butterflies had been in his belly already, the faint terror, no, the premonition that he might not handle it well.
His fault. Just his own fucking fault.
He knew there was big trouble when he saw the three senior officers of the DPCI – the Directorate for Priority Crime Investigations –
and
General John Afrika, Western Cape head of Detective Services and Criminal Intelligence.
The burly Brigadier Musad Manie, commander of the Hawks, sat in the middle with a face of granite. On either side were Colonel Zola Nyathi, head of the Violent Crimes Group, and Griessel’s immediate boss, and Colonel Werner du Preez, group head of Crimes Against the State (CATS). Afrika was on the opposite side of the table.
They greeted him, Manie invited him to sit down. Griessel saw there were files and documents in front of each of the senior officers.
‘Sorry to interrupt your evening, Benny,’ said the brigadier. ‘But we’ve got a problem.’
‘A nasty problem,’ said Afrika.
Colonel Nyathi nodded.
The brigadier hesitated, holding his breath, as if there was a lot more to say. Then he reconsidered, pushed a sheet of paper across the table. ‘Let’s start with this.’
Griessel pulled the paper towards him, began to read, conscious of the four sets of eyes on him.
[email protected] Sent: Saturday 26 February. 06.51
To:
[email protected] Re: Hanneke Sloet – you were warned
Today it is precisely 40 days since Hanneke Sloet was murdered. That is
40 days of cover-up. You know why she was murdered.
This is my fifth message but you don’t listen. Now you leave me no choice. Today I will shoot a policeman. In the leg. And every day I will shoot a policeman, until you charge the murderer.
If you don’t have a report in the newspaper tomorrow that says you have reopened the Sloet case, the next bullet will not be in the leg.
No name. Griessel looked up.
‘As you can see, this was sent this morning,’ said the brigadier. ‘And tonight Constable Brandon April was shot by a sniper in the leg in the parking lot of the Claremont Station. Just before seven.’
‘Long distance shot,’ said Afrika. ‘They’re still looking for the bastard’s vantage point.’
‘The knee is bad,’ said Nyathi. ‘Shattered.’
‘A young man,’ said Afrika. ‘Won’t ever walk normally again. This crazy bastard …’ and he pointed at the email in Griessel’s hands, ‘has written to me four times. Very confused emails, they don’t make sense.’ He tapped the file in front of him. ‘You’ll see.’
The brigadier leaned forward. ‘We would like to announce that you will be leading the reopened investigation into the Sloet case, Benny.’
‘I personally asked the brigadier if we could give it to you,’ said Afrika.
‘Cloete is currently working on the Sunday papers, he says there’s a chance we can get something into the
Weekend Argus
and
Rapport
’s Cape section,’ said Manie. Cloete was the liaison officer of SAPS who handled the press.
‘We are going on radio as well, but I don’t know if that will help,’ said Afrika.
‘It’s a bit of a mess,’ said Nyathi, his frown deepening. ‘To say the least.’
‘If you’re willing, Benny. We will back you up. All of us.’
Griessel put the sheet of paper down on the table, straightened his new, fashionable black jacket and asked: ‘Hanneke Sloet … she was the lawyer?’
3
‘That’s right,’ said Manie and pushed the file across to Griessel. ‘Mid-January. Green Point investigated the case …’
Griessel took the fat pack of documents and tried to remember what he had heard about the Sloet murder. There had been a small media storm about six weeks back, his colleagues had discussed the case constantly.
‘Five blocks away from my office in her fancy apartment,’ said Afrika. ‘Nailed her.’ And then half apologetically he added: ‘With one helluva knife.’
The brigadier sighed. ‘They found nothing. Nothing. Look at the