outside.’
‘Tell me about it.’
‘Excuse me?’
‘Forget it. Put me through to the bar, please.’
The receptionist connected him and a deep-voiced man answered.
Jed wiped more blood from his lip with the back of his hand. ‘I’d like to speak to the woman serving behind the bar.’
‘She’s left. Family emergency Who’s calling, please?’
‘I think I left something in the bar,’ he lied. ‘When is her next shift?’
‘She’s a casual. Only comes in here now and again. Can I help you? What did you lose?’
Jed hung up. He’d leave the girl to the police. He unzipped his suit bag and reached inside for his toiletries bag, but couldn’t see it. He had been carrying his airline tickets, passport and all his money in his pocket. There was really nothing else of great value in either his bag or pack. He rummaged through his clothes and, finally, located his wash bag and took it into the bathroom. He stripped and turned on the shower. The water stung a cut on his face, but the hot jets soothed the ache in his side.
As he turned off the water there was a knock at the door.
He pulled on a white bathrobe and tied it around his waist. ‘Who is it?’
‘Police, sir.’
Jed opened the door. ‘Come in, please. Excuse my appearance,’ he said to the two officers. Both wore dark-blue fatigue trousers, shirts of a lighter hue and military-style boots. They removed their peaked baseball caps as they entered the room.
‘Good evening, sir,’ said the taller of the two, who looked more Indian than African. ‘I am Sergeant Vincent Sakoor and this is Corporal Tshabalala. We hear you’ve been robbed.’
Jed ran a hand through his wet hair. ‘My room was broken into, but I don’t think anything is missing.’
‘You disturbed the man in the act?’ Sergeant Sakoor asked.
‘I did. He put up a fight, but he got away’ Jed told his story, describing the suspicious behaviour of the barmaid, the scuffle and the man’s escape in the getaway car.
‘Ah, these people are professionals, I think. You say the man was white?’
‘Yes. I was surprised by …’
‘You are surprised we have white criminals? You think only black or coloured people commit crimes in this country?’
‘No, Officer. I was about to say I was surprised by the apparent level of organisation behind a simple break and enter.’
‘As I said, it looks like the work of professionals. If it is whites, it’s probably drug-related.
Addiction to hard drugs knows no racial boundaries, Mr Banks.’
Jed nodded, but the intruder was no strung-out heroin addict. He was clean-cut and, now that he thought about it, had a military look about him.
‘Can you give me a description of the car?’ Sergeant Sakoor asked.
‘White sedan. Mercedes, I think.’
The two policemen looked at each other and Tshabalala consulted his notebook. ‘There’s a Mercedes on fire a couple of blocks from here. The licence plates match one that was stolen earlier this evening.’
‘Carjacked?’
‘No,’ Sakoor said. ‘Hot wired from outside a restaurant in Sandton. An area inhabited mainly by wealthy whites . A European man trying to break into a Mercedes would probably be assisted by a passer-by, someone who thought it was the owner who had locked himself out. A black man caught in the act of car theft would probably be shot by vigilantes.’
Sakoor sat down at the table and gestured for Jed to take the other chair. He took down a statement in longhand.
When they had finished, Jed said, ‘I take it you’re not overly optimistic about catching these guys.’
‘Consider yourself lucky, Mr Banks. And keep your balcony door locked next time.’
That night, when Jed finally fell into a fitful sleep, he dreamed he was chasing the black-clad man out of the room again. When they got to the edge of the roof, the criminal’s body hanging in space, Jed again ripped off the ski mask. This time the face that stared back at him was Miranda’s, her blonde hair
‘Tell me about it.’
‘Excuse me?’
‘Forget it. Put me through to the bar, please.’
The receptionist connected him and a deep-voiced man answered.
Jed wiped more blood from his lip with the back of his hand. ‘I’d like to speak to the woman serving behind the bar.’
‘She’s left. Family emergency Who’s calling, please?’
‘I think I left something in the bar,’ he lied. ‘When is her next shift?’
‘She’s a casual. Only comes in here now and again. Can I help you? What did you lose?’
Jed hung up. He’d leave the girl to the police. He unzipped his suit bag and reached inside for his toiletries bag, but couldn’t see it. He had been carrying his airline tickets, passport and all his money in his pocket. There was really nothing else of great value in either his bag or pack. He rummaged through his clothes and, finally, located his wash bag and took it into the bathroom. He stripped and turned on the shower. The water stung a cut on his face, but the hot jets soothed the ache in his side.
As he turned off the water there was a knock at the door.
He pulled on a white bathrobe and tied it around his waist. ‘Who is it?’
‘Police, sir.’
Jed opened the door. ‘Come in, please. Excuse my appearance,’ he said to the two officers. Both wore dark-blue fatigue trousers, shirts of a lighter hue and military-style boots. They removed their peaked baseball caps as they entered the room.
‘Good evening, sir,’ said the taller of the two, who looked more Indian than African. ‘I am Sergeant Vincent Sakoor and this is Corporal Tshabalala. We hear you’ve been robbed.’
Jed ran a hand through his wet hair. ‘My room was broken into, but I don’t think anything is missing.’
‘You disturbed the man in the act?’ Sergeant Sakoor asked.
‘I did. He put up a fight, but he got away’ Jed told his story, describing the suspicious behaviour of the barmaid, the scuffle and the man’s escape in the getaway car.
‘Ah, these people are professionals, I think. You say the man was white?’
‘Yes. I was surprised by …’
‘You are surprised we have white criminals? You think only black or coloured people commit crimes in this country?’
‘No, Officer. I was about to say I was surprised by the apparent level of organisation behind a simple break and enter.’
‘As I said, it looks like the work of professionals. If it is whites, it’s probably drug-related.
Addiction to hard drugs knows no racial boundaries, Mr Banks.’
Jed nodded, but the intruder was no strung-out heroin addict. He was clean-cut and, now that he thought about it, had a military look about him.
‘Can you give me a description of the car?’ Sergeant Sakoor asked.
‘White sedan. Mercedes, I think.’
The two policemen looked at each other and Tshabalala consulted his notebook. ‘There’s a Mercedes on fire a couple of blocks from here. The licence plates match one that was stolen earlier this evening.’
‘Carjacked?’
‘No,’ Sakoor said. ‘Hot wired from outside a restaurant in Sandton. An area inhabited mainly by wealthy whites . A European man trying to break into a Mercedes would probably be assisted by a passer-by, someone who thought it was the owner who had locked himself out. A black man caught in the act of car theft would probably be shot by vigilantes.’
Sakoor sat down at the table and gestured for Jed to take the other chair. He took down a statement in longhand.
When they had finished, Jed said, ‘I take it you’re not overly optimistic about catching these guys.’
‘Consider yourself lucky, Mr Banks. And keep your balcony door locked next time.’
That night, when Jed finally fell into a fitful sleep, he dreamed he was chasing the black-clad man out of the room again. When they got to the edge of the roof, the criminal’s body hanging in space, Jed again ripped off the ski mask. This time the face that stared back at him was Miranda’s, her blonde hair
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