CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

Emmanuel, Shabalala and Zweigman approached the parked Rolls-Royce almost shoulder to shoulder. The rear window of the luxury car was open and smoke drifted out from the interior. Khan was home. Two black employees of Abel Mellon Dry Goods sat on the loading dock enjoying a cup of tea and a bag of fried fat cakes. They watched the odd trio for a moment and then went back inside the building.

Emmanuel slammed the phone book against the passenger window of the Rolls. 'Is this yours, Khan?' he asked. 'My friends wanted to take the book to the police station but I convinced them to talk to you first.'

A lock clicked. The silver door opened. Emmanuel stepped aside and waited for the cloud of smoke to clear. Chocolate wrappers littered the carpeted floor of the limousine and the scent of cannabis bud was strong. Khan's eyes were bloodshot and hooded.

'You're supposed to be gone and gone,' he said.

'Not yet.' Emmanuel peered into the Rolls. The Indian gangster was alone. He must have started smoking the moment he knew Giriraj was dead.

'Move over,' Emmanuel said.

Khan paused and then scooted across the leather seat. Emmanuel climbed in but kept the door open to the fresh air, and to Shabalala and Zweigman, who watched the main street for the arrival of the detective branch.

'You threw Giriraj to the dogs,' Emmanuel said. 'What was that worth to you?'

Khan's eyes darkened. 'In this country,' he said, 'a man like me has to make his own luck. Where's the reward for being good if you are non-white? I will never be able to live in the Berea or sit on a bench on the Esplanade.'

'The government made you into a criminal?' Emmanuel didn't believe that for a moment. Fascist dictatorship or ballot-box-stuffing democracy, men like Khan fed off human weakness for personal gain. 'What exactly did you get for Giriraj?'

Khan lit up another hand-rolled cigarette and leaned back into the leather. 'Giriraj was worth two trading licences in Zululand and one here on Marine Parade.'

Non-whites were granted a limited number of licences to set up businesses or to trade in areas of the country that were officially closed to them.

'A good deal,' Emmanuel said dryly. 'Who did you give Giriraj up to - Soames-Fitzpatrick?'

Khan smiled and drew on his smoke. 'If you live past this afternoon, Cooper, I'll hire you. Muscle men I can buy by the pound. Men with brains are another matter.'

'Tell me about the colonel.' Emmanuel checked his watch. Two and a half hours to go before the detective branch issued the warrants. If he didn't get answers soon, he'd be employed in the prison laundry or farmed out to a widget factory at ten pence an hour till the execution date . . . that's if the tradesman didn't get to him first.

'I never met this Fitzpatrick,' Khan said. 'But he called me to ask for help. It's like I said: smart men are hard to find.'

'You hired men for him . . . men like Brother Jonah?'

'Very good.' Khan removed a piece of loose tobacco from the tip of his tongue and flicked it to the carpet. 'Now I understand why Lana Rose is fucking you. She has a weakness for clever policemen.' The Indian man's smile was filthy. 'Tell me, do you and the Dutch major take turns? Or do you have her at the same time?'

Emmanuel grabbed Khan by the throat and exerted a steady pressure against his larynx. 'Even stupid police are a step up from a gangster who makes a young girl pay off a family debt on his desktop and then trades a human life for money.'

Shabalala thumped on the roof of the Rolls and Emmanuel let go of Khan who drew in a ragged breath and slumped back in his seat. Emmanuel looked into the alley.

'They have come for you,' Shabalala said.

Emmanuel got out of the Rolls. Detective Constable Fletcher and a young foot policeman he did not recognise were walking towards the car with hands to their gun holsters. The loading bay door was locked and the wall behind the car was over seven feet high. There was nowhere to go.

Emmanuel raised his hands and approached Fletcher. He wanted to put some distance between himself and the two men who'd followed him into danger. This was his problem. The burden of the two murders at the Dover could not be shared.

'You're early,' he said.

'Shut up, Cooper.'

Fletcher grabbed Emmanuel's arms and pinned them to his back. Steel handcuffs bit into his wrists. The constable undipped the Walther from its holster and stared at the shiny silverwork like a child who'd won the lucky dip. Fletcher pushed Emmanuel roughly towards the main road.

'You're in the shit,' he said. 'There's no getting out of it this time.'

'Where are you taking him?' Zweigman asked and was ignored by the detective constable and the young policeman.

A black Ford was parked at the kerb with the engine chugging. Fletcher opened the door and pushed Emmanuel into the back seat. The door slammed shut.

'Thank Christ.' Major van Niekerk was in the driver's seat and his face was tense and hard. He was in neat civilian clothing and freshly shaved.

The door opened again. Zweigman and Shabalala stood on the sidewalk with Fletcher, who now had the Walther held loosely in his hand while the constable who stood in the background sulked over the loss of the pretty gun.

'In the back,' the major said. 'Now.'

Zweigman and Shabalala clambered into the Ford without question and waited for an explanation. Emmanuel sat squashed against the window and regained his calm. The major looked over his shoulder.

'You need to get out of Durban, Cooper,' he said. 'The warrant for your arrest will be issued in a couple of hours and it will take me longer than that to find out who's actually running the mission to secure the Russians. I've got a name but I'm not a hundred per cent sure it's the right one.'

'Colonel Edward Soames-Fitzpatrick,' Emmanuel said. 'He hired Afzal Khan to help him.'

'Fuck. I thought it was someone else. How's Khan involved?'

'He just helped frame a man named Giriraj for Jolly's murder and threw him to a mob on the Point. Poor bastard got hit by a tram before they could arrest him. The charge will stick. Khan also bought a witness. That's one of the murders cleared from the board.'

'Leaving the other two for you.' Van Niekerk checked the side mirror and the pavement for movement. 'This is a mop-up operation, Cooper. With the three murders cleared all that's left is to bring in the Russians. I'll handle Khan in person but you have to disappear till things are set straight.'

'Where to? Your house was my fallback position.'

'A place called Labrant's Halt. It's a way station in the Valley of a Thousand Hills. Lana and the Russians are already on the way. They'll wait for you there.'

Zweigman leaned forwards. 'I know this Labrant's Halt. It is only a few miles from the turn-off to my clinic. Our mail is delivered there.'

'No.' Emmanuel pinned van Niekerk with a hard stare. He knew what the major was planning and he could not ask Zweigman and Shabalala for more than they had already given. 'We have to find another place.'

'There's no time. Think about it. The Russians need a doctor and you need a place to keep low. You'll also have Constable Shabalala to watch your back.'

'We'll go back and question Khan together, right now.'

'And then what? When the time is up you'll have nowhere to run and you'll have nowhere to hide. For just this once, let go, Cooper.'

'Excuse me, Major,' Zweigman said. 'What will become of Detective Cooper if he remains here in Durban?'

'Jail,' van Niekerk said. 'And then maybe a rope.'

'In that case it is settled.' Zweigman turned to Emmanuel. 'I extend to you a new invitation to visit my clinic.'

'I can't ask that of you,' Emmanuel said.

'You are not asking. I am offering.'

Shabalala leaned forwards, but hesitated in the presence of an Afrikaner major.

'Go on.' Van Niekerk gave permission for the native constable to speak.

'The traffic will be slow because of the accident with the Indian man,' Shabalala said. 'We must leave now if we wish to get out of town in time.'

'I will drive to Labrant's Halt,' Zweigman volunteered. 'If you are still uncomfortable with visiting my clinic, Detective Cooper, there will be ample time to make another plan. Agreed?'

'Agreed,' Emmanuel said.

'Give me the keys to the Bedford and take this car,' van Niekerk said. 'The truck will be too slow.'

The major and Zweigman exchanged keys. They were headed for the Valley of a Thousand Hills two hours out of the city on a rough macadam road.

'You okay, Cooper?'

'Fine, thank you, Major.' He couldn't imagine the Afrikaner blue blood feeling as he did now ... humbled by the sacrifice of others.

'Give me forty-eight hours to sort this out. I'll send word with Fletcher when it's safe to move. Can you keep still for that long?'

'Of course.'

'Good, because you'll be useless to me and to the Russians in jail.' Van Niekerk offered his hand. 'Good luck.'

To both of us.' Emmanuel shook on the wish.

The major climbed out of the Ford and waited for Zweigman to start the car and drive away. The getaway slowed to a crawl minutes after leaving. Bumper-to-bumper traffic inched along Point Road. A policeman directed cars around the stranded tram. The mortuary van had departed the scene but a contingent of police brass mingled on the footpath. Giriraj was the department's catch of the day. A tall colonel with mutton-chop whiskers stood with his legs apart and his hands on his hips. Emmanuel recognised him from Jolly's murder scene where he had lent moral support to the uniforms. He was also the dictionary definition of a soutpiel. Edward Soames-Fitzpatrick? The name seemed to fit.

The last straggle of onlookers parted and Major van Niekerk walked to the colonel's side. They talked for a few moments, both men genial and relaxed. Emmanuel's chest tightened. Van Niekerk knew the soutpiel colonel. The Dutch policeman was his mentor and his protector but Emmanuel was not blind to his faults. He knew that while Khan and van Niekerk were on opposite sides of the law they shared one particular trait: self-interest.

Major van Niekerk would not protect the Russians unless there was something tangible in it for him.