The lawyer reached out a long, thin hand to his client. 'That's understandable, Willie ...' 'He was this great presence ...'

Dekker heard the high and urgent voice of Tinkie Kellerman calling: 'Fransman!'

He stood up quickly and strode towards the door.

'Fransman!'

'I'm here,' he called. He saw Kellerman at the top of the stairs.

'Come and help,' she said. 'Hurry.'

A hundred metres beyond the reservoir the path turned left, down the mountain, towards the city, in a wide and shallow ravine. Rachel Anderson walked through pine trees, following the path around huge boulders. She saw a stone wall ahead with a gap in the middle and beyond it to the right an almost completed house behind an enormous oak tree. A cool, deep pool of shade, a place of rest, but her first thought was for a tap to quench her raging thirst.

She went past the garage, eyes searching, towards the street. A sawn-up pine tree filled the doorway of the double garage, stacked in tidy piles. She spotted the tap beside the back door of the house, prayed it was connected, walked faster, stooped and turned it. The silvery water gushed out, hot for a few seconds, then suddenly cool. She dropped down on one knee, turned back the tap a bit, and drank, directly from the spout.

Fransman Dekker had forced enough doors to know you don't use your shoulder. He took a step back and kicked. The door splintered, but stayed shut. He kicked again, and again before it broke, swinging open only about forty centimetres. It was enough to see the blood.

'Oh, dear heaven,' said Tinkie Kellerman behind him.

'What?' said Willie Mouton, trying to get past her.

'Sir, you can't...'

Dekker was already in the bathroom. He saw Alexa Barnard lying on the floor. He stepped in the blood and turned her naked body over. Her eyes were open, but unfocused.

'Ambulance,' he ordered Tinkie. 'Now.'

He bent to examine the damage. Her left wrist was deeply cut, at least three times.

The blood still flowed from it. He grabbed a garment off the floor and began to bind it around the wounds, as tightly as he could.

Alexa spoke, the words barely audible.

'Ma'am?' he said.

'The other arm,' she whispered.

'I'm sorry?'

'Cut the other arm, please,' and with a weary hand she held out the broken bottle to him.

She quenched her thirst and washed the blood from her hands, arms and face. Then she stood up, closed the tap and took a deep breath. The city was just below her ... She walked around the corner of the house, less anxious now, fear mellowed by the drink of water.

Then she saw them, only twenty paces away down the street. She froze, breath caught in her throat. They were standing with their backs to her, side by side. She knew them. She was turned to stone. Her heart beat thunderously in her ears.

They were looking down the sloping street.

The garage. The logs. She had to get in there. It was five paces behind her. She was too terrified to take her eyes off them. She shuffled backwards, afraid she would step on something. They must not look around. She reached the wall of the garage. One more step. Then one of them began to turn. The one who had started it all. The one who had bent over Erin with the knife.

Chapter 10

In the breakfast room of the Cat & Moose Youth Hostel and Backpackers Inn, nineteen-year-old Oliver 'Ollie' Sands sat with his head in his hands. A bit overweight, he had red hair and pale skin that had seen too much sun. His angular black-rimmed glasses lay on the table in front of him. Opposite him, close to the door, sat Inspectors Vusumuzi Ndabeni and Benny Griessel.

'Mr Sands has identified the victim as Miss Erin Russel,' said Vusi, with the photo of the victim and his notebook in front of him.

'Jeez,' said Sands, shaking his head behind his hands.

'He's been travelling through Africa with Miss Russel and her friend, Rachel Anderson. He does not know where Miss Anderson is. The last time he saw them was last night in Van Hunks, the nightclub. In Castle Street. ‘Vusi looked to Sands for confirmation.

'Jeez,' the young man repeated, lowering his hands and pulling his glasses closer. Griessel could see his eyes were red.

'Mr Sands, you arrived in Cape Town yesterday?'

'Yes, sir. From Namibia.' The accent was unmistakably American, the voice quavering, emotional. Sands placed the glasses on his nose and blinked, as if seeing Vusi for the first time.

'Just the three of you?' Griessel asked.

'No, sir. There were twenty-one of us. Twenty-three actually, when we left Nairobi on the tour. But a guy and a girl from the Netherlands pulled out in Dar. They ... didn't like it.'

'A tour?' Griessel asked.

'The African Adventure Tour. Overland, by truck.'

'And you and the two girls were together?'

'No, sir, I met them in Nairobi. They're from Indiana; I'm from Phoenix, Arizona.'

'But you were with the girls last night?' Vusi asked.

'A whole bunch of us went to the club.'

'How many?'

'I don't... Maybe ten, I'm not sure.'

'But the two girls were part of the group?'

'Yes, sir.'

'What' happened at the club?'

'We had a good time. You know ...' Sands took off his glasses again, and rubbed a hand over his eyes '... we had a few drinks, we danced a little ...' He replaced his glasses.

The gesture made Griessel suspicious.

'At what time did you leave?' Vusi asked.

'I... I was a little tired. I came back at about eleven.'

'And the girls?'

'I don't know, sir.'

'They were still at the club when you left?'

'Yes, sir.'

'So, the last time you saw Miss Russel alive was at the club.' Sands's face twisted. He just nodded, as though not trusting his voice.

'And they were drinking and dancing?'

'Yes, sir.'

'They were still with the group?'

'Yes.'

'Could you give us the names of the people they were with?'

'I guess ... Jason was there. And Steven, Sven, Kathy ...'

'Do you know their surnames?' Vusi pulled his notebook closer.

'Not all of them. It's Jason Dicklurk, and Steven Cheatsinger...' 'Could you spell that for us?'

'Well Jason, you know. J.A.S.O.N. And ... I'm not sure about spelling his surname ... Can I...'

'Is it Steven with a P.H. Or a V?' Vusi's pen hovered over his notes.

'I don't know.'

'Steven's surname?'

'Wait ... Is it OK if I get the list? All the names are there, the guides and everybody.'

'Please do.'

Sands stood up and walked towards the door. He stopped. 'I have pics. Of Rachel and Erin.'

'Photographs?'

'Yes.'

'Could you get them?'

'They're on my camera, but I can show you ...'

'That would be good.'

Ollie Sands walked out through the door.

'If we can get a photo of the missing girl...' said Vusi.

'He's hiding something,' said Griessel. 'Something to do with last night.'

'Do you think so, Benny?'

'Just now, when he took off his glasses ... he started lying.'

'He was crying before you came. Maybe it was ...'

'He's hiding something, Vusi. People who wear specs ... they have a way ... There is ...' Griessel hesitated. He had learned with Dekker to put his mentoring boots down carefully. 'Vusi, you learn things over the years, with interrogation ...'

'You know I want to learn, Benny.'

Griessel got up. 'Come and sit here, Vusi. The person you are interviewing must always have his back to the door.' He shifted the chairs around and sat on one. Vusi sat down next to him. 'You'll notice if they have something to hide ... Let's say he was sitting here, at an angle, then he'd have his legs pointing towards the door. Then the signs won't be so obvious. But with the door behind him, he feels trapped. The signs become clearer, he will sweat, keep pulling at his collar, a leg or foot will jump, he will put a hand over his eyes or, if he wears glasses, he will take them off. This one did that when he started talking about coming back early last night.'