'Are you the owner?'

'That is Gennady Demidov. I just manage.'

Vusi took his notebook from his inside pocket and scribbled a note.

'Why you write this down?'

He shrugged. 'Till what time are you open?'

'The door close at twelve on a Monday night.'

'And then everybody leaves?'

'No. Nobody can come in, but those inside, they can stay. We close the bar when everybody go home.'

'This morning, at two-fifteen, did you still have people?'

'I must ask the night manager. Petr.'

'Can you call him?'

'He sleeps.'

'You will have to wake him up.'

She wasn't keen. She drew on the cigarette and blew the smoke out through her nose like a bull in a cartoon. Then she began to rifle through invoices again, searching for the phone. He wondered how on earth untidy people managed to function.

Benny Griessel walked closer to Josh Geyser. He looked up at the colossus who was now jutting his jaw out in determination. 'Mr Geyser, let me explain your choices: we can sit here, just the two of us, and talk quietly ...'

'Regardt and I will be here too, Josh, don't worry ...' Willie Mouton said behind him.

'No,' said Griessel, taken aback. 'It doesn't work like that...'

'Of course it does. He has the right...'

Griessel turned around slowly, his patience wearing thin. 'Mr Mouton, I understand this is a difficult time for everyone. I understand that the victim was your partner and you want this case solved. But it is my job. So would you please leave so I can get on with it.'

Willie Mouton coloured. The Adam's apple bobbed faster, the voice rose to the frequency of the meat saw. 'He has the right to a lawyer and yesterday he was in my office. Regardt and I have to be present. 'The lawyer, Groenewald, came down the passage behind Mouton, seeming to know he needed to help.

Benny looked for patience and found a fraction. 'Mr Geyser, this is an interview, not an arrest. Do you want Groenewald to be present?'

Geyser looked to Melinda for help. She shook her head. 'He's Willie's lawyer ...'

'I am available,' Groenewald said primly.

'I insist on it,' said Mouton. 'Both of us ...'

Benny Griessel knew it was time to tackle Mouton. There was only one way He walked purposefully up to the shaven-headed man, the official words ready on his tongue, but the prim lawyer was surprisingly quick. Groenewald jumped in between the two men.

'Willie, if he locks you up for obstruction, there is nothing I can do for you.' He took Mouton firmly by the arm. 'Come, let's go and wait in your office. Josh, you know where to find me.'

Mouton got to his feet; his mouth moved, but no sound came out. Then he turned away slowly, but his eyes stayed on Griessel, challenging. Groenewald tugged at him and Mouton walked to the door, where he stopped to call over his shoulder: 'You have rights, Josh. 'Then they were gone.

Griessel took a deep breath and turned his attention to the duo. 'Mr Geyser ...'

'We were in church last night,' said Melinda.

He nodded slowly, asked: 'Mr Geyser, do you want legal representation?'

He looked to his wife. She shook her head slightly. Griessel saw the dynamic. She was the one with the final say.

'I don't want anybody,' said Josh. 'Let's get this over with. I know what you think.'

'Ma'am, please, would you wait in Mouton's office?'

'I'll be in the front. In the lounge.' She went over to Josh, touched his big arm, gave him a weighted look. 'Beertjie ...' she said. My little bear. Beside her husband she looked small, but she was taller than Griessel had thought. She was wearing jeans and a sea-green blouse that echoed the colour of her eyes. Ten kilograms ago her body must have been sensational.

'It's all right, Pokkel,' said Josh, but there was tension between them, Griessel could sense it.

She looked back once, and closed the door softly behind her.

Griessel took out his cell phone and switched it off. He looked up at Geyser, who stood beside the oval table with his feet planted wide apart.

'Mr Geyser, sit, please.' He gestured to one of the chairs closest to the. door.

Josh didn't move. 'Tell me first: are you a child of God?'

Chapter 17

On the fourth floor of an unobtrusive building at 24 Alfred Street in Green Point, the shoes of the Provincial Commissioner SAPS: Western Cape clicked rapidly down the long corridor.

He was a Xhosa, short, dressed in full uniform, but without his jacket, the sleeves of his blue shirt rolled up to his elbows. He came to a standstill at the open office door of John Afrika, Regional Commissioner: Detective Services and Criminal Intelligence. Afrika was on the phone, but he heard his boss knock and beckoned him to come in.

'I'll call you back,' he said and put the phone down.

'John, the National Commissioner has just phoned. Do we know about an American girl who died last night?'

'We know,' said John Afrika, resigned. 'I was wondering when the trouble would start.'

The Provincial Commissioner sat down opposite Afrika. 'The girl's friend phoned her father in America half an hour ago and said someone is trying to kill her too.'

'Did she phone from here?'

'From here.'

'Bliksem. Did she say where she was?'

'Apparently not. The father said it sounded as though she had to run away before she had finished talking.'

I'll have to let Benny and Vusi know. And Mbali,' said John Afrika as he picked up his phone.

Galia Federova, manager of Van Hunks, spoke over the phone in Russian and then held it out for Vusi. 'Petr. You can talk with him.'

The detective took the phone. 'Good morning, my name is Vusi. I just want to know if something happened in the club this morning, between two o'clock and two fifteen. Two American girls, and some young men. We have them on video, running up Long Street, and we have people who say they were in the club.'

'There were many people,' said Petr, his accent much lighter than the woman's.

'I know, but did anybody notice anything unusual?'

'What is unusual?'

'An argument. A fight.'

'I don't know. I was in the office.'

'Who would know?'

'The barmen and the waiters.'

'Where do I find them?'

'They are sleeping, I think.'

'I need you to call them, sir. I need all of them to come to the club.'

'That is not possible.'

'Yes, sir, it is possible. This is a murder investigation.'

Petr sighed deeply on the other end to emphasise his annoyance. 'It will take a lot of time.'

'We don't have time, sir. One of the girls is still alive and if we don't find her, she will be dead too.'

Vusi's mobile began to ring.

'One hour,' said Petr.

'Ask them to come to the club,' said Vusi, and passed the receiver back to Federova. He answered his cell phone. 'This is Vusi.'

'She's still alive, Vusi,' said John Afrika. 'She phoned her father in America, half an hour ago. But I can't get hold of Benny.'

Rachel Anderson sprinted down Upper Orange Street. Her eyes searched desperately back and forth for an escape route, but the houses on both sides were impregnable - high walls, electrified fences, security railing and gates. She knew she had no time, they would come back through the shop, she had maybe a hundred- metre start on them. Her father's voice had given her new urgency, a desire to live, to see her parents again. How horribly worried her mother must be now, her dear, scatterbrained mother.

She saw one house just a block from the shop on the corner to the left, a single-storey Victorian dwelling with a low white picket fence and a pretty garden. She knew it was her only chance. She hurdled the hip-height fence but the tip of her shoe hooked and sent her sprawling into the flower bed beyond, her hands trying in vain to break her fall, her belly skidding across the slippery surface, winding her, the damp garden soil leaving a wide muddy stripe on her blue T-shirt.