Now I See You

Priscilla Holmes

Description

Armed robbery is nothing new in South Africa. But when a pair of clever and squeaky-sounding criminals go on a looting spree that rocks several small towns in the Eastern Cape, Detective Inspector Thabisa Tswane from The Eagles, the Special Violent Crimes Unit is called to work the case. There�s only one problem, one of the most important witnesses in the case is her estranged grandfather, Chief Solenkosi, who ordered her violent expulsion from the village over ten years ago. In another world of lunches at the Michelangelo, private game lodges and platinum cards, the rich and slick Ollis Sando smoothes his way through cocktail parties and networking meetings. He is rumoured to be in line for the presidency in the upcoming elections. But he has a dirty past, something to hide and a hostage to hide it for him. In Now I See You Thabisa�s traditional and professional skills will be pushed to the limit. She will have to learn the difference between looking and seeing. And in stirring twists of fate, we�ll see that past and present blur, everything is interconnected and nothing can be assumed.

Sujets

• Littérature Africaine
• Littérature Africaine
• Fiction

Informations

• Publié par: Modjaji Books
• Date de parution: 01 décembre 2014
• Nombre de lectures: 7
• EAN13: 9781920590772
• Langue: English
• Poids de l'ouvrage: 2 Mo

Extrait

Published in 2014 by Modjaji Books
PO Box 385, Athlone, 7760, Cape Town, South Africa
www.modjajibooks.co.za
© Priscilla Holmes
Priscilla Holmes has asserted her right to be identified as the author of this work.
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, mechanical or electronic, including photocopying or recording, or be stored in any information storage or retrieval system without permission from the publisher.
Edited by Máire Fisher
Cover artwork by Carla Kreuser
Book layout by Andy Thesen
Printed and bound by Megadigital, Cape Town
ISBN 978-1-920590-75-8
Ebook ISBN 978-1-920590-86-4
In memory of my mother, Gertrude Amy Kench and to Jack with all my love
1
11 March 2006
Julia stared into the bronze mirror at the entrance to Mama Ruby’s, at the reflection of someone she barely recognised: herself. Despite what had happened earlier, despite her battered body and despair, she looked so normal. She should look like a ragged refugee from a broken country, hiding in a dark railway station, waiting to escape, waiting to be free of oppression, of violence. Every time Magnus planted her at one of these dinners, charity soirées, or cocktail parties, she asked herself why she kept coming.
Or did she just enjoy facing public humiliation?
Tonight, as usual, she looked elegant, poised, calm. Her long red hair swinging to her shoulders, her face pale, but immaculately made-up. She was actually smiling at Ivan Ivanski, just as if nothing had happened. As if her body wasn’t aching and bruised. Nothing ever showed. Magnus hurt her only in hidden places. He stood behind her, solicitously helping her with her coat, pulling out her chair. She stared at him in the mirror. He smiled back, his eyes cold. She hated him.
They sat at the best table in the restaurant. The wishy-washy lady, with cast-down eyes, offered Julia a welcoming bowl of rosewater to rinse her hands. A large chandelier showered golden light on the crowd; candles blossomed in enormous iron holders imported from Zanzibar; waiters whirled past dressed in bright robes and turbans. People came from all over the world to eat here. The square outside the restaurant bloomed with fairy lights strung around the tall plants. Diners sat beside flaming torches, drinking from enormous goblets as the evening swirled around them.
Julia sat next to Ivanski, opposite two executives and their wives from a major mining group. Magnus had positioned himself beside Ollis Sando, the powerful lawyer, rumoured to be in line for the presidency in the upcoming elections. Sitina Sando, a tall beauty from Ethiopia, sat next to her husband, constantly touching his arm and smiling up at him. They were a couple in the golden lap of the world. Since their recent marriage they had been on the covers of all the glossy magazines and newspapers in South Africa. Julia couldn’t stop a sharp twist of envy as she watched the tender way Sando looked at his wife, the way he touched her face and smiled at her.
Magnus was talking to Sando in his usual bombastic yet obsequious way, pushing up his chin, gesticulating.
‘What about a trip to our game lodge next month? We’ve got a place at Madikwe, you know, right on the Botswana border, awesome game viewing. Do you enjoy the bush?’
Julia watched him through narrowed eyes, feeling the back of the chair pressing into her bruises. Sando answered quietly, not meeting Magnus’s patronising stare.
‘Sounds good, Magnus, we’ll think about it,’ he murmured, his eyes wandering the room.
Magnus turned his heavy gaze on Sitina. ‘Do you like the bush, Sitina?’
She smiled tightly. ‘I do, actually, we’re regulars. Luckily we have our own private lodge near Kruger.’
Magnus sat back, deflated.
Julia smiled to herself at the put-down.
She thought Sando attractive in an unfinished Michelangelo-sculpture kind of way. His strong nose, full lips and large well-moulded hands seemed expertly formed, but the rest of him, heavy shoulders, torso and legs had not been liberated from the original slabs of black marble. He was all raw power.
Ivanski leaned towards Julia. ‘You are looking very beautiful tonight,’ he said. ‘I believe red-haired women are –’
Whatever the Russian believed about redheads, Julia never discovered. Cutting across the chatter and laughter of the restaurant came a violent crash and a volley of gunfire. The ceiling exploded, great shards of glass tumbling down onto the traumatised diners. Shrill screams erupted, people leapt up, tables overturned, plates and glasses shattered. A thin man dressed in a black tracksuit was standing on one of the tables dominating the room. He wore a black mask tight over his head, with tiny slits for his eyes, nostrils and mouth. His movements were jerky; he held a semi-automatic weapon in one hand. He shouted in a high, tinny voice, demanding that people empty their pockets, and throw their bags, cell phones, wallets, jewellery, and put them on to the table.
He fired again, just missing a man attempting to get to the door. People shrank back whimpering. Julia watched women crying as they tried to take off necklaces with shaking hands. One woman sobbed as she struggled to ease her emeralds and diamonds over swollen fingers. A man yanked shimmering South Sea pearls from his wife’s neck. His wife turned away from him in disgust. Another man fumbled a heavy gold watch off his wrist. Probably a Rolex, Julia thought. This was a well-heeled crowd. The man jumped down from the table, shocked diners shrank back. Waving his gun he ran from table to table, sweeping the jewels and watches into a black refuse bag.
‘ Nyet ! Stop this!’ Ivanski was on his feet, shouting.
The gunman strode to their table; hit Ivanski in the face with the butt of the gun. Blood spurted over white linen and crystal. The Russian fell back and hit his head. He slumped and twisted on the floor. Julia heard him moaning.
The gunman raised his weapon and sprayed more bullets across the room, shattering the mirrors, creating maximum noise and panic. Terrified diners dived for cover. Men yelling, women screaming. It was chaos.
Security alarms blasted the air so loudly that Julia’s ears hurt. The man hesitated and then darted forward, dropping the bulky black bag. He stood right in front of her. She could almost see his mind clicking and shifting. Before he even moved, she knew. He was coming for her. The world shifted on its axis.
He grabbed Julia around the neck, pulled her off the chair and pushed the gun under her chin. He was immensely strong, his arms like iron bands as he pushed Julia’s head back at a painful angle. ‘Don’t struggle, bitch,’ he said, ‘you’re coming with me.’ He sounded like Bugs Bunny, or Donald Duck. A friendly character from Julia’s childhood.
He turned to the cowering diners: ‘Try anything and I’ll blow her brains out.’ He took the gun from under her chin and released another round into the ceiling. The noise was shattering.
He grabbed Julia’s hair, pulling her so close that she could feel his hot breath on the back of her neck, smell the sharp scent of his excitement.
Nobody moved.
He thrust the refuse bag into Julia’s shaking hands ‘Hold this,’ he squeaked. She clutched the heavy bag like a life line.
The man jammed the gun into her throat and dragged her back across the entrance and out into the square. Shocked bystanders fell back to let them pass.
He frog-marched Julia, using her as a human shield. As he dragged her across the tiles of the square, security guards raced towards them, their breath steaming in the cold night air.
‘Get back! Any closer and I’ll kill her,’ the cartoon voice squealed.
At first the guards fell back, uncertain. Then they edged forward, step by step, matching their quarry’s pace. Julia blocked their line of fire and they could do nothing but watch, helpless, as the man retreated across the square, pulling his hostage with him.
‘Don’t shoot!’ Julia cried to the guards.
People stood frozen, watching, their faces blank with shock.
The man thrust her towards a shabby white van parked on the edge of the square. He opened the back, forced her in and jumped in after her. She fell heavily on the floor. It smelt of old vegetables. The van sped around the corner with shrieking tyres. Julia bounced around in the back, hitting her head, twisting her wrist as she tried to steady herself. Suddenly the van screeched to a stop. The man pushed the door open, prodded the gun into her kidneys, thrusting her out of the van. She fell heavily, toppling towards a dark ramp, the man right behind her.
‘Go, go, go!’ he shouted. The van revved. Julia caught a glimpse of another masked man in the driver’s seat, before the van drove off, tyres shrieking.
The man crouched low and ran hard, dragging Julia behind him. She slipped and smashed her ankle against something steely. Pain shot up her leg. Now she was dragged, half hobbling, while her abductor shrieked in his Bugs Bunny voice, over and over again, ‘Hurry, hurry up, bitch.’ It was a cartoon nightmare.
At the bottom of the ramp was a gated parking basement. Her abductor clicked on a button on the wall. The gate opened. He dragged her inside. It was dark, but he seemed to know where he was. With the gun pressed into her back, Julia stumbled between rows of cars, until they reached a doorway. The man pressed a switch. Doors