Blindside. Wilna Adriaanse
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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,