A shadow moved on his right, he came back to reality, too late, the pistol pressed against his head. 'Black cunt,' the voice said.

Awful pain in his chest, Griessel could not move, could not breathe. He was lying on the cement floor. Death would come, it was all over, he should have waited for the task force. At the periphery there was movement, on the other side, he tried to turn his head. Vusi. A thundering shot, someone fell, further to the right. Everything in slow motion, unreal, vague, detached. This was the beginning, the tumbling away from life, he would hear the scream of fear, the terrifying scream when you fell into the deep dark abyss. Why wasn't he afraid? Why this .. . peace, just an intense longing for his children, his wife, Anna. Now he knew he wanted her, wanted her back, now, too late. Movement. He could see. Not dead yet. Vusi fired again, three times. He watched his colleague. His breath came more easily now. Why? Benny's hand moved slowly to his chest and touched the gaping wound. Dry. No blood. He looked, and felt. A hole in his breast pocket. No blood. Why the pain? He felt the hard object, gripped it.

The Leatherman. The bullet had struck the Leatherman. Relief burned through him, a shooting consciousness. He had made an utter fool of himself, thinking he was going to die. He heard a voice. 'Black cunt.' He looked up. The one who had shot him stood there, with a long-muzzled gun to Vusi's head.

Griessel reached for his pistol on the floor, grasped it, raised it, no time to aim. Pulled the trigger, saw the man's arm jerk, saw Vusi fall, fired again, missed. The man just stood there. His silenced pistol had disappeared. Benny tried to stand, his whole ribcage on fire, pain burning white, Leatherman or not. He crawled first, got to his feet and stumbled closer.

Vusi moved.

Griessel aimed his service pistol at the man. 'Don't move,' he said. He saw the man was holding his arm. The elbow was shattered, lots of blood, a mess of tendons and fragmented bone.

Vusi stood up. 'Benny ...' His voice was faint, Griessel's ears were deafened by the shots.

'I've got him, Vusi.'

'I thought you were dead.'

'So did I,' said Griessel, almost embarrassed. He jerked the man by the collar. 'Lie down,' he said. The man sank slowly to his knees.

'Where is Rachel?'

The man looked around slowly, at the closed door behind him. 'There.'

'Is she alone?'

'No.'

'Is Jason in there, Jason de Klerk?'

No response. Griessel prodded him again with the pistol. 'Where is Jason?'

A moment of silence. 'I'm Jason.'

Rage swept over Griessel, frustration, relief. He grabbed de Klerk by the hair. 'You fucking rubbish,' he said, and felt a powerful desire to kill him, shoot him in the throat, for Erin Russel, for everything, his finger tightened around the trigger.

'Benny!'

There was a noise behind them, a door closing. Both detectives spun around and aimed.

'Don't shoot!' another young man stood there, hands in the air, looking scared, blood on his upper lip.

'On the floor,' said Vusi.

'Please,' he said and lay down immediately.

'Where is Rachel?' Benny asked.

'She's in there,' said the other one.

They looked at the door. 'Vusi, if he moves,' Griessel said, and strode towards the door.

'Look out,' said the man. 'Oerson is with her.'

She was aware of the gun pointed at her, of the man in his magnificent uniform towering above her. He spoke her name. Did he know her? She raised her eyes, trying to focus, why was the other one still standing here, the young one, one of those who had held her legs?

A shot cracked. Her eyes shut in reflex, she expected to feel it, coming from the weapon pointed at her.

But her eyes opened as the man in uniform swore. He had turned away from her and pointed his pistol at the door. The other man ducked and crept towards the wall.

Someone shot again in there, a softer bang.

'What the fuck?' the uniformed man whispered.

Another shot, deafening. He moved quickly to beside the door, and again it boomed in there, three times.

Then it struck her: the policeman. Griessel. He had found her. She wanted to sit up. She moved her legs and the pain in her foot was incredible, but she didn't care, she drew her heels back, found a grip. Another shot, one more. He was shooting them, Benny Griessel, he must kill them all. She braced herself against the cold pillar. If only she could stand up. The uniform and the young man were frozen, petrified. Another two shots. Silence.

'I'm going out,' said the young man and opened the door, and shut it immediately.

'Shit,' said the uniform.

Voices inside, indecipherable words. Then only the uniformed man's fast and shallow breathing.

'He's going to kill you,' she said to him, with hatred in her voice.

He moved suddenly, came to her, a boot left and right of her knees and pushed the gun into her cheek. 'Shut the fuck up,' he hissed. 'You're going with me.' Then he looked around at the door, wild-eyed.

She kicked him. She brought up her knee, her sore right foot's knee, and struck him between the legs with everything she had left. 'Now!' she shrieked. Her voice was a desperate command. The uniform shouted something and fell onto her. A booming noise as the door was kicked in, and then a single shot and the man fell away from her. She saw him standing in the doorway, a figure with a pistol in his hand, a hole in his shirt, hair needing a cut and strange Slavic eyes.

'Benny Griessel,' she said, with perfect pronunciation.

He lowered the weapon, moved towards her with deep compassion in his eyes. He grabbed her clothes off the floor and hastily covered her, put his arms around her and held her tight.

'Yes,' he said. 'I have found you.'

Chapter 45

Just after four, the nurse came out of the hospital room and said to Fransman Dekker: 'Fifteen minutes.' She held the door open so he could enter.

Alexa Barnard was sitting up against the cushions. He saw the bandage on her forearm, then the look of dawning disappointment.

'I was expecting the other detective,' she said slowly, words not well formed. The medication had not wholly worn off.

'Afternoon, ma'am,' he said neutrally, because he could use her drowsiness; he must avoid conflict and win her trust. He dragged a blue chair closer, nearly right up to the bed. He sat down with his elbows on the thin white bedspread. She stared at him with vague interest. She looked better than she had this morning - her hair was brushed and tied back in the nape of her neck, so that her unobscured face appeared stronger, the faded beauty like a fossil in a weathered rock bank.

'Captain Griessel is not on the case any more,' he said.

She nodded slowly.

'I understand better now,' he said quietly and sympathetically.

She lifted an eyebrow.

'He was ... not an easy man.'

She searched his face until she was convinced of his sincerity. Then she looked past him. He saw the moisture collect gradually in her eyes, her lower lip's involuntary tremble. With her healthy right arm she wiped the back of her hand over her cheek in slow motion.

Better than he'd hoped. 'You loved him very much.'

She looked somewhere beyond Dekker, nodded slightly, and wiped her cheek again.

'He hurt you so much. All those years. He kept on hurting you over and over.'

'Yes.' Barely a whisper. He wanted her to talk. He waited. She said nothing. The sound of a helicopter came through the closed curtains in front of the window, the wap-wap increasingly loud. He waited till it subsided.

'You blamed yourself. You thought it was your fault.'

Her gaze shifted to him. Still silent.