Chapter 13

At nine o’ clock the next morning I take my coffee and stumble into our operations room on the eighth floor. The whiteboard wall is filling up with photographs. The ramanga, the kraal where he was killed, Armitage’s body, her lounge, the killer’s face.

Down one side of the board are notes written in Parker’s neat handwriting. Red lines drawn between the photographs detail definite connections, while blue lines denote possible connections we haven’t managed to confirm yet.

Parker is already here, adding the photographs of the second sin-eater from the Oyster Box Hotel. I sit down and yawn as Armitage strolls in and glances at the board.

‘Bloody hell, people. A little empathy wouldn’t go amiss. Do I have to be on the board?’

‘You’re part of the case,’ Parker points out.

‘Well . . . cover my face or something, will you? I don’t want to stare into my own dead eyes first thing in the morning.’

‘I suppose you got enough of that looking in the mirror when you were alive,’ I say.

Armitage throws a whiteboard marker at me. I dodge but I’m not quick enough. It hits me in the ear.

She’s not upset, though. Armitage is old school. Laughter is the best medicine. Stiff upper lip. Grimace painfully and carry on, that kind of thing. I’m just doing my bit to stop her dwelling on everything. It’s a public service, really.

She approaches the board, scans it quickly, then turns to me. ‘Our attackers last night. Human?’

I nod. ‘There’s blood at the scene. Definitely human.’

Parker frowns. ‘What attack is this?’

I quickly tell her everything that happened yesterday, ending with our night-time ambush.

‘They sound like pros,’ she says.

‘They were. It was a hit squad.’

‘We don’t know that,’ snaps Armitage.

‘Of course it was. How else do you explain it? Mistaken identity?’

Armitage sighs, a habit more than anything else. It’s not as if she needs air. She waves at the board.

‘OK, fine. But let’s put a pin in the mysterious assassins for now. Let’s go back to the beginning. Start with the ramanga. Our dead sin-eater. Talk to me as if I don’t have a clue what’s going on.’ She points at me without even looking. ‘And no smart arse comments.’

‘We think he was new,’ I say. ‘Going on what the fae told us, he must have recently followed on from his own teacher. Master. Whatever they call it. Else he wouldn’t still be a local ramanga. He’d be living it up somewhere else.’

‘They don’t inherit anything from their master? Belongings?’ asks Parker.

‘No. I reckon this . . . corporation or whatever it is takes everything. The sin-eaters get to enjoy the money while they’re alive, but after that it’s sucked into the company coffers.’

Armitage nods thoughtfully. ‘Follow that up with the second victim’s records. Check her will, her bank statements that kind of thing. Where’s her laptop?’

Parker nods at the table up against the wall. A new MacBook Air and a cell phone sit there.

‘Good. What else do we know about her?’

‘Nothing,’ I say. ‘That’s on the agenda for this morning.’

‘Get on it. Search for any links between her and the ramanga. Maybe we can use them to trace more of these sin-eaters. If there are more, they’re in danger from Lilith and her attack dog.’ She’s silent for a while, then makes a tutting sound. ‘All this stuff about the first sin – I don’t like it. It stinks of religion.’

‘Which one?’

‘Lucifer. God. All that stuff. Wasn’t Lucifer the first being to sin? Pride, wasn’t it? That’s what’s supposed to have kicked the whole thing off.’

‘What – you think that’s what Lilith is after?’

‘You tell me.’

‘That doesn’t make any sense,’ I say. ‘Even if the sin-eaters have been around for that long – and we have no way of verifying that – what could they do with Lucifer’s pride? And it’s not as if a sin-eater took his sins from him anyway. He’s still reigning down below, isn’t he?’

Armitage shrugs. ‘No idea. That’s Level ultra-alpha-tip-top-super-duper-secret security clearance. They don’t let the likes of me into those files.’

‘Don’t forget that archangel you both saw,’ says Parker. ‘He’s involved somehow. That kind of implies it’s a Christian thing.’

‘Or Jewish,’ said Armitage. ‘They have angels too. So does Buddhism, Islam, and Hinduism.’

‘Yeah, but he said he was Michael, remember?’ I say.

‘Good point,’ says Armitage. She claps her hands together. ‘Righto. I see we’ve got a busy day ahead of us. I’m going to have a chat with Jaeger to see if she can do something about this hole in my chest. Her stitching’s come loose.’

Armitage pulls her shirt open to reveal the wound. Parker and I both cry out in protest and turn our heads away.

‘Oh, that’s very nice, that is,’ says Armitage. ‘And just how do you think that makes me feel, eh? Just be thankful Parker’s spell stops me decaying. Then you’d all be in the shit.’

She storms off in a huff, buttoning up her shirt as she goes.

I sigh and grab Long’s laptop while Parker focuses on the cell phone, plugging it into her own PC so she can clone the entire system before fiddling around with it.

I boot up the computer. No password. Very careless. There’s a photograph as a desktop wallpaper. The victim and two kids. I swing the laptop around to show Parker.

‘Has anyone notified next of kin?’

‘Don’t think so.’

I swivel the computer back. I’m not doing it. I hate breaking that kind of news to anyone. It brings everything back. Becca’s face when I told her about Cally. The way her features just seemed to . . . collapse with grief. I tried to hold her, but she wouldn’t let me. I could see it in her face. The blame. Why couldn’t you save her? Your own daughter. What good are you to anyone if you can’t even protect your family?

I frown and shake my head, loading up the computer’s calendar. Lots and lots of bookings. She was a busy girl, our Caitlyn Long. Only problem is, all the appointments are marked with just the initials.

I check yesterday’s date, when she arrived in Durban. Nothing there. But there is an entry for tonight at eight o’clock, Marked with the initials, MD.

I check through her emails, but there’s nothing of interest. Certainly nothing from someone with the initials MD. Family stuff. Friends getting in touch, that kind of thing. Her internet history is just as boring. Hollywood gossip sites, Facebook (logged out, can’t access it), local news sites.

No smoking gun. No emails from the head of this mysterious corporation detailing who they are and where they’re based. Typical.

‘Here’s something,’ says Parker.

I look up.

‘SMS messages,’ says Parker. ‘The first came through Wednesday night. “Can you come to me Friday?” Her response, “Why? Will see you Sat.” Next SMS, “Need you sooner. Have a feeling I might be a naughty boy.” Her response. “Double the last price.” Then he texts back, “Not a problem. See you Friday night.” ’

‘No name?’

‘Just a number.’

‘You think whoever this person is wanted her services as a sin-eater?’ I ask.

‘Either that or she’s a hooker on the side.’

-Hey, London.-

I look around but can’t see the dog anywhere.

-What’s up?-

-You’ve got some problems down here, man. Serious ones.-

-What problems?-

-I think you’re about to get arrested for murder.-

I blink. That wasn’t something I expected to hear.

-Where are you?-

-Under your desk. I wouldn’t come down here, though. Not unless you want to get taken in by the SSA.-

SSA? The State Security Agency? Those guys are our answer to the CIA and MI6. What the hell are they doing here?

I hurry to the door and open it a crack. Look both ways. Nothing. I can hear shouting from the main office on the ground floor. I move forward and peer over the balcony.

I see them straight away. Men in suits. Five of them. And one, the leader, arguing with Armitage. He looks familiar. Cold face. Lined. Experienced.

Their voices rise up towards me from where I’m watching a few floors above.

‘You and Tau will just have to go quietly,’ snaps Ranson. He’s standing next to the lead spook and looking like he’s enjoying every minute of this.

‘We have to do no such thing,’ snaps Armitage. ‘We’re both employees of the Crime Intelligence Division. Any problems you have need to be taken up with the Divisional Commissioner—’

‘–And a warrant issued in your names,’ finishes the SSA guy. ‘We know that.’ He hands over a folded piece of paper. Armitage snatches it from him and scans it, then looks at him in amazement.

‘Murder of State Security Agency personnel? What the hell are you talking about?’

And then I realize where I’ve seen the man before. Last night. The guys shooting at us. He was the one whose face I saw when he ripped off his night-vision goggles in the street. Shit. They were SSA?

‘Last night, you and your officer Gideon Tau interfered in an operation being conducted by the SSA. You both opened fire after I clearly identified myself, killing four of my men. I’m sure the ballistics retrieved from the scene will match one of your sidearms.’

‘Clearly identified yourself?’ Armitage steps forward until she’s right in his face. ‘You and your lapdogs attacked us. Without any warning. In fact, I’ll be laying charges against you!’

‘You’re more than welcome to do so. But in the meantime you and Tau need to come with us. Arrest her.’

One of his men steps forward and slaps a pair of cuffs on Armitage. While he’s doing this she looks involuntarily up at our floor. The SSA guy follows her gaze.

We lock eyes.

Oh, shit.

‘There!’ shouts the spook, pointing up at me. ‘Get him!’

I run back into the room. Parker sees my face.

‘What’s wrong?’

‘Last night. I killed a few SSA agents. I’m wanted for murder.’

Parker doesn’t ask questions. Just unplugs Caitlyn’s phone and tosses it to me. I dart around my desk to the police computer I was working on. I quickly scroll to the SMS messages and log into the National Police Database, typing in the code for number retrievals.

It takes a while. Our computers are ancient. I think they still operate on some version of DOS software. Supposedly unhackable. Great for security, but really crap for me.

I glance at Parker while I’m waiting. ‘Get out of here. Stay by the phone. If I get out of here I’ll be in touch.’

She doesn’t hesitate, but heads straight for the door.

‘Not the elevator!’ I call out.

‘Got it!’ Her voice trails back into the room as she sprints off around the curve of the wall in the opposite direction, heading for the stairs on the far side of the silo.

I chew my lip while I wait for the computer to do its thing. The passing of RICA – the Regulation of Interception of Communications and Provision of Communication-Related Information Act – made our jobs a whole hell of a lot easier. Everyone who buys a cell phone nowadays has to register the number against their personal ID number. Sure, it’s easy enough to fake it – false documents, fake ID books, that kind of thing – but I’m hoping our mark didn’t feel the need to do any of that.

Jesus. This is taking too long. I dart out the room, lean out over the balcony. The elevator is only two floors down. I can see SSA guy staring up at me through the glass.

I run back into the room.

The information is waiting for me.

The guy who sent the SMS messages is Menzi Dumelo.

M.D. The initials from Caitlyn Long’s calendar.

‘Got you.’

I memorize his address and sprint from the room. I run in the opposite direction from Parker, not wanting to draw them after her. This takes me right past the elevator. I hear it bing as I sprint past. The doors start to open and I duck inside the closest room, watching through a crack in the door as the SSA spooks burst out of the lift and run towards the operations room, weapons drawn.

I wait for them to line up against the wall outside the office, then slip out and carry on running. I arrive at the stairwell at the exact moment they realise I’m not in the room.

‘There!’

I don’t wait to see if they’re pointing at me, but take the stairs three at a time, yanking myself around the corners of the stairwell.

-Dog? Get to the Land Rover.-

-Yeah, ’cause I can’t think for myself and have absolutely no survival instinct. I’m already here. Hurry up.-

I hear the door slam open above me. Gunfire erupts in the stairwell, echoing back and forth. A bullet ricochets against the handrail. I snatch my hand away and glance up. The SSA dude is peering down at me. I jerk back as he fires again. Sparks burst from the metal.

Down the last few floors and into the parking garage. I pull the fire axe from its mount and jam it between the door and the wall.

I sprint for my parking bay, stumble to a surprised halt when I see Armitage waiting for me.

‘How the hell did you get away?’ I ask, fumbling for my keys.

She holds up her wrists. The cuffs are still there, but the chain between them is broken. ‘Being a revenant gives me a bit of a strength upgrade, remember?’

‘Lucky you.’

I pull open the door and unlock the passenger side just as the spooks burst out of a second stairwell. I ram my foot down on the gas and the Land Rover lurches forward. Bullets slam into the door. One flies right past my stomach and hits the dashboard. Armitage leans over and grabs the steering wheel, giving it a violent yank so the Rover veers straight towards the agents.

They dive out of the way and she screams out the window, ‘Bastards!’ before we hit the ramp with a burst of sparks and then emerge into daylight.

 

An hour or so later, Armitage stares out the window into the traffic. ‘So? What now, bright spark?’

I didn’t like her tone. ‘This isn’t my fault.’

‘Well, I certainly didn’t shoot the SSA agents, did I?’

I frown, open my mouth to argue. She sees this and smiles slightly. ‘Relax, pet. I’m not blaming you.’

We pause at a red light. ‘The question remains, though. We don’t have access to any of our normal resources. Plus, we’re wanted criminals now. Going to be hard to get any solid police work done.’

She’s right. This case has gotten messy – messier, I should say. The SSA are bad news. Sure, the CIA have a bad rep, but in this country it’s worse. There’s no public accountability here. The SSA is as corrupt as they come, a self-serving agency more concerned with enriching themselves and doing the bidding of powerful politicians than actually protecting the country.

Which leads to the question – why are they after us?

Armitage turns to look at me. ‘Do you think the SSA know about the sin-eaters? Are they investigating them? Are we stepping on their toes?’

I shake my head. I highly doubt that’s the reason. Even if they were investigating sin-eaters, that wouldn’t justify trying to kill us.

I have a sick feeling in my stomach, because the only reason I can come up with for the SSA wanting to take us out is that someone very high up doesn’t want us investigating this case.

Who, though?

 

It’s late afternoon and we decide to hole up in a Wimpy at a truck stop on the N2. We still have a few hours to kill before the sin-eater was supposed to be at Menzi Dumelo’s house and we don’t want to turn up early.

The dog is still out in the car, much to his annoyance. No animals allowed. I order a cheeseburger and coffee. Armitage doesn’t order anything.

‘On account of me not getting a chance to talk to Jaeger about fixing this bloody hole in my chest. Don’t think the kiddies will enjoy their food if they see chewed up french fries slipping out of my wound.’

I grimace.

‘I seem to recall,’ says a voice from the booth behind us, ‘asking you – very politely I might add – to stay away from all this.’

I peer over the divider and find the archangel Michael sitting on the red vinyl bench, a half-finished Bar One milkshake in front of him.

‘Who’s that?’ asks Armitage, who’s too short to see over the divider.

‘Michael,’ I say.

‘Michael who?’

‘You remember? The angel? Tried to put the frighteners on us.’

Michael’s perfect eyebrows rise up. ‘You mean I did not succeed in making my wishes clear?’

‘You did,’ I say. ‘But there’s not much we can do about it when people are dropping dead around us. It’s our job to investigate.’

Michael rises to his feet. Armitage nods a greeting at him.

‘All right there? I meant to ask you the other day – did it hurt?’

Michael looks momentarily confused. ‘Did what hurt?’

‘When you fell from Heaven?’

‘I did not fall from Heaven. That would make me one of Lucifer’s demons. I do not understand what you’re saying.’

‘Aye, I can see that. Lighten up, Golden Boy. You’ll live longer.’

I stifle a grin. Probably not the best move to laugh at God’s chief enforcer and muscle man. He might get weird about it.

‘Hey,’ I say. ‘Seeing as you’re here, why don’t you tell us what you know about all this.’

‘Why would I do that? I am here to warn you away from it.’

‘Not really working though, is it? Just tell us – why are you so interested in sin-eater deaths?’

Michael doesn’t answer straight away. His face is expressionless, but I get the impression he’s trying to stop himself from smiting us where we sit.

‘Who said anything about sin-eaters?’ he finally asks.

‘Come on, fancy man,’ says Armitage. ‘Give us some credit. We’re investigators. It’s our job to find this stuff out.’

‘I do not know anything about sin-eaters.’

‘Then why are you warning us off? Is it because of Lilith?’

Another silence.

I laugh. ‘You didn’t know Lilith was responsible for this, did you? She’s one of your lot, isn’t she?’

‘She is not “one of our lot”. She was expelled from the grace of God’s presence a long time ago.’

I sip my coffee. I’m enjoying this. ‘Yeah, she’s not really happy with that. Has a few choice words to say about you and your god.’

‘Your god, too.’

‘Not mine, mate,’ I say coldly. ‘Never was.’

‘He created you. Created this world.’

‘So you say. I know a few orisha who’d argue with you, though. Reckon some of them have been around longer than the big man.’

‘You will go to hell for speaking this way, Gideon Tau.’

‘If breaking your list of ten commandments is all it takes, I was all set for hell when I shoplifted a Kit-Kat when I was eight. Now, you going to help us with this case? It’s probably in your best interests.’

‘There is nothing I can tell you that will help.’

‘No? What about the first sin? Can you tell us anything about that?’

Michael surges forward. He grabs me, lifts me from the table. I slap at his hands, but his grip is like stone.

‘Where did you hear those words?’ he says softly.

‘The ramanga. The one who got killed. Why? What does it mean?’

Michael leans close to me. I’m looking directly into his eyes. I thought they were black but I can see stars in there, the unimaginable gulf of galaxies. ‘This is your last warning, human. Step away or die.’

Somehow Armitage manages to slide between us. ‘Hey, come on now. You’re frightening the bairns.’

Michael bares his teeth and drops me. He backs up a step, looks around. The other patrons stare at us in shock.

‘Heed my words. I do not want to see either of you again.’

He whirls around, his trench coat flaring out, and strides out of the Wimpy, slamming the glass doors behind him. Armitage looks around, then flashes her ID.

‘It’s all right. We’re police.’

I’m not sure that reassures them.

I call the waitress over and gesture at my food. ‘Can I get this to go?’