The Nando’s in Germiston was situated in a small shopping centre, in-between a hairdresser and a dry-cleaner’s. Laki parked directly outside and opened his door. The smell of grilled chicken rushed into the car. Nick’s mouth flooded with saliva and his stomach growled.
‘Wait here,’ Laki told him.
‘Thanks. Here, I’ll pay.’ Nick fumbled for his wallet and handed his friend three fifties. His hands were shaking even more than before. The notes rustled as if they were in a high breeze.
Laki shook his head disapprovingly. ‘I would be tempted to put you on a glucose drip, if I had one with me,’ he said. Then he slammed the door and headed across the road to the shop.
While he waited, Nick took a risk and turned on his cellphone. He smiled when he saw another message from dispatch.
‘All clear,’ Donelle had sent to him.
That meant Masondo was no longer standing in the office and tracking his movements. Hopefully, it would now be safe to use his phone if he needed to.
Bracing the phone against his leg to hold it steady, he messaged back to her, ‘Thank you!’ He even managed to navigate the menu and add a yellow smiley at the end of his message. Nick Kenyon, techno wizard.
A minute later, the phone rang. Nick recognised his father’s grainy voice.
‘Dad.’
‘Yes.’ Kenyon senior’s voice was low and guarded. Nick heard shouts and clanging noises in the background. Just another ordinary afternoon in Modderbee’s maximum-security wing.
‘Did you manage to find anything out about what I asked?’ Nick decided to use caution, not to mention any names over the phone. He didn’t know if the prison call-boxes were monitored, although he supposed his father would.
His dad cleared his throat. ‘Jonas was here a good while ago. He only did five years and he hasn’t been back since, so I couldn’t find many people who knew him. But I found one.’
‘What’d he do?’
‘Seems he was in a fight with a colleague out on Harmony Mines where he worked. They were both blind drunk, which got him some mitigation of sentence, I believe. Got the guy pinned down and slit his throat ear to ear with a penknife.’ His father paused, and coughed. ‘He wasn’t in this wing, so I can’t tell you who he hung with when he was inside. Might have joined a gang, I don’t know.’
Jonas had slit a co-worker’s throat. Nick exhaled deeply and closed his eyes. His suspicions were confirmed. This fact changed everything. It meant he was off the hook. He must let Masondo know, so that the detective could focus all his efforts on hunting for Jonas.
Another question occurred to him.
‘Do you know if Jonas knew Paul?’
His father’s voice sharpened. ‘How the hell would I know that? They weren’t inside at the same time. Not even in the same prison. You know Paul didn’t come here. He went to Leeuwkop.’ He paused. ‘Paul had a few friends that I knew of. None of them upstanding citizens. Jonas could have been one of them, but I can’t say. I might know more if Paul ever bothered to visit me.’
‘Oh.’ Nick didn’t know what else to say. For a moment, he wondered whether his father was telling the truth about Paul never having visited. The thought made him feel doubly ashamed. Ashamed that he was doubting the man’s word, and ashamed that he had a father who had never proved worthy of trust.
Across the pavement he could see Laki selecting drinks from the fridge.
‘I protected that boy,’ his father continued. ‘I took the fall for this, you know. He doesn’t give a shit about that. Doesn’t understand the sacrifice I made on his behalf.’
‘Yes, I know you did that.’ Nick nodded. ‘I know you protected him.’
‘No, you don’t!’ His father’s voice rose to a shout and he coughed again, a phlegmy, hacking sound. ‘You don’t understand a thing. So I’ll tell you now, son. Two of the guards who died in that crash, they knew there was funny business going on in the company. They were going to go to the police with it. But Paul found out, so he made sure they couldn’t. He rigged the van to burn up in the crash that day, after the robbers set it alight. He disabled the door latches so the guards in the back couldn’t open them from the inside. He’s clever like that, Paul is. He knew what to do, and I knew he did it. But I never said a thing.’
Nick was silent. He had no words. What could he say? A minute ago he’d been floating on a heady cloud of relief at his father’s news. Now all he felt was a sick sense of doom.
His father continued. ‘It was in my interests, of course. If the cops had found out, they would have thought I was involved too. Then I’d be sitting here for the rest of my life, no parole, not ever.’ He hacked and spat. ‘Anyway, it’s all in the past. Water under the bridge, or so they say. I’m going now. They’re smoking down here and it’s irritating my throat. Goodbye, Nick.’
‘Bye.’ Nick listened to the metallic rattle as his dad replaced the receiver on its rest.
Laki opened the car, hugging a paper bag with his other arm.
‘Two double chicken and cheese burgers each, hot. Two half-litre Cokes each, cold.’ He grinned at Nick, looking more like his old self. Then he saw his friend’s face.
‘What’s the matter?’
Nick shook his head slowly. He wanted to hunt his brother down, clamp his hands around his neck and throttle the murdering bastard. How could he have killed four men in such a way – men who were not only innocent, but were bravely trying to make things right in the business they worked for?
Nick knew the answer very well. Because that was how Paul was wired. An accident of heredity.
If he killed Paul, chances were good he’d end up serving serious time in Modderbee himself, keeping his father company for a good few years. The law didn’t discriminate between the murder of those who deserved to die and those who didn’t. Would it be worth the risk? Or, by committing this act, would he be succumbing to the same self-destructive violence that had characterised his brother’s life?
Nick rubbed his forehead, trying to erase these unwelcome thoughts. He couldn’t believe he was even considering such an action seriously. Perhaps he didn’t know himself as well as he thought he did.
‘It’s OK,’ he replied. ‘Nothing’s wrong.’
‘Where shall we eat?’ Laki slid into the driver’s seat.
‘Might as well eat here.’
Nick felt ill after hearing his father’s news, but he needed the food. He ate fast, as if it was an unpleasant job that had to be done. He bit into the soft roll and spicy chicken. The taste of the food brought back memories of so many other occasions when he and Laki had stopped for a quick meal, only to be summoned off to an emergency call.
This time Nick knew they could eat without fear of emergency calls. All the same, he stayed alert and watched the cars that drove in and out of the centre, because, in spite of Donelle’s reassuring text, he was worried that Masondo was still trying to find him.
Right then, though, Masondo wasn’t on the hunt for Nick. He’d been called away urgently by one of his team who’d driven him out of Sandton. They’d taken the highway north, then joined the R55 heading to Pretoria West. After leaving the R55 they drove for five kilometres along a potholed road, then made a couple more turns down a muddy lane before pulling over.
Masondo climbed out and breathed in the surprisingly fresh air. He was in a semi-rural suburb. Cottages, wooden fences, leafy trees. Ahead was a vlei where reeds and grasses bobbed as birds alighted and flew away. The sky was a vivid blue, laced with puffy white clouds, stragglers from the morning’s rains.
The picture was spoiled by the sight that lay ahead, where the concrete bulk of a storm drain was visible. Emergency vehicles, police cars, the pathologist’s van, all crowded in a tight circle under the scenic bridge.
A young officer hurried over to Masondo. His bearing was brisk and professional and contrasted with the sickened horror in his eyes.
‘He was washed out of the drain this morning,’ the officer explained. ‘After the heavy rains, probably.’
‘Right.’ Masondo moved forward. The youngster was learning the reality of being a police detective. Any location, however idyllic or glamorous, could be tainted forever by the sight of a murdered body.
He moved closer, wrinkling his nose at the whiff of decay that lurked among the more wholesome scents of sweet grass and fresh rainwater.
The pathologist looked up as he approached. Behind the surgical mask, Masondo saw that he looked puzzled. He caught a glimpse of the crumpled form he was working on. Flesh bloated and puffy from immersion in water. The mouth stretched wide like the gaping jaws of an ancient sea creature, torn lips exposing cracked and yellowing teeth. The body was sprawled in the graceless posture of death, a posture made all the more sickening because a number of the larger bones in the body including the skull and spine were not just broken, they were crushed.
Grievous injuries. That’s what the message had been. A dead body with grievous injuries, washed out of a storm drain.
The pathologist rose from his crouched position and splashed through the shallow water towards Masondo. His waterproof boots and protective overalls were streaked with mud. He unhooked the mask from one of his ears, letting it hang from the other, and took a deep breath of fresh air.
‘You may have been called out unnecessarily, Captain,’ he said.
‘Why?’ Masondo asked.
‘There’s some monkey business going on here, no mistake. We’ll need to take this body into the lab, have a better look. See, here’s the surprising thing.’ He indicated the rotting form of the man behind him. ‘In my professional opinion, I don’t believe he was murdered.’