Allegiance (23 page)

‘She told me once, but I can’t remember it now. I’m sorry, I can’t think straight.’ He sat on the couch, Siraj in the crook of his arm. ‘What are we going to do?’

Durant rubbed the back of his neck. ‘I don’t know what to suggest. I mean, where do we start looking?’

‘Global Research,’ Amina said.

‘What’s that?’ Durant asked.

‘It’s where she works. She told me.’

Durant looked at Tanveer. ‘Does it sound familiar?’

Tanveer shook his head. ‘No. I’m sorry. Let me put Siraj on the bed and I’ll come back.’

Amina put her lips close to Durant’s ear. ‘He’s lying. He knows where she is.’

Before Durant could respond, Tanveer was back in the room. ‘I told you I think she’s seeing another man. Perhaps she was with him.’ There was anger in his voice, but tempered with a hint of sadness.

‘Do you know who it is?’ Durant asked, while Amina went through to the room to make sure Siraj was tucked in.

‘No. I don’t know.’

‘We’ll have to file a missing persons report with the police. I’m not sure how long we have to wait, but I think we should do it now. If she’s in trouble, we need to find her fast.’

Special Agent Fulham tapped once on Khalid’s door and stepped inside. Khalid motioned for the
FBI
man to sit even though he was the last person he wanted to see that morning.

‘Had a rough night, Imraan?’ Fulham asked, leaning back in his chair.

‘No, just not feeling too good this morning. I think it’s the flu.’

Fulham nodded slowly. ‘You gotta watch yourself, buddy. This is Africa.’

Khalid appeared shaken. ‘What do you mean?’

Fulham laughed. ‘I mean you gotta be careful of all the viruses and strains and toxins. Don’t take it so personally, man; I was speaking generally and not necessarily about the indigenous women.’

‘No, wouldn’t touch the local women. Not here. Not in this country.’

‘Well, that’s a sound principle. That can just be trouble for you, trouble that can end your career . . . like that,’ and he snapped his fingers for effect.

‘Don’t worry, I think I can look after myself.’

‘Well, I sure hope so. Now. I had a meeting with an interesting guy from the local service – guy called Alfred Masondo. You know him?’

‘No.’

‘Right. Well he’s the operational head of the National Intelligence Agency in Durban; you should get to know him. He could be your best friend or your worst enemy. If you don’t work with him, he’s gonna work against you. Fact of the matter is, him and I are working together now. He’s a good man. Solid.’

Khalid wiped his forehead with his handkerchief. His neck still hurt like hell and he hoped the high-collared shirt hid the red marks adequately.

‘My, you are looking pretty bad, Imraan. You should go home.’

‘I’m okay. I took some medication, it’ll kick in soon. Go ahead.’

‘Okay, so Masondo shares what the local boys have got on the
IAC
. Gotta give ’em credit, they’re working this thing. Says they got a link between the centre and that load of explosives that went missing and then showed up again at a dump. That’s where those guys got blown to smithereens. Now I don’t know what you think, but that’s a pretty solid connection between the centre, where, I remind you, the telephonic threat against
US
originated, and a load of explosives. So we need to take this information to the next level.’

‘Which would be . . .?’

‘Use whatever we got and help these boys find out who at the centre we need to neutralise. And by neutralise, I don’t necessarily mean kill, although that of course remains my first choice.’ Fulham laughed, realised he was laughing alone. ‘Imraan, you still with me, buddy?’

‘Yeah, I got all of that. So how have they linked the explosives to the centre but not to a specific person at the centre?’

‘Well, they don’t share everything with us. They just give us enough to make us hungry, then our hunger motivates
US
to find the food. Then when we find some morsels we feed them a little back to make them hungry again. And some day, we crack the case and everyone takes credit and says “that was our information”. You know what, I’m gonna ask the cg if she’ll give you the rest of the day off. Man, you’re goin’ down fast.’

Khalid nodded. The terror in Mariam’s eyes at the mangrove swamps haunted him. He shouldn’t have left her there. He should have gone back. Was she okay? He didn’t want to call her and compromise himself any further. He needed time to think, to assimilate what had happened. It felt like a trap, but perhaps he was overthinking the whole thing. This was South Africa where crime is an everyday occurrence; they were simply victims of a robbery. He probably just took her bag and ran off. Mariam was okay, and even if she wasn’t, he couldn’t blame himself.

At 09:35 Durant got the call from Tanveer to say that they’d found Mariam’s body in the mangrove swamps and that they had taken her to Gale Street mortuary. Durant told him he would fetch Siraj and leave him at the crèche and then speak to the police to try to find out what happened. By 10:15, Durant had left Siraj with Amina and was travelling to the Durban North police station with a sobbing Tanveer in the passenger seat.

‘She was such a gentle person, she didn’t deserve this. Why was she walking there in that place? Why there? Why?’ he asked.

‘I’m sure there must be a thousand questions, Arshad, but the most important thing now is just to work through the grief and remember Mariam as she was.’

‘Whoever did this to her deserves to die.’

‘That’s true, I believe that. Let’s just help the police to find the guy who did it.’

Durant parked the Land Rover outside the police station and asked for Inspector Nzama at the charge office desk. They were led by a policewoman down musty corridors to an open-plan office packed with brown folders from floor to ceiling. Durant realised these were case dockets and he absently thought Mariam’s case would end up just being another file on the pile. Inspector Nzama was probably in his late forties, bulging stomach, tired-looking, sloppy. His handshake was limp and unimpressive and didn’t inspire any confidence in his ability to solve crimes. Durant noticed a half-eaten box of fried chicken and an open newspaper on his desk and silently felt Mariam would be cheated. Without the resolve to fight crime with every fibre of the police character within you, crime would always be the victor and the victim would be cheated. Durant and Tanveer sat down and Nzama smiled. ‘How can I help you, gentlemen?’

‘Yes, we were told to see you about Mariam Tanveer – the case from this morning, the mangroves.’

‘Are you related to the victim?’ Nzama asked.

‘I am her husband,’ Tanveer said.

‘Oh, okay. Sorry, man. Ja, eish, that place, too many people in that place.’

‘What do you mean?’ Durant asked.

‘It’s dangerous that place. The izigebengu from the beach go in there and rob people, there’s signs to say don’t walk there by yourself.’

‘Inspector Nzama. This man’s lost his wife.’ Durant slapped the table with his hand to get the policeman’s attention. ‘Can you help us find the people who did this to her?’

‘Sure, man. Excuse me.’ The inspector took a call and spoke briefly to someone about an unpaid account which he promised to settle. ‘Eish, these guys. Hey, sorry. Ja, the lady’s possessions are in my safe, but the fingerprint people will come later and see if they can’t find some.’

Durant sat forward. ‘Was there a set of keys in her bag?’

‘I can show you the bag, but I’m not allowed to give it to you, nè?’

A minute later, the inspector was back with a sealed plastic bag containing a handbag, a watch and a pair of shoes.

‘May I?’ and Durant looked inside the handbag without taking it from the bag. ‘There are no keys in this bag.’

‘No,’ Tanveer said, ‘she doesn’t have keys. There is only one set.’

‘The other keys you mentioned. The ones you said might belong to another person she had contact with, remember?’

Tanveer sank into his chair. ‘I don’t know, I can’t remember.’

‘Inspector, Mr Tanveer will want to make a statement later, as you can see, he’s still a bit distraught.’

Masondo looked angry but Durant knew the look. It was more the look of a man carrying a heavy responsibility and who took that responsibility seriously. A man who wanted resolutions. Shabalala wasn’t looking that deeply at Masondo. He’d noticed an energy bar in his hand but thought it prudent not to mention the chemical dangers contained in it.

‘What is this world coming to?’ Masondo asked. ‘Are we responsible for this girl’s death?’

‘No, sir. The fact that we’re handling Tanveer has no reference to her death, I don’t think.’

‘Now wait, Mr Durant. How did “no” get to “I don’t think”?’

‘I mean I think it’s a personal issue – a lovers’ quarrel, jealousy maybe.’

‘You’re saying “I think” too many times, Durant, so I’m starting to worry. Let me put it this way. If Tanveer wasn’t working for us, would his wife still be alive?’

Durant shook his head. ‘I can’t say for sure she’d still be alive, but I know that if he wasn’t working for us, we wouldn’t know about her death.’

‘Playing with words again, Mr Durant. You’re not helping me. Why am I feeling guilty? Why am I feeling responsible?’

Shabalala cleared his throat. ‘Gentlemen, maybe I can come up with a suggestion. Let’s at least help as much as we can with the investigation and get to the bottom of it. If we can help the police find the murderer, perhaps we’ll understand the motive better.’

Masondo took a bite of his energy bar. ‘I need these things; I just don’t have enough energy to get through the day. Mr Shabalala, I don’t think we can nor should involve ourselves in a matter that is purely criminal. The normal police investigation should take its course. Once it has, we can look at the evidence and decide our course of action.’

‘I’ve met the investigating officer,’ Durant said.

‘And? What’s your point?’

‘Well, he’s not Horatio from
CSI
, put it that way. I think the docket’s going into the pile.’

‘Durant, at least give them the benefit of the doubt. They might surprise us. What’s your theory?’

‘I think Mariam was seeing someone else, someone whose flat or house keys she had. I reckon that someone took her for a walk in the swamp and killed her, or Tanveer found out and killed her in a jealous rage.’

‘So our agent is a possible murder suspect?’ Masondo asked.

‘Well, he had motive and opportunity. Whether he’d be so stupid, I don’t know. I know Mariam left a letter with Amina basically making her the guardian of their child in the event of both of them dying.’

‘Amina? Why her?’ Shabalala asked.

‘Mariam got on well with her. Maybe they don’t think anybody else will take care of Siraj like she does.’

‘So maybe the letter isn’t sinister after all,’ Masondo said. ‘Perhaps it’s just a coincidence that they chose a guardian and that the lady didn’t have a sort of a premonition about dying.’

‘That would be true if it wasn’t for the bruises and the fact that she told Amina she was in trouble. I think she knew she was in danger.’

‘Maybe that’s why Tanveer was willing to sign over guardianship of the kid – perhaps he thought with her dead and if he ever gets arrested – at least the child will have a home,’ Shabalala said.

‘I don’t know,’ Durant said. ‘Maybe we’re too suspicious of everyone. Let’s wait for the post-mortem results. Maybe she wasn’t murdered. Maybe she stumbled and fell and broke her neck. Let’s give it a few days.’

‘I agree,’ Masondo said. ‘Don’t let this distract you chaps from our main focus at the moment. The terrorism threat. We’re under pressure from the Americans to come up with specific targets. Let me tell you about the meeting I had with an
FBI
chap called Fulham. He’s here in Durban also investigating this thing. Apparently there’s concern about the safety of the Assistant Secretary of State for Africa. She’s visiting Durban on Christmas Day and there’s a big reception planned for her. There’s also a
US
warship that’ll be docked at our harbour. So everyone’s very nervous.’

Durant rubbed his eyes and shook his head. ‘The Americans are crazy. There’s already a terrorism threat against them and what do they do? Bring in two major targets.’

Khalid turned his Volvo into the undercover parking garage under the apartment building and turned the car off. As he climbed out, the gardener came up to him and handed him his afternoon newspaper, which he usually only read later in the evening. As he entered the lift and pressed the button for the ninth floor, his eyes glanced over the headlines and then widened as they fell on an article screaming the words “Woman Found Dead in Mangrove Swamps”. His breaths became short and sharp and he could feel an unseen hand on his throat. As cool as the lift was, he felt the perspiration soaking the back of his shirt, let loose like a broken tap. By the time he’d reached the ninth floor, he was pressing a palm to his heart, fearing he was having a heart attack. His glasses had misted up and as he stumbled towards his door, he noticed his hands were trembling, which was why the key wouldn’t go into the lock. Only after thirty long seconds did he manage to open the door. He fell onto the couch and read on. The article mentioned that a woman’s body had been found under a mangrove at around 8 p.m. by a security guard. Her name wasn’t given but the reporter mentioned there were signs of a struggle yet apparently nothing had been taken. He sat on the couch and put his hands in his hair. He sent a quick prayer to Allah giving thanks that the keys he had given to her could not be traced to his flat.

Amina read the note again and each time she read it, the pain behind the words became more evident. The photograph of Mariam and Siraj that accompanied the note and the legal document was perhaps the most poignant. It was a black-and-white close-up of mother and son. The boy’s eyes were closed, but a smile curled his lips. Mariam’s cheek was against his and her eyes were towards the camera. Somehow, the lens had captured both heartbreak and contentment in those eyes. It was an incredibly sad picture, because Amina knew it was in the envelope for one reason only: Mariam wanted Siraj to remember her when he was old enough to understand. She wanted him to know that his mother had sacrificed everything so that he could have a normal life. She’d laid down her life for her son. Amina would honour Mariam’s memory because she was a good mother in an incredibly troubled situation. The note was as moving as the photograph.