The pilot’s British-accented voice came over the intercom, interrupting the movie that Sannie was watching without really paying attention to while she ate a breakfast of scrambled eggs, pork sausage and chips.
‘Ladies and gentleman, just an update on our arrival. We’ve made up time and expect to have you on the ground at five-fifteen this morning and arrive at the gate on schedule at five-twenty. The weather in London is quite warm — it’s fifteen degrees at the moment…’
Sannie washed some greasy sausage down with her orange juice. There wasn’t a trace of irony in the man’s voice. Fifteen degrees? Warm? That was less than half the temperature in Johannesburg when she’d left.
She checked her makeup in a hand mirror as they taxied, reapplying a little lip gloss. There was nothing she could do about the bags under her eyes. Even though the British government had paid for her to fly business class she had found it hard to sleep.
Outside it was still pitch black. In Africa the sun was rising at four-thirty by this time of year and it would be quite hot by now.
Sannie peered out the window and put the back of her hand against the Perspex; it felt cold. She shivered, wondering not for the first time if the clothes she’d brought with her would be warm enough. She was wearing jeans and high-heel boots for the trip, with a short-sleeve T-shirt over a long-sleeve one, and a cropped black leather jacket. It was very casual, but she planned to change into her black business suit as soon as she arrived at her hotel. Her first meeting, with Chief Inspector Shuttleworth, wasn’t until two in the afternoon. She’d probably have time to sleep a bit beforehand.
It was nice of Tom to meet her at the airport, and while technically it was totally unnecessary, she was secretly grateful that he would be riding with her in the rental car, as she was a little nervous about navigating her way around London.
Sannie had never been to England before, and it was sad to be here under these circumstances. She knew the inquiry would go badly for Tom and she was determined that, while she would answer every question truthfully, she would also use every opportunity to praise his quick reactions and dogged pursuit of the terrorists once they found out Greeves was missing. She was also looking forward to seeing him.
The brief time they’d shared had been a roller-coast of emotions for both of them — from incredible lows when it seemed they would never find the missing men or the terrorists, to the high of finding Bernard alive and planning the raid, to the crushing defeat they’d suffered on the beach in Mozambique. She wondered if Tom had considered doing what Bernard had done.
He’d sounded in the depths when she had spoken to him on the telephone and she was worried about him. With his wife gone, and the possibility of his suspension becoming permanent, she knew he was facing a very uncertain future.
She looked out the window again.
The only thing she saw were the blinking lights of another aeroplane and it surprised her how close it looked. The furthest she’d ever flown was Mauritius, on holiday. That trip — her and Christo’s first wedding anniversary — seemed like a lifetime ago, and it was. She thought of Christo as she always did, wearing the same clothes and smiling as he left to go pick up their son. She bit her lower lip as she gazed out into the impenetrable gloom. She’d allowed herself to get close to Tom. It hadn’t been in a sexual way, but she had followed her heart and not her head when she had joined him on his mad dash across the border. It wasn’t just because she wanted to help him find the men, it was because there was an energy or emotion that seemed to draw her to him. He understood the pain she had gone through in a way that few people could. It had hurt her to watch his zeal disappear after Bernard’s death.
Sannie had tried to buck up his spirits on the drive back into South Africa, but the crushing depression had overtaken him. The attraction she had felt for him during the chase wore off then, though she still felt for him. She couldn’t tie herself — for her sake, or her children’s — to a man who couldn’t cope with adversity. She wondered how he would be this morning.
She retrieved her carry-on wheelie bag from the overhead locker and joined the procession into the terminal. Sannie swallowed hard and felt her stomach churn. It was fear of the unexpected — of what would happen with the inquiry, and with Tom Furey.
Sannie turned her cell phone on as she walked up the air bridge, dragging her bag behind her. She sent a quick SMS to her mother as she walked, letting her know she had arrived. She’d been a saint, as usual, to agree to look after the kids for the week. Sannie was already missing them, though she smiled at the memory of Christo asking, ‘Will you see your friend Tom, the Englishman?’
‘Yes, my boy,’ she’d replied, ‘I will.’
Tom was waiting for her when she finally cleared customs and immigration. She spotted him immediately. He seemed a few inches taller than the throng of people around him.
The last time she’d seen him, when she’d dropped him at the Garden Court Hotel near Johannesburg airport, he’d been unshaven. His eyes were bloodshot and puffy from a lack of sleep, and his shoulders bowed with the weight of defeat.
Now, it was just after six in the morning and, even though he was on suspension, he was freshly shaved and wearing a smart business suit with what looked like a newly pressed white shirt and a maroon tie. His dark wavy hair was combed and he was smiling as he strode through the crowd. In his hand was something small and slender, wrapped in colourful paper.
‘Sannie! Howzit!’
She laughed at his use of the typical South African greeting. ‘ Lekker, man. And you?’
‘Fine.’ He held out his hand and she shook it. It was an awkward moment. They’d shared so much she almost felt like she should lean in close to him so he could kiss her on the cheek. He smiled into her eyes. ‘Here, this is for you.’
He handed over the parcel and she let go of her wheelie bag to open it. ‘Here, let me get that for you,’ he said, grabbing the handle. She started to protest, but returned her attention to the gift.
‘You shouldn’t have, Tom,’ she said as she peeled off the paper, then laughed again at the compact folding umbrella.
‘Your British survival kit.’
She touched him on the arm, leaned close and kissed him on the cheek. ‘Thanks.’
She saw the colour rise in his cheeks as he said, ‘Not at all. You’ll need it. Now, let’s get your hire car sorted out for you.’
She smiled behind his back as he strode off, clearing a path for her through the crowd. She’d kissed him on impulse and, while it was still a bit awkward, she didn’t regret the brief show of intimacy. He was a friend, that was all. And he’d need all the help he could get in the days to come.
He asked her about the flight and her mother and her kids while they waited in the queue for her to pick up her car. It was small talk and she could sense from the way he shifted his weight from foot to foot while he spoke that there was much more on his mind. Of course there would be. Sannie really hoped he hadn’t come out to meet her so they could talk about her testimony at the inquiry. She felt sure he wasn’t that sort of cop, but one never knew.
‘What time’s your first meeting?’ he asked after she had signed the papers and collected the key. They walked to a shuttle bus stop outside the terminal and were waiting to be taken to the car park where the rentals were stored.
‘Not until two, why?’
The shuttle bus arrived, stalling the conversation, and they got on, Tom easily hefting her bag, which looked very small when he held it. She really hadn’t brought enough warm clothes. Perhaps she could go shopping for an overcoat before the meeting. ‘What’s on your mind, Tom?’
He shifted across the seat in the bus to make room for her. ‘Well, as I told you in the email, my car’s in the garage being fixed.’
‘Yes. Just as well, as I was a bit unsure about navigating my way through London.’
‘I was wondering if you’d like to take a little trip in the country with me, before your meeting?’
She leaned away from him and looked at him, as though reappraising him. ‘Whatever for, Detective Sergeant?’ she asked in a mock English accent.
He smiled. ‘Nothing improper, of course, ma’am.’ The humour vanished. ‘I’m going to talk to Robert Greeves’s widow this morning. I can take a train — she lives about an hour out of London — but I was wondering if — ’
Sannie held up a hand. ‘Tom, no. Really.’
‘I thought that…’
‘You thought wrong. You know I’m here strictly for the inquiry. I don’t have to tell you what kind of problems it’d stir up if I started taking part in an investigation over here!’
‘It’s not an investigation. I’ve been suspended. It’s just me paying my respects to Greeves’s widow.’
She shook her head. ‘No way. Look at you this morning. You’re up to something, aren’t you?’
He shrugged. They sat in silence as the bus passed long-term car parks and airport hotels whose neon signs were diffused by halos in the cold morning rain.
Sannie’s curiosity started to get the better of her. She had half expected to see an unshaven, unwashed wreck waiting for her. A man wallowing in self-pity, looking for a shoulder to cry on. She’d been pleasantly surprised to see the handsome, upright detective she’d first met and, seeing his apparent change of mood, was glad for him. If she helped crack the case and find the men who had killed Greeves, her star would be on the rise back home; if the terrorists were still hiding in Africa, and Tom was able to uncover new information which helped lead the authorities to them, the Brits would need a liaison officer in South Africa.
‘What can Greeves’s widow tell you that you don’t already know about the abductions?’
‘Nothing.’
The shuttle bus stopped and they got off and walked along a covered walkway to another office. ‘I’ll drive, if you like,’ Tom said after they collected the keys and directions to the car.
She shook her head and pressed the electronic lock of the Ford Focus, and hurriedly climbed inside to get out of the rain. She popped the boot, and Tom stowed her bag and then got in beside her, brushing droplets of rain off the shoulders of his suit jacket.
‘So if she can’t tell you anything about Greeves’s disappearance, what can she tell you about?’
‘Greeves.’
‘What about him?’
‘He was having an affair with a black South African stripper.’
Sannie’s mouth opened. It took her a moment to realise this, then she closed her jaw and started the car. She navigated her way out of the car park in silence and Tom started directing her towards the M25. The windscreen wipers slapped from side to side and the only noise inside the car was the rush of the heater fan, which she had set to high.
‘Who else knows this? Presumably the investigating police?’
He explained that there were, in fact, two parallel investigations going on. Tom had led the first, into the disappearance of Nick Roberts, to the strip club in Soho and the missing dancer, Ebony, aka Precious Tambo. It was only yesterday, however, that his talk with the reporter, Michael Fisher, had revealed a link between Ebony and Robert Greeves, which Nick may or may not have been aware of. ‘The detectives looking into Nick’s death, and the murder of Ebony, still — as far as I know — don’t know about the Greeves connection.’
‘Surely you’re going to tell them?’ Sannie asked.
Tom nodded. ‘Left here, onto the motorway. The M25’s like a giant ring-road that goes all the way around London. Of course I’ll tell them. But I want to know more about what Greeves was up to. At the moment I’m working on the word of a dead exotic dancer, as relayed by a very dodgy tabloid journalist, who freely admits he didn’t have enough to go public with. It pushed a button with Janet Greeves, though, when I told her I wanted to talk to her about the “affair”.’
Sannie took the information in as she navigated her way through the thick morning traffic. The tiredness she’d felt on the aircraft had disappeared and she had to consciously tell herself to relax her grip on the steering wheel. She was getting the same feeling that she knew was driving Tom right now. He was on to a new lead in the investigation; it might, of course, come to nothing, but she wanted very much to be a part of what happened next.
Tom told her about the mysterious reporter, Daniel Carney, and his failed efforts to find any trace of him.
‘Perhaps he’s a South African, working in London. If the girl was South African, as you say, perhaps she knew a freelancer in the expat community.’
‘I hadn’t thought of that,’ Tom admitted, frowning. ‘See, I’m already glad you’re here. At least you can get your people to check out Carney.’
She was trapped already, and she knew it. Damn it, she thought. ‘Tom, when you pass on what you know to the investigating officers, I’m sure I’ll be able to check out anyone they want me to.’
‘You could be back in London by one, at the latest. Plenty of time to change for your meeting. Did I tell you that you look great in jeans, by the way?’
Sannie snorted. Flattery would not get him very far at all. She checked her watch. It was still very early. They could stop at the hotel first and she could shower and put her suit on.
They slowed with the traffic, which eventually ground to a halt. Somewhere up ahead, through the rain and the enveloping fog, she could make out flashing orange lights. ‘Tom, I went out on a limb for you before, but…’ She knew her resolve was weakening.
‘It’ll be easier for Janet Greeves if there’s another woman in the room. You know that, don’t you?’
Sannie nodded.
‘This is nice. More what I expected England to be like — rolling green hills and little villages with thatch-roofed houses,’ Sannie said.
Tom looked across at her and smiled. He noticed she was drumming her hand on the car door. He was driving as they travelled through the biscuit-tin countryside of Buckinghamshire.
Tom knew the road well, as the Prime Minister’s country residence, Chequers, was a little further along from where they would turn off. He’d been there on many occasions, protecting various politicians and dignitaries who attended meetings there or wanted to be seen at church with the PM on Sundays in the village of Little Kimble.
He knew she was nervous, but having her here was important to him. Not only, as he’d said, because he thought having a woman present might put Janet Greeves at ease, but also because it gave him a sense that he was helping move the official side of the investigation — albeit the South African side — further along. It was better than sitting around waiting for the axe blow which would end his career. Also, he liked being with Sannie. At a time when he had no one in his own country, professionally or personally, it was good to have her by his side again. She’d been his partner in Africa and he could trust her implicitly. She was also beautiful, and her perfume set his senses on edge.
‘Here we go.’ He turned left into Haw Lane, just after they passed Saunderton railway station. The road snaked upwards, bare winter trees flanking the approach to the upmarket village of Bledlow Ridge.
At the top of the hill Tom turned right and slowed until he found the name of the Greeves country estate — Ingonyama — in a cast iron sign on a gatepost. The wooden gate was open.
‘That’s Zulu for lion.’ Sannie folded down the sun visor on her side and checked her hair and makeup. Tom thought she needn’t have bothered. She looked cool, professional and sexy as hell in her black pants suit, boots and simple white blouse, open at the neck and showing a tantalising V of skin in spite of the cold. She’d checked into the Thistle Hotel near Waterloo, where overseas and out-of-town visitors to Tom’s branch often stayed, and quickly showered and changed while he’d waited in the lobby. She wore a gold necklace made of many tiny links, but from a distance it looked solid. It followed the curves of her collarbone, caressing her tanned skin.
Tom drove up a long gravel road flanked by autumn-bare poplars. The rain had stopped, but the sky above was the colour of cold gunmetal.
‘Kites.’ Sannie pointed up at the three birds of prey wheeling above them. ‘They look a lot like the yellow-bills we get at home.’
‘Is that a good omen or a bad one?’
She shrugged. ‘Bad if you’re a snake.’
‘Well, we don’t have too many of those here in England. Let’s enter the lion’s den, shall we?’
Sannie frowned, opened her car door, then shivered. ‘Lions don’t have dens. Let’s get this over with.’
Tom followed her along the flagstones. He was no historian or architect, but the house symbolised history and money: old red brick, bare wooden beams and well-kept thatch. The winter garden was drab but manicured.
The door opened before they could knock. Janet Greeves — Tom recognised her from pictures in the newspapers — stood waiting for them, unsmiling.
She was dressed for a walk, in jeans and green Wellington boots, and a dark olive Barbour jacket.
‘Detective Sergeant Furey?’
Tom nodded. ‘Morning, ma’am. This is Inspector Susan van Rensburg of the South African Police. She’s involved in the African end of the investigation.’
Surprise and unease were plain on Janet Greeves’s face, though she shook hands with both of them. ‘So this is now an official visit?’
‘All we want, Mrs Greeves, is to find out who abducted your husband and Bernard Joyce and where they might be now. Anything you can tell us that will help the authorities here and abroad to meet those aims will be appreciated.’ She nodded and Tom thought he’d done a pretty good job of not answering her question. The woman was clearly off balance, though, and that wasn’t a bad thing from his point of view.
‘Very well. I thought we’d walk, if you don’t mind. My daughter’s inside, staying with me, and from our earlier conversation,’ she looked at Tom, ‘there might be some matters that she’s better off not hearing about.’
Tom wasn’t happy. Interviewees had no home-ground advantage when you questioned them in their own surroundings. What was on the walls, on the mantelpieces and stuck to refrigerators with magnets was often as interesting as a person’s words.
‘Um, if you don’t mind, Mrs Greeves, I need to use your bathroom, please.’
Janet sighed. ‘Of course.’
Good girl, Tom thought. Sannie was thinking the same way as he, and had found an excuse to get past Janet and into her inner sanctum.
‘I’d better show you the way. It’s a bit of a rabbit warren, this old pile.’
Tom hovered in the entryway as Janet led Sannie through the living room and pointed down a corridor towards the rear of the house. Tom noted the way Sannie’s eyes scanned the walls, the coffee table, the piano, the fireplace. Tom heard a dull bass beat from upstairs. The gothic daughter, he presumed.
Janet walked back to where Tom stood, effectively quarantining him just inside the door. ‘I wasn’t expecting this,’ she said in a low voice.
‘Inspector Van Rensburg is making good headway in tracking down the suspects, ma’am.’
‘Stop talking like a politician, Mr Furey. You gave me a clear indication that we would be talking off the record. I don’t want anything I say to reflect badly on my husband’s name — for the sake of the government, our children, and for my sake.’ She folded her arms. ‘Perhaps you should just leave.’
She was an attractive woman. Blue eyes and auburn hair, held back in a simple ponytail. She was slender — about five-six, he reckoned — with flawless English rose skin but the wrinkled upper lip of a heavy smoker. He smelled tobacco on her as well. She was in her midforties, he thought. Greeves had chosen well. Looks, breeding, and money — and a few years younger than himself.
‘Like me, ma’am, Inspector Van Rensburg has no official jurisdiction here in England.’
‘That’s a very frank admission. I definitely think you should leave as soon as she’s finished.’
‘What it means,’ Tom held out his open hands, ‘is that we’re not here to record what you say or take down a statement. I’ll be honest. We — that is, the detectives involved in the case — are running into dead ends both here and in Africa.’
‘All very well but, as I told you on the phone, I’ve told the investigating officers everything I can remember about Robert’s movements leading up to his last trip.’
Janet turned at the sounds of Sannie’s footsteps behind her. ‘You have a lovely house, Mrs Greeves.’
She nodded. ‘Shall we walk?’
Sannie nodded too and winked at Tom behind Janet’s back as she led them down the flagstones towards a converted barn which, judging by the lace curtains in the window, didn’t house animals any more. Sannie lengthened her stride until she was walking beside the other woman.
‘Your husband really loved Africa,’ Sannie said. ‘Did you travel with him often?’
‘Once, on an official visit — for a conference to which spouses were invited — and once on a holiday, with the children.’
Tom had the same thought as Sannie, evidently, because she said, ‘But he went several more times for pleasure, didn’t he? By himself?’
‘It wasn’t always convenient for us to take holidays at the same time, and you’re not quite right. Sometimes he tacked on a few days of recreation at the end of his official trips. That ghastly newspaper the World tried to make out he took holiday trips at the taxpayers’ expense, but they were wrong.’
Sannie murmured that she understood. ‘Did you ever consider investing, buying property in Africa?’
‘He spoke about it every now and then.’
‘Where was Mr Greeves’s favourite place in Africa?’
‘Lake Malawi. Look, what’s all this got to do with his death?’ Janet slowed her stride to make eye contact with Sannie.
‘Mrs Greeves, it’s important that we know as much as possible about your husband — not only his movements, but everything about his personal and private life — if we are to find out how and why he, and those around him, were targeted.’
Janet spoke slowly, as though trying to communicate with a foreigner. ‘I — told — the — police — everything.’
Sannie nodded. ‘Yes, except about the affair. Who was it with?’
Tom was half a pace behind them. He’d sensed that it was important for Sannie to try to build a rapport with Janet, and the simple act of her taking charge of the conversation and walking in step seemed to be working.
‘Off the record?’
‘For now,’ Sannie said. ‘You know I can’t be more definite than that. However, you have my word that nothing of what you say will be communicated to the media by myself or Detective Sergeant Furey, and no other police officers here or in South Africa will need to know unless it is undeniably linked to future enquiries.’
‘At least you’re honest.’ Janet drew a deep breath and slowed her pace. ‘Nick Roberts.’
Tom’s eyes widened, and he was pleased Janet couldn’t see his face.
‘Your husband’s bodyguard?’ Sannie, Tom thought, did a better job than he of masking her surprise. He was momentarily confused. Were Nick and Robert Greeves bisexual?
‘Yes,’ Janet said. Having breached some invisible barrier, the words started to tumble out. ‘He was around the house all the time, and we often found ourselves together, in public and in private, while Robert was making a speech or holding private meetings. He was a good-looking man — attentive, and interested in me as a person, not just as Robert’s political accessory. I can’t tell you how hard it’s been grieving for two men — one in private and one in public. Not revealing my true feelings. There, I’ve said it.’
‘Your husband didn’t know?’ Sannie managed to make the question sound empathetic rather than accusatory.
Janet shook her head. ‘I doubt he would have cared. Probably would have been mad that it was Nick, but no, the fact that I was sleeping with another man wouldn’t have unduly concerned him. We had what you might call an unspoken arrangement.’
‘So if he was having an affair…?’
Janet looked at Sannie and stopped. Tom stayed a pace behind them. ‘I’ve told you, as I’ve told the others, everything I know about my husband’s movements, publicly and privately for, oh, two weeks prior to his departure for Africa. In answer to your question, though, his schedule would not have allowed him fifteen minutes with anyone I was unaware of for at least a month prior to his death.’
‘But he’d slept with at least one other woman,’ Tom said. Sannie and Janet turned to face him, as if only now aware of his presence. ‘Have you ever heard of an African woman named Precious Tambo, who also went by the name of Ebony?’
A laugh escaped Janet’s mouth, then she seemed to make an effort to compose herself. ‘My husband would never have slept with a woman.’
‘You’re saying he was gay?’ Sannie asked.
Janet took a pace away from both of them and looked at Tom, then Sannie, spending a couple of seconds simply gazing at each of the detectives. Tom saw the faraway look in her eyes, as though her mind was processing some new information, and the hint of a smile flash across her face then disappear just as quickly.
‘You came here thinking he was having an affair, with a woman, didn’t you?’
Tom and Sannie glanced at each other, but said nothing.
‘What a stupid bloody berk I’ve just been! I’ve spilled my guts to you about Nick and me, thinking that somehow my being with him might have compromised him, might have kept him from doing his duty sometime, or distracted him from the job of looking after Robert. But that wasn’t it at all, was it? You came here to drag Robert’s name through the mud. Bloody hell.’
‘Mrs Greeves — ’ Tom held up a hand, but she cut him short.
‘Get out. Get off my property right now.’
‘Janet…’
‘I’m calling my lawyer. I’d leave if I were you.’
‘How bad was it, Janet?’ Tom asked.
She paused, holding the phone up, showing him she was searching for the lawyer’s name in the memory. ‘What?’
‘How bad was what he did to you, to your family?’
‘Robert’s dead. It doesn’t matter.’ Janet sounded bitter rather than relieved. She let her hand drop, the phone hanging limp by her side as her anger abated. She looked away from them, back towards her home. ‘We have a fine son and a daughter who is finding her way. Robert never hurt either of them and they’ll have a hard enough time in life without a father. They need never know. It’s best for the Party and the government as well that Robert died a hero.’
‘Tell us, please,’ Sannie said. ‘They need never know what? It might be crucial to finding his killers.’
‘No, Inspector, it won’t make a jot of difference, and I have nothing more to say to either of you. Please go and leave me, my children and my late husband in peace. Believe me, it’s better this way.’
‘And if his killers go free?’ Sannie, Tom saw, was having a hard time maintaining her cool exterior.
Janet shrugged, lifted the phone and started to dial.
‘Come on,’ Tom whispered. ‘Let’s go.’
In the car, Sannie checked her watch for the third time in ten minutes as Tom hurtled back down the M40 towards London. ‘Relax, I’ll have you there in plenty of time.’
‘I’m regretting going to see that woman already.’
Tom shrugged. ‘Nothing we can do about it now. And it definitely helped, having you there. I don’t think she would have opened up quite as much to me if I was alone.’
‘So, was Greeves bisexual, or a closet gay? Was that his big secret?’
Tom indicated and overtook a lorry, turning on the windscreen wipers to clear the sooty, exhaust-coloured sleet from the hire car’s windscreen. ‘Well, he slept with a stripper, we know that much. It was odd, though, that Janet seemed so incredulous that he was having an affair with a woman.’
‘Does any of this — their personal life — have a connection to the abductions or the terrorists?’
Tom thought about the question. There were surprises at every turn in this investigation, not the least of which was the revelation that Nick Roberts had been having an affair with the wife of the man he was supposed to be protecting. ‘Nick was privy to all the family’s secrets, by the look of it. I reckon that as well as going to the newspapers, Precious Tambo probably contacted Greeves direct. Greeves might have sent Nick to negotiate with her, and maybe make her an offer bigger than anything Fisher or Carney could match.’
‘Well, they don’t look like they’re short of money.’
Tom nodded. ‘Interesting that she didn’t share her husband’s passion for Africa.’
‘Hmm. You picked up on that “ he ” spoke about buying property rather than “ we ”.’
‘Sounds like they would have been spending their retirements on different continents,’ Tom said.
Another thought came to the forefront of his mind. It was something he had been mulling over for the past two days. ‘Have your people done an analysis of the video tapes of Nick and Greeves being executed?’
‘No,’ Sannie said. ‘We’ve asked to see them, but so far your government won’t even send us a copy. We’ve seen tapes of Greeves’s appearance on the television, but that’s all. We’ve been told we’ll get the results once your security service people have gone over them.’
That in itself was interesting. The video stored on the hard drive of the portable playback unit hadn’t gone into police custody. Tom imagined that the SAS had handed it over to the Secret Intelligence Service, which would have had a representative present at the operations base in South Africa.
The traffic became thicker and slower as they closed in on London, joining the A40 when the M40 ended, stop-starting their way through the western outskirts of the capital. ‘Shepherd’s Bush — you’ll be right at home here. This is where all the japies hang out.’
She looked out the window at the rows of shops, terraces and tenement blocks. ‘I don’t know how so many people can cram into one city. I’m claustrophobic already.’
Tom gave a sparse sightseeing commentary as they crawled along. When she saw a sign telling them they were in Notting Hill, Sannie said, ‘I remember the movie. With Hugh Grant and Julia Roberts. Lovely.’
‘I remember the race riots here, in 1976. I was just a kid, but it was ugly.’
‘Same year as Soweto. I hope we’re learning, Tom.’
Talking of Africa, there was something else he remembered that he wanted to ask Sannie. ‘What do you know about monkeys?’
She looked at him askance. ‘A little. I grew up with them all around me on the farm, and I see them in the bush sometimes. Why?’
‘How would the terrorists have captured them?’
‘It wouldn’t be hard. If you park a car with some food in it — bananas, bread, marshmallows; anything, really — they’ll get into it. All you’d have to do is put some bait in the back of a bakkie and be quick enough to lock them in. You could dart them, too, I suppose.’
‘What about the one that was tied down to the bed? Are they easy to hold down?’
‘No ways, man,’ Sannie said, shaking her head vigorously. ‘They’d bite and scratch you nearly to death. That one would have been darted or doped somehow. What are you thinking, Tom?’
He ignored her question, pointing out Hyde Park on their right as they cruised past. They crossed the Thames on Vauxhall Bridge, and when they turned left onto the Albert Embankment, Tom pointed out the office block where SO1 Specialist Protection was housed, Tintagel House, and landmarks between it and the hotel where Sannie was staying, a short walk away.
‘Here we are,’ he said, stopping the car outside the Thistle. ‘Let’s meet up after you’ve finished with Shut-tleworth, but I don’t want to be seen too close to work, given that I’m not supposed to be working the case.’
‘What about near the Houses of Parliament somewhere — I’d like to take a look at the Palace of Westminster from the outside, before the inquiry, get my bearings,’ Sannie said.
‘Perfect,’ Tom said. ‘When you’re finished, walk back across the river on Lambeth Bridge. There’s a pub across the road from the palace, called St Stephen’s Tavern. I’ll be there in two hours, by which time you’ll hopefully be finished. I’m going to find an internet cafe in the meantime.’
Sannie paused before opening the car door. ‘Do you think Janet Greeves will have called your Chief Inspector Shuttleworth?’
‘I’m afraid so. Good luck.’