Blindside

  BLINDSIDE

  WILNA ADRIAANSE

  Translated by Elsa Silke

  Tafelberg

  For Deon

  CHAPTER 1

  Tuesday morning, 24 September 2013.

  “Mac, what are you doing here?”

  Lieutenant Ellie McKenna of the Crime Intelligence Division raised herself slightly from her seat at the back of the room. “I want to help.”

  The room went quiet, except for the odd cough here and there.

  Brigadier Ibrahim Ahmed, head of the Serious Economic Offences Unit in the Western Cape, shook his head. “Bad idea, Mac. As you well know.”

  “Captain Greyling said I could …”

  “Not his call to make.” His eyes searched the room. “Where is he, by the way?”

  “He phoned to say he’s stuck in traffic; there’s been an accident, but he’s on his way,” someone replied.

  “Mac, go home. Your mother needs you.”

  Ahmed peered at Ellie over the rim of his reading glasses. The bags under his eyes were distinctly less noticeable a week or two ago, Ellie thought. Actually, he didn’t look too bad for a man approaching sixty. His black hair showed no signs of grey. There were whispers behind his back that he dyed it. He was a neat man, his posture erect. Proud. He was tall and lean and she’d heard the guys who work with him say he was remark­ably fit for a man who spent most of his time behind a desk these days.

  “He was my father. How would you feel if it was one of your family members, Brigadier?” She was on her feet now, and the room went even quieter.

  “Same as you, I guess, but I hope I’d have the brains to listen to good advice.”

  “It wasn’t a random shooting, and if you give me access to his files, I’ll prove it.”

  “We don’t know what it was yet. That’s why I want you out of here now, so we can get on with our job.”

  “And I’m telling you I can help, Brigadier. I know the people who may be involved.”

  He shook his head again. “Not gonna happen. And I won’t say it again.”

  “I have a right to know.”

  “The minute we arrest someone, you’ll know. But until then, I don’t want you near this case. Understood?”

  Ellie saw the eyes in the room moving from one side to the other, like spectators at a tennis match. “I won’t get in the way. I’m good at my job and I know where to look.”

  “Mac, if you don’t excuse yourself right now, I’ll call your commanding officer and tell her you’re interfering in a case. And if she can’t make you change your mind, I’ll personally have you locked up until we’re done. Don’t think I won’t do it.”

  Ellie picked up her handbag and headed for the door.

  “And if I hear you’ve been talking to anyone, I’ll make sure you lose your badge.”

  She opened the door, turned at the last moment. “For the record, I think this is bullshit.” She closed the door with a resounding click.

  Outside, she took a few deep breaths, got into her car and switched on the engine. Instinctively her eyes searched for his vehicle among the others in the parking lot, but his space was empty.

  That was why she put off going to bed at night. Every morning there was a moment when she tried to convince herself it had just been a terrible nightmare. Before she was forced to face the awful truth. It was like pulling off a scab every morning.

  She couldn’t bring herself to drive back to her parents’ home in Goodwood, but she couldn’t face her own place either. She drove around aimlessly for a while, then called Melissa.

  “Where are you?”

  “Tyger Valley shopping centre. What’s up?”

  “Do you have time for coffee?”

  “Sure, where? Mugg & Bean?”

  “No, somewhere quieter.” They agreed on a place where Melissa would wait for her.

  Melissa Calitz and Ellie had been friends since 1994, when Melissa and her family had moved to Ellie’s neighbourhood. Both fourteen at the time, they had been inseparable ever since. Written matric together, gone on to study psychology at Stellenbosch University together. Been roommates in res. Enrolled for their honours degrees together. Both had been selected to do a master’s degree, Ellie in clinical psychology, Melissa in counselling psychology. Shared digs and dated two friends, Antonie Calitz and Chris Moolman.

  Melissa and Antonie were married now. Antonie was a physician in Durbanville. Chris broke off the engagement three months before the wedding. That was six years ago, when Ellie was twenty-six. He was an engineer, and she’d run into him every now and then at the shops. The last time he had introduced her to his fiancée.

  Melissa frowned and her jaw dropped slightly when Ellie walked into the restaurant.

  “What the hell have you done to your hair?” she asked as Ellie slid into the opposite seat.

  “Dyed it darker.”

  “I can see that. I just don’t understand why.”

  “You dye your hair.”

  Melissa shook her head. “You can’t compare the two of us. My hair is a mousy brown. It’s a bloody shame for you to dye your hair. I always thought you liked the fact that you inherited your dad’s mop of strawberry-blond hair.”

  Ellie took a packet of sugar from the container in the middle of the table and began to twirl it between her fingers.

  “I don’t want to be reminded of him every time I look in the mirror.”

  Melissa took her hand across the table. “Sweetie, dyeing your hair won’t do any good. You’re the spitting image of your old man. Pale eyes, cheekbones, wide mouth … the lot. What do you plan to do about that?”

  Ellie shrugged. “I had to start somewhere. Dyeing my hair was the cheapest option.”

  “Why are you hanging around here? I thought you were with your mom,” Melissa said.

  A waiter approached and they ordered an espresso and a cappuccino.

  “My aunt took her to the hair salon. I was at the office.”

  “To do what?”

  “Offer my help. They won’t listen to me, but I know it wasn’t a random attack.”

  “You mean he was targeted?”

  “Not necessarily, but it wasn’t just some trigger-happy lowlife. There’s a syndicate involved, and that’s why they should let me help. I know everyone who operates in the Western Cape and most in the rest of the country as well.”

  Their coffee arrived and Ellie put two sugars in hers. Stirred distractedly. “Ahmed sent me home, said he doesn’t want me near the case.”

  “I agree with him. You can’t be involved.”

  “He was my dad. He would have done it for me.” The spoon clattered into the saucer.

  Melissa took Ellie’s hand across the table again. “Sweetie, you haven’t even buried your dad yet. Give yourself a chance to breathe, at least, before you start looking for the perpetrators.”

  “Do you have any idea what chaos our intelligence is in at the moment? The ones still sticking it out try their best, but they’re snowed under. If I can’t help, then I don’t know who can.”

  “I hear you. But you need to believe that there are enough people who really want to solve this case. It’s time to step away.”

  Ellie motioned to the waiter to bring her another cup of coffee.

  “On any given day of the week there are about five hundred crime syndicates at work in this country,” she continued as if Melissa hadn’t spoken. “Everyone thinks they’re busy with their own shit, but it’s all interconnected, and almost impossible to unravel. I’ve been doing this job for four years. If anyone knows how to do it, it’s me.”

  “Bury your dad first. If you still want to help afterwards, I’m sure no one will stop you.” Melissa sat back in her chair. “How’s your mom?”

  Ellie shrugged.
“Not really talking to me.”

  “I’ll pick you up tomorrow.”

  “Thanks, but it’s out of your way. I’ll see you at the church.”

  “Is everything under control? Anything I can do for you?”

  “I don’t really know. Someone phoned to ask how many people we’re expecting. The congregation takes care of the tea and sandwiches after the service. How should I know how many people are going show up? It’s not like we’re selling tickets.”

  “They just want a rough estimate.”

  “I wonder if I’m going to get my mom there tomorrow.” Ellie tapped her spoon against the saucer. “Maybe I should stay away too. It’s not like he’ll know I’m not there.”

  “Have you got something you can take?”

  “The doctor gave my mom some tablets. Maybe I’ll take one or two.” She looked at her watch, took money from her purse and put it on the table.

  “Thanks for the chat.”

  Melissa got up as well and gave Ellie a hug. “Call me if you need me. Or if you want me to come over.”

  Ellie nodded and kissed her cheek.

  When Albert phoned just after nine, Ellie was in bed. After leaving Melissa, she had driven back to Goodwood slowly and was glad to see that her mom was not home. She still couldn’t bring herself to go inside, so she stayed outside on the stoep. Douglas, her dad’s eight-year-old Irish terrier, lay down at her feet. After a while her mom came back and went straight to her room. When Ellie went in a while later to tell her supper was ready, she didn’t react.

  “I hear you and Ahmed had a scrap today. What were you doing there?” Albert asked.

  “You promised I could help.”

  “I didn’t say you could sit in on meetings. Or piss Ahmed off.”

  “Well, what was I supposed to do?”

  “I said I’d speak to Ahmed first. I know how to handle him.”

  Ellie sighed. “I don’t have time for games. My dad’s been killed and you expect me to sit on the sidelines and watch you looking in all the wrong places while the trail gets even colder? Think again.”

  “You make it sound like we’re a bunch of incompetent idiots who don’t know our arses from our elbows.”

  “You know that’s not what I said. What pisses me off is that, if it was one of your own people or one of Ahmed’s people, you would have been at the head of the pack and no one would have stopped you.”

  “First of all, if it had been my dad I might have offered the shooter a reward, and secondly, you know the drill. It’s like allowing a doctor to operate on his wife or kids, Mac. The chances of a fuck-up are just too big.”

  “Talk to Ahmed anyway.”

  “I’ll see what I can do. I’ll do my best to be there tomorrow, but if we get a break in the case, we’ll have to move quickly.”

  “Do what you can.”

  “Are you okay?”

  Ellie looked up at the patterns the streetlights made on the ceiling. “Yes, I’m okay.”

  There was a moment’s silence before Albert spoke again.

  “Did you hear about the shooting last night at one of Alexei Barkov’s houses in Milnerton? The place was blown to pieces. Two dead. The uniform guys were first on the scene. They found a prostitute in the bath. Took cover there when the shooting began. It probably saved her life.”

  “Any witnesses?” Ellie was glad he had changed the subject. The two of them had never been great at personal conversations.

  “What do you think? People turn a blind eye these days, especially in that kind of neighbourhood. No one ever sees a thing.”

  “I’m surprised it didn’t happen sooner. A good few people are not at all happy that Barkov has expanded his operations to Cape Town.”

  “I know. I wish they’d rather target Barkov himself. At least we’d be rid of him.”

  They talked about the shooting some more. When it went quiet between them, Ellie said goodnight.

  She had met Albert Greyling six months after Chris had broken off their engagement. He had worked on a case with her dad. Initially she’d just been flattered, she suspected, because he’d paid attention to her. He was an attractive man. Tousled blond hair, toned body.

  Chris had been like her. Organised, a list-maker. Dependable. There was never drama with him. His parents were quiet people who went to church on Sundays and lay side by side in bed at night, reading. The exact opposite of what she was used to in her own home. His home was like an oasis. She could always predict how Chris would react. There were no surprises. She could see herself growing old with him. She wanted to have his babies one day. But he decided the risk was too great. She might turn into her mother. What could she say? How could you promise someone you’d never be like your mother? When that was the fear you lived with every day?

  Albert didn’t care who or what her mother was. He was no stranger to domestic chaos. Drama didn’t faze him. Today she knew that a complex, impulsive personality lurked beneath the casual demeanour. Yet, in a way, it was still easy. He would sometimes jokingly suggest she move in with him. She suspected he was testing her, more than anything else. At thirty-four, he valued his independence. He was the eldest child in a complicated family. His father had been an alcoholic and at some point everyone in the family had felt his fists. Both his parents had died a few years ago. First his mother, then his father. He didn’t attend his father’s funeral; neither did his two brothers. He seemed to have laid his ghosts to rest. His easy smile gave the impression that he was happy most of the time, but if you got to know him well, you learnt that some demons weren’t exorcised so easily.

  Her own parents had had an intense relationship, and though children never really know what happens behind closed doors, she felt sure that when they had made love it had been unrestrained and passionate, just like their arguments.

  At twenty-four, her dad had come to visit his cousin in South Africa. One night he spotted the lovely young Rika at a dance hall and fell so in love with her that he never went back home – he just wrote his parents a letter.

  Sometime during her teenage years Ellie had grown afraid of such an all-consuming relationship.

  Relationships aren’t shoes, they shouldn’t be too comfortable, John McKenna liked to say. Not between friends, and not between lovers. Love should be complicated. Challenging.

  She remained unconvinced. In a way she supposed Albert was more of a challenge than Chris. On the other hand, theirs was an easy relationship because they asked so little of each other.

  Her dad and Albert had not seen eye to eye. Neither of them ever mentioned it, but she knew. She had always meant to ask her dad about it one day. Now it was too late. For all the other questions she had meant to ask, too.

  She fetched her laptop and got back into bed. There had to be a clue somewhere.

  She opened five folders, resizing them so that they all fitted on­to the screen. Alexei Barkov. Forty-five-year-old Russian. Enzio Allegretti. Fiendishly attractive at thirty-six, and a ladies’ man. Yuang Mang. A diminutive Chinese, aged fifty-five, according to official documentation, and ranking second in seniority among the five. The Nigerian Abua Jonathan was forty-eight, and Nazeem Williams sixty-four. All of them notorious for different reasons. She had been investigating the five of them for the past eighteen months.

  A sudden thought struck her. What if her dad’s shooting was linked to her investigation? Goosebumps prickled on her arms. She felt sick.

  CHAPTER 2

  Ellie wished her mother would cry. Wet, noisy sobs, instead of the quiet sniffling next to her in the pew. She was dry-eyed too, but at least she wasn’t sniffling.

  You could smell from a distance that her mother had been drinking, even though she had promised not to. She should probably have taken better care of her mom, but it had just been too much trouble.

  You must look after your mom, she heard her dad’s voice say, and she looked at the coffin at the front of the church. She can’t help it. She’s not doing it on purpose, was always h
is excuse. And you’re all she’s got now, he continued in her thoughts. He had spoken to her a few times recently about the day he might no longer be around. Had he had a premonition, or had he just wanted to make sure she understood that she was responsible for her mother?

  “Why didn’t we bury him out of a normal church?” her mom asked under her breath. “I don’t understand a word of what’s going on.”

  “This was his church,” Ellie whispered back.

  “Why is he sprinkling water on the cloth over the coffin as if it’s ironing that needs dampening?”

  “Mom, it doesn’t matter.”

  Her mother sniffed again. “Lord, how could he do this to me?”

  There was movement around them and Ellie knelt.

  Behind her, her mom whispered: “My knee hurts, I’m not going to kneel.”

  “God of all consolation, help us to comfort one another in our grief, finding light in time of darkness, and faith in time of doubt.” Father Frank went quiet and Ellie sat down beside her mother again.

  She had never understood why people took sedatives to get through a funeral. Now she realised it was because she had never been one of the mourners in the front pews. In the cheap seats at the back it was easy; here, it was another matter. It’s not like you wanted to be in the front row; you only realised the price of these seats the day you sat here. The view from here was totally different. There was no one between you and the coffin. And behind the coffin you saw the reverend, priest, or pastor’s mouth move, but nothing he said made any sense. Nothing eased the pain. No words calmed the tremor inside. She suspected it was that tremor that made one grab the pills, or a glass of something. If you could just get through the service without people hearing your teeth chatter. That was why the older generation had so many children, she decided. For this day. There was strength in numbers.

  “Lord, for your faithful people life is changed, not ended. When the body of our earthly dwelling lies in death we gain an everlasting dwelling place in heaven.”

  She heard the people behind them say “Amen,” but the word stuck in her throat.