'Bill!' she shouted, her voice shrill and frightened.
He came running and she hurried to the phone.
Rachel Anderson sat at the table where Piet van der Lingen's laptop and a myriad reference books and papers were strewn across the table. In her ear the phone kept ringing on another continent - far too long, she thought, what was her father doing?
'Rachel?' Her mother said suddenly, anxious and out of breath.
'Mom!' Rachel was caught off guard, expecting her father's calm.
'Oh, my God, Rachel, where are you, are you all right?' She could hear the underlying hysteria and fear.
'Mom, I'm fine, I'm with a very kind man, I'm safe for now ...'
'Oh, thank God, thank God. We've spoken to the police over there, we've spoken to the Ambassador and the Congressman, it's going to be all right, Rachel. Everything's going to be ... Bill, she's safe, she's with somebody, a kind man, Rachel, this is such wonderful news, I love you honey, do you hear me, I love you so very much.'
'I love you too, Mom ...'
'Now, I'm going to put your father on, listen very carefully, he's going to give you a number to call. Promise me you will do exactly what he says, Rachel, please.'
'I promise, Mom. I'm OK, I know this must have been really tough for you ...'
'Don't you worry about us, we are going to take care of all this, honey, it's so great to hear your voice, I can't believe it, here's your father, I love you, you hear, I love you very much.'
'Love you too,' said Rachel Anderson, and smiled through the sudden tears of longing and gratitude. Her father came on the line: 'Honey? You're OK?'
'Yes, Dad, I'm OK, I'm with a very kind gentleman, I'm sitting in his house, I'm perfectly safe.'
'I can't begin to tell you what a great relief that is, honey, that's really great news.' Her father's voice was calm. 'We've been pretty busy on this side, trying to get you help, I've spoken to the Consul General in Cape Town, they are standing by, I'm going to give you their number, but first, I'm going to give you the number of a police Captain. Now, I know you said something about the police when you last called, but this man was recommended by their top structure, and I spoke to him personally. He's in charge of your case, and he gave me his word that he'll make sure you are safe, OK?'
'Are you sure?'
'Absolutely, even their Secretary of ... their Police Minister knows about you, the Consul General is talking to them, so this is very high level, nothing can happen to you. So can you take down the numbers?'
She looked across the desk and spotted the end of a yellow pencil under a printed document, pulled it out and turned over one of the typed sheets.
'I'm ready,' she said with determination and inexpressible relief. The nightmare was nearly over.
Mbali Kaleni parked on the Parade. In bright sunlight she walked down the alley of flower sellers, past the old post office, between stalls selling anything from shoes to packets of nuts. For a second she contemplated buying some candy-coated cashews, but reconsidered, she wanted to get to Upper Orange quickly. She just wanted to go back to that house ...
She walked faster, swinging her big, black handbag with every stride.
'Just explain one thing to me,' said Griessel to Oliver Sands. He was standing: Oliver sat at the table wide-eyed, as though the attention was too much for him to handle.
'Why did the girls bring backpacks with them to the club?'
'Those bags ...' Sands said. 'They never went anywhere without them. It's a girl thing, I think. You know, make-up and stuff...'
Griessel considered the bag that Oerson had brought. Small and compact. That made sense. He would have to sort through the plastic refuse bag, but not here. He would have to go back to Caledon Square.
'Jeremy speaking,' Oerson answered his phone and Fransman Dekker could tell he was a coloured man, and he was probably in a car.
'Bro', my name Fransman Dekker, I'm SAPS, howzit that side?' he said, because Griessel had warned him the Metro officer was a 'difficult character'.
'No, things going with springs, and you?'
'Just so, bro', listen, there was a helluva surprise in that bag of stuff your people found, a shoe, number ten and a half, if I can just find out where it was picked up.'
'No idea, bro', but I'll get the men to come in and tell me.'
'Many thanks, it's a murder case, I have to run, you know how it goes.'
'I know. Give me ten minutes, I'm sort of tied up at the moment.'
'Will you call me?'
'Daatlik, bro'.'
Dekker rang off and knocked on the door of the accountant, Wouter Steenkamp. There was no answer so he opened the door. Steenkamp was on the phone, saying:'... fucking police will have to help, or I'll have to make another plan.' He saw Dekker and said over the phone 'Hold on,' then to Dekker: 'The press are blocking reception. You'll have to help control them.'
'OK.'
'They'll help,' he said into the phone. 'Right, bye.' He looked at Dekker expectantly.
'I will go and tell them to wait outside. It would be best to lock the front door.'
'What a mess,' said Steenkamp.
'Just wait here, we need to talk some more,' said Dekker.
'Now what?'
'New information,' said Dekker before leaving to go and manage the media. 'There are some who say you are cheating them.'
'Your people can go,' Vusi said to Galina Federova.
'So, you will not arrest anybody.' She was sarcastic, cigarette between her fingers.
'No. They've been a big help.'
Griessel thought Vusi was too polite; he should tell the fucking foreigner he would throw her ass in jail if she wanted to be funny. He realised his patience was worn thin. He had to get out of here, away from the smell of alcohol and the sight of bottles. The fucking thirst was just below the surface. He had absolutely no idea what he was going to do next. They knew the girls had been here, they knew there had been discussions and arguments. They knew two men had left shortly after the girls and they knew there had been a chase down Long Street, but all of that helped fuck all, because it could not tell them where she was. And then his cell phone rang and he plucked it out angrily and said: 'Benny Griessel.'
'I've been to see Alexa Barnard, Benny,' Doc Barkhuizen said.
'Is she OK, Doc?'
'She's pumped full of medication, but you know what lies ahead for her. She's a strong woman, Benny. Beautiful too. I can see why you're so concerned about her.'
'Fuck off, Doc.' As Doc Barkhuizen chuckled on the other end, he heard the beep of another incoming call.
'She said when you have a chance, she would like to talk to you. Something to do with her husband.'
'Doc, I've got another call, it's a bit crazy right now, thanks for going to see her. We'll talk later,' he said and accepted the other call.
Griessel said his name and a woman with an American accent asked: 'Is that Captain Benny Ghree-zil?' He thought, wasn't that what I just fucking said, but he answered civilly: 'Yes.'
'My name is Rachel Anderson. My dad said I should call you.'
The name burned right through him, through the disappointment over Mat Joubert, through the frustrations of the day and the desire to drink, jolting his body as he said: 'Jissis.' Then 'Yes, yes, are you safe, where are you?' Adrenaline and relief washed through him, he took two steps to Vusi's shoulder and put an urgent hand on it. His black colleague looked around and he said: 'Rachel Anderson,' and pointed at the phone. Vusi's whole face lit up.
'Yes, I'm with a Mr Pete van der Liengen, the address is ...' Griessel heard a man speaking in the background. Then Rachel's voice again:'... Number six Upper Orange Street... In Orainisiegh?'
'Yes, yes, Oranjezicht, Six Upper Orange, just stay there, I'm on my way, don't open the door for anybody, I will call when I get there, please, Miss Anderson,' he pleaded. Dear God, this was good news. Griessel gestured to Vusi that they must go, jogged out the door and headed for the alley, faster and faster, hearing Vusi's shoes on the floor behind him.