minutes later Patrice was in the back of the ambulance. There was a needle in his arm, connected to an intravenous drip. Nick said he would follow in his bakkie.
“No one is to enter the house,” he gave orders at the gate. “Not even you. And call me the moment anyone arrives.”
It was almost one o’clock when they stopped at the Christiaan Barnard Memorial Hospital in the city. The emergency unit was a hive of activity, but Patrice was rushed through a door marked Triage. A sister closed the door.
“Can you wait in the waiting room, please?” she said through a chink.
Nick walked back to where he had seen the waiting room. It was crowded. He had never been good at waiting, and he hated hospitals, especially waiting rooms. His father had died when he was very young, but he could still recall the smell. And the hard chairs. At times he and his brother had been so tired that they’d slept on the carpet, while his mom had spent hour after hour waiting on a hard chair. Hopeful that someone would bring her some good news.
Years later he and his brother had waited on similar chairs for news about their mother. The news had always been brought to them in a waiting room. He preferred to wait in the corridor.
Monica picked up at the third ring. He told her that Patrice had been shot and Allegretti was missing.
“Where are you?”
“At the hospital.”
“Have you notified the police?”
“No, I didn’t have time.”
“You don’t plan to notify them, do you?”
“No.”
“Do you think it’s smart to try to hide something like that?”
“I’m not going to hide it. I just want to be able to choose who and what I allow near the case. If I throw the doors open now, the case will be fucked before sunrise.”
“Do you have anyone in mind?”
“I’m still thinking.”
“Nick, I’m sorry about Patrice. I know you recruited him yourself and you feel responsible for him, but you didn’t shoot him.”
“I have to go. Talk to you later.”
“I know that tone of voice. It doesn’t bode well.”
“What tone?”
“The one that says you won’t listen to advice.”
“Depends whose advice.” He ended the call before she could reply.
Nick pushed himself away from the wall and looked at the people walking past. The staff looked tired. Some managed a hint of a smile. A feeble attempt to look encouraging. Others didn’t take the trouble.
From where he was standing, the waiting room across the passage was like a tidal pool. People came and went. At times there were a few vacant chairs, but every new wave brought different people. Children sat on their parents’ laps, most of them in pyjamas. Couples were holding on to each other. Old people looked scared and bewildered. Here and there was a lone person, looking neither right nor left. Some looked close to death, others seemed in perfect health. But Nick was old enough to know that where the signs were invisible, the problems were sometimes greatest. Deep pain was dangerous pain.
He was relieved when he was called to sign the documents for Patrice’s admission. It was better than just standing around.
Then he noticed the date and exhaled audibly. He must remember to call her tomorrow. Could it have been five years already?
Ellie looked at her watch. She put the pay-as-you-go SIM card in the phone and dialled his number. She waited a long time before the familiar voice answered.
“Barnard.”
“It’s me. Were you asleep?”
“Mac?”
“Yes.”
“Where the hell are you?”
She imagined Clive’s face. It was a miracle he had said nothing worse than “hell”.
“I’m calling to find out how you are.” Ellie had decided not to tell him about the two men in the church just yet. She hoped he would tell her if anything had happened.
There was a moment’s silence, before he laughed brusquely. “Fuck you, McKenna! You disappear for almost five months without letting me know if you’re still alive. Then you phone on a Sunday evening to ask how I am. How do you think I am, with no news of you for five whole months?”
“I’m sorry …”
“The most overrated word in the world. It means fuck-all.”
“Clive … has anything happened that I should know about?”
“Like what?”
“I don’t know. Anything that raised a red flag.”
“So you’re not actually calling to find out how I am.”
“Clive …”
He sighed. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. Greyling phoned yesterday morning and asked me where you are. I don’t know if he’s a red flag to you.”
“Why did he think you’d know where I am?”
“Maybe because everyone thought so. We were partners, after all.”
“How did you know where I am?”
He sighed again. “Someone’s mother’s cousin’s great-grandchild or something was baptised in the Montagu church a while ago. The following Monday the guy came to ask me if it was possible that you could be the organist at the church. I said I don’t know.”
“When was that?”
“About a month ago, I guess. I didn’t tell Greyling you were there, I just said someone thought he might have seen you there.”
“Why didn’t you try to contact me?”
He grunted. “I’m not the one who took off without a backward glance. And how many times was I supposed to call your cell, just to hear that the subscriber is not available?”
“And so you told Albert where I am.”
“Don’t get your knickers in a knot. How the fuck was I supposed to know why he was looking for you?”
“Did he say why he was looking for me?”
“No, just that it was a personal matter and that it was urgent.”
“The two of us don’t have personal matters any more.” Ellie heard her voice climb.
“Mac,
