'Inspector Kaleni,' he said with that fake courtesy, 'we are the private investigation company with the fastest-growing turnover in the country - because we are ethical and effective. Why would I put our future in jeopardy by illegal activities?'

That was the moment she made the link between the ego and moustache. 'The name and contact details of the subcontractor?'

He was reluctant to supply them. At first he just gazed at one of his paintings, his body language expressing an inaudible sigh. Then slowly he stood up to take the address book out of one of the drawers of his giant desk.

Mat Joubert said he had to get going, because he could see they were busy. Griessel walked with him to the door. Once they were out of earshot of the others, the big detective said: 'Benny, I'm going to join Jack Fischer's company.'

'Jissis, Mat,' said Griessel.

Joubert shrugged his massive shoulders. 'I've thought about it for a long time, Benny. It was a difficult decision. You know: I'm a policeman.'

'Then why are you buggering off? For the money?' He was angry with Joubert, now he was practically the last white man left in the SAPS, and they had come a long way together.

'You know I wouldn't leave just for the money.'

Griessel looked away to where Vusi was sitting with Oliver Sands. He knew Joubert was telling the truth, because Mat's wife Margaret was financially very comfortable after a big inheritance. 'Why leave then?'

'Because I'm not enjoying it any more, Benny. With SVC I could contribute, but now ...'

Joubert had been commanding officer of the former Serious and Violent Crimes Unit and he was good, the best boss Griessel had ever worked for. So he nodded now with some understanding.

'I've been with the Provincial Task Force for four months now, and I still don't have a portfolio,' said Joubert. 'No people, no job description. They don't know what to do with me. John Afrika has told me I have to accept that I will not be promoted - that is simply the way it is now. That wouldn't bother me so much, but just sitting around ... I'm also getting too old for all the shit, Benny, the National Commissioner's monkey business, the disbanding of the Scorpions, the racial quotas that change every year; everything is politicised. And if Zuma becomes President, the Xhosas will be out and the Zulus will be in and everything will change again - a new hierarchy, new agenda, new troubles.'

And where does that leave me, Griessel wanted to ask, with growing apprehension, but he just kept looking at Joubert.

'I've done my bit, Benny. Everything I could for the new country. What are my options at this age? I'll be fifty in July. There's a man recruiting police for Australia, he came to see me, but why would I want to go there? This is my country, I love this place ...'

'OK,' said Benny Griessel, because he could see how serious Joubert was. He suppressed his own frustrations.

'I just wanted to let you know.'

'Thanks, Mat.. .When are you leaving?'

'End of the month.'

'Isn't Jack Fischer a bastard?'

Joubert smiled. Only Benny would say it like that. 'How many bastards have we worked for, Benny?'

Griessel grinned back. 'A lot.'

'Jack and I were together in the old Murder and Robbery. He was a good detective, honest, even though he stopped at every available mirror to comb his hair and moustache.'

Bill Anderson hurried down the stairs at nine minutes past six in the West Lafayette morning. His lawyer, Connelly, and the city Police Chief, Dombowski, were waiting in the hallway with his wife.

'Sorry to keep you waiting, Chief,' said Anderson. 'I had to get dressed.'

The Police Chief, a big, middle-aged man with the nose of an old boxer, put out his hand. 'I'm really sorry for the situation, Bill.'

'Thanks, Chief.'

'Shall we go?' asked Connelly.

The other two men nodded. Anderson took his wife's hands in his. 'Jess, if she calls, just stay calm and find out as much as you can.'

'I will.'

'And give her the number of the Captain. Ghree-zil, she must call him ...'

'Would you rather stay, Bill?' asked Connelly.

'No, Mike, I have to be there. I owe it to Erin and her folks.' He opened the front door. The cold seeped in and his wife pulled her dressing gown more tightly around her body. 'I've got my cell. You'll call,' he said to her.

'Right away.'

They walked out on the porch. Anderson closed the door behind him. Deep in thought, Jess returned slowly to the study.

The phone rang.

She started, with her hand to her heart in fright and an audible intake of breath. Then she ran back to the front door, pulled it open and saw the men getting into the police car.

'Bill!' she shouted, her voice shrill and frightened.

He came running and she hurried to the phone.

Rachel Anderson sat at the table where Piet van der Lingen's laptop and a myriad reference books and papers were strewn across the table. In her ear the phone kept ringing on another continent - far too long, she thought, what was her father doing?

'Rachel?' Her mother said suddenly, anxious and out of breath.

'Mom!' Rachel was caught off guard, expecting her father's calm.

'Oh, my God, Rachel, where are you, are you all right?' She could hear the underlying hysteria and fear.

'Mom, I'm fine, I'm with a very kind man, I'm safe for now ...'

'Oh, thank God, thank God. We've spoken to the police over there, we've spoken to the Ambassador and the Congressman, it's going to be all right, Rachel. Everything's going to be ... Bill, she's safe, she's with somebody, a kind man, Rachel, this is such wonderful news, I love you honey, do you hear me, I love you so very much.'

'I love you too, Mom ...'

'Now, I'm going to put your father on, listen very carefully, he's going to give you a number to call. Promise me you will do exactly what he says, Rachel, please.'

'I promise, Mom. I'm OK, I know this must have been really tough for you ...'

'Don't you worry about us, we are going to take care of all this, honey, it's so great to hear your voice, I can't believe it, here's your father, I love you, you hear, I love you very much.'

'Love you too,' said Rachel Anderson, and smiled through the sudden tears of longing and gratitude. Her father came on the line: 'Honey? You're OK?'

'Yes, Dad, I'm OK, I'm with a very kind gentleman, I'm sitting in his house, I'm perfectly safe.'

'I can't begin to tell you what a great relief that is, honey, that's really great news.' Her father's voice was calm. 'We've been pretty busy on this side, trying to get you help, I've spoken to the Consul General in Cape Town, they are standing by, I'm going to give you their number, but first, I'm going to give you the number of a police Captain. Now, I know you said something about the police when you last called, but this man was recommended by their top structure, and I spoke to him personally. He's in charge of your case, and he gave me his word that he'll make sure you are safe, OK?'

'Are you sure?'

    'Absolutely, even their Secretary of ... their Police Minister knows about you, the Consul General is talking to them, so this is very high level, nothing can happen to you. So can you take down the numbers?'

She looked across the desk and spotted the end of a yellow pencil under a printed document, pulled it out and turned over one of the typed sheets.

'I'm ready,' she said with determination and inexpressible relief. The nightmare was nearly over.

Mbali Kaleni parked on the Parade. In bright sunlight she walked down the alley of flower sellers, past the old post office, between stalls selling anything from shoes to packets of nuts. For a second she contemplated buying some candy-coated cashews, but reconsidered, she wanted to get to Upper Orange quickly. She just wanted to go back to that house ...