across his face, intersecting with the white precisely at the right
eye, thus fostering some sense of intrigue about his appearance. This elicited
two diametrically opposed reactions from people observing him, in the view of
both their teenage sons. If someone reacted timorously to Sugar-Bear, the boys
would then say that such a person was lank
suspicious . If they thought Sugar-Bear was cute, then they were lank cool . Neither of the parents had
ever had any reason to doubt the efficacy of this judgement as a rule of thumb.
Sugar-Bear observed them, one ear
comfortably relaxed and down, the other one alert and pointing upward in case
it was necessary to identify some unexpected sound. His eyes started to relax,
flickering between wake and sleep, as he began to accept that all was probably
well in the world.
Fiona had felt genuinely good about
her own presentation to the clients that morning. This was a rare phenomenon.
Normally she was extremely self-critical and pessimistic about any presentation
of her own. But she had felt the electricity in the arena during her
performance and the round of applause she had received at the end had said it
all. The financiers knew that they could give off no signals prior to their own
debriefing back in Johannesburg with the holders of the purses, but there was
enough going on over the brief sandwich lunch after her presentation for her to
know that everyone was feeling pretty up-beat. Now it was a matter of waiting
to see whether or not her firm would win the contracts involved.
Ryder had finally accepted her
positive assurances about his own speech at the cemetery, too. It had been
right on the nail, she had assured him. All in all, the two of them had had a
tough day but had come through it.
But she was as distraught as he was
over the death of Sinethemba Ngobeni, coming so soon after the devastating
death of Ed Trewhella. Fiona had met the young constable a couple of times when
popping in to the unit to drop off something for Jeremy. She had been
enormously impressed with her, and the circumstances of her death were as
devastating to Fiona as they had been to her husband.
They both lapsed into silence after
discussing the tragic loss of the young constable. They stared blankly at the
muted television screen, where The Hunt
for Red October was being screened for the millionth time, Ryder thought.
Then, as she could see him gazing into the distance, miles past Sean Connery’s
impersonation of a Russian submarine commander and into something far beyond,
Fiona picked up a different thread.
‘You haven’t spoken much about all
the action from last week.’
‘Nope. Some pretty bad stuff.’
‘I know you don’t like to talk about
it at home. Some bad guys all around, I heard today when I was speaking to
Navi.’
‘No, it’s not that. Just a few
threads to wind up from last week, and new stuff coming in all the time.’
‘What’s still hanging over you from
last week? Apart from Ed, of course...’
‘I’m thinking about one guy. One
Skhura Thabethe.’
‘The creep who used to work as a
constable?’
‘The same.’
‘I saw his eyes once. When I
delivered something to the station for you. I can’t remember who I discussed it
with at the time, but whoever it was told me that the guy’s eyes were the
talking point in the unit.’
‘Sure were.’
‘You mentioned once that he ended up
in jail.’
‘Assault. Got a year. Out after just
a few months. We’re convinced that he’s got far worse things stacking up
against him but he’s never been nailed for them. He needs to go away for thirty
to thirty-five, that guy.’
Ryder thought back. Thabethe was
indeed a creepy guy. Intriguing that his wife should pick up on the eyes.
Everyone spoke about his eyes.
‘Was he done for the assault while
still with the unit?’
‘No. Some time after he left. We
nailed him on disciplinary charges while he was still with us. I say ‘we,’ but
not me. I don’t remember ever
eye, thus fostering some sense of intrigue about his appearance. This elicited
two diametrically opposed reactions from people observing him, in the view of
both their teenage sons. If someone reacted timorously to Sugar-Bear, the boys
would then say that such a person was lank
suspicious . If they thought Sugar-Bear was cute, then they were lank cool . Neither of the parents had
ever had any reason to doubt the efficacy of this judgement as a rule of thumb.
Sugar-Bear observed them, one ear
comfortably relaxed and down, the other one alert and pointing upward in case
it was necessary to identify some unexpected sound. His eyes started to relax,
flickering between wake and sleep, as he began to accept that all was probably
well in the world.
Fiona had felt genuinely good about
her own presentation to the clients that morning. This was a rare phenomenon.
Normally she was extremely self-critical and pessimistic about any presentation
of her own. But she had felt the electricity in the arena during her
performance and the round of applause she had received at the end had said it
all. The financiers knew that they could give off no signals prior to their own
debriefing back in Johannesburg with the holders of the purses, but there was
enough going on over the brief sandwich lunch after her presentation for her to
know that everyone was feeling pretty up-beat. Now it was a matter of waiting
to see whether or not her firm would win the contracts involved.
Ryder had finally accepted her
positive assurances about his own speech at the cemetery, too. It had been
right on the nail, she had assured him. All in all, the two of them had had a
tough day but had come through it.
But she was as distraught as he was
over the death of Sinethemba Ngobeni, coming so soon after the devastating
death of Ed Trewhella. Fiona had met the young constable a couple of times when
popping in to the unit to drop off something for Jeremy. She had been
enormously impressed with her, and the circumstances of her death were as
devastating to Fiona as they had been to her husband.
They both lapsed into silence after
discussing the tragic loss of the young constable. They stared blankly at the
muted television screen, where The Hunt
for Red October was being screened for the millionth time, Ryder thought.
Then, as she could see him gazing into the distance, miles past Sean Connery’s
impersonation of a Russian submarine commander and into something far beyond,
Fiona picked up a different thread.
‘You haven’t spoken much about all
the action from last week.’
‘Nope. Some pretty bad stuff.’
‘I know you don’t like to talk about
it at home. Some bad guys all around, I heard today when I was speaking to
Navi.’
‘No, it’s not that. Just a few
threads to wind up from last week, and new stuff coming in all the time.’
‘What’s still hanging over you from
last week? Apart from Ed, of course...’
‘I’m thinking about one guy. One
Skhura Thabethe.’
‘The creep who used to work as a
constable?’
‘The same.’
‘I saw his eyes once. When I
delivered something to the station for you. I can’t remember who I discussed it
with at the time, but whoever it was told me that the guy’s eyes were the
talking point in the unit.’
‘Sure were.’
‘You mentioned once that he ended up
in jail.’
‘Assault. Got a year. Out after just
a few months. We’re convinced that he’s got far worse things stacking up
against him but he’s never been nailed for them. He needs to go away for thirty
to thirty-five, that guy.’
Ryder thought back. Thabethe was
indeed a creepy guy. Intriguing that his wife should pick up on the eyes.
Everyone spoke about his eyes.
‘Was he done for the assault while
still with the unit?’
‘No. Some time after he left. We
nailed him on disciplinary charges while he was still with us. I say ‘we,’ but
not me. I don’t remember ever
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