Rachel touched her fingers to her temples and gently rubbed her aching head. What Sipho had said was impossible. There must be a logical explanation. Perhaps there had been a miscommunication between Vusi’s brother and the police detectives. Triple homicide was a serious crime and certainly would have been investigated. Perhaps it had all been hushed up for some reason. Even if it had, though, surely the police would have told the man that his brother was dead.
It just didn’t make sense.
‘Did Khani find anything out?’ she asked.
Sipho shrugged. ‘I don’t know, Mama,’ he murmured. ‘I could not see him very often because in the prison, they let us only have visitors on weekends, and Khani was working on weekends when he got the job at the nightclub. Then he did not have time to come out to the prison.’
Rachel shivered. The room was chilly. Even with the flimsy protection of the blanket, the cold from the floor had worked its way through the seat of her jeans, and she felt numb from the waist down.
‘Would anybody else have known?’
Sipho thought for a moment and then nodded. He gave a small smile.
‘Khani told me he’d met a girl. She helped him get the job at the nightclub, and he became her friend. He said to me her boyfriend knew something about Vusi, but she did not yet know what it was. I am hoping she can tell us now. That is why I told you I must stay longer in Johannesburg, so that I can find her and ask her. Her name is Natasha.’
Rachel drew a deep breath. ‘Sipho,’ she said, ‘I know about Natasha, too. Khani gave me the phone numbers of all his Johannesburg friends and she was one of them. It’s a sad, horrible story, but Natasha’s dead.’
Speechless, Sipho stared at her. Then he closed his eyes and bowed his head.
Time passed, interminably slowly. Through trial and error, they worked out the most comfortable way to sit. Back to back on one of the triple-folded blankets, knees bent and arms crossed, with the other blanket draped over their shoulders.
Rachel felt her eyelids become heavy. Sipho dozed off a few times, his body relaxed against hers and his head lolled back, warm against her own, his breathing even and regular.
She sat as still as she could, glad that he was able to sleep for a while.
Rachel couldn’t risk sleep; she was worried the gangly man would return. From time to time she’d heard footsteps, rattles and thumps, and the familiar slam of the door above her, but there had been nothing for a long while now. Only the endless droning of heavy machinery and cars. They must be in the city somewhere, she decided.
Rachel was too frightened to think about her future, because she felt that it was no longer within her control. Instead, she thought about her past. She was surprised to discover that, for the first time since it happened, she could accept the fact her husband had been unfaithful to her without cringing at the thought.
Infidelity was serious, it was true. But not as serious as death.
Sitting on the rough concrete floor, her arms wrapped around her, and tired beyond exhaustion, Rachel realised she’d finally reached the stage where she could forgive Adam.
He was a good man. Deep down, she’d always known this truth.
Did that mean she’d accept his offer? Start a new life in Australia?
She shook her head. She couldn’t possibly decide right now. But forgiveness, at least, was a start.
When she got too cold she woke Sipho, then stood up and paced around their prison to warm herself. She risked another drink from the rusting tap and then sat down again, hunching her shoulders and pulling the blanket tightly around her.
Time had become irrelevant. The unchanging glare of the overhead light had upset her body clock. Perhaps a night had passed. Perhaps they had been in their prison for longer. She had no way of telling without turning on her phone, and she decided that would be too dangerous, because the gangly man could return at any time.
Rachel realised she was hungry. So hungry she was starting to feel light-headed. If they were given food again, she told herself firmly that she must eat it, no matter what it was. Hunger would make her weak, and it would be more difficult for her to think clearly, if there was an occasion in the future where clear thinking could make a difference.
She also realised that their prison smelled different. A sharp, chemical odour was invading the room and it was making her cough.
The odour was familiar. It reminded her of diesel.
The first time Adam had asked her out, he’d fetched her at the appointed time on Sunday morning in an ancient, off-white Land Rover.
‘Hello, Rachel. Meet the old lady,’ he’d shouted over the rattle of the engine as he pushed open the passenger door. ‘She used to be my dad’s car, and now I take her out every week. I thought we could go to the Pietersburg Game Reserve and have a picnic near the hiking trails.’ He’d indicated the wicker basket in the back.
The vehicle’s seats were as hard as rock and the suspension was history. By the time they’d reached the game reserve, Rachel had felt utterly nauseous from the forty-degree heat and the juddering progress over the rutted roads and, worst of all, the persistent smell of diesel. Every time she’d tried to shout a reply to one of Adam’s questions over the noise of the Land Rover’s engine, the diesel fumes had caught in her throat and she’d ended up coughing.
She’d liked Adam so much, and wanted to impress him so badly, that she’d made a heroic effort to conceal her physical distress. When the nightmare drive was over and he’d arranged the picnic blanket under a tree, she’d even managed to drink a glass of wine and eat a little food without feeling the urge to throw up.
Back home that evening, he’d given her a long and heartfelt kiss goodbye, and made another date for the following weekend.
Not in that car, Rachel had prayed, feeling her tender stomach cramp as she watched the Land Rover rattle away. It’s going to be you or me, girl, she’d promised herself, glaring at its retreating taillights.
Fortunately for Rachel, the Land Rover had suffered an irreparable breakdown shortly afterwards, and they’d started travelling in style in Adam’s new Jetta. But ever since then, the smell of diesel had always reminded her of their first date.
Rachel’s cough roused Sipho.
‘What time is it?’ he asked sleepily.
‘I don’t know.’
She jumped as she heard a loud crash that seemed to shake the room.
‘Thunder?’ Sipho whispered.
Rachel shook her head. It hadn’t sounded like thunder. It had sounded like an explosion somewhere nearby.
Then she heard another booming noise. This time it did sound like thunder. As if on cue, the overhead light flickered once, glowed dimly for a second and then went out. Thunder rumbled again.
Darkness enveloped them once more.
‘Great,’ Rachel hissed. This time she guessed the storm had caused the power failure. Now what would happen? Would the gangly man return and blind her again with the flashlight’s powerful beam? Or would they be left for endless hours in this claustrophobic blackness?
Rachel’s heart began to pound as her panic rose. She’d always hated the dark. A candle, a torch, anything would do.
She stuck her hand out in front of her. She knew there’d be nothing there, but her fear was as illogical as it was real.
A door slammed above her and made her jump. Then somebody spoke.
‘Hello? I just got back. There’s a bloody power failure here.’
Channelling down to them from above, the gangly man’s voice made her spine crawl. She guessed he was on the phone.
‘No. Just one flashlight. Yes, I know. No, no point at all. Might be off for hours.’ He paused, laughed. ‘They’re fine. Not a squeak. I’ll leave, then.’
It sounded like the men were going to go without checking on their prisoners. In which case, she wasn’t going to waste time. She needed light, even if that light was only the dim glow of a cellphone screen. Rachel groped her way over to its hiding place.
The phone felt cold and comforting in her hand. If she heard the men on the stairs, she’d slip it into her jeans pocket. They’d already been searched. Surely, if they were on their way out, her captors wouldn’t bother searching them a second time.
She pressed the ‘On’ button and the screen lit up. Light, thank God. She returned to Sipho and sat down, feeling calmer and less vulnerable.
‘What?’ The gangly man’s voice startled her. He hadn’t left yet. He was still on the phone and he didn’t sound too happy. ‘You want me to go where? No way. Not that bastard again.’
A pause.
‘Yes, I know where he stays. That place in Lonehill.’
Lonehill? Rachel raised her head, worried. When she’d given Nick directions to her guesthouse, he’d told her he would be coming from Lonehill.
‘What, now? Before we go home?’
Another silence.
‘Christ. All right, then.’
A short pause.
‘Hey!’ he called – to the black man, Rachel assumed. ‘C’mon. We’re going, but we’ve gotta do a job first, at Kenyon’s place.’
The door slammed again, a loud and final sound.
Rachel bit her lip painfully hard. What could she do? The thugs were on their way to Nick’s house, she was sure. Would he be there when they arrived? She checked the time on her phone as it beeped another low battery warning. Three forty-five a.m. on what she now saw was the second night of their captivity. Chances were good that he would be home, fast asleep.
Glancing down again, she saw to her amazement that she had a signal. Just one bar, but it might be enough. She dialled his number as quickly as she could. With so little reception the call might not connect, but she had to try. Her instincts told her to warn him that he was in danger, to tell him he had to get out of his house before they came for him.
Standing in his bedroom in the rainy darkness, Nick stared down at his phone in frustration. Where the hell was Rachel, and what was the danger she’d tried to tell him about? He couldn’t believe that at this crucial time his return call had refused to connect.
He breathed in deeply and forced his fists to unclench. Then he called Masondo’s cell number. The police detective sounded as sleepy and disoriented as Nick had been a minute earlier.
‘Sorry to phone so early,’ he said. It was shortly before four a.m. on another stormy morning. The hour when human body temperature was coldest, when resistance was at its lowest ebb.
He explained to Masondo what Rachel had said.
‘I don’t know where she is, but she’s obviously in trouble. Could you triangulate the area where the call was made?
‘I can do that,’ the detective replied. ‘But it will take some time, Mr Kenyon. First, we will have to report her missing and open a case. Then I’ll pass the details on to Crime Intelligence, who will contact Vodacom and get a triangulation on the signal. It will take a few hours at least to get a result back.’
After giving the detective the description of Rachel’s car and its registration number, Nick hung up. He’d seldom felt so helpless. There was nothing he could do for her now. But waiting around in his house wasn’t an option.
He pulled on jeans and a rainproof jacket and retrieved his spare car keys from the kitchen drawer. He’d pick up the originals from the guardhouse on his way out. The Jeep was in a visitor’s parking bay on the opposite side of the complex, where the gate guard had left it the previous night. Not in his garage, of course, on the one wet morning he needed it there.
Nick took two magazines of ammo from the safe and zipped them into his jacket pocket.
He pulled the door closed behind him and double-locked the security gate. Then he jogged across the brick paving, splashing through the puddles, head bowed against the rain’s chilly onslaught.
By the time he reached the car, he was soaked. His clothes dripped onto the leather seats, and the windscreen started misting up as soon as he’d slammed the driver’s door. Relieved that the Colt was wedged in its hiding place under the seat and not in the hands of the police, he removed the empty mag, snapped a full one into place and chambered a round.
Where the hell should he go? He didn’t know. Where in all the vastness of this city was Rachel? Assuming she was still in Jo’burg and not somewhere else.
As he started the engine, a bright sweep of headlights dazzled him. Through the pouring rain, he saw a dark vehicle enter the complex. It turned in the direction he’d come from, water splashing up from under its tyres.
Someone arriving home late from a party, perhaps.
Nick swung the wheel left, flicked the windscreen wipers on to top speed, and headed for the exit gate.
Both gates were wide open and the guardhouse was dark. The guard must have fallen asleep in his chair, lulled by the continuous drumming of the rain. But Nick needed to pick up his keys. With a resigned sigh, he parked in the exit gateway, climbed out of his warm, dry car, and hammered on the window, hunching his shoulders against the cold torrent that dripped from the metal roof.
No response. Through the glass, he could just make out the shadowy shape of the chair. It was empty.
Nick jogged round to the other side of the guardhouse and tried the door. He expected it to be locked, assuming that the guard must have left early without waiting for his relief to arrive, disenchanted with the endless rain. To his surprise, it swung open. In the dim light, Nick could see what looked like a prone body on the floor, wrapped in a yellow windbreaker.