betrayed. Deceived. As
if she had deliberately set out to harm me. Me. Personally...'
Tanya Flint looked away from him. She
didn't want to hear this.
'It took me many years to realise
that I was wrong,' he said. 'It was just part of who she was. One of the
aspects, the facets of the greater whole. Perhaps her conscience bothered her,
perhaps she didn't want to be that way, but I don't think she could do anything
about it. We are all programmed in one way or another.'
Her eyes were focused somewhere else,
her body language a shield.
He pressed on. 'We've got a whole lot
of new information since yesterday. And all of it points to the fact that Danie
wasn't the man you thought he was. That's going to hurt you. On many levels.
But the one thing you have to try to remember is that this was just one facet
of him. There were many others ...' And it all seemed to him so pointless, so
that he didn't know how to carry on.
Her eyes
turned slowly back to him. 'Thank you,' she said.
They sat in silence, the world rushing by. Then, eventually,
she said: 'What else have you found?'
Back at the office there were two messages
from Inspector Fizile Butshingi, Milnerton Station, asking Joubert to call back
urgently, but first he sat down at his computer to update the project
programme. He wanted to know exactly how much money Tanya Flint had left.
The account stood at just over 21,000
rand, if you included Cordier's fingerprint bill and his latest hours and
travel expenses. Nine thousand left. He wouldn't test the Porsche for
fingerprints then. He deliberated over the new cellphone's profile and call
record, and decided to see what a trip to ABC's headquarters threw up first. He
had a strong hunch that the money had something to do with Danie's work.
He called to make an appointment with
Mrs Heese, the bus company's head of Human Resources. She said she could see
him in the late afternoon, round four o'clock. Then he called Margaret.
'How's my new
recipe?' she asked.
'Fantastic.'
'Good. And the
investigation?'
'Very good. Great progress. But I'm
worried about Tanya. Someone broke into her office last night and painted a message
on the wall: 'Drop it'. If I invited her to come and stay with us, for a night
or two ...?'
'Of course. But what about her
mother-in-law? Doesn't she live in Panorama?'
'I got the impression that Tanya
wasn't crazy about her mother-in- law. And that would still be two women on
their own ...'
'She's very welcome. I'll get
Jeremy's room ready.'
'I don't know if she'll want to come.
I'll let you know.'
He called Tanya, phrased the offer
diplomatically.
'Thank you, but I'm not going to let
them intimidate me.'
'Think about it,' he said, but he
knew what her answer would be. 'There was a message for me from the detective
from Table View. He wants me to call him.'
'Keyter?'
'Yes.'
The SAPS was in uproar since Inspector
Butshingi had gone to the break-in this morning. 'Make him wait,' said Joubert.
'If he calls again, say he must talk to me.'
Last of all he called Milnerton
police station and asked for Butshingi. 'The case was neglected at Table View,'
the detective said. 'I've spoken to the SC, and he will light a fire. But I
need to talk to you urgently.'
Not now. It would break his momentum.
'I'm pretty busy at the moment...'
'When can we meet?'
'Tomorrow? Around lunchtime?'
'You live in Milnerton, don't you?'
Joubert's heart sank. 'Yes.'
'How about tonight, after work?'
'I'm not sure when I'll finish,' he
parried.
'I'll be at the office until late.
Please call me. Let me give you my cell.'