Lieutenant Eleanor McKenna and Clara Veldman, Monica had rushed down to Cape Town to come and explain who and what he was. A few weeks later, the big meeting took place. Everyone was there. Brigadier Andile Zondi, head of the Crime Intelligence Unit, with McKenna’s colleague, Clive Barnard. Brigadier Ibrahim Ahmed, who headed up the Serious Economic Offences Unit. Albert Greyling, and several other people he didn’t know. He’d felt naked standing there. The day you let yourself in for a project like that you definitely don’t tell the whole world about it.
Monica had wanted him summarily removed from the case, but he couldn’t just walk away from five years’ work. Even if it meant that his safety was compromised. There were others who now knew that he wasn’t actually the Allegretti family’s chief of security. At times he felt a shiver go down his spine, which he suppressed. It was just another daily risk. However bizarre it might seem, what counted in his favour was that police officers were charged with fraud on a daily basis. He could probably tell the Allegrettis that he was a cop and they wouldn’t bat an eye. On the contrary, it might make him a bigger asset.
Despite the luxury and the breathtaking view over the Atlantic Ocean, he’d no longer wanted to stay in Allegretti’s apartment. He had rented a flat in Tamboerskloof. It was in an old block, but the rooms were spacious and he felt he could reach out and touch the mountain. He could breathe more easily. He had bought a few pieces of furniture at a second-hand dealer around the corner. His favourite piece was a scuffed leather couch. The bed was new, because he didn’t fancy being woken up by a stranger’s nightmares. He had enough of his own.
He was not in his own flat at present, but at his neighbour’s. The two of them had met on the stairs one day and struck up a conversation. A few more chance meetings in the passage and on the stairs had followed. One Tuesday evening, she had invited him for supper.
Allegretti had been home and Nick had unexpectedly had a free evening. He’d always found Tuesday nights boring and without potential, which was probably why he’d accepted the invitation. Her name was Carin and she worked for an advertising agency in the city, liked to travel and was easy company, meaning that she didn’t ask unnecessary questions – not yet, anyway. She’d entertained him with stories about her work and her travels. It suited him. There had been more suppers, and a light flirtation had ensued.
When he came back inside and shut the sliding door, she spoke behind him. He turned. She was naked. Her figure reminded him of Gabriella’s. Slim but curvaceous, the breasts large and firm.
“It’s rude to take calls from other girls when you’re with me,” she said, smiling.
“I’m sorry. It was genuinely work.”
“This time of night?”
He had told her he worked in the security industry.
“Unfortunately, yes. And I have to go.”
“You must be joking.”
“I’m afraid not.”
“I’m sure whatever it is can wait.”
Nick put his hand on her hip. Her skin was warm to his touch and he smelled her perfume. A little too floral for his taste, but subtle, at least.
She stepped closer and undid the last button of his shirt. He kissed her bare shoulder and decided it would indeed be rude to leave. He pulled her towards him.
Nick unlocked the door of his flat and looked at his watch. He wondered if Allegretti had heard the news yet. There was a good chance that by this time he was in no condition to register anything. Clara was the only person who could ever manage to talk sense into him and stop him when he lost control completely.
Nick stripped off his clothes, had a quick shower, gathered up the keys to his bakkie and hurried down the stairs. He sincerely hoped the news had not yet reached Allegretti. He was quite capable of driving over to Williams’s home.
On his way to Bantry Bay another thought struck him – what if Allegretti had kidnapped Clara himself? For all their sakes he hoped that wasn’t the case. The outcome would be bloody.
The house looked quiet and dark when Nick parked his car. The house was often quiet these days. Allegretti still occasionally invited people over but after an hour or so he often asked them to leave. He didn’t feel like company any more.
The security guards assured Nick that Allegretti had been home all day. He couldn’t decide whether that was good or bad news.
He unlocked the front door and took the stairs two at a time. The spacious living room was dark, but a light was burning on the staircase leading to the top floor. Voices came from the living room. He stopped. The guards would probably have told him if there were guests. When he reached the top of the stairs he realised that the voices he had heard had come from the TV. On the coffee table was half a bottle of tequila and an empty bottle of Bollinger. He saw traces of white powder.
Nick called Allegretti’s name. When he got no reply, he looked in the main bedroom. The bed had been slept in, but there was no sign of Allegretti. Nor was there any sign of him in the bathroom or dressing room. Nick hurried down the stairs and went to the gym at the back of the house. Not that it was likely that Allegretti had had a sudden urge to exercise. When he didn’t find him there either, he checked the rest of the rooms and the flat on the lower level.
Next he went to Patrice’s quarters and knocked. The door was slightly ajar, so Nick pushed it open. The room was in a shambles. Furniture had been knocked over. A dark stain was visible at the entrance to the bedroom. A reddish brown trail led through the bedroom to the bathroom.
Patrice was lying in a pool of blood on the bathroom floor. His eyes were open and his breathing was shallow.
Nick bent over Patrice and took out his cellphone.
“I need an ambulance urgently,” he said into the phone and gave the address. “Someone has been shot.”
He touched Patrice. “I’m here. The ambulance is on its way. Don’t move.” He removed the towel Patrice seemed to have been pressing against the wound and saw that his hunch had been correct. Patrice had a gunshot wound to the stomach. Nick took a clean towel from the rail and pressed it against the wound. He would have liked to look for an exit wound, but it was too risky to move Patrice.
“What happened, Patrice?” At the moment he didn’t care much about the details but he didn’t want Patrice to lose consciousness. “What happened? Where’s Enzio?”
Patrice tried to shake his head. “Sorry.”
“Who shot you?” When he got no reply, he sat down and called the guard at the gate.
“I’m expecting an ambulance. Open the gate and bring them to Patrice’s quarters as quickly as possible.”
Nick didn’t wait for a reply. Instead, he focused on Patrice. “Open your eyes and talk to me. Who shot you?”
But Patrice’s eyes were closed and he was no longer responding to questions.
Nick was prepared to suffer the consequences for his choices and decisions, but it was hard when someone else had to pay the price. He had recruited Patrice, and though he’d made sure the man understood the implications of the job, he still felt responsible. And helpless. He hated the feeling.
After what seemed like an eternity, Nick heard voices
