Blindside. Wilna Adriaanse
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for the latter. She was looking for facts. Her desk was inundated with files. On her computer were reports and photographs she had meticulously collected over the past eighteen months as their subjects had entered the country and appeared on the radar. Crime syndicates were by no means new in South Africa, as some of her older colleagues kept reminding her. But even they shook their heads at the number that had started pouring into the country after 1994. Everyone was here. The Italians with their Mafia connections, the Chinese triads, the Nigerians, Russians, Koreans, Indians, all of them, not to mention the local guys. No one was here for the natural beauty and the scenery; they didn’t give a damn about politics or the rainbow nation. Money was the only god they worshipped. No natural resource was sacred, no rhino, elephant or human life was worth anything. Abalone was marine gold. Something that had once been a staple for so many was now unobtainable and unaffordable.
The well-known restaurants in the Orient denied that their abalone was illegally imported from South Africa and Australia. They insisted that Japan had the best abalone in the world, while it was common knowledge that Japan’s sources had long been depleted.
If the war had been waged in some distant country, she wouldn’t have lost sleep over it, but the battles were taking place in suburbs, in business centres, at traffic lights and roadblocks. Without a moment’s thought for innocent bystanders.
Yesterday’s shooting at a traffic light in Johannesburg was just another example. The victim had connections with a notorious Eastern European crime boss. The forensic team found thirty spent cartridges on the scene. It was a miracle no one else had been wounded or killed.
She was still looking at her list of informers when Clive Barnard drew up a chair and sat down opposite her. “Howzit?”
“Fine. You?”
“Better than you, I reckon. That’s why I’m going to buy you a drink tonight.”
“Thanks. I’d like that.”
He looked at the papers on her desk. “I see you’re not wasting time this morning.”
“It never rains, but it pours. Tell me what I’ve missed.”
“Give me ten minutes to see what’s on my desk and get a cup of coffee.”
Ellie was glad when it got busy around her. Someone still dropped in occasionally, but at least she could use the excuse that she was busy.
“Right, let’s start.” Clive was back and pulled a chair closer again.
Ellie cleaned the big whiteboard and wrote a name at the top. Alexei Barkov. Beneath it, she wrote the names of the two victims of the shooting.
She had always liked making lists. When your mom starts drinking when you’re only fourteen, you learn a few tricks to make yourself believe you have a measure of control over the situation. One of those tricks is making lists.
“We know those two worked for Barkov. The question is: Who shot them and why? Why didn’t they shoot up Barkov’s house? Was it a message? If so, what message were they sending Barkov by shooting up one of his properties and killing two of his men? He’s not a man who’ll take something like that lightly. I’m preparing for bloody vengeance.”
She began to write again. Enzio Allegretti. Yuang Mang. Nazeem Williams. Abua Jonathan. She stepped back. “My money is on one of these men. Everything I’ve managed to learn about them over the past eighteen months points to a complicated interdependency, but a deadly rivalry.”
“Anything new on Allegretti?” Clive played with an elastic band as he looked at each of the names in turn.
“You know as well as I do that his hands are clean. Except for that assault charge the club’s former manager laid against him and a few speeding fines, we’ve got nothing.”
“And Barkov?”
“Dozens of rumours, but the only thing that’s ever appeared on a charge sheet was a bit of rough-and-tumble with his girlfriend. As usual, the ink on the charge sheet was hardly dry when she dropped the charge and said she’d lied. It was just a misunderstanding.” Ellie went quiet as she studied the board. “I’ve always said it’s not that they’re so clever – the problem is that they have so many people on their payroll. For how long have we been trying to get evidence? We’re like moles, feeling our way through the dark.” She rose up onto her toes a few times. “And we haven’t even mentioned the militant groups. Do you really mean to tell me our information is so crap that no one knew someone like Samantha Lewthwaite was in the country? Everyone knows we’ve become a stomping ground for Al-Qaeda, Hamas and Hezbollah to recruit new members and look for financing, yet everyone seems surprised that someone on Interpol’s red list has managed to enter the country. It’s ludicrous.”
“Let’s not depress ourselves completely now. What have I taught you over the years? Always keep the bigger picture in mind, but focus too. At the moment we’re focusing on Barkov.” Clive pointed at the board. “What does your sixth sense say?”
Ellie stepped closer to the whiteboard and put her finger on Allegretti’s name.
“Why him?” Clive asked.
“There’s a rumour doing the rounds that he lost a lot of money at the gambling tables and that, with his extravagant lifestyle, he’s in trouble. Allegretti Senior’s health isn’t what it used to be. He’s been laundering money for a few years now. That was probably the main reason for buying the club in Green Point and getting it up and running again. I suspect he’d like to stop looking over his shoulder in his golden years. Whether Junior shares his father’s vision of the future remains to be seen. If Daddy finds out how much money he’s losing, he might tighten the purse strings and Junior could be left with nothing. The old man may be old now, but he was serious trouble in his youth. He was sent to South Africa for a reason as a young man. Things got too hot for him in Italy.
“I suspect Junior had to make a lot of money in little time. With Barkov suddenly operating on his turf, it’s getting harder and harder to repay his debt. The old man is old-school, and might have had some boundaries, but it’s a new world and I think the younger Allegretti is trying to show the old man and the rest of the world that he can do it better.”
“Why do you think the old man doesn’t know what his boy is getting up to?”
“The younger Allegretti is probably paying a few people to keep his father out the picture.”
“I hear what you’re saying, but my money is on Williams or Mang. It’s their style. Allegretti has too much finesse for an ambush like that.”
Ellie laughed. “Finesse, indeed. I didn’t know you knew the word.”
“Don’t underestimate me.”
“In different circumstances I would also have said it looks like Mang or Williams’s style. Even Jonathan’s, but our handsome Italian friend is in trouble, and a man will do strange things with his back to the wall.”
“We’ll have to start at the bottom, with some of the foot soldiers. Maybe someone will get nervous enough to talk.”
She perched on the corner of her desk. “It feels like we just can’t get a break. The bloody files are getting thicker, but there’s always a loophole somewhere.”
Before they could continue, Ellie’s cellphone rang. She listened for a moment.
“I’m not coming out in this tearing wind to listen to fairy tales. And if you’ve been drinking, I’ll have you locked up with the 28s.”
She ended the call.
“Who are you threatening?” Clive asked.
“Happy. He says he’s got information.”
“They can be worse than bloody flies.”
“How about coming along? Fresh air would do you good.”
He got to his feet. Ellie picked up her handbag and followed him outside.