He tried to imagine how it had been last night. Hundreds of people, loud music, dancing bodies, flickering lights. And now it was quiet, empty and spooky.
He felt uneasy in this place.
In this city too. It was the people, he thought. Khayelitsha had often broken his heart with its pointless murders, the domestic violence, the terrible poverty, the shacks, the daily struggle. But he had been welcome there, the source of law and order, simple people, his people, they respected him, stood by him, supported him.
Ninety per cent of those cases were straightforward. In this city the possibilities were complicated and legion, the agendas inscrutable. It was all antagonism and suspicion. As if he were some intruder.
'No respect,' his mother would say. 'That's the problem with the new world.' His mother carved elephants out of wood in Knysna, sanding and polishing them until they came alive, but she refused to sell them in the roadside stall next to the lagoon, 'Because people don't have respect any more.' To her, the 'new world' was anything across the brown waters of the Fish and Mzimvubu Rivers, but there were no jobs in Gwiligwili, 'at home'. Now she was an exile, cast out on this 'new world'. Even though she only went shopping once a week. The rest of the time she sat in front of the corrugated iron shack in Khayalethu South with her elephants, waiting for her son to phone on the cell phone he had bought for her. Or for Zukisa, to hear how many artworks they had sold to the disrespectful tourists.
Vusi thought of Tiffany October, the slim young pathologist. She had the same soft eyes as his mother, the same gentle voice that seemed to be hiding great wisdom.
He thought of phoning her, but his guts contracted.
Would she go out with a Xhosa?
'Ask her,' Griessel had said. 'It can't do any harm.' He looked for the mortuary number in his notebook.
He phoned. It rang for a long time before the switchboard answered. He took a deep breath to say: 'May I speak to Dr October?' But his courage failed him; the fear that she would say 'no' lurked in the pit of his stomach like a disease. He cancelled the call in panic.
He cursed himself, in angry Xhosa, and immediately phoned Vaughn Cupido, the only member of the SAPS Organised Crime Task Force in Bellville South that he knew. He had to hold for a long time before Cupido answered with his usual, self-assured mantra: 'Talk to me.'
Vusi said hullo and then asked if they knew anything about Gennady Demidov. Cupido whistled through his teeth, as demonstrative as ever. 'Genna. We call him Semi-dof, like in semi-stupid, if you get my drift. Brother, the city belongs to him, pretty much - prostitution, drugs, blackmail, money laundering, cigarettes ...'
'He owns the Van Hunks club ...'
'Ja. And he's got another club, in Bree, the Moscow Redd; he's got a guest house in Oranjezicht that's really just a brothel and the word is that the Cranky Croc in Longmarket is his in all but name.'
'The Cranky Croc?'
'The Internet cafe and bar at Greenmarket Square. Easiest place in Cape Town to buy weed.'
'I have an American tourist, about nineteen, whose throat was cut last night up in Long Street. But earlier they had been in Van Hunks ...'
'It's drugs, Vusi. Sounds to me like a deal that went wrong. They do that, the Russians. Show your network you don't take shit.'
'A deal gone wrong?'
'Semi-dof is an importer, Vusi. The dealers buy from him, a hundred thousand rands' worth at a time.'
'So why don't you arrest him?'
'It's not that easy, brother. He's clever.'
'But the girl only arrived here yesterday, first time in Cape Town. She's no dealer.'
'She must be a mule.'
'A mule?'
'They bring the drugs in. On planes, fishing trawlers, any way they can.'
'Ah,' said Vusi.
'So she probably didn't deliver what she was meant to. Something like that. I can't say what happened, but it's drugs ...'
The station commander of Caledon Square walked down the passage behind Inspector Mbali Kaleni, unable to hide his displeasure.
Ten minutes ago everything had been under control; his efficient police station had been functioning normally and effectively. Then she waddles in, without knocking, orders everyone around, demanding an office that he didn't have, refusing to share with the social worker. Next minute he was being kakked on by the Provincial Commissioner, accusing him of bringing the Service into disrepute. Now he had Social Services sharing his office so that this domineering woman could move in.
They walked into the charge office. She looked like an overstuffed pigeon - short, with a big bulge in front and a big bulge behind in her tight black trouser suit. Large handbag over her shoulder, service pistol in a thick black belt around her hips and her SAPS ID card hanging from a cord around her neck, probably because no one would believe she was a policewoman.
She stopped in the middle of the room, feet planted wide apart, and clapped sharply, twice.
'Listen up, people,' she said loudly. Pee-pol, in her Zulu accent.
Here and there a head turned.
'Silence!' Sharp and loud.
Silence descended, everyone paid attention: complainants, their companions, uniforms.
'Thank you. My name is Inspector Mbali Kaleni. We have a situation and we need to be sharp. There is an American tourist missing in the city, a nineteen-year-old girl, maybe in Camps Bay, maybe Clifton or Bantry Bay. There are people trying to kill her. We must find her. I am in control of the operation. So I want you to get every vehicle out there, and make sure they get the message. They must come and collect a photo of the girl after twelve o'clock. The Provincial Commissioner has personally called your station commander, and he will not tolerate any problems ...'
'Inspector ...' said the Constable who had taken the Carlucci's call.
'I am not finished,' she said.
'I know where she is,' he said, not intimidated, making his commanding officer proud.
'You know?' Kaleni asked, some of the wind taken out of her sails.
'She's not in Camps Bay, she's in Oranjezicht,' he said.
Vusi Ndabeni sat in the twilight of the nightclub and phoned Benny Griessel, but the detective's cell phone was on voice mail.
'Benny, it's Vusi. I think the girls brought drugs in and I think they were supposed to deliver it to Van Hunks. I'm waiting for the barmen and waiter, but I know they're not going to talk. I think we must bring Organised Crime in. Call me, please.'
He looked at his notes again. What else could he do?
The video cameras.
He phoned the Metro Police video control room, and was eventually put through to The Owl.
'I can tell you they came from the lower end of Long Street. The camera on the corner of Longmarket and Long shows the two girls walking past at 01:39. The angle isn't great, but I compared it with the other material. It's the same girls.'
'Walking past?'
'They were walking fast, but definitely not running. But at time code 01:39:42 you can see the men coming past. The angle is a bit better, I can see five of them running in the same direction, north to south.'
'After the girls.'
'That's right. I'm still looking for something before that, but there was a camera out of operation on the other side of Shortmarket. So don't hold your breath.'
'Thanks a lot,' said Vusi.
So, here, two hundred metres from the club, they were still walking, unaware of the men chasing them.
What did it all mean?