Authors: Deon Meyer
‘What is he doing in this photo with Baloyi?’ Manie asked in a tone of voice that sounded as though he didn’t really want to know the answer.
‘The photo appeared in August last year in
Hlomelang
, the official Internet newsletter of the Youth League. Kotko visited their offices to make a donation. On behalf of ZIC. Five hundred thousand rand.’
‘
Uyesu
,’ said Nyathi again.
‘That’s not all, Brigadier,’ said van Wyk. He put another printout down between them – a news report. The headline read
Russian interest in SA mining?
‘This is from
Mining Weekly
of November last year. Apparently Kotko’s ZIC is looking into investing in some of our mining companies. And Gariep Minerals is one of them.’
Manie looked at Griessel. ‘Gariep is part of the whole BEE set-up?’
‘He could have met Sloet through that, Brigadier.’
Brigadier Manie read the news report, then looked at the photo again, for a long time, and poker-faced. ‘How do we know the shooter isn’t messing around with us again?’ he asked at last.
‘We don’t know. But it looks like Kotko is around fifty years old. He is definitely out of the Russian communist era,’ said van Wyk.
‘And he knew Sloet well enough to have her cellphone number,’ said Griessel. ‘She wasn’t the sort of woman who would just hand it out.’
‘Is Kotko in the Cape?’
‘ZIC’s offices are in Sandton. According to their website. We have requested Kotko’s cellphone records. We will have to see if he was in the Cape at the time of Sloet’s death.’
‘What worries me,’ said Nyathi, ‘is why the shooter says the SAPS is protecting Kotko. And then sends us a photo cropped from a Youth League meeting.’
Manie sighed. ‘It’s a minefield, and we will have to tread extremely carefully. Benny, get hold of Bones. He’ll have to come and help.’
‘We will have to tell Mbali as well, Brigadier. Because somewhere between the Russian and Sloet, is the shooter.’
The second turning point came at half past six, when van Wyk walked into Griessel’s office. His eyes were red from lack of sleep. He put a few sheets of paper on the desk and said, ‘Kotko may have connections with the Russian Mafia.’
‘Faux pas,’ said Griessel and scribbled frantic notes in his book.
‘It’s in here,’ said van Wyk, and tapped the printouts. ‘Magadan Gold belongs to Arseny Egorov. Egorov is what they call an oligarch, a billionaire who made his money after the fall of communism. No one really knows how he got his start, but later he bought a media company, and then mining and oil. Last year he left Russia, as Putin’s people were investigating him for “irregularities”. He lives in England now, but there are quite a few stories in the
Wall Street Journal
and
Fortune
about his connections with the Solntsevo Brotherhood. And that is organised crime. Dangerous
okes
…’
Griessel said, ‘We must take it to Oom Skip.’ ‘Uncle’ or rather, Colonel Skip Scheepers of the Hawks’ Organised Crime Group was past his retirement age, but the DPCI had asked him to stay on because of his encyclopaedic knowledge of international gangs.
‘I’ve phoned Oom Skip already. He and Bones are going to look at all this.’
The third turning point was eleven minutes later.
Colonel Zola Nyathi, with a severe expression and a curt, ‘Please come with me’, fetched Griessel and walked to Brigadier Manie’s office.
When they walked in, General Afrika looked up from where he was sitting. Griessel could see the aversion and disappointment, as though Afrika did not want him there. The first thought that came to mind, considering Nyathi and Afrika’s attitudes, was that they had found out that he had misused the IMC system to spy on the Neanderthal. His heart sank.
‘Benny,’ Afrika greeted him dourly.
Nyathi closed the door behind them. Brigadier Manie said: ‘Take a seat.’
Griessel greeted them, and tried to think up some excuses. He and Nyathi took their seats, on either side of Afrika.
‘General, please repeat what you told me and Colonel Nyathi,’ said Manie.
It was a while before Afrika responded. With his eyes on the floor he said, ‘I know Kotko.’
Those words were not what he had expected. Griessel nearly blurted out, ‘Excuse me?’
Afrika made a small gesture with his hand. ‘I want it on record that I had no idea that Kotko had any contact with Sloet. I want it on record that I did not know he is the communist that the shooter was referring to. And I want it on record that I shared this information voluntarily.’
‘Very well, General. Please tell us how you came to know Kotko.’
Emotions came and went across John Afrika’s face. ‘People make mistakes, Musad,’ he said. ‘We all make mistakes …’
Afrika put a hand in his jacket and took out a folded sheet of paper. He unfolded it, looked at it, took a deep breath, and said seriously, as though he were testifying in court, ‘On the morning of Thursday twenty-third September last year I received a call from a member of the Ministerial Committee. That person—’
‘The Ministerial Committee for Police?’
‘Yes. That person asked me to be of assistance with a request from a Mr Kotko—’
‘Who is this person, General?’
‘Musad, I am not going to tell you now.’
Manie just sat there, frozen and without emotion.
‘The person asked me to help with a request from this Kotko, who was entirely unknown to me at the time. Shortly thereafter I received a call from Kotko, who invited me to lunch with him that afternoon. I did so. Kotko told me how many of the people in government he knew from the struggle days. And that he was a businessman now living in Johannesburg, and investing in the economy. Then he asked me to help two of his friends. These two …’ Afrika consulted the paper in his hand ‘… were Fedor Vazov and Lev Grigoryev, who had been arrested the previous night, September twenty-second, by the Table View station after a complaint of assault in a nightclub. They were still being detained. Kotko said he believed the whole affair was a misunderstanding, one of those things where everyone involved has had a little too much to drink. And he and the member of the Ministerial Committee would appreciate it very much if I
could solve the problem. After the meal I phoned the station. The SC confirmed that it was a bar brawl, and that it would be difficult to make a case against the suspects. I asked him to release them, and drop the charges. It was done.’
‘That’s all, General?’ Nyathi asked, with relief audible in his voice.
Afrika shook his head slowly. ‘No, Zola, that is not all.’ He consulted his notes again. ‘On the twenty-ninth of September last year I drew money from an ATM in Long Street. I noticed that the balance in my cheque account was larger than I expected. I went into the bank and requested a statement. I saw that on the twenty-seventh there had been a deposit of twenty-five thousand rand. I enquired about the origin of the money, and the bank informed me it came from the Isando Friendship Trust. I said that must be a mistake, and told the bank I have to contact the Trust. But I could not track them down.’
Afrika slowly folded up the paper. ‘I phoned Kotko, because I suspected he might be behind the money. He said it was just to say thank you. For my help. So I said, I can’t accept it, he must please arrange to reverse the payment, or he must give me the bank account number of the Trust so I could pay it back. He just laughed and said he didn’t know if that could be done, he would have to find out. He never came back to me.’
Silence descended. Outside, a pigeon fluttered at the window, and then perched on the windowsill.
Nyathi sighed deeply. ‘Do you know what
isando
means, General?’
‘No, Zola.’
‘It means “hammer” in Xhosa. And Zulu.’
‘I see.’
‘General, you had no idea that Kotko was the communist to whom the shooter was referring?’
‘No. Not at all.’
‘I have to ask, when you brought the Sloet case to us, and the emails, why did you specifically ask for Benny and Mbali to work on the investigations?’
‘Because I know how brilliant they are.’
‘It’s not because you recommended Benny to us in December? And you thought he owed you?’
‘Look, Zola, I understand that you have to ask these questions, but I’m telling you that it is not true.’
‘And you are the only one who knows what happened to Mbali in Amsterdam? You got her on the Dutch training programme when she was still working at Bellville, and the Dutch reported back to you.’
Afrika threw his hands in the air. ‘I know what it looks like. But I am telling you now, that is not how it is.’ For the first time he looked at Griessel. ‘Benny, you know me … Musad, you and I have come a long way together. You know I wouldn’t do something like that. Tell them.’
Manie folded his large hands. ‘General, how does a white conservative Afrikaner know about your connection to Kotko?’
‘I don’t have a connection to Kotko.’
‘General, how does he know?’
‘
I
don’t know. I mean, we ate together at Balduccis. The world walks past that restaurant. And I wouldn’t know who the SC at Table View spoke to.’
Manie nodded thoughtfully. ‘Has there been any contact between you and Kotko since the shooter began sending emails?’
‘Since September, I never had any contact with him again.’ In a heavy tone.
‘Does the person on the Ministerial Committee know about the shooter’s emails?’
‘No.’
‘What will happen if we arrest Kotko?’
Afrika looked at the pigeon on the windowsill, and shook his head. ‘God, Musad, it will be a mess. He’s got connections …’
‘Think for a moment about the mess we’re in now, General. If we arrest him, it will be a sea of politics and drama. And another media circus, because the whole world will be able to see that photo of him and Baloyi. If we don’t do it before four o’clock, the mad devil will shoot another of our people tonight.’
When the general had gone, Manie sent for Mbali and told her the news.
‘
Hayi
,’ she whispered in disbelief and disappointment.
‘
Ewe
,’ said Nyathi and put his hand on her shoulder.
‘Whether we like it or not, we are working against time,’ said Manie.
‘Benny, you’ll have to fly up to Gauteng, I’ll get Mavis to see how soon we can get you on a flight, but I think you’d better pack a bag in the meantime. I will talk to the DPCI in Johannesburg, so they can track Kotko down and watch him. Vaughn can coordinate this side, we need more ammunition when you interrogate him, those phone calls in December are not enough.’
‘All right, Brigadier.’
‘Mbali, everything points at the shooter knowing about John Afrika and Kotko’s doings, that’s our best chance to catch him. You and Vaughn must liaise closely, because the two cases are running together now. But begin at Table View station. Look at people who were there in September last year, who were dishonourably discharged, or under investigation.’
She nodded dutifully.
The brigadier checked his watch. ‘We have to get a press release out about Kotko by two, half past two, so it can get on the radio and Internet. There won’t be a policeman shot today.’
When Griessel had brought Cupido up to speed, he said: ‘Vaughn, my cellphone doesn’t have a speaker. Can you phone Hannes Pruis so we can both hear what he says?’
‘No problem. Do you have the number?’
Griessel gave it to him.
Cupido phoned, turned the phone around and put it upside down on his desk. The ring was clearly audible.
‘Will he be able to hear you talk?’
‘Easy.’
‘Hello?’ the lawyer answered irritably, probably because it was just after seven in the morning.
‘Mr Pruis, this is Benny Griessel of the Hawks …’
‘Yes, Captain,’ he said without enthusiasm.
‘We are eager to hear more about Silberstein’s connection with a Mr Makar Kotko of ZIC …’
The silence on the line confirmed Griessel’s suspicions.
‘Mr Pruis, you know who I am talking about?’
‘I … the name sounds familiar …’
‘Mr Pruis, you will have to come and explain to us why you
withheld information about Kotko and his relationship with Hanneke Sloet.’
‘I withheld nothing, Captain. How could I have known he was relevant?’ But Pruis was on the defensive.
‘With all your research, you must have known Kotko was involved in organised crime?’
Pruis did not answer.
‘You have forty minutes to present yourself at our offices,’ said Griessel. ‘Or I will bring a warrant, and the entire team of the Hawks’ Organised Crime group.’
Griessel and Cupido stood staring down at the upside-down cellphone. Pruis took some time to answer, ‘What is your address?’
‘We are in the book. Ask for Captain Vaughn Cupido when you arrive.’ Then he indicated to Cupido to end the call.
Cupido grinned, picked up the phone and turned it off.
‘You give him hell, Vaughn. He knew, from the beginning, and he didn’t say a word.’
‘I can’t give him the Cupido treatment if Mbali is here, Benna.’
Griessel understood. ‘Then only get her in after you’ve got the fucker to talk.’
At half past eight he drove to his flat to pack his bag. The traffic on the N1 to the city was dense and slow-moving.
He thought about John Afrika. He had felt sorry for him back in Manie’s office. Afrika had only ever been good to him. Direct. Fair. Afrika had believed in him when the rest of the SAPS had written him off as a drunkard. Afrika and Mat Joubert. And Mat had left the Service.
The thing was, he didn’t know if he could blame Afrika. What do you do if a member of parliament calls you up and says, ‘Help out a little’? You are coloured, but still not black enough for affirmative action, you have a wife and children, a mortgage on your house. You are in your fifties, with maybe five, six years of service to go, you hope for one last promotion to give your pension a bit of a leg-up …
Afrika had tried to return the money. And the Russians’ drunk-and-disorderly charge was a mere trifle.
What would he have done if someone had paid twenty-five thousand into his account, and it was one helluva administrative headache to get it paid back? While Carla’s student fees, and Fritz’s school fees, and Anna’s maintenance, and his new expensive clothes all had to be paid for? How long and how hard would he keep on trying to reverse the payment?