'We've got to get him before the police do. They'll want to interview me today and if I don't tell them it was Nguni, when we get him into court as a witness it will be obvious I withheld evidence from the police.'
'Witness? How do you mean, you just said you saw him?' Hymie's usually quick mind was a fraction slow, but then he realized what Peekay meant. 'Shit, you don't mean Special Branch? Geldenhuis?'
'It's not such a leap to take. Nguni was paying back a favour to someone. Why otherwise would he be implicated in a plot to assassinate your old man? He wouldn't do something like that on his own.'
Hymie drew breath through his teeth. 'If you're right and Geldenhuis realizes Nguni's been identified, he's going to be one dead black man before nightfall,' he said. 'Exactly.'
Hymie looked at his watch. 'I'll call Tandia and ask Johnny Tambourine about the camera; it's still early but I guess she'll understand. I'll also call Pretoria; if Johnny didn't get it, let's pray it's still on the platform.'
'Hymie, I've got to get out of here. Don't put up a fuss, can you send a car around for me?'
'Ja, okay, but only late this afternoon. You've got to get a little rest at least.'
'You too, we'll meet at five o'clock at Red. If Tandia's in any sort of shape she ought to be at Red with us.'
Hymie nodded, then stopped at the doorway. 'Peekay, about yesterday, my old manâ¦'
Peekay cut him short, 'Don't, Hymie, don't say it!' he laughed. 'I can't stand a mawkish Yid!'
People talked about Peekay's incredible rescue for months afterwards and they told of how the bomb could have killed hundreds of children, exaggerating his bravery and suggesting somehow that he'd not only rescued Solomon Levy, the famous Jewish multi-millionaire, from certain death, but had somehow diverted the train, preventing the bomb from exploding in the dead centre of the children's choir.
But only rarely, when the story was in the hands of a more responsible teller, and even then always as an afterthought, would they mention the incredible fluke: how the sheered-off head of a tiny bolt, no bigger than the pinkie on a man's hand, had flown off the exploding engine, entered the right eye and lodged in the brain of a fat old coloured woman who was sitting in the rose garden. Some storytellers would even add that she'd brought her bizarre death upon herself, pointing out that there was a notice put there, as plain as the nose on your face, which said nobody was supposed to go in the rose garden.
There were never less people and more flowers at a single funeral. Mama Tequila's grave was piled fourteen feet high and ten yards across with the most expensive wreaths you could imagine, though few of the cards accompanying these floral tributes carried names on them. People who didn't want to be remembered, remembered in their hundreds.
To everyone's surprise, except Tandia and Madam Flame Flo, Mama Tequila turned out to be Dutch Reformed Church. The young
dominee,
not long out of Stellenbosch University, where he'd scored high on theology and zero for street smart, didn't know what to make of the whole thing. The entire front of the church and the extensive lawns on either side were covered in floral tributes but only thirteen people and an Indian photographer came to the funeral service and only twelve to the graveyard.
The six girls were there of course, with Hester hiccuping with grief throughout the service and Rachel elbowing her in the side, though she too had a good cry with all the other girls; and so were Doctor Louis Rabin and Mr Dine-o-mite, who'd done his crying previously and whose eyes were red with grief. Then there was the projectionist from the Odeon cinema, Ismail Naidoo, who nobody had ever seen before but who told how Mama Tequila had brought a double-chocolate ice cream cone to his projection booth every Wednesday for twenty-five years. Madam Flame Flo, Tandia, Peekay and Hymie made up the thirteen, or fourteen if you counted Sonny Vindoo's driver - who would have counted himself but didn't know whether he had a right to do so. And of course there was Mr Dine-o-mite's son, who took pictures of the floral tributes which he tried to sell to a newspaper syndicate. Photographers can't really be counted in these things, you can't be a serious mourner with a camera stuck up your nose.
Mama Tequila turned out to be enormously wealthy and left a diamond ring for every one of the girls, including Tandia, and a trust fund which granted the girls an income for the remainder of their lives. They also received the money she'd invested on their behalf, which was enough to buy them houses and set them up in good marriages.
However, in her will, which had been dictated to Tandia at Red, in a part Tandia didn't read to the girls on the day, Mama T, the realist to the end, said, 'I'm telling you, man, I'll be very surprised if they all go straight and narrow. A working girl is a working girl, it's very hard to make a new life standing on your feet all day in front of a hot stove, to keep a man, when you can make him keep you on your back in a warm bed.' Finally, in an announcement which shocked even the girls, but when you thought about it was a pretty good thing to do, she placed Bluey Jay under the trusteeship of Dr Louis Rabin and Sonny Vindoo together With a trust fund to run it as a private drug, alcohol and VD clinic for the treatment of coloured and African street women. Mama Tequila hadn't forgotten her beginnings or forsaken her less fortunate sisters, though she was buggered if she was going to help those white sluts.
The meeting at Red scheduled at five o'clock on the day after the explosion had finally taken place at eight in the evening, Peekay having taken a little longer than he'd expected to sign himself out of hospital and Tandia having been unwilling to leave Madam Flame Flo until she'd given her supper and put her to bed with a strong sleeping potion. Hymie opened the meeting, the first part of which was attended by the two senior security men who'd been responsible for the overall surveillance of the Levy property and who had wanted to strip the small engine. One was an ex-Pretoria OD detective named Swart and the other an ex-Scotland Yard Detective Sergeant named Brown who had been on the London Metropolitan Bomb Squad before migrating to South Africa. They were briefed on the significance of the Nguni identification and its implications that the Special Branch might be behind the plot to assassinate Solomon Levy.
Brown gave a low whistle. 'You've got the perfect lead and you can't use it. These Special Branch chappies are usually pretty hard to nail anywhere their sort operate. It's always tough going in against the police, but it's twice as hard against the political bods, they've got carte blanche. You're going to have to find this Mr Nguni and get him to confess before you hand him over.'
Peekay laughed. 'That won't be sufficient to get an indictment. The chances are he'll never get as far as the witness box and we won't be able to prove the tape wasn't obtained under extreme duress. Besides, a black man's evidence doesn't carry a lot of weight with an all-white jury. The Special Branch are heroes to the whites in this country and, if it's the guy we believe who's behind Nguni, he's practically a national hero.'
'We need to have Nguni on the day in court so he can be cross-examined,' Tandia added,'and we need to have his confession on tape. Somehow we need to keep him from the Special Branch in the meantime.' She paused, then added, 'Or he'll die falling out of a window trying to escape.' Tandia was mortified by the Nguni incident and although she had been enormously distressed by the death of Mama Tequila she had made a point of phoning both Peekay at the hospital and Hymie at home to say how she regretted not taking their advice to stay away from him. They had both repeatedly warned Tandia that they believed Nguni was not to be trusted, but she'd persisted with the relationship, declaring that he had never done anything to deserve her mistrust and had been having a tough time with his transport business lately. This was true and both Hymie and Peekay had reaffirmed this in an effort to comfort her.
'Mr Nguni left his house in Moroka township about four o'clock yesterday afternoon and he hasn't returned. I have the information from Johnny Tambourine whom I have asked to put out feelers in Soweto,' Tandia said. Peekay was gratified; despite her distress she'd been acting as a professional and doing her share of the work. 'Do you think he'll go bush?' Swart asked.
'I don't know,' Hymie replied, 'while I can't elaborate, there are a lot of people out there looking for him. Nguni's face is pretty well known among the black people. He may try to get out of the country.'
Peekay turned to the two security men, changing the subject. 'Have either of you had a chance to take a look at the engine. Can you tell us anything about the bomb?'
Hymie interjected. 'Just a moment, Peekay, before our friends answer, I'd like to say something. I know you must be feeling pretty rotten about the bomb, but I want it made perfectly clear that you
did
warn me about the engine, you
did
want to take it apart and you did not guarantee its safety. I am entirely to blame; the decision not to take the engine apart was mine.' Hymie looked over at Tandia. 'The death of Mama Tequila is on my conscience, Tandia.'
Tandia looked up shocked. 'You mustn't, Hymie! You are not to blame for the evil, the terrible evil in people that makes them do things like this. I am the stupid one, I refused to listen to your warnings about Mr Nguni.'
'Nobody is to blame for anything; now
please,
can we get on with my question?' Peekay was being deliberately insensitive. This wasn't the time for self-recriminations. Peekay was proud of the way Tandia was holding herself together.
Apart from a wan smile when he'd commiserated with her, she'd contained her emotions when she'd arrived. How he ached to hold her in his arms, to stroke her and tell her he loved her.
'Thank you for your remarks, Mr Levy, though I must say I feel pretty upset with myself,' Brown said. He then explained how the bomb had been devised and how the detonator had ignited the magnesium strips glued to the inside of the train wheel and how they'd flared, lighting the fuse and setting off the plastic. It was extremely clever because it was so simple: a pot of glue, magnesium strips and a bit of electrician's tape. The whole thing could have been put together in less than twenty minutes by a relative amateur. The bomb must have been placed when the train was sent to the engineering works for spray painting and modifications.
'Do the police know this?' Hymie asked.
'I couldn't say so, sir. Certainly they didn't hear it from me. They cordoned off the entire area and threw me off the site as soon as their own explosives men arrived. Which is fair enough, I would have done the same thing myself. I'm pretty sure it won't take them long to come to the same conclusion. '
'We should try to get to the engineering works first, sir,' Swart said. 'It's a long shot, but he or they may have left a calling card.'
'How are we going to get to look around the engineering works without a warrant to make a search?' Hymie asked.
Mr Swart answered, they'd obviously already worked out a plan. 'Tomorrow we'll be there when the place opens. I'll walk in and I'll simply act like the police officer I used to be, ask if I may look around and if my partner,' he turned towards Brown, 'can ask the engineers a few questions.' Swart grinned. If it doesn't work or if the police have already been, well we haven't broken any law I know about, man.'
Despite the fact that the ANC, through Gideon's people, were alerted, Mr Nguni simply disappeared into thin air.' A security man at the gate on the day of the picnic could recall him leaving, but he wasn't sure whether it was before or after the explosion. After three or four days Peekay began to suspect the worst, that Geldenhuis had got to him and Mr Nguni was dead.
A week after the explosion Peekay received a call from Mr Nguni's wife, a timid country woman named Martha who was well born and therefore acceptable where it mattered in African tribal society, but who had no place in his public life and who played the traditional and subservient role in his household. Peekay had met her a few times over the years when he'd been at Mr Nguni's home and he'd always made a point of going into the kitchen and talking to her.
'Ninjani,
Martha,' Peekay said, using the more common township greeting.
Martha returned his greeting shyly, 'I greet you, baas, Peekay,' and then added in a soft, concerned voice, 'My husband, he has not come home, we have not seen him for one week.'
'Ja, Martha, Hymie too, he has been worried, your husband missed a board meeting yesterday. When did you see him last?'
'He came home in the afternoon when he came from baas Hymie's house in Pretoria, but he left again soon in his car.'
'Did he not say anything to you?'
'He does not tell me when he is going, but when he is going far away he tells me,' the woman answered simply. 'But this time he didn't tell you?'
'That is why I am worried. When he goes far away he always tells me. When, he goes only one day or two, he doesn't tell me. Now he has gone away one week already!'
'Did he 'pack a suitcase or take anything?'
'No, everything is in the bedroom.'
'Money, did he take any money?'
'Haya, haya, I cannot say this, I do not know where he is keeping his money.'
'Do you want me to call the police, Martha?' There was a pause at the other end of the line before Martha Nguni answered, 'He will be very, very angry, baas Peekay, but I think also you must call.'
As a matter of course Peekay identified the time and date of his conversation with Martha Nguni on the tape recorder plugged into the phone and then called the Phomolong police station and reported Mr Nguni missing.
Two days later two detectives from the Special Branch in Pretoria arrived to interview Peekay and Hymie and asked them if they had any reason to suspect Nguni may have been involved in the explosion. Hymie pointed out to the two men that Mr Nguni was a business partner with a great deal to lose and absolutely nothing to gain by such an act, that to suspect him was ludicrous.
They then asked why Peekay hadn't informed them at the same time he'd informed the police at Moroka township and Peekay said he hadn't connected the two incidents, but that now obviously the police had. 'Is Nguni, for some reason, under suspicion?' he asked. One of the detectives replied that this wasn't the case, that they were simply exploring every possibility. The two Special Branch men left apparently satisfied and Peekay hoped to hell he'd been convincing. The official report that he was missing now made it possible for the police to instigate a real, if only pretended, search for the black man and as long as this wasn't connected with the explosion by Hymie or himself, or openly by the police, Geldenhuis would feel relatively safe, even if Mr Nguni was genuinely on the loose and trying to escape from the Special Branch.
Several weeks and then a couple of months went by and Mr Nguni still hadn't surfaced. By this time Red was convinced he was dead and the best chance they'd ever had to get Jannie Geldenhuis had been frustrated, probably by Geldenhuis himself. The Nguni connection had not been made by the newspapers and so the disappearance of the well-known black man had only been paid minor attention by the media. Nguni had a relatively low profile to the whites and was only really known in boxing circles. In due course the police announced they had no new information but were pursuing their enquiries, the usual official euphemism for a case book which was about to be closed or at least given a low priority.