About The Protector

A gripping thriller by Australia’s master of adventure about rescue, revenge and redemption, and the things we do to protect the ones we love.

Professor Denise ‘Doc’ Rado is South Africa’s expert on pangolins, busting poachers and freeing the endangered anteaters in elaborate undercover stings.

After a risky operation backfires, Doc’s life is shattered, but she still has to lead an eclectic group of donors on a wildlife tour of southern Africa.

But there’s a target on her back.

As the safari ventures deep into Africa, Doc fears they’re being followed and she will do anything to keep them all safe – especially Ian Laidlaw, a handsome Australian businessman turned accidental philanthropist.

Is Doc being hunted by the poachers she once fought, or is there some other bloodthirsty predator prowling the wilderness?

Contents

About The Protector

Title page

Contents

Dedication

Map

Prologue

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Chapter 32

Chapter 33

Acknowledgements

About Tony Park

Also by Tony Park

Copyright page

Newsletter

For Nicola

Prologue

In a room with nicotine-smelling curtains pulled closed and the ashtray overflowing, the radio told tales of crime and corruption, load shedding and rugby losses, a ruler indicted and the rand in freefall.

He cleaned his rifle.

Outside, the Johannesburg traffic hummed and taxis hooted. He ignored the distractions, his hands working with practised ease as he reassembled the weapon. It was a cliché, but he could do this blindfolded.

He wiped down each of the .338-callibre rounds. A bullet gleamed in his hands in the reflected lamplight, and he marvelled at its simple beauty and power, from the pointed copper-jacketed tip of the projectile to the stamped brass base of the cartridge and primer.

His fingers were stained, the gun oil and carbon ingrained in the creases and pores. He breathed deep. This was the scent of his profession, of his life, and it always brought the memories flooding back. From the bone-chilling damp of the Brecon Beacons where he had trained as a member of the British Army’s Parachute Regiment – a UK passport courtesy of his English-born parents had allowed him to enlist – to the scorching dust-blown plains of Afghanistan and the lush ‘green zones’ where the Afghans cultivated their maize and dagga, and tried to hide from his bullets.

He had found the enemy, though, as he watched over the other paras like a guardian angel, and he’d killed them, without excitement, without regret, just as a good sniper should.

There were no photographs of him in uniform on the walls of the one-room apartment, nothing on his phone, and none on his computer. There was no evidence of his time in the war, nor as a woolly-haired, bearded military contractor in Iraq, nor even of his time as a Parabat in the South African National Defence Force. Very few of his very few friends even knew he had served.

When he had returned to South Africa, after Afghan, there was nothing he was qualified to do. His mother tried to help, but he’d walked out on a string of jobs, though he was now trying to study. He was quick to anger, and too fond of a lunchtime beer or an early brandy. The army of the country of his birth had provided a temporary refuge and he’d killed again, in Bangui, where they had been surrounded by the Seleka rebels and he had been shot, and in Mozambique, where he’d taken lives in the name of keeping the peace.

But the anger and the flashbacks and the drinking had brought him undone again and he was once more a civilian. Since he’d left the army, he’d had no purpose, no cause to fight for, nothing worth dying for. That had changed when she had opened up to him.

She was the only thing that mattered to him now. He took her picture from his breast pocket and stared at her.

She needed him, more than anyone else in this world. He loved her. He kissed the photo.

He would kill for her, and she would thank him. Soon.

Chapter 1

Doc drew her Glock pistol from the holster in the small of her back with her right hand and checked her online dating app with her left as she sat behind the wheel of her slightly dented Ford Ranger double-cab bakkie.

Captain Jurie van Rensburg, in the passenger seat next to her, glanced her way. ‘Seriously? You’re looking for a date? Right now?’

‘I’m deleting my profile.’

‘What about Ralph?’ he asked.

She frowned. ‘I’ve told you all there is to know about him and he knows all about you. We’re just friends, and if he wants to stay as my platonic friend he must come out of the shadows, put down his computer and phone, and meet me – and you – in person.’

Jurie blew her a kiss. ‘Thanks. But you’d better put it away now anyway, Denise.’

‘The phone or the pistol?’

He smiled at her and she felt her heart skip. Jurie nodded towards the entry to the open-air car park at Eastgate Mall, in the Johannesburg suburb of Bedfordview. A black BMW X5 SUV with Limpopo province registration had just driven in. ‘Both. It’s showtime.’

Dr Denise Rado, ‘Doc’ to her friends and ‘Prof’ to her students, shifted in the driver’s seat and slid the phone into the right rear pocket of her jeans. She quickly eased back the slide of her Glock to check the round was chambered, and replaced the pistol in its holster. She made sure her white T-shirt covered the weapon.

It was Sunday morning, half an hour before all the mall stores opened at 9.30 am. The car park was mostly empty, apart from staff vehicles, some early shoppers at the Checkers Hyper supermarket and a few people who had come for breakfast at the Wimpy. The team had chosen the time and place well – there were enough people coming and going that the undercovers didn’t stick out, but not so many that civilians would be at risk if things went bad.

‘All call signs,’ Jurie said into a handheld radio, ‘target vehicle has entered the car park. No move until Doc gives the signal.’

They had run through the plan at Doc’s house at 7 am that morning, over coffee and rusks, with her mother, Kanta, fussing over them all as always. There were eight of them in the task team. Jurie, the captain from the Stock Theft and Endangered Species unit in Pretoria, was in charge of the operation, and Thabo Radebe, one of the STES warrant officers, was his second in command.

Thabo was standing at the takeaway counter of the Wimpy near the entrance to the mall. ‘Copy,’ he said.

‘Copy,’ said Pam Galloway, a zoologist from Gauteng Nature Conservation who was also a member of the Environmental Management Inspectorate, better known as the Green Scorpions, responsible for enforcing South Africa’s laws relating to wildlife and plants. Pam emerged from the Checkers, pushing a trolley at a leisurely pace. Her husband, Frank, who was ambling along beside Pam, was also a police captain, though he was a member of the Directorate for Priority Crime Investigation – the Hawks – based in Pretoria.

‘Backup car, copy,’ said Detective Sergeant Jason Chow, sitting in his own white Toyota HiLux at the far end of the car park. Jason was a new volunteer on the Pangolin Task Team. He’d told Doc and his superior, Frank Galloway, that he wanted a break from busting murderers and drug dealers. Jason’s job was to provide an immediate police response, by driving right up to Doc as soon as she gave the pre-arranged signal that the deal was confirmed.

‘Candid Camera, ready. Copy.’ Sara Skjold’s English was crisp, with just the faintest trace of a Norwegian accent. The thirty-year-old filmmaker had lived in South Africa since before COVID and had convinced Doc that she should make a documentary about pangolins and, specifically, Denise Rado’s work to bring down the illegal trade in the animals. Jurie had been less than keen, but Doc had persuaded him that the species needed the airtime. Doc had accepted that she would have to pull back from taking the lead undercover role in sting operations once the documentary went public, and her identity became widely known, but the way her personal life was evolving right now meant that might be a good idea. Until then, she still had a few more operations in her.

‘All call signs stand by,’ Jurie said, then lowered his radio and looked at Doc. ‘Team Rainbow Nation, ready to go.’

She smiled through gritted teeth as she watched the X5 creep through the car park. She hadn’t planned it, but her mix of civilians and police came from South Africa’s diverse cultures, united by one thing: their disgust at the trade in one of the country’s endangered species.

‘Doc . . .’

She turned to face Jurie. He swivelled his head, making a final check of all the operatives he could see.

‘What?’ Doc asked.

He leaned over and kissed her.

‘Jurie . . .’

He grinned. ‘Sorry, I couldn’t help it. I love you.’

She felt herself blush. ‘Me as well.’ Doc opened the driver’s-side door.

‘Be careful, Doc.’

She looked back at him and nodded.

Doc got out and pulled her DKNY baseball cap firmly down. When she took off her hat, it would be the signal for them all to go in, but that wouldn’t happen until she had eyes on the pangolin. There was no guarantee the poachers would even have the animal with them at this meeting.

This far from the mall entrance there were few cars. Doc’s long-limbed stride was brisk and confident as she walked towards the black BMW, belying the turmoil she felt in her gut. It was normal for her to be a little nervous on a bust, but it was Jurie’s words, the kiss, and the speed at which their relationship had progressed from friends to lovers that unsettled her most. She tried to force him from her mind, but it was nearly impossible.

As she approached, she waved to the driver of the BMW X5, who braked and slowed, then, after a moment’s hesitation, accelerated towards her.

For a moment Doc wondered whether the man was about to run her over. His engine revved hard as he rushed towards her. Doc looked around. There was a light pole ten metres to her left. She veered towards it; she could duck behind it and draw her pistol if this clown didn’t slow down.

But the driver took his foot off the accelerator and coasted up to her.

‘Morning, howzit,’ Doc said as the tinted window came down. Two men sat in the car.

‘You’re a woman,’ said the driver.

‘And you’re a man.’ She smiled brightly.

‘You’re Indian.’

Doc held in her grimace. ‘Half. Steven, I assume?’

He nodded, slowly, and at the same time he seemed to be inspecting her from head to toe. ‘Very nice to meet you.’

‘Let’s get down to business, shall we?’

‘I should have known you were Indian by the way you bargained me down.’ He laughed as he got out of the four-by-four.

She let the racial slur wash over her. His English was good and with a name like Steven Muzorewa she thought that her initial guess, that he might be Zimbabwean, was correct. He had a shaved head, gold necklace and an expensive leather jacket that hung open over a paunch that spoke of some prosperity.

‘You have the money?’

‘It’s close by. I’ll fetch it once I see the goods,’ she said.

He smiled, showing a tooth that matched his bling. ‘Cautious as well as hard-nosed. And easy on the eye.’

‘I don’t want to get hijacked.’

It had happened once, on an earlier bust, where instead of pulling off an elaborate undercover operation the task team had found itself the victim of a reverse sting. The man Doc had been dealing with on WhatsApp, her preferred method of communication, had been only pretending he had a pangolin. Two cars had arrived and a gun battle had broken out as two men with AK-47s emerged from one of the criminal vehicles, ready to seize the R180,000 Doc had agreed to pay for the phantom pangolin. Fortunately, her task team had had superior firepower and the Hawks officers had killed one of the gunmen and wounded the other before arresting the guy who was supposedly selling the pangolin.

‘Clever.’

‘Tatenda.’

‘Haha,’ Steven said. ‘You are also from Zimbabwe?’

‘No,’ Doc said, ‘but I had a Zimbabwean boyfriend once. It’s a beautiful country. Now, let me see the goods.’

Steven looked to the man he had arrived with, who was standing by the passenger-side front door. He was thin, with a goatee beard; he had his right hand just inside the open leather jacket he wore.

Guns. Doc kept her cool. ‘You did bring it, right?’

‘I didn’t think you would show up,’ Steven said.

‘Yet here I am.’ Was he playing for time? Suspicious? The accomplice’s eyes were roaming the car park. Doc knew everyone on the task team well, except for Jason Chow, who was a replacement for Dirkie van der Merwe. Van’s first child had just been born and he was on leave, which had opened up the slot for keen young Jason to step in.

‘You told me to stop wasting your time when I asked for half a million rand. You said you would not meet me,’ Steven said.

Doc shrugged. ‘You agreed to my final price – one-eighty.’ Doc had learned by trial and error how to run a sting, and by listening to Jurie and the others on the team who had worked undercover in the past.

The rules were set in stone. You never agreed to a meeting on the first call; if you were too keen the seller would smell a rat. She bargained hard, always driving the price down, just like a real middleman would do. And she never showed the money at the first meeting.

‘Show me the money,’ Steven said.

‘Goodbye.’ Doc turned and took two steps.

‘Wait.’

Doc stopped and faced him again. Steven held up a hand to her, then took a phone out of his pocket and tapped an SMS.

Over Steven’s shoulder she saw a battered Nissan bakkie with a canopy drive into the car park and bypass dozens of empty spots close to the mall. The vehicle cruised up to them. There was one man behind the wheel.

‘Friend of yours?’ Doc said.

‘Yes. I suggest you call your “friend” or whomever has the money. I’ll show you the goods, then I want to see the cash straight away.’

‘All right.’ Doc took out her phone and sent Jurie an SMS. Move in closer. He wants to see the money once he shows me the package. Second car coming – Nissan.

The reply came immediately. Affirmative.

Steven nodded to the Ford Ranger, which Jurie, now in the driver’s seat, moved about 50 metres closer. ‘The money?’

Doc nodded. The Nissan drove up and stopped next to the X5. Steven beckoned to the driver, who got out but left the engine running. The new arrival had a weathered look about him, and grass stains on the knees of his blue overall trousers, unlike Steven, whose clothes and physique were urban.

‘Is he the guy who found it?’ Doc asked Steven.

‘He works on a farm. We’re related. But I’m handling the financial side of things. Understood?’

Doc nodded. There was no honour among thieves and she knew the guy in the bakkie would only have seen a fraction of what Steven thought he was going to make. The farmer opened the rear hatch and tailgate of the Nissan, and Doc and Steven went to him. Steven’s offsider held his position by the X5, his eyes still sweeping the car park, which was now filling up as more early-morning shoppers showed up, keen to beat the crowds.

Doc registered Pam and Frank, slowly packing their groceries into the boot of their Toyota Fortuner. Pam really had done her weekly shopping to kill time before the rendezvous.

In her peripheral vision Doc saw a car moving from the opposite end of the car park, away from the entry and any other shops that were open. It was Jason in his HiLux.

What the fuck? Why isn’t he waiting for my signal?

She forced her gaze back to the Nissan, where the farmer was using a screwdriver to begin prising open the lid of a wooden crate. A few token holes had been drilled in the timbers of the homemade cage.

Steven’s offsider had been glaring at Jurie, now that he knew that Jurie was Doc’s number two and presumably the man with the money, but then he turned his attention to Jason’s oncoming HiLux. Jason was driving across the white line markings of the empty car spaces; he was still about three hundred metres away from them, but he was heading directly towards the three vehicles parked alone in a still-empty corner of the car park. The thin man called something to Steven, in what Doc assumed was Shona.

‘What is it?’ Steven replied in English.

The man in the overalls finally removed the lid. Doc leaned into the cab and smelled damp earth, rotting straw and something foul. In the box was a Temminck’s pangolin. Doc reached for her hat.

‘It’s a trap!’ The thin man darted around to the driver’s side of the X5, jumped in and slammed the door. He started the engine.

Doc ripped the cap from her head.

Jurie burst from his car, his Z88 pistol drawn. ‘Police! On the ground!’

Doc pulled her Glock from its holster and pointed it at Steven and the man in the overalls. ‘Like he said, face down, on the ground.’

The farmer who had arrived in the bakkie got down on his knees and Doc gave him a push in the back. ‘All the way down, on your face!’

The thin man stuck his right hand out the window of the X5 as he revved the accelerator hard and reversed. He fired twice. Doc ducked as she heard one of the bullets fly over her head. Steven made the most of her distraction and shoved her hard in the chest. He reached behind his back as he fled.

Jurie was in a firing position, feet apart, his pistol in a two-handed grip. He fired two shots into the windscreen of the retreating X5. ‘Fok.’ He had to lower his weapon as Jason arrived, parking between Jurie and the BMW. ‘Get out of the way!’

Doc was on the other side of the HiLux to Jurie, alone and exposed. Steven was running after the BMW and he had also drawn a pistol. Her heart was pounding. Doc took aim at him. ‘Steven, stop!’

The BMW kept reversing and Steven slowed to a halt. Panting, he turned to face Doc. He was alone – his accomplice had deserted him and he was about to be cornered. She prayed he would just lower his gun. But he raised it.

Doc sighted down the barrel of her Glock and, just as she had done hundreds of times before on the shooting range, she squeezed the trigger.

Her first shot missed, but Steven ducked. Doc smelled cordite and heard more gunfire around her. She focused on Steven and saw him straighten up again. His gun hand bucked. She heard another round zing past her. She took aim and fired again. This time Steven fell backwards.

Doc stared at the fallen man. Her mouth hung open as the realisation hit her. She had just shot someone, for the first time in her life.

Time ceased to mean anything. People were yelling. Jason was driving after the BMW, but had to brake as a big Checkers delivery truck trundled between them. Doc could see the van with Sara the filmmaker at the wheel racing across the car park towards the exit. The BMW driver executed a high-speed reverse turn, which left black rubber on the tarmac, then accelerated towards the mall exit as well.

Doc heard gears grinding and smelled rubber burning. The bulk of Sara’s van emerged from behind the delivery truck and she slammed into the side of the BMW. Undercover officers sprinted to the crash scene.

‘Doc? Are you all right?’

Doc turned at the sound of Pam’s voice. ‘I . . . I think so.’

Pam’s husband Frank had run towards the fallen Steven and was now kneeling beside him, talking on his handheld radio.

Jason rounded the Checkers truck and got out of his vehicle, pistol drawn, and closed in on the BMW. Sara was out of her van and had her video camera in her hand, filming, as Jason half helped, half dragged the thin man out of the damaged X5. There was blood on his face. Once he was on the ground, Jason cuffed him.

Jurie finished calling an ambulance as he came to Doc. ‘What a bloody mess.’

‘How’s Steven?’

‘Who?’ Jurie asked.

Doc nodded to where Frank was still kneeling. ‘The guy I shot.’

‘Frank says he’ll live. Looked like your bullet went through his side.’

‘We got the pangolin.’ Doc felt numb, but she was pleased Steven wasn’t dead. She and Jurie had been on more than eighty busts together, and while there had been shots exchanged on some of them, she had never actually hit someone.

‘Good.’ He put his knee in the farmer’s back and cuffed his hands behind him.

With the shooting over, a crowd of shoppers and staff had emerged from the mall and was coalescing and moving their way. Doc heard the wail of an ambulance siren getting closer.

‘We can go, Doc,’ Jurie said.

She shook her head. ‘No, it’s important I stay.’

‘You shot a guy. You need to process that; we need to take a statement from you.’

‘I understand, but I have to do this.’

Doc leaned back into the open rear canopy of the Nissan and reached into the box. The pangolin had adopted its classic protective tactic of curling itself up. It looked like a scaly basketball. As she lifted it out of its prison, however, and into the morning sunlight, it started to unfurl itself.

As she held it in her arms, with Jurie next to her, looking on, the creature – a female by the look of it, though it was hard to tell – lay back, exposing her belly to Doc. The pangolin was smelly and filthy and felt listless, but it was alive. It looked up at her. Doc felt tears well in her eyes.

‘No matter how many times I see that, I still can’t really believe it,’ Jurie said. ‘It’s like they know they’re safe as soon as you pick them up.’

Doc looked from the pangolin to Jurie. He smiled back at her. ‘I shot a man, Jurie.’

‘I know. You’ll be OK. You’re tough, Doc, but we can talk about it. I –’

‘What is that?’ A boy of eight or nine had crept up to them from the crowd and was pointing at the pangolin. His parents, looking around them to make sure there was no more danger, were close behind.

‘It’s a pangolin,’ Doc said. More people were arriving, gathering in a horseshoe around the Nissan. Many had their phones out and were filming as they chatted to each other, recounting the events that had just happened. ‘Come closer, have a look.’ The crowd pressed in. ‘But we must be quiet, or we will scare it.’ Doc put a finger to her lips.

The noise subsided to just a few whispers. Doc placed the pangolin on the ground in front of her and even the whisperers stopped as the animal took a couple of tentative steps, then rose up onto its hind legs and looked around. Jurie brought a quilted blanket from the back of their car and spread it out on the ground. Doc picked the pangolin up and laid it back down on the blanket.

‘You can take pictures,’ she said to the crowd. ‘Just please stay quiet and I will tell you a story.’

The shoppers gathered in closer, still filming and taking photos, but none of them spoke. Doc reckoned the crowd must have swelled to two hundred or more.

‘When you hear thunder in the sky,’ Doc scanned her audience, meeting their eyes, ‘that is the sound of the pangolin, in heaven, rubbing its scales together.’ She ran her hands over the pangolin’s scales. ‘And when the rain comes, that is also a gift from the pangolin, bringing the life blood, the precious water to our land. This is a pangolin, a creature so sacred, so precious, so valuable to so many African cultures. Does anyone have a question?’

The little boy who’d been first on the scene with his parents put up his hand. ‘Is it like a crocodile?’

Doc smiled. ‘Yes and no. It might look like a crocodile or an armadillo, but it isn’t either of those. It’s a mammal, but it has scales. The people who would steal these animals from the wild, to sell them for meat, or because they falsely believe that their scales have some magical powers, are stealing your cultural heritage, to sell it to rich people overseas.’

‘That is wrong,’ said a woman.

Jurie pulled the man in the overalls to his feet.

‘That man,’ said a young man in the crowd, pointing to the poacher, ‘is robbing us.’

The front line of the audience surged a few collective paces towards the perpetrator, but Doc held up her hand. ‘No. Let the law take its course. Let the police do their business. Today is a victory for South Africa, for our country Mzansi, for all of us.’

The little boy held a fist high. A woman started dancing. ‘For Mzansi!’

‘For Mzansi!’ the crowd roared.

Chapter 2

Doc was shaking by the time she got back in her Ranger. Jurie leaned over and, now that the rest of the task team had gone, and the ambulance had taken Steven and his accomplice away under armed guard, he put his arm around her and kissed her on the forehead.

‘You were brave. You did great,’ he said to her.

She took a deep breath. ‘Thank you.’

Her phone dinged and she checked it. The WhatsApp message was from Geoff Hoddy, one of her students, asking how the sting had gone. She sent him a quick reply, saying they had saved a pangolin, and asked him to pass on the news to her other students. They all knew that a sting was happening, though none of them had been given any specific details of where or when.

‘That was close, though,’ Jurie said.

She nodded. ‘It was. But at least we saved another one.’

‘We did.’

She looked at him. He was still built like the rugby forward he used to be at school, though these days his belly was straining at his T-shirt. He was handsome, in a craggy, broken-nosed way, and he had probably saved her life, many times, through his fast thinking and faster reflexes during sting operations. And he loved her. His phone rang.

‘Hi, I’ll be over in a couple of hours,’ he said, without preamble. ‘Yes, I know Piet has a game today, and like I said, I’m going to pick him up and take him. And before you remind me, yes, I know Piet wants to see Sannie. Bye.’

He exhaled loudly.

‘And now I feel bad that I’m keeping you away from your kids,’ Doc said. ‘It was supposed to be your weekend with them, wasn’t it? And I only just remembered Sannie’s coming to town.’

Sannie van Rensburg was the widow of Jurie’s cousin, Christo, who had been killed in the line of duty several years ago. She was also a detective, a captain in the Hawks, based on the KwaZulu-Natal south coast. Doc had met her once before and had liked her; she found herself hoping – wishing – that Sannie would be OK with her and Jurie as a couple.

He nodded. ‘Yes, but the kids and Sannie understand; they know I’ve got important work to do. Suzette, not so much.’ Jurie reached out a hand and put it on hers. ‘And Piet loves you.’

She gave him a little smile.

‘He’ll love you even more once we’re living together fulltime,’ Jurie said.

Doc bit her lower lip. Things were moving fast between them. She and Jurie had become close friends long ago through their work together, but she had forced herself to keep any stronger feelings in check, as he was married. Then, three weeks earlier, Jurie had moved out of home; he’d told Doc things had been rocky for a long while and that he and Suzette had finally separated and agreed to divorce. Jurie was now sharing a house with another police officer, Jaco, who was divorced.

A week after Jurie had moved out of the family home, the two of them had been keeping watch on the house of a Chinese South African, hoping that there would be some sign of a suspicious vehicle coming or going, a registration plate that might tie the man to some known criminal. They’d given up at nine in the evening and gone back to her house for coffee, and he’d told her then that he loved her.

Jurie looked at her face now and seemed to sense her unease. ‘Don’t worry, Doc. I’ll tell you again, like I’ve told you before: I didn’t leave Suzette because of how I feel about you. It was over for us a long time ago; I think we were just trying to stay together for the kids and that was wrong.’

‘Yes, you said.’

He nodded. ‘It’s the truth, Doc.’

‘I believe you.’ She’d met Suzette a few times, socially, and had never warmed to her. Suzette had made it clear she was sick of the hours Jurie kept. Doc imagined that Suzette would have been used to that, as a police officer’s wife, but she felt there was also an unspoken accusation that Doc’s task group had added to his workload. ‘But she still blames me for the breakup.’

He sighed. ‘It’s a convenient excuse. She’d rather think that I’d been having an affair with you than admit that she could have done more to make our marriage work. She still doesn’t believe me that you and I didn’t get together before I moved out of home.’

Her heart was melting. He was so big, so strong, but she knew he had a sensitive side and this had all been hard on him.

‘I don’t want to ruin your life, or your relationship with your kids,’ Doc said.

‘You aren’t.’ He gave her a little frown. ‘I think you’re going to save it.’

Her phone dinged and she took it out. There was a WhatsApp message from a number with no name and no profile picture. Doc also used a WhatsApp account with no picture, or anything that gave away her gender. Despite her following of nearly 20,000 people on Instagram, where she publicised successful operations, there had only ever been one bust in which a poacher had connected the dots and recognised who she was, but by the time he did, Jurie and the other police had surrounded him and cuffed him.

I am told you are a trader. I am looking to buy, not sell.

Jurie glanced over at her. ‘What is it?’

Doc passed the phone to him. As he read the message his eyes widened. ‘A buyer? Shit, man.’

Doc felt her mood spin. She’d been shocked by having to shoot Steven, conflicted by Jurie’s talk of his marriage and her memory of their lovemaking – which had been sensational – and now she felt a surge of adrenaline supercharge her from within.

‘Five years,’ she said. ‘Five bloody years we’ve been doing this and no matter how many pangolins we’ve seized, how many people we’ve put away, we’ve never been able to tap into the next level, into a real-life, honest-to-goodness buyer.’

‘Send him a reply,’ Jurie said.

She closed her eyes, concentrating. The golden rule was not to appear too keen, too ready to make a deal. She tapped out a message: I already have a buyer. Doc held her breath.

Immediately, the two blue ticks appeared beside her message, telling her it had been read. Her phone dinged. I will pay you 20 per cent more than whatever you are making now.

Doc showed Jurie the message.

‘He’s keen.’

‘Too keen?’ she asked.

‘You think this is a setup?’

‘I’ve had plenty of death threats, as you know,’ Doc said.

Doc heard an engine and looked up from her phone. Sara pulled up next to them. The front offside of her vehicle was dented and the bullbar was buckled from the collision with the BMW, but the van was still driveable.

Sara leaned out of the driver’s window. ‘You want to go for brunch?’

Doc shrugged. ‘I’m tired. Did you get the footage you wanted?’

Sara nodded. ‘And some. I did some interviews with people in the crowd. It was touching stuff, including the little boy at the front. He loved your little teaching moment and the stuff about the pangolin’s scales making thunder. Are you OK?’

‘I am,’ Doc lied. ‘That was crazy what you did, driving at the BMW like that. Crazy, but brave.’

Sara laughed. ‘It was a buzz; I just acted on instinct. The vision I got is amazing – all that action and gun firing. What was with Jason, though? He nearly blew it.’

‘Frank Galloway’s going to have words with him,’ Jurie interjected. ‘He lost comms, apparently – his radio stopped working, so he drove in closer to see if it was a range thing. He noticed the lookout was staring at him and, well, it seems that both of them panicked. Jason’s young, and keen – maybe too keen.’

Doc thought Jurie was letting Jason off lightly. She would not want to be the young detective when Frank debriefed him.

‘And he’s Chinese,’ Sara said.

Her words hung there between the three of them.

‘What’s that got to do with anything? He was born in South Africa, unlike you, Sara,’ Jurie said.

‘Point taken,’ Sara said.

Doc wondered if Jurie was just falling into the mode of one policeman protecting another, but she’d already been asking herself some questions. Why was Jason so keen to join their task group? Why hadn’t he used WhatsApp or just phoned Jurie if his radio wasn’t working? No doubt Jurie or Frank would be testing the radio.

‘Let’s go to the Mugg & Bean,’ Jurie said. ‘I’m starving.’

Doc assumed that Jurie was also in no hurry to go until just before he needed to collect his son, Piet. ‘Fine by me. Sara?’

‘Sure. I could use a coffee.’

‘I’ll message the students,’ Doc said. ‘I told them we might be able to catch up after the sting. They’ll be excited to hear all about it.’

They parked closer to the mall and all got out. Doc sent a message to Geoff. Pam and Frank had taken the pangolin with them, and Pam had volunteered to transport it to a rehabilitation centre.

They walked into the mall, now heaving with Sunday shoppers, and made their way to the café.

‘Are you OK, Doc?’ Sara asked again.

‘Sure. Why?’

‘Well, you did just shoot a man. I’ve seen the effect combat can have on hardened soldiers. Forgive me, but you’re a professor, an academic. How do you feel?’

‘Is this on the record?’

Sara laughed. ‘I’d have my camera with me if it was. No. You look, I don’t know, concerned.’

‘It’s nothing.’ Doc’s phone beeped and she took it out as a waiter was seating them. The Mugg & Bean was busy with brunchers, some in their Sunday best clothes after having been to church. Doc spotted the little boy who had been in the crowd viewing the pangolin. He waved at her and she waved back. She ordered avocado on toast and a filter coffee then checked her phone.

Jurie ordered the South African farm breakfast without even checking the menu and Sara asked for the same as Doc, but with a cappuccino. ‘Is that him again?’ Jurie asked.

‘Him who?’ Sara asked.

‘No one,’ Doc said.

Jurie stared at her.

Sara stood. ‘I’m just going to the bathroom.’ She got up and walked behind where Doc was sitting and then stopped. ‘A buyer!’

Doc held her phone against her breast and looked over her shoulder. ‘Sara, please don’t spy on my phone messages.’

‘I wasn’t spying . . . I just happened to look.’ She returned to her seat.

‘And you clearly don’t need to go to the bathroom.’

‘Jurie,’ Sara said, ‘what should we do?’

Jurie frowned. ‘There’s no “we” here, Sara. This is an operational matter.’

‘Yes, but you guys told me you’ve been waiting for this breakthrough for years. Instead of pretending to be the middlemen, the buyers, you’ve got a chance to get a real-life kingpin.’

‘I think you’re getting ahead of yourself, Sara,’ Doc said. ‘There’s no talk of kingpins here, just someone who may or may not be a buyer. We’ve been set up for an ambush once before – it could be someone looking for payback.’

‘That’s a possibility every time we set up a meet,’ Jurie said.

A waiter arrived with their coffees and Doc took a sip. She was conflicted, but she felt something else. She tried to work out what it was. What she had gone through this morning had been traumatic and confronting, but it had left her excited, almost on a high. They’d been in a gunfight and survived, and while shooting Steven had been horrible, he was still alive, and in custody. And, the pangolin had been rescued. While she was thinking about all this, another message came through on her phone.

‘What’s he saying now?’ Jurie asked.

Doc checked the screen and bit her lip. ‘He wants to meet, today.’

Sara punched he air. ‘Yes.’

As Doc was putting it down, her phone dinged again and she checked it.

Jurie raised a questioning eyebrow.

Doc shook her head. ‘It’s actually Geoff. He’s in the area with Zola and Sue. They’re on their way.’

Doc sent a message telling them they were at the Mugg & Bean while she pondered what to do about the buyer.

*

Geoff Hoddy weaved in and out of traffic on the N1 in his battered late-nineties HiLux double-cab bakkie.

‘Please don’t kill us, Geoff,’ Sue Oliver said. Zola Nkosi was in the back seat bobbing her head as she read a textbook and listened to music through her Airpods.

‘You need to go back to safe, sound London if you can’t handle the pace here, Sue,’ Geoff said.

Sue shook her head. ‘You need to ease off on the testosterone and concentrate more on using your indicator before you change lanes. London was fun – I’m so pleased I got my British passport – but you can’t believe how expensive the wine is there.’

‘It’s cool that Doc saved a pangolin and wants to see us,’ Geoff said.

Sue laughed. ‘Look at you, changing the subject and excited as a puppy. Have you got an apple in your backpack for the teacher?’

Geoff darted a look at Sue and saw she was grinning. She was always teasing him and he didn’t know whether she genuinely didn’t like him or maybe if it was actually the opposite. He liked hanging out with her. She had jet-black hair, cut short, and the pale skin of her thighs, visible below her ripped denim shorts, was adorned with tattoos. He wasn’t into ink himself, but Sue carried it off.

He glanced in the mirror and Zola caught his eye and gave him a smile as she looked up from her textbook. She was always studying something. Zola was lovely and so smart she’d made him feel like a dunce more than once during their undergrad years at Tshwane University of Technology.

‘Geoff, could you look any more like a game ranger today if you tried?’ Sue said to him, bringing his mind back to her, and the road.

‘I can’t help it. I haven’t had money to spend on clothes since I actually was a ranger.’

‘I think it’s your thing,’ Sue said, and threw her head back as if she’d just had the light bulb moment of all moments.

‘My thing?’

‘Your hook, for picking up girls. Those dark brooding eyes, neat short haircut, tan, short green shorts and khaki shirt, plus the vellies. You actually think us city chicks will come down with Khaki Fever just like all your old white tourist ladies used to at the Sabi Sand.’

He laughed. ‘I wish. It was never like that.’ Well, except for Nadine.

‘What are you thinking about with that little crooked grin of yours, Geoff Hoddy?’

He focused on the road, not wanting to meet her eyes.

Nadine Johnson had been from Los Angeles and she’d been on safari at Khaya Ngala safari lodge, where Geoff had worked for a year after his high school gap year. He’d been a nineteen-year-old trainee ranger and Nadine was single, thirty, and the first real love of his life.

Sue had gone back to her phone.

The break in the teasing gave him a moment to think about Nadine. She was a programmer who worked in Silicon Valley, but she was no nerd. Her clothes were stylish – not the usual safari gear of microfibre shirts and trousers with zip-off lower legs, but rather linen by day and cashmere for the cool of evening. Her blonde hair was done in an edgy razor cut and her blue eyes had fixed and undone him from their first game drive. She’d had five nights at the lodge – more than most budgets would allow – and the place had been post-COVID quiet, leaving them alone on all but two of the ten drives they had done together.

It was Nadine’s first trip to Africa and she cried the first time Geoff showed her an elephant. It was something he loved about being a guide, being there for someone’s first encounter with Africa’s wildlife. What had made Nadine’s response so moving for him was that she came across as extremely confident and self-assured, and yet had been so open in her awe and appreciation of what she’d seen.

‘It overwhelmed me,’ Nadine had told him over dinner that night. ‘The size of the elephant, the rumble in its belly, the musty smell of it. I would love to see the world each day through your eyes, Geoff.’

It had been an oddly intimate moment, made even more so when she reached out her hand and put it on his on the dining table. With just the two of them in the boma, the circular outdoor eating area, and their waiter gone to fetch another drink, he’d felt himself blush.

She had looked into his eyes. ‘I want to feel that sense of wonder again.’

After dinner, as was his job, he had escorted Nadine to her room, using a handheld spotlight to check the bush either side of the walkway to the guest suites for lion, leopard or buffalo.

‘Goodnight, Nadine,’ he’d said to her when they came to her luxury suite.

‘It will be, if you stay with me, Geoff.’

Fraternisation between staff and guests was technically banned, but every ranger knew that it sometimes happened. His night with Nadine had been like nothing else he had ever experienced.

*

‘Earth to Geoff?’ Sue said.

‘Uh, sorry.’ He glanced at her. ‘Sorry, I was busy watching this crazy truck driver.’

‘Looked more like you were daydreaming.’ Sue shook her head. ‘I said, take the next exit. My phone’s telling me that there’s a traffic jam up ahead.’

‘Oh, OK,’ Geoff said.

Geoff had his head in the clouds, which was very much like him.

Sue didn’t really have a type when it came to who she wanted to spend time with, but there were things she liked about Geoff, and other stuff she didn’t. He was sensitive and passionate about wildlife, which she loved, and he was very handsome, in the traditional lantern-jawed safari guide way, but when they had worked together on assignments a few times he’d defaulted to her to be the leader of their small team, and had trouble taking decisive action. He seemed besotted with Prof Rado, hanging on her every word whenever they were attending one of her lectures or tutorials.

Sue thought Geoff might want to sleep with the Prof. Sue just wanted to be Doc Rado.

What she admired was their professor’s kick-arse attitude towards poaching and her courage in setting up pangolin smugglers to be taken down and arrested. Like Geoff, Sue wanted to help save the species, but Geoff wanted to do so by spending time measuring the temperature inside pangolin burrows, while Sue wanted to research the logistics of the illegal market with a view to collapsing the organised crime networks responsible for smuggling pangolins and other wildlife products out of South Africa.

Sue looked over her shoulder and waved to Zola, who looked up from her book.

‘Yes?’ Zola said.

‘Do you want to go out tonight? Maybe hit a club?’ Sue asked.

‘Um, I’m kind of busy tonight.’

Sue raised her eyebrows theatrically. ‘Papa Bear?’

Zola frowned. ‘Please, Sue. Don’t call him that.’

Geoff looked in the rear-view mirror. ‘Who?’

‘Zola’s got a new boyfriend, or should I say, sugar daddy.’

Zola looked down. ‘It’s my business who I see or don’t see.’

‘Hey, I’m not one to judge,’ Geoff said.

‘And nor should you,’ Sue weighed in. She leaned around her seat. ‘Tell us, girlfriend. Who is he?’

Zola pressed her lips shut and shook her head.

‘Go on,’ Sue pushed. ‘What’s his name, what does he do?’

‘I’m not telling, and I don’t want to get him in trouble.’

‘Why would he be in trouble?’ Geoff asked. ‘Is he, like, married?’

Sue sighed. ‘Geoff, you’re so farm-boy naïve. The man’s a blesser, a sugar daddy; of course he’s married!’

‘No comment,’ Zola said.

‘Don’t embarrass Zola,’ Geoff said.

‘Thanks, Geoff,’ Zola said.

Sue shrugged and went back to her phone. What she did not let on was that she already knew who Zola’s sugar daddy was. She wanted to see if their friend would spill, but the fact that she hadn’t confirmed was that Zola had not just randomly hitched a ride to varsity last week in the Range Rover of a certain professor who fancied himself as the next vice chancellor of the university.

Just how Professor Moses Khumalo had managed to get so apparently wealthy on an academic’s wage was anyone’s guess, but there was no denying that he was handsome and smooth. Sue was aware that several female students had a crush on him, though she’d never heard of any of them acting out their fantasies. He was married to a medical doctor and they had three kids.

Sue liked secrets. The fact that she knew who Zola’s lover was and Geoff didn’t excited her and gave her a sense of power. Sue reached into the console between her and Geoff and grabbed his phone.

‘Hey!’

‘Don’t worry. I’m just checking to see if your map’s saying the same as mine about the traffic. You know, you really should have a password on this thing.’

He shook his head. ‘I’ve got nothing to hide, and it’s a pain in the arse having to type in numbers or draw a squiggle on the screen every time I want to check a message. Knock yourself out, Sue. There’s no sexy SMSes or pics on there.’

‘Of course there aren’t. You’re too much of a good boy.’ Sue opened the camera app, reversed the screen image and held the phone out. ‘Get in the pic, Zola – selfie time.’

Zola gave her best pout, to show she forgave Sue her little indiscretion, and Sue snapped the picture.

Chapter 3

Doc clenched the quadricep muscle in her right thigh under the table as Geoff, Sue and Zola walked into the Mugg & Bean. Jurie got the message and removed his hand before, Doc hoped, any of her three students had seen that the detective had been touching her.

Sara had been too engrossed in her smashed avocado and poached egg to pick up on anything between Jurie and Doc, and to his credit, the detective was being as discreet as he could be under the table. All the same, Doc had found his touch both tender and exciting.

Doc had told Jurie that she wanted to wait a little longer before they told everyone about the change in their relationship status. She loved Jurie, but she was scared that he might change his mind and go back to Suzette. Doc knew it was her insecurity at play, but she couldn’t change the way she felt.

She slid her plate along the table and Jurie and she moved along the bench seat of the booth so Geoff could sit next to Jurie. Sue and Zola sat opposite them, next to Sara, and, as students did, took out their phones and started checking them.

Geoff peered around Jurie to address Doc. ‘I hope we weren’t interrupting anything.’

She felt her cheeks burn. ‘No, just breakfast.’

‘In fact,’ Sara paused to swallow a mouthful of food, ‘we were just planning a new undercover operation, and we’re not talking about a seller.’

Zola clapped her hands. ‘Really? Can we come?’

‘Absolutely not,’ Doc said. ‘And we are not planning anything. I just got an SMS, that’s all.’

‘From a buyer?’ Geoff asked.

Doc pursed her lips. Geoff could sometimes seem like a bit of a dreamer, but under his good-looking genial safari guide exterior was a sharp analytical mind. ‘Maybe.’

‘Maybe?’ Sue said. The students ordered coffees from the table’s waiter.

‘We’ve been set up before,’ Doc said. ‘So I’m not rushing into anything.’

Sara nodded. ‘But Doc just got a message from this guy saying he’s flying to China tonight and wants a fresh pangolin. He won’t be back for two months. The guy said he has a shipment and wants to add to it.’

‘So, we wait for two months.’ Jurie pushed his cleared plate to the middle of the table. ‘If he’s real, he’ll contact us again.’

‘What if the guy has some scales or pangolin meat with him?’ Geoff said. ‘You could catch him red-handed.’

Doc bit her lip. Again, Geoff had zeroed in on her main concern. To bring down a buyer and to disrupt a shipment of illegal wildlife products out of South Africa – who knew what else the guy had on him – would be a major coup for the task group.

‘Doc, no,’ Jurie said. ‘I can see that mind of yours turning.’

‘I know, but . . .’ Doc began.

‘It would be so cool,’ Sue said.

‘It would make the documentary,’ Sara said.

Doc’s phone dinged again.

I don’t know who your contact is, but I will pay you double – even more if you have a live one. I have a pet’s cage booked on a flight tonight and was going to move one in that but it just died. I have a customer who will pay very well for a living, breathing thing.

She felt as repulsed as she was excited.

Jurie held up a hand and looked at the rest of them around the table. ‘Phones down, everyone, and listen to me. This is for all of you. In case you don’t know, we have to go through several legal hoops to do this sort of work. First, Doc or I have to contact the National Public Prosecutor and make an application to run an undercover sting and for Doc, as a civilian, to act as an agent. We have to write a full motivation for the operation and supply screenshots or videos from whatever contact Doc has already had with the criminals via WhatsApp.’

‘How long does all that take?’ Zola asked.

‘It can take a few days, although sometimes they can give approval verbally, but that is very unusual. Normally everything has to be in writing. If we get the go-ahead we’re granted a Section 252A authority to run an intelligence operation. If we don’t have that, and act outside the law like some cowboy conservationists do, then a case against a poacher or a buyer can be thrown out of court. The suspect just has to claim that their constitutional rights were infringed because they were entrapped by an unauthorised operation.’

‘How long is that section 252A thing valid for?’ Geoff asked.

Smart boy. Doc looked up from her phone. ‘Seven to ten days.’

Geoff locked eyes with her. ‘How long is the authority for today’s operation valid for?’

‘Seven days, but . . .’

‘But there’s no connection between today’s bust and the messages Doc’s been getting since then,’ Jurie said. ‘Right, Doc?’

She nodded. ‘Right.’

‘We’d need to submit a whole new application,’ Jurie said.

The three students, seeing their opportunity for excitement disappearing, all went back to their phones. Eyes downcast, waiting for their coffees.

Sara, however, set her cutlery down on the table with a thud. ‘But this buyer is leaving tonight. Can’t you get verbal approval today?’

‘It’s Sunday,’ Jurie said. ‘And besides, Jason and Frank are busy booking the guys from today and Frank and Pam have their daughter Tamsin’s birthday party this afternoon.’ He looked at his watch. ‘And I have to go take my son to a game soon.’

Doc looked at Sara and nodded. ‘All true, I’m afraid.’ Her phone dinged again. It was becoming annoying. She looked at the screen.

Whether you know it or not, you have cost me money. Doc watched, with renewed interest, as the words appeared on her phone screen. Two men came to sell you some merchandise today. They also contacted me and conducted a bidding war, when they found out about you, somehow. You offered them more than I was going to. R180,000 if I am correct?

‘Oh my goodness,’ Doc said.

‘What is it?’ It was Jurie who asked the question, but they were all looking at her now.

She held up a hand, then typed a reply. Correct.

I do not hold this against you, and nor am I upset. Business is business. I assume you are a middleman who sells to an exporter. I would like you to do me the courtesy of allowing me to make a counteroffer for the live animal that you received today. I presume it is still alive?

Yes, Doc tapped. ‘Bloody hell.’

‘What is it?’ Jurie asked again.

‘This guy – he knows about Steven and the other guys we dealt with today. They shopped around for more money and cut this buyer out of the picture. He wants to deal with me – us – and offer a better price.’

‘Shit,’ Jurie said.

Sue looked up from her phone. ‘Why is that a bad thing?’

Zola jumped in. ‘Because it means once this buyer finds out that Steven and his Zimbabwean shamwaris have been arrested then he’ll know Doc is not a criminal but an undercover agent, and that will be the end of any chance the task team has of catching this guy.’

‘Of course,’ Sue said.

Doc and Jurie looked at each other.

‘We’ve got no backup,’ Jurie said.

‘Yes, but Sue’s right. We’ll never hear from this guy – an actual buyer – again, once he knows what happened this morning.’

‘I can be backup,’ Sara said. ‘I was in the army, in Afghanistan, remember, and I’ve got a nine-mil pistol.’

‘Me, as well.’ Geoff discreetly lifted his shirt to reveal a holstered Glock.

‘Well, don’t look at me,’ Sue said.

‘Me either,’ Zola said, ‘but Sue and I can be posted somewhere as lookouts. No one’s going to suspect a couple of hot chicks like us of being undercover police agents.’

Sue laughed, and was then serious. ‘We can keep in touch using our phones and earbuds, yes?’

Jurie shook his head. ‘I don’t have any bloody earbuds, and you’re all civilians. You can’t be involved with a police operation without proper authorisation.’

Another message came through on Doc’s phone. I am on my way to ORT. Alone. I have to go to the cargo terminal, and can meet you at a place of your choosing first. I have four hours to spare.

Doc thought a moment, then composed her message. I want half a million.

LOL, the buyer tapped. Three hundred K.

‘Doc, what are you doing?’ Jurie asked.

‘Playing with him. Just testing the water. He’s putting the pressure on, saying he only has two hours and wants to meet us somewhere near OR Tambo.’

‘No.’

‘Hang on.’ Her fingers moved quickly over the phone screen. Four K.

Three-five.

Doc took a deep breath. OK, Emperor’s Palace. Car park near D’oreale Grande. Two hours’ time. She showed the screen to Jurie.

He shook his head, slowly. ‘As a police officer, I can’t do this. The link to the current operation is tenuous at best, Doc.’

‘Then do it as my . . . friend. Or not at all. I’ll just go and meet the guy. I’ll take you to your place to pick up your car on the way.’

He threw his hands up in the air. ‘Fok.’ An elderly African couple at the next table looked their way. He lowered his voice. ‘All right. But you know as well as I do the risks of doing this. Even if we catch him he might get away without a conviction.’

‘I know, Jurie. But if we do nothing we’ll never see him again. It’s worth the risk.’

He looked into her eyes, holding the stare. ‘You want him to do something stupid, don’t you.’

She shrugged and made a show of waving to their waiter and pantomiming signing a bill.

‘Look at me. I know what’s going through your head, Doc. You could have been killed today and you shot someone. I know the mix of feelings – the fear, the revulsion, the excitement. You want more, don’t you?’

She wiped her lips with a serviette, aware that the students and Sara were all now watching her. ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about.’

‘You do, Doc. Trust me, it might feel right, but it’s not something you want to get hooked on.’

She set the piece of paper down and turned to face him. ‘I’m already hooked.’

‘Yes!’ Sara punched the air again.

Jurie looked at the Norwegian woman through narrowed eyes. ‘If I had my way you would not be coming with us, Sara, but even if Doc doesn’t tell you where we’re going, I know you’ll try and follow us. Just keep your distance.’

Sara nodded solemnly. ‘I promise.’

‘I’ll believe that when I see it.’ Jurie pointed a finger at her. ‘Just behave.’

‘Yes, sir.’ Sara saluted. ‘And I’ll promise not to ram anyone’s car to save the day and stop them escaping.’

‘I hear it’s not the first time Sara’s done that,’ Doc said. ‘She once helped capture a rhino poacher in the Sabi Sand.’

‘No cowboy stuff,’ Jurie said. He cast his eyes around the table. ‘None of you. I mean it. You’re lookouts only. And nothing on Instagram or TikTok or what-what-what.’ They all nodded at him in turn. ‘Sheesh, how am I getting into this?’

Under the table, Doc gave his leg a squeeze.

*

Doc drove so Jurie could use his phone. The Sunday traffic around Johannesburg was busy, but flowing nicely at 120 kilometres per hour down the R21.

Jurie called Suzette and told her he was going to be delayed, and asked if she could take Piet to the game. Doc heard her raised voice.

‘I’m sorry about Piet,’ Doc said after he’d ended the call.

Jurie shook his head. ‘Piet will be fine. He’ll be more interested in hearing about the sting operation. I was going to take him and his sister and Sannie out for pizza this evening, so I’ll still see him then. Maybe you can come as well.’

She reached across and squeezed his hand. ‘I’d like that.’

Jurie then called Jason, who was still busy as he’d predicted, then the SAPS commander at Kempton Park, near the airport, to warn them that he was acting on a tip-off about a pangolin smuggler. The colonel in charge told him he had a mobile unit in the area that could respond at short notice.

Next he called the Emperor’s Palace hotel and casino complex. Johan, the head of security, Jurie had told Doc, was a former police officer and an old friend.

‘Ja, Johan, I know it’s not ideal,’ Jurie said in Afrikaans, which Doc could follow, ‘but we just got a tip-off and this oke is heading to China tonight. It’s now or never.’

Doc hoped the man was not going to somehow veto their operation.

‘No, Johan,’ Jurie said, and winked at Doc, ‘he’s not staying at the casino, so he’s not one of your high rollers as far as I know. We’re meeting him in the far corner of the car park, away from the hotel.’

Jurie chatted more about timing and the fact that SAPS was on standby, then ended the call.

‘He’s OK,’ Jurie assured her. ‘Johan’s actually coming in from home. I think he secretly wants a bit of action. It was a good call picking Emperor’s – they’ve got plenty of heavily armed security on the gates and around the complex. If something goes down, this guy will be surrounded.’

Doc smiled. ‘I’m not just a pretty face.’

‘I didn’t mean . . .’

‘It’s OK,’ she said. ‘I’m just joking, Jurie. I really appreciate this and I don’t want you to think that I’ve pushed you into it because of what’s happened between us.’

He looked at her and raised his eyebrows. ‘What’s happening between us?’

She took one hand off the steering wheel and punched him in the arm. She returned her focus to the road and thought about the first night they had spent together.

*

It was the weekend after he had told her he loved her; she had still been coming to terms with his declaration and the fact that she could say the same thing to him and not feel too guilty.

Doc had travelled to Hoedspruit to give a presentation at the Southern African Wildlife College, and to be guest speaker on the Saturday night at a fundraiser for the nearby Umoya Khulula Wildlife Centre, which had done great work rescuing and rehabilitating pangolins. Even before he had professed his feelings for her, Jurie had told her that he would also drive out for the function. All through the six-hour drive to Hoedspruit she had thought about him and wondered what might happen between them, now that Jurie had moved out and they’d both said the ‘L’ word.

Long before she’d felt any physical attraction to Jurie she had fallen in love with the fact that he cared so much for wildlife.

‘I’ve seen the most terrible things as a police officer, stuff I can’t even talk about, and I’ve killed people, but the thought of someone hurting an animal just makes me want to cry,’ he’d told her on their first sting together.

After her afternoon presentation at the college, Doc had driven just outside Hoedspruit to the venue for the evening fundraiser, the Aerotel, a funky hotel where the accommodation was in two grounded, remodelled jet airliners. The owners had given Doc the VIP suite, a whole Boeing 727 aircraft that had once been owned by a Middle Eastern royal, all to herself. She had showered and changed into her little black dress and her one pair of high heels. Kanta had given her a diamond choker and matching bracelet to wear.

‘Don’t lose them, and don’t go walking on some street where someone will steal them,’ her mother had cautioned.

‘I’m going to Hoedspruit, Mom, not Joburg.’

‘You should look nice for him.’

‘For whom?’ Doc had said innocently as she felt herself blush. She’d been trying to think of when it would be best to tell her mother about Jurie.

‘Oh, don’t look so shocked, Denise. You told me Jurie was going away this weekend as well. You’re always talking about him, and you’ve mentioned more than once about his problems at home, not that that is any of my business.’

‘I love him, Mom. He’s left his wife.’

They had shared a look, mother and daughter, as Doc, her hair and nails done especially for the weekend, had lingered by her Ford. Lali had squeezed her hand, got up on her toes and given Doc a peck on the cheek. ‘Just be careful.’

‘I will.’

Her speech had gone well, and afterwards there had been a band and dancing, and Doc had revelled in the feeling of Jurie holding her in his arms. They’d both had several drinks, served by staff from the Aerotel dressed in flight attendant–inspired uniforms.

‘Do you have anywhere to stay for the night?’ Doc asked him at the end of the fundraiser as the other guests departed and they sat together under a sky ablaze with stars.

He’d smiled at her. ‘I know a few people in town. I’ve got an honorary ranger friend, Dave, who lives in Raptor’s View Wildlife Estate, or . . .’

Doc had put a finger to his lips. ‘I have my own jet, Jurie. Come fly with me?’

He had kissed her.

For a big man he had been gentle, tender, which was what she had hoped for, yet he’d also been confident, in control, undemanding. It had been surreal, making love in a billionaire’s private jet, and part of her wished they were flying away for real, to some place where people didn’t need to risk their lives to protect wildlife. Afterwards, she had cried.

Jurie had brushed a strand of damp hair from her eyes and kissed her lids as the tears squeezed out. ‘What’s wrong?’

She had blinked and looked up into his big, honest face. ‘I’m just so happy, and I wish you were mine.’

‘I will be, once the divorce comes through.’

He had hugged her, and held her tight, and she’d told him that she loved him.

And today she had shot a man in a car park.

*

They arrived at Emperor’s Palace an hour before the appointed meeting time. The complex sprawled over the area of a couple of decent-sized city blocks. A Boeing 787 screamed in overhead on its final approach to the airport, which was just a couple of kilometres away. The self-styled Palace of Dreams was a place for foreign tourists and businesspeople to sleep over, and for locals to come and play, and to laugh and cry, depending on their fortunes in the casino.

Jurie did a slow circuit of the car park, winding around the Peermont Metcourt, the most affordable of the three hotels onsite, the apartments across the road, then past the D’oreale Grande, the most expensive.

From the outside, the building itself was a confection of faux French Renaissance and Roman Empire; inside there were slots, gaming tables and movie theatres. As it was still Sunday morning – just – the car park was not yet full, which allowed them to look for people like themselves: outsiders sitting in cars, watching. They saw no one suspicious.

Jurie took a call and directed Doc to drive to the entry of the D’oreale Grande.

‘That’s Johan.’ Jurie pointed to a sleek red Tesla, which Doc parked behind.

‘Sheesh, man,’ Jurie said as he got out and shook hands with a grey-haired man dressed for the golf course, ‘where did you get the bucks to buy that and the electricity to charge it?’

Johan laughed. ‘You need to explore your career options, and get some solar panels and batteries. We all have to look after ourselves in this country, boet,’ he said in Afrikaans.

‘Ja, too true.’ Jurie introduced Doc to Johan.

The students arrived in Geoff’s HiLux and Sara pulled up in her battered van. Johan looked them over as they spilled out then turned to Jurie, who just smiled and nodded.

‘They’re getting younger every year.’

Doc noticed that Jurie didn’t correct Johan’s assumption that the kids – for that was how she thought of them – were police officers.

‘What assets have you got onsite?’ Doc asked Johan as they stood in a huddle in the car park.

‘We’ve got our perimeter security, so once you give me the word, no one will come into or out of this place, unless they want to come up against an LM5 assault rifle. We’ve also got undercover operatives and our own onsite response team, which I’ll deploy in the hotel reception and around the car park.’ Johan pointed out the proposed locations and Jurie nodded his approval.

‘We expect this to just be a low-key meeting, maybe not even a take-down,’ Doc said.

‘We’ll be ready in case it goes bad,’ Johan said. ‘All of you are armed?’

Geoff lifted his shirt to reveal the grip of his pistol.

‘Zola and Sue are with, ah, nature conservation,’ Doc said, skirting the truth. ‘They’ll be lookouts. Jurie and I will handle the actual meeting.’

Doc talked Johan through their usual procedure, and the signal for backup to move in, once she removed her hat.

Jurie checked his watch, clearly still uncomfortable and perhaps just wanting to get the operation over with. Doc felt a knot in her belly. She’d pushed her friend – lover – into this, and was now having second thoughts. She cast her eyes over Sara and the students; if anything happened to any of them she would never forgive herself.

‘Let’s do this,’ Jurie said.

Johan moved away from them and started talking to his people via a handheld radio.

Doc took Jurie away from the others. The sky was a vivid Highveld blue, and the sun was warm on her face, but the crispness of the morning air brought on a sudden chill that made the fine down on her arms and the back of her neck stand up.

‘Jurie, you were right about the 252A. We’re pushing it beyond the bounds of credibility. We can abort now, if you think it best.’

He looked into her eyes. Doc sensed the students and Sara watching them from a few metres away, but didn’t care. They would find out soon enough about this wonderful, blossoming new turn in their relationship.

‘One of the many things I love about you,’ he said, not loud enough for the rest of them to hear, ‘is your fearlessness. I’d be lying to you if I said I’d never followed my instincts in an investigation at the expense of the rules and protocols. Let’s go do some good, Doc.’

She looked up at him – he was much taller than she was – and she desperately wanted to kiss him. Instead she just smiled and mouthed the words: I love you.

*

Doc and Jurie held hands in his car and he gave hers a squeeze as the Audi sedan crawled up to them.

‘Showtime,’ Jurie said. ‘Play it safe.’

‘Will do.’ She put on her baseball cap as she opened the door and got out.

Sue and Geoff were standing outside the D’oreale Grande, with two of Sara’s black nylon camera bags, empty, at their feet, as though they were tourists waiting for the hotel shuttle bus to the airport. Zola stood by the main entrance to the casino, off to the right of the hotel, in the centre of the sprawling complex, seemingly engrossed in her phone. They were there to watch, and as a backup means of contacting the police and/or ambulance if something bad happened.

Sara was in her van, filming through the tinted side window, fifty metres from Doc and Jurie. Her vehicle might have aroused more suspicion in a wily criminal, had it not had its front end smashed in that morning.

‘I didn’t expect a woman,’ said the Chinese man in blue blazer, chinos and blue Oxford cotton shirt as he eased himself out of the Audi.

‘And yet I am one,’ Doc said.

He gave her a mock salute. ‘Thanks for meeting me, hey.’ His accent was pure Joburg. ‘Do you have it with you?’

‘No.’

He frowned. ‘So you’re wasting my time.’

‘You could be a cop,’ Doc said.

He scanned the car park. ‘So could you, and your friend over there.’

‘He’s my protection. Where’s yours?’

He smiled. ‘I don’t need any. If you tried to set me up, or rob me, I’d soon find out your identity and you and any family you have would be dead by nightfall. Trust me, I have connections.’

Doc felt the chill again. She didn’t trust him at all, but she believed him. They needed to bring this guy in today, because she had a feeling that if he dived deeper into her cover it wouldn’t hold up. This guy was organised crime, not some bush-league poacher. Maybe he even had contacts in the police.

‘I was told you had a live specimen,’ he continued. ‘Where is it?’

‘Who told you?’

‘You did a deal, this morning, with Steven, one of my regular suppliers. You paid him too much. I could put you out of business, but I’d rather bring you into my business. COVID disrupted everything; demand for this species dropped off when people thought it was responsible for the virus, and now it’s picking up again so fast that I need to broaden my reach. Out of interest, who do you sell to?’

‘Who says I do?’

He raised his eyebrows above the top of his Ray-Ban Wayfarers. ‘You’re an exporter?’

‘Not everything must go through China, especially, as you mention, since COVID. Other avenues for moving goods had to open.’

‘Via India?’

She said nothing, pleased that she had been able to cover the fact that she was selling to no one, just busting poachers.

‘The Middle East?’

‘You may need me . . .’ she said.

‘Call me John. And you are . . .?’

‘Indira. As I say, John, you may need me and some more stock, but I have my network. What good does it do me to sell cheap to you, or to shut down my network?’

‘We should combine forces,’ John said. ‘Look at some economies of scale. Perhaps,’ his eyes roamed over her, ‘even become friends. What would the guy in the car think about that?’

‘Oh, him?’ She gave a little flick of her head. ‘He’s nothing. Just muscle and a gun. I’m sure you know the importance of keeping business within one’s family.’

John nodded. ‘I do. So, you don’t have the merchandise here.’

‘No, and I am guessing you don’t have the money here either.’

‘No, but it’s a few minutes away. I, too, have to be careful.’

‘How do I know you’re who you say you are? You contacted me. It sounds more like you’re trying to entrap me than vice versa.’

John sighed. ‘Very well. Come with me.’

Doc fought the urge to look back over her shoulder at Jurie and, instead, walked purposefully behind John to the back of his Audi. He used a remote to open the boot and inside Doc saw his luggage – a Gucci wheelie bag and matching carry-on – and a wooden crate.

John lifted the lid off the crate and Doc noticed there was a hammer and packet of nails in the boot as well, presumably to secure it after whatever deal he had done with her. The crate filled the space not taken up by the luggage, and was easily large enough to hold a live pangolin. Doc also noticed a fisherman’s tackle box tucked away in a corner. She had seen wildlife veterinarians use these to store syringes, drugs and darts for air guns used to tranquillise animals.

Next, John reached into the crate and lifted out a cardboard box, which looked quite heavy. He glanced over his shoulder to make sure no one was nearby, then set the box on the ground. He took off the lid.

Doc bent at the waist to look inside and had to fight to hold back a gasp. The box was full of pangolin scales.

‘You see.’ He smiled at her as she straightened and he replaced the lid. ‘I am serious.’

‘So am I.’ Doc took off her baseball cap, their agreed signal.

Jurie started his engine and drove towards them.

‘What now?’ John looked slightly bemused.

‘We’ve actually got the goods, and we’re bringing it, now.’

Jurie stopped short of them, got out of the vehicle and drew his pistol. ‘Police! On the ground, face down, hands behind your back.’

John shook his head and looked at Doc, who had also drawn her Glock. ‘You cannot be serious. You’ll regret this.’

‘No,’ Doc said, ‘you will.’

John reached into his blazer, under his left armpit and then his head snapped backwards and he fell onto his back as though he had just been punched in the face.

Doc looked around, at Jurie.

‘What the fok?’ Jurie said.

Sara was grinding through the gears of her van as she raced towards them, and out of the corner of her eye, Doc could see Sue, Zola and Geoff running towards them as well. There was danger. They’d promised to stay where they were.

‘Go back! Get down!’ Jurie waved at the students. ‘You too, Doc.’

Doc stared down at the pangolin buyer. He had a gash down the right-hand side of his skull, along his temple. He opened his eyes and tried to sit up.

‘Doc!’ Jurie strode towards her. ‘Get to the car, take cover!’

Jurie had his pistol raised high and was moving in a 360-degree arc, looking for where the gunshot had come from. He took a look at John and seemed to be able to work out the line of fire. Jurie went past John and Doc, like he was trying to put himself between them and the gunman, still searching.

‘No!’ Doc said.

‘Get to cover and call an ambulance,’ Jurie ordered, his voice level, calm and authoritative. ‘Now, Denise.’

Doc took a step backwards, and the next bullet went through Jurie’s heart and between John’s eyes.

*

On the dusty upper floor of an empty factory 1,500 metres away the Sniper picked up the two empty cartridges with his gloved hands and put them in his pants pocket.

He felt her presence, next to his heart. He shouldn’t have brought her picture with him – whenever he went on patrols in Afghanistan he made sure he carried no photographs, no diaries, nothing that would give an enemy something to exploit if he was captured.

The Sniper had broken that rule this time, because this was no military mission – this was a quest, driven by love. He stripped his rifle into its component parts so that it fitted nicely into the black nylon sports bag, which he slung over one shoulder.

He hurried down the stairs, out of the factory compound and through the gate whose padlock he had picked. He wrapped the chain around the bars to give the illusion that it was still secured. He walked a kilometre through the industrial estate, low-flying jets passing over him.

He came to his vehicle, a white Toyota HiLux with stolen number plates on the front and back affixed with double-sided tape. He would remove them when he was on the other side of the city. It was only when he was inside the cab and had double-checked the rear-view mirror to make sure no one had followed him that he slipped the picture from his left breast pocket and looked at it. She smiled back at him and he drew a deep breath.

‘For you.’

Chapter 4

Three months later

Ian Laidlaw walked out of the upmarket Woolloomooloo Finger Wharf development on Sydney Harbour. Saleem, Ian’s regular limousine driver, was waiting in his suit beside his Audi Q8 luxury wagon ten minutes early, as usual.

Saleem opened the door for Ian and took his wheelie bag from him. ‘Good morning, sir, how are you today?’

‘Fine, thanks, Saleem, and you?’

‘All good, thanks, Ian. You are going to the international terminal today?’

‘Yes, please.’ The car was spotless, as always, a crisp new edition of the Financial Review folded on the back seat, just how Ian liked it.

Ian flicked through the newspaper, but there was no news on any of his clients, or pertaining to them. He’d already checked the online sites for the other major media outlets at 5.30 am, as he did every day, so he knew he had nothing to worry about, but it was by force of habit.

‘Business or pleasure, sir? New York again?’

Ian gave Saleem a sad smile in his rear-view mirror. ‘Those days are over.’

‘Should I be sorry to hear that, sir?’

Ian wasn’t sure. ‘Let’s just say that long-distance relationships are hard, but when you live in Sydney and your girlfriend’s in America, and even busier than you are, it becomes just about impossible. I’m going to Africa. Alone.’

‘Very good, sir.’

Ian looked out the window at the morning traffic. A tradie in his ute chugged down an iced coffee as he drove; a businesswoman did her lipstick in the Mercedes next to him as they waited at the traffic lights. An executive with kids in private school uniform was doing the morning school drop-off. And here was he, Ian, by himself, all but done with work and another relationship.

Judy worked as a senior vice president – he could never quite get his head around US corporate rank structures – for the PR company that had bought out Morningstar, Ian’s boutique lobbying and public relations company. Ian had met Judy at one of Goldberg PR’s global conferences and he’d been taken by her dry humour, not to mention her figure. She was forty, fourteen years younger than him, and wedded to her job, but with ‘time to play’.

Ian had sold out two years earlier, and part of the deal was that he would stay on as chairman of the Australian operation, to oversee the transition to new management. But he didn’t see eye to eye with Goldberg’s imported hotshot and the more he complained to Judy, the more he found she made excuses for her employers and took their side. Judy visited the Australian office often, but the distance wasn’t helping things between them either.

He’d sold for a good price, but now, as Saleem manoeuvred his way closer to Sydney’s Kingsford Smith International Airport, he found himself feeling detached from the commuters and businesspeople on their way to work or to catch flights with purpose. It was as if the further he drifted away from work, the more his identity was slipping away from him. Soon he would be, what? Retired before the age of fifty-five?

When he reflected on his career, as first a journalist, then political adviser, PR consultant and lobbyist, he tried to remember the successes, but in truth, there were few. Yes, he’d helped a few high-profile people, some of them friends, out of sticky situations, and helped steer a couple of governments towards re-election, but had he ever actually achieved anything?

He hadn’t cured cancer or alleviated poverty, or built a new wing on a hospital or a library. He had, however, paid a ridiculous amount at a charity auction six months earlier to go on a two-week tour of southern Africa.

‘Where are you going to be travelling in Africa?’ Saleem asked.

Ian paused a moment to recall the itinerary. ‘South Africa, Zimbabwe and Namibia.’

‘Oh, are you going on safari?’

‘Yes.’

‘And will you see lions?’

‘I suppose so,’ Ian said, ‘and pangolins.’

Saleem caught his eye in the rear-view mirror. ‘What is a pangolin?’

Ian shrugged. ‘I don’t know, really. It looks like a cross between an armadillo and a baby crocodile. Some kind of scaly anteater.’

‘I see.’

‘The thing that caused COVID, apparently,’ Ian added, drawing on the last vestiges of what he could remember from the event. He’d gone with Michelle, a graphic designer he’d met at the Goldberg Christmas party, the same event where Judy had suggested they take some time out. Michelle had been to Africa before and was mad about the continent’s wildlife. Ian had paid for the tour, a ticket for one, thinking that it might impress her. She had been impressed – but they hadn’t clicked. They had gone on a couple more dates, but Michelle was in her mid-thirties and made it clear that she wanted two children before she was forty.

Michelle had declined his offer to pay for her to come on the pangolin tour with him, and although she had not spelled it out in so many words, Ian had been left with the impression that she thought he was too old for her.

So here he was. Alone, on his way to Africa to spend time with pangolins and some South African professor woman who got into shootouts with criminals, according to Michelle and some other Africaphiles who’d been at the fundraiser.

‘Sir?’ Saleem said.

‘Yes?’

‘May I ask . . . why?’

Ian folded the Financial Review and set it on the seat next to him. ‘You may. I’m just not sure I have the answer. For a start, I haven’t been on a proper holiday for three years, and I’m not even sure that this counts. I know nothing about where I’m going or what I’ll be doing and that, in itself, is like a holiday.’

‘I see.’

*

Doc closed her eyes and leaned her head against the window of the South African Airlink airliner as the captain told the crew to secure the cabin for landing at Hoedspruit’s Eastgate Airport. The short flight from Johannesburg was almost over.

In years gone by she might have had her nose pressed to the Perspex to try and catch a glimpse of a giraffe or an elephant on one of the private game reserves they crossed on approach. For now, she prayed that the gentle vibrations might soothe her.

They didn’t.

The aircraft landed with a bump and taxied to a stop, where Doc tried to ignore the excited chatter of some American tourists behind her, who were wrestling to extract oversized camera bags from the overhead lockers. She let the conga line of khaki, green and leopard print flow down the aisle before she summoned the will to stand and retrieve her own small daypack.

She was last down the stairs, by which time the tourists were already shaking hands with their safari guides and the Johannesburg set were striding through the small, mostly open-air terminal towards the car park where their holiday home Land Cruisers and Land Rovers were waiting for them.

Geoff waved to her and she walked towards him.

He took off his Khaya Ngala baseball cap. He was so polite and old-fashioned. ‘Hello, Prof, it’s lekker to see you.’

She couldn’t match his smile. ‘Howzit.’

‘Good. Can I take your bag?’

‘I’m fine, thanks.’

‘Cool. Do you, like, have any check-in bags?’

‘No. Hopefully the college still has a bag I left here last time. I was coming and going so often before . . .’

Geoff nodded, as though he understood what she meant: that she had been a regular visitor to the Southern African Wildlife College, just outside the Kruger National Park, before Jurie had been killed. Doc had been a guest lecturer at the college, which focused on training rangers and conservationists, and her students sometimes stayed there when they needed accommodation in the area.

The last time she’d seen Geoff and the others had been at Jurie’s funeral on a bitterly cold Highveld day, at the crematorium in Johannesburg. She shuddered.

Jurie’s wife, Suzette, had looked at Doc as though Doc had been the one who pulled the trigger on the rifle that had killed him. And she’d had every right to. Given what had happened between Doc and Jurie not long before his death, Doc could barely summon the courage and strength to go to the service.

Doc had hung back from the crowd of mourners who filed past Suzette and the kids, shaking her hand or kissing her, before and after the service.

Captain Sannie van Rensburg had been at the service and had given Doc a long hug and told her that she had offered to help the Johannesburg Hawks in any way she could. Doc had thought she’d escaped having to confront Jurie’s widow – the service had been full to overflowing with police, other law enforcement officers and family and friends – but Suzette had sliced through the crowd like a leopard stalking its prey, just as Doc had said her own final farewells to everyone.

‘Denise.’

‘Oh, Suzette. Sorry, I didn’t want to intrude. I’m so sorry for your –’

‘It was your fault.’

Doc had stood there, biting her lower lip, feeling the first tears squeeze from her eyes as Suzette voiced exactly what Doc knew, and what she feared might destroy her.

‘He shouldn’t have been on that operation. I’ve had people, some his friends, tell me that. You didn’t have the paperwork and it wasn’t authorised.’

‘But –’

Suzette had interrupted whatever feeble defence Doc was going to give. ‘And I know he was fucking you.’

Doc had hung her head, then looked up at her. ‘We never did anything while he was still living with you.’

‘I don’t believe you,’ Suzette had said, ‘but I’m sure he left us because of you.’

*

‘How was the flight?’ Geoff asked.

Doc returned to Geoff and the present. ‘Oh, fine.’

‘The plane looked full. It’s got busy out here at Hoedspruit, ever since COVID when everyone moved from the city. And the house prices, eish, you won’t believe them.’

Doc didn’t have the inclination or patience for small talk, but she could tell Geoff was just trying to be nice. No doubt there was more he wanted to know, so she saved him the trouble of asking. ‘The police still don’t have any leads on who would have wanted to kill the buyer or Jurie.’

Geoff nodded decisively, taking the hint that it was OK to ask about it. ‘And what about the theory that you and John were the targets, and that Jurie just got in the way?’

‘It’s possible,’ she said, ‘and that line of investigation would still be in play if anyone in the SAPS gave a damn. Even though Jurie was a well-respected detective, on average one policeman a day is killed in South Africa, Geoff. Things have moved on. It’s almost a cold case now. Frank Galloway and the Hawks are sticking with it, but he’s got nothing new.’

‘I see.’

Doc wished she could see something – anything. The investigation had determined that based on the trajectory of the shots that had hit John and Jurie, the shooter had been located on the first floor of an abandoned factory in the industrial area that surrounded Emperor’s Palace, across the road from the casino some seven hundred metres away.

After much pleading, Frank had agreed to gain access from the building’s owners and take Doc to the site. The old factory was going to be demolished to make room for a new office building. The Hawks had been all over it, several times, so there were no magical missing clues to be found. The shooter had broken into the building – his tracks had been easy to follow along the dusty downstairs floor from where he had smashed a window.

Other than the fact that the shooter was likely a man, evident by the size 11 shoe, and wore a generic brand of men’s sneaker available at Tekkie Town and a dozen more chain stores, all they knew about the killer was that he was a good shot.

At least they thought he was a good shot. Geoff, who like all of them had been interviewed extensively by the police, had obviously picked up on the idea that Doc might have been one of the targets.

‘The fact was, Geoff,’ she said, wanting to get the guilt off her chest and out in the open for him to pass on to the others, ‘that Jurie was moving at the time he was shot and, yes, after walking through the events dozens of times, looking at lines of sight and bullet trajectories using laser pointers and sticks and computer modelling, it is quite possible that I was going to be the shooter’s second target because Jurie did walk between me and the firing point at exactly the moment he was shot, just as I took a step backwards. You may recall I was covered with a fair amount of his blood.’

Geoff had stopped and was staring at her. ‘I’m so sorry, Doc.’

She put a hand to her forehead, only just now aware that she had been yelling and that a few people nearby had turned to look at her. Doc lowered her voice. ‘Either that, or the sniper saw that John was still alive, and his second shot was just meant to finish him off.’

Geoff opened and closed his hands by his side, as if he didn’t know what to do with them, then raised his arms.

Doc took the two paces needed to be close to him and Geoff enfolded her in a hug.

She had wept as she’d cradled Jurie’s body in her arms, kneeling in the car park. Wailed, in fact. And while she had held it together during the funeral service, she had cried afterwards, as much with shame over the words Suzette had spat at her as with grief for the only man she had ever truly loved. Since then she had built a wall around her emotions, trying to help the investigation and spending countless hours going over old cases, looking at mugshots, and working her network of informers and colleagues for some idea of who had been responsible.

‘Whatever happened, and whoever the intended target was, the leading theory is that Jurie got caught in the crossfire.’

Still in Geoff’s arms, smelling his boyish aftershave and the washing powder and starch on his safari guide’s shirt, she cried for the life she would now never know.

When at last she looked up they were the only two people left.

‘Come on,’ Geoff said, ‘let’s get you settled.’

Doc sniffed as she picked up her discarded daypack and put it in the back seat of Geoff’s bakkie.

‘You haven’t said anything in consolation, anything about Jurie,’ she said as he got in and started the engine.

He kept his gaze on the road as he drove out. ‘It wouldn’t help, would it?’

‘No. So, thank you.’

‘I miss him as well,’ Geoff said. ‘I looked up to him, wanted to be like him, and you. I still want to be like you.’

She looked at her student as though the ten or twelve-year age gap between them was suddenly three or four times that. She felt old, and a mix of scorn and longing for his youthful idealism, which he clung to like a toddler’s favourite toy. ‘I’m finished, Geoff, at least in terms of having any meaningful way of rescuing pangolins or stopping the illegal trade.’

He shot a glance at her. ‘Don’t say that.’

It was her turn to stare through the windscreen. ‘It’s true. I was summoned to the office of the National Public Prosecutor and told flat out that I’d never be issued another 252A, never be allowed to take part in another undercover operation.’

‘But why? You and Jurie achieved so much.’

‘The prosecutor saw through my bullshit, that my meeting John was part of the same operation we’d briefed the NPP on. There was such a public outpouring of grief in the media for Jurie, and so much coverage of me that they decided not to take any action against me publicly, but behind the scenes I was told that this would be the end of my undercover operations. In any case, with my face plastered all over the newspapers and TV I could never pose as a buyer again. Ironically, I’d already been planning on pulling back from undercover work after Sara’s documentary airs.’

‘Doc . . .’

She held up a hand. ‘Save it. You’ve been good at sparing me platitudes so far and I don’t want you to ruin that now. The truth is, Geoff, that I was done already. I was burned out and I had clearly lost the ability to think straight. I put my grad students at risk. I was either too tired or too consumed with my own success and self-importance to think rationally.’ Even about the welfare of a man she loved.

‘So, what now?’ he asked.

She shrugged. ‘I’m going back to doing what I’m paid for – lecturing and supervising students like you, Zola and Sue. I’m sorry it’s taken me three months to get out here. I’m lucky the university didn’t fire me. I know of one professor who actively campaigned to see me go.’

‘Who’s that?’ Geoff shot back, with a tone that made it sound like he wanted to have the guy horsewhipped.

‘I’m not going to share inter-faculty politics with you, Geoff.’

‘OK. So what’s the latest from Frank Galloway about the motive for the attack?’

Doc had told herself that she was ready to drop it, to try and move on from what had happened in the casino car park and to focus wholly and solely on her academic work. What she had told Geoff was true – she needed to reset. She’d been aware of the symptoms of burnout for some months before Jurie’s murder. Kanta had told her to take a break, but like a typical daughter she had ignored her mother.

Now Geoff was asking her to go over the questions that had robbed her of sleep and closure for months, but it was easier than thinking about her life without Jurie.

‘Cops don’t always talk about motive, they also look for means and opportunity. Plenty of people had a motive to kill me and/or Jurie – every poacher we busted and put away in prison, for a start. I’ve got a sizeable file of email death threats and a drawer full of old-fashioned paper ones. We went through them, Frank and I and the others on the task team investigating Jurie’s murder. Added to all the pangolin people we’d put away, there were scores of hardened criminals who had a grudge against Jurie, but that didn’t explain John – real name John Chen, Johannesburg businessman.’

‘Businessman?’

‘Import and export. So corny, can you believe it? But his day job was bringing in Chinese-made tabletop braais, of all things. As if this country needs more ways to burn meat. Even that operation was crooked – he’d copied the pattern off a big-name hibachi charcoal cooker and had knock-off copies made at a factory he part-owned in China. At the same time he was backloading pangolins and, it turns out, some ivory, to Malaysia and Hong Kong.’

‘So who would want him dead?’

‘Someone who had tried before,’ Doc said.

‘Really?’

‘It’s the most recent news I’ve heard out of the task team. It turns out that a week before he was killed, there was a drive-by attack on Chen’s mansion in Johannesburg. A black BMW slowed down outside as Chen was leaving for work one morning and a guy in a black ski mask leaned out the rear window and pumped thirty rounds from an AK-47 into Chen’s Audi. He’d bought a new car, for cash, before we met him, and he didn’t bother submitting an insurance claim for the bullet-damaged one.’

‘The guy had no problem with cash flow,’ Geoff said.

‘More like he had a problem trying to wash his money. The other thing the task team learned was that he was a regular high roller at a couple of other casinos around town. Looks like he had plenty of dirty cash to clean. Chen’s neighbours did most of the talking to the police – even for Joburg this was a big disturbance and the task team reviewed street security camera footage of the attack. It was clear to them that this wasn’t a garden-variety hijacking attempt – this was a rival gang or gangster trying to rub Chen out and send a message.’

Geoff slowed to let a warthog cross the road. The simple sighting helped calm Doc. It was good to be back in the bush again. It was winter, with vegetation stripped to bare khakis and browns beneath a clear blue sky that would likely not host rain for several months.

‘So maybe someone wanted to set him up and you and Jurie were, what, collateral damage? Targets of opportunity?’

‘If it was a setup then the shooter had to have acted quickly and the information had to have leaked from either Chen’s side or ours. You sound like you’ve been reading too many SAS novels,’ Doc said.

‘Guilty.’

‘We – me and Frank and the task team – tried retracing our steps. Steven Muzorewa, the self-styled Zimbabwean poaching go-between, started putting the word out around Krugersdorp, where he lived, that he had a pangolin for sale. A domestic worker, Memory Zondo, mentioned it to her employer who was an honorary ranger friend of Pam Galloway’s. Pam got word to me and I passed on my burner number to Memory, for her to pass on to Steven. Then Steven contacted me.’

‘So what contact did Steven have with John Chen?’ Geoff asked as he accelerated. They came to the T-junction at the main road which led to Hoedspruit, to the right, and to the Kruger Park and the Southern African Wildlife College to the left. Geoff indicated right.

‘You’re going the wrong way, Geoff,’ Doc said.

‘No, I’m not.’

‘Yes, you are. The college is near Kruger’s Orpen Gate, remember?’

‘I know.’ He looked at her and smiled.

‘I hate surprises and I’m not in the mood for one.’ Doc meant it, on both counts, although she’d loved it whenever Jurie had surprised her. After they had first slept together he had started whisking her off to some new little café or bar for lunch sometimes, or a dinner if they worked late. They made love in Jurie’s room in Jaco’s house, when the other detective was out on duty. Doc closed her eyes to stop the tears before they came.

‘I’ve found somewhere nicer for you to stay, rather than the college. If you really don’t like it, I can take you to your usual little rondavel tomorrow.’

‘All right,’ she said, under sufferance.

Geoff headed towards the town of Hoedspruit on the R40. The two-lane road was busy with locals and tourists in four-by-fours, but also a constant procession of large trucks, each with two articulated trailers full of mining ore.

‘I wish the bloody government would reopen the railway line from the mine in Phalaborwa to the port in Mozambique,’ she said as Geoff overtook a truck.

‘Too many fat cats making too much money from road transport,’ Geoff said. ‘You were talking about Steven?’

Doc nodded. Telling the story again might just flush out some little detail she had overlooked or, more accurately, Geoff’s sharp mind might pick up on something. ‘So, the Hawks leaned on Steven, alternately threatening to implicate him in Jurie’s murder because there was a connection between him and John Chen, and offering sweeteners, such as a reduced charge, if he cooperated.’

‘And?’ Geoff kept his eyes on the road. He had to slow as an oncoming Land Cruiser misjudged its attempt to overtake a mining truck coming towards them.

‘And Steven was adamant that the first time he’d communicated with Chen, also via WhatsApp, was around the same time that Steven contacted me,’ Doc said.

‘Where did he get Chen’s contact details?’

‘Apparently, Chen contacted him, out of the blue,’ Doc said. ‘Steven said that Chen said he’d heard that Steven was asking about on the West Rand for pangolin buyers.’

‘And Steven wasn’t suspicious of being contacted unannounced?’

Doc shook her head. ‘No, Steven was just greedy, so he tried to play John and me off against each other. Steven might have presented as the big-time poaching middleman, but he was just a petty criminal. He had a record for housebreaking when he was younger, and an assault charge against a girlfriend.’

‘Pig,’ Geoff said.

‘Yes, but if he’d had any sense, he would have been wary of an unsolicited buyer – not that John was an undercover policeman.’

Geoff gave a small laugh. ‘You’d make a good criminal, Doc. You’re smarter than all of them.’

That was cold comfort to her, now her crime-busting days were over. ‘Anyway, I played hardball as usual, or so I thought, but John Chen wouldn’t match my offer to Steven. Maybe I got it wrong – maybe I was out of touch with the market and offering too much.’

Geoff said nothing for a while as he drove, and seemed to be thinking through what she had just said. He glanced to her. ‘But John Chen offered you what, twice what you said you’d pay Steven?’

‘Yes,’ Doc said, ‘but he was desperate.’

‘Then why didn’t he offer Steven, say, R200,000 if he was that keen to get his hands on a live pangolin to take to China?’

Doc shrugged. ‘I don’t know. Frank raised the same point, and we couldn’t come up with an answer.’

‘And how did John know about you? Where did he get your number?’

‘We think that was from Memory, the domestic, as well. She said that the same person who had come to her with Steven’s request had later said there was someone else looking to sell a pangolin. Chen never contacted me to sell me a pangolin, so it’s safe to assume he was just putting the word out, pretending to be a poacher, so he could see who his competition was.’

The road to Hoedspruit passed between the fences marking the boundaries of private game reserves and housing estates in the bushveld. Doc saw a giraffe bending to take a drink at a waterhole as Geoff passed another truck.

‘When?’ Geoff asked.

‘When what?’ said Doc.

‘You need a timeline, I think. There are some coincidences here, which aren’t a normal part of life or science. When did Memory pass your number on to John Chen, compared to when she gave your number to Steven? The timing might tell you something.’

Doc thought for a moment. ‘I’m not sure anyone’s asked that question, specifically.’ She took out her phone and made a note.

‘Someone was setting John Chen, or Jurie, or you, or all of you, up.’

‘Clearly, but we don’t know why. The most common theory is that it’s the same person who organised the drive-by shooting at Chen’s place, and that Jurie was collateral damage. Or perhaps the second bullet was meant for me.’

‘But why?’ Geoff asked. ‘If it was a rival dealer in pangolins and other wildlife products, why would the shooter take out you, a potential supplier to the trade? And if the shooter knew who you really were, surely it would have made more sense to – um – take you out at some other time and place, not in the middle of a sting operation?’

‘Good point,’ Doc said. ‘No one’s been able to come up with a better theory, at least not yet.’

There was another theory about Jurie’s death that Doc had not mentioned to anyone, because she felt it was no one’s business other than her own, and it was borderline crazy. If someone wanted Jurie dead because he had slept with her, then that someone could only be Jurie’s widow, Suzette. Doc thought Suzette could have hired a hit man – a practice certainly not unknown in South Africa – but if that were the case then Doc thought that she would have been the likely target instead of, or as well as, Jurie.

Doc said nothing more on the killings and Geoff either let it rest or continued mulling things over. In the end, he broke the silence as they neared town by changing the subject.

‘I hear you’re in line for a big promotion at the university.’

Doc waved a hand in the air. ‘They need a new vice chancellor. A couple of people suggested me.’

Geoff nodded. ‘I heard it was more than a couple; more like it’s down to a contest between you and one other, old Moses Khumalo. You have plenty of support.’

Doc put her hands in her lap. ‘I’m not interested in running a university, Geoff. Even before . . . I mean, I had so much on my plate with the undercover operations that I was starting to burn out. I’m only just getting back to regular fulltime work now and my priority is you and the other graduate students.’

‘Sorry I raised it.’

She gave him a smile. ‘Don’t be. I know people are talking, but I just want to get back to teaching and supervising.’

‘And there’s the tour, of course.’

Doc tried hard not to groan. Prior to Jurie’s death she had been active not only in busting poachers, but also in trying to increase awareness of the threat to pangolins, and to encourage fundraising for some NGOs and centres doing valuable work in rehabilitating the animals and funding research programs. She served on the International Union for Conservation of Nature as a member of the IUCN’s Species Survival Commission, and until Jurie’s death she had headed up the commission’s pangolin specialist group. She’d stepped aside after the tragedy, but was still active in the group, which encouraged an exchange of ideas from people working in all fields and areas where pangolins were found. She’d been instrumental in organising a big conference in the Kruger Park just prior to Jurie’s death. One of the NGO’s, Pangolin Rescue Fund, had proposed organising a tour of pangolin range areas in southern Africa with Doc as the star guide, in order to get some high rollers from around the world to make sizeable donations. She had agreed, and Sara was going to accompany the tour and film it for her documentary. ‘Can’t wait.’

‘Try not to sound too enthusiastic, Doc.’ As they came to the outskirts of town Geoff turned right at the busy four-way stop, just past the Pick n Pay shopping centre. A short drive brought them to the security entrance gates to the Hoedspruit Wildlife Estate.

‘Home sweet home,’ Geoff said.

‘If there’s some kind of party, I will kill you, Geoff.’

Chapter 5

‘Surprise!’

Doc forced a smile as the main door of the house in Taaibos Street, in the Hoedspruit Wildlife Estate, flew open.

Sue and Zola were at the forefront of the crowd of about thirty people. Sue held up a bottle of sparkling wine and a glass. ‘Welcome home to the bush, Prof,’ Sue said.

Doc took the glass. ‘Thank you, this is too much, really.’

People cheered and applauded and came forward to hug and kiss her.

There were ‘sorries’ and ‘condolences’ and Doc tried hard to let her friends’ kindness seep into her soul. She downed a glass of champagne in one long gulp, and Sue was on hand to refill it.

There were so many friends and colleagues waiting to chat to her that she forgot about scolding Geoff for leading her into this fray. There was Heidi, who managed a lodge in the Timbavati, ditto Don and Nina, who owned one, and Pete the wildlife veterinarian. David, Jurie’s honorary ranger friend and his British wife, Veronica. Simon the journalist told her he wanted to do a feature on pangolins and Di the budding author told her she should write a book.

Sara stood at the back of the crowd, filming, and Doc eventually made her way through to her.

‘Don’t worry,’ Sara said, ‘this video is for you, not for the documentary. How are you, Doc?’

She shrugged. Terrible. Doc looked around. The house was lovely, with a high-pitched thatch roof and plastered walls painted a pale earthy tone. It was laid out in a U-shape with a spacious lounge and kitchen along one end, and two bedrooms with en suite bathrooms along each arm, which embraced a swimming pool and entertaining area. ‘This place is nice.’

‘Geoff’s parents own it,’ Sara said. ‘It is my dream to live somewhere like this. I’m staying here, and so is Zola.’

‘Lucky you.’

‘We’d all like you to stay with us,’ Sara said, and nodded to Doc’s three students, who stood in a huddle on the other side of the pool, but were watching Doc.

Doc bristled. ‘I don’t need babysitting. I can stay at the college.’

‘With respect, Doc,’ Sara laid a hand on her arm, ‘you probably do need some care, and we all want to help. I also feel responsible.’

‘It had nothing to do with you,’ Doc said quickly.

‘I know, Doc, but it doesn’t stop me feeling the way I feel.’

Doc hung her head. ‘I know what you mean.’

Doc’s phone vibrated and she took it out, then looked up at Sara. ‘Excuse me a moment.’

‘Sure,’ Sara said.

Doc moved to a slightly quieter corner of the room and looked at her phone. It was a text from her online friend, Ralph, via the messaging function on the dating app she no longer bothered checking. How is the Lowveld?

Fine. Busy now with friends. Sorry, she typed.

All good. I’m pleased you’re with nice people.

Doc forced a half-smile. Ralph had stayed in the shadows, which was fine with her. She’d felt no need to rekindle whatever it was that she and Ralph had been developing before she fell for Jurie, and he seemed content to be a supportive platonic friend. I’ll sleep better knowing you’re happy, Ralph added.

Part of her wanted to pour her heart out, tell him that she sometimes felt she’d never be happy again, but that might send an alarming signal to Ralph. Tx, she typed, instead.

*

‘Well hello, ladies.’

Doc looked up and out through the lounge-room doors at the sound of the voice, and saw that the pool spotlight was blocked by the tall, solid frame of Graham Foster.

Dressed in a short-sleeved khaki shirt, shorts and vellies, Graham embraced Doc and gave her a kiss on the cheek. ‘I’m so sorry, Doc.’

She slipped her phone into her back pocket. ‘Yes, thanks, Graham.’

‘Sara, how’s my favourite Hollywood director?’ He beamed at the young woman a short distance away and raised a large beer glass which, by the look and smell of it, contained a brandy and Coke, perhaps a double or a triple.

‘Lekker, thanks, Graham. And you?’

‘You’re sounding less Norwegian and more South African every time I see you, Sara. I’m fine, thanks. In fact, I’m celebrating, I recently got a promotion to second-in-command of anti-poaching operations with GKEPF, the Greater Kruger Environmental Protection Foundation.’

‘Well done, Graham,’ Doc said. The foundation was an alliance of private game reserves on the western border of the Kruger Park.

‘Yes, good for you, Graham,’ Sara said. ‘How about I get you another drink, Doc?’

‘Please.’ Doc knew from her own experience that Graham was a charmer, but could come across as arrogant and overbearing; Sara gave him a big smile. Doc handed Sara her empty champagne glass.

‘I missed you, Doc,’ Graham said, leaning against a stone pillar at the edge of the house’s stoep. Someone had put on some house music inside and a couple of students from the wildlife college were dancing in the lounge room. People were laughing. It was a warm night and Doc imagined it was only a matter of time before someone – Graham, most likely – stripped off and jumped in the pool.

‘Rubbish.’

He laughed. ‘Don’t be so cruel. I thought we might stay in touch.’

‘Hah.’ She lowered her voice. ‘Graham, you and I had a one-night stand six months ago, and while I don’t regret it, I was under no illusions that you wanted anything more than that.’

‘Well, if you mean, like, marriage and babies, then no, but I thought we could have hung out a bit longer. We had a lekker time, didn’t we?’

*

Doc had been at Khaya Ngala lodge in the Sabi Sand Game Reserve, south of where they were now, to visit Sue Oliver, several months prior to Jurie’s death. Graham had been working there as an anti-poaching ranger.

Khaya Ngala’s owner, the billionaire businesswoman Julianne Clyde-Smith, was a keen conservationist who put her money where her mouth was, and she had provided funding and support in kind to Tshwane University to support research into endangered species. She had made a room in the lodge’s staff village available to visiting students and researchers and Sue had been there, monitoring a pangolin that had been released into the wild after being taken by a young man from the local community, just outside of the game reserve.

As usual, Julianne had issued a standing invitation to the student in residence, and, in this case, her visiting supervisor, to have dinner with the lodge guests, and drinks on the house. The quid pro quo was that Sue would give a talk on her research to the wealthy guests if they were interested.

The night had gone well and Graham, who had also been invited, had sat beside Doc at dinner.

‘I thought you might be bored by this sort of thing,’ Doc said to him, making small talk, ‘you know, having to eat with the guests.’

He had nodded. ‘Ja, normally I would have just chilled in my room, or maybe gone into Hazyview, but when Sue told me you were coming to visit again, I knew that I wanted to see you. I wangled an invite, telling Julianne I’d dazzle her guests with tall tales of my adventures in anti-poaching. Foreign chicks love that shit, but it was you I wanted to see.’

Doc had been surprised. She had visited the lodge twice before and recalled meeting Graham, though they hadn’t talked much. ‘Really, why? Are you interested in studying at the university? I’ve actually got a PhD student who used to be a guide here, Geoff . . .’

‘Hoddy. I know him,’ Graham had said. ‘Nice kid, but a bit soft.’

‘He’s not soft.’

Graham smiled. ‘Are you soft on him, Doc? Shame, I thought there were rules about professors and students.’

‘There are. Stop being a pig, Graham.’

He had taken a sip of his drink. ‘How long are you here in the Lowveld?’

She had shrugged. ‘At least a few weeks, maybe longer.’

‘You want to hook up?’

She had laughed. ‘Graham, you are an attractive boy, but really, you need to work on your technique.’

He winked at her.

They’d eaten together, and Doc had felt mildly flattered by Graham’s direct approach. At the time she’d been in a quandary. She had known her feelings for Jurie were growing, but he hadn’t yet confessed to her just how bad things were with Suzette. Doc had been trying to convince herself that it was wrong to have feelings for a married man, and that it was time for her to find a guy of her own. When dinner was over Doc had lingered in the boma, the enclosed area with the lodge’s braai and outdoor eating area, sitting by the campfire next to Graham.

‘Maybe you should walk me back to my tent now,’ Doc had said to Graham.

‘My pleasure.’

It was lodge policy and protocol for a guide or other staff member to escort a guest back to their room, even though Doc had probably spent as much time as Graham, if not more, on foot in the African bush. When they reached her luxury suite, Doc had lingered by the door.

‘Maybe you need to come in and check for snakes,’ she’d said to him.

‘There’s only one sn–’

Doc had reached out and put a finger on his lips to silence him. ‘Don’t ruin this by talking, Graham.’

He’d nodded.

*

‘Are you thinking about last time?’ Graham said, as if reading her mind.

‘No. I’m thinking about work,’ she lied.

Graham laughed, loud and hearty enough to earn stares from Doc’s students. ‘So how about it, Doc? I could stay over tonight instead of driving back into the game reserve to my lonely quarters.’

‘No, Graham. But for the record, I don’t think you should be driving anywhere after consuming all that spook ’n diesel.’

He raised his glass and took a deep draught. ‘You know where to find me, Doc.’

‘See you later.’

‘Ja. Hey, Annaliese!’ Graham had spotted the pretty blonde veterinary nurse and started making his way through the crowd to the other side of the pool.

Sara came back with a full glass of champagne. ‘Ugh, that Graham.’

‘Thank you,’ Doc said. ‘He’s like a puppy.’

‘Really?’ Sara said. ‘How so?’

‘Young and cute and full of energy, but tires quickly.’

Sara laughed, then took a sip of her drink. ‘He likes you.’

Doc shrugged. ‘So?’

‘So, you’re young, Doc. And beautiful, and you’re a wonderful person to be around. I . . . we, just want you to be happy, that’s all.’

She felt herself start to bristle again. She glared at Sara. ‘Who says I’m not happy?’

‘All right.’ Sara held up her hands in surrender. ‘Do you want to talk about the tour?’

‘Not really.’

Sara looked around the crowd and Doc realised how she was coming across to everyone. ‘I’m sorry.’

‘You don’t need to be. I lost a friend in Afghanistan. I know how it feels.’

Doc knew Sara had served with the Norwegian Army in the war-ravaged country. Sara was so keen and bullish in her work that it was sometimes easy to forget that she might be just like the rest of them, with her own problems and baggage. ‘Then you’ll know how difficult it is when everyone tries so hard to make you feel better.’

Sara nodded. ‘Yes, and nothing can. But it does pass, Doc, and you don’t stop loving the person just because you move on.’

‘I’ll try and remember that. Now, the tour.’

‘Yes,’ Sara said, ‘I promise not to get in your face, or to intrude on your high roller donors any more than is absolutely necessary for me to get all the good vision I need.’

Doc actually laughed.

Sara grinned. ‘To tell you the truth, I think the biggest value for me on the tour will be visiting the two pangolin rehab places, in Zimbabwe and Namibia. The donors are more just window-dressing.’

‘Perhaps I won’t tell them that.’

Sara laughed. ‘No, perhaps not. Anyway, I’m excited and I hope you are. A change of scenery will be good for you.’

‘I hope so.’

Doc had another drink. Someone had thought to order in pizzas so she was able to gobble a couple of slices in between catching up with people she hadn’t seen for months. Apart from Kanta and her police and law enforcement team, this crew was the nearest thing she had to family.

Graham danced with Annaliese, and Doc was not jealous at all. It really had been just a fling with him and she told herself that while being in someone’s arms tonight might make her feel better for a short time, she was still aching too much over Jurie.

Geoff came over to her. ‘We’ve put you in the last room on the right, over there on the other side of the pool.’

‘Are you telling the 36-year-old it’s time to go to sleep?’

‘Not at all. I’ve hardly spoken to you since I picked you up. I was hoping we could talk.’

Above the noise of the party she heard the high-pitched whine of a jackal, which cut through the chatter and the bass of the music. Doc realised she wanted to get away from people, truly back into the bush.

‘Only if you promise not to try and cheer me up, or comment on my love life.’

Geoff put his hand on his heart. ‘I promise.’

‘All right. But let’s get away from this music. That is making me feel old.’

They walked off the stoep down some stairs into the yard at the rear of the house. There were few fences within the wildlife estate and the boundary between this house and the one behind it was a natural stand of thornbush. Residents often posted camera trap pictures and video on Instagram and Facebook of leopards and hyenas patrolling around their homes, but Doc wasn’t worried. No self-respecting leopard would want to be in earshot of this varsity DJ’s selection.

‘I’ve been thinking about the link between Steven and John Chen,’ Geoff said.

‘Go on.’ She looked up, not out of exasperation or impatience, but just to see the stars again after so long in the city. She imagined Jurie up there among them.

‘There must be someone higher up the food chain who wanted you and John Chen out of the picture.’

‘So, you don’t think it was an accident? Someone who was just after Chen, and took out Jurie by mistake as well, or as collateral damage?’

Geoff shook his head. ‘Let’s call him Mr Big. He’s taken a hit out on Chen, and failed in the drive-by shooting, and it looks like Chen was running away, to China or Hong Kong or wherever his flight was heading. And Mr Big knows that you and Jurie are a threat to his business. So Mr Big sets you and Jurie and Chen up, so that you’re all in the one place.’

‘So why didn’t his sniper kill me as well?’ Doc asked.

Geoff held up a hand. ‘I’ve thought about that. You’re too high profile and you’re not a cop. Be honest, did Jurie’s death make the front page?’

‘Page six of The Star, page three of Rapport, but only because another Afrikaans policeman was killed on the same day.’

‘If you’d been killed, Doc, it would have been page one, and what upwardly mobile career criminal wants that kind of attention?’

Doc thought about Geoff’s theory. It was one the task team had already examined, but Geoff was taking a look at it from a different perspective, from the viewpoint of whoever had paid the person with the rifle. ‘The cops, of course, think that whoever killed Chen and Jurie was the same person, or paid by the same people, as whoever ordered the first hit on Chen. There was vague speculation about a gang war, but no one has good enough intel on the Chinese community in Johannesburg.’

‘If someone wanted to push Chen out of the business, then killing him is just part of it. Killing Jurie knocked a huge hole in the good guys’ ability to disrupt pangolin poaching.’

‘Yes,’ Doc agreed, ‘plus this Mr Big must have known it would have an effect on me. And it worked.’ She felt her anger start to rise.

‘I wonder if our Mr Big wants you out and about, still,’ Geoff said.

‘Why?’

‘Your network of police and conservation officers still has your number, and every time a pangolin is taken they still come to you.’

‘That’s true.’ She’d had maybe a dozen calls in the last month already and had politely batted each of them away, referring them to the Hawks and STES. But Doc knew that without Jurie inside the police organisation, with his rank and his force of character, the pangolin calls would be falling through the cracks. The South African Police Service had too many other pressing crimes to deal with, from rhino poaching to cash-in-transit heists and murders.

‘I think someone on our side tipped Chen off,’ Geoff said.

Doc’s eyes widened. She had never considered that. ‘Really?’

‘Think about it.’ Geoff took a sip of beer from his bottle. ‘Chen messages you out of the blue on the day you busted Zimbabwe Steven. He knows you’re going to take delivery of a live pangolin and he knows you’ll be on a high. It’s a perfect trap to reel you and Jurie in, and without backup and overwatch protection. You’re both at your most vulnerable.’

Doc resented him putting it like that, but she’d said worse to herself over the past three months. ‘Go on.’

‘Mr Big is pulling the strings. He’s got you, Steven and Chen on speed dial. He set you all up.’

‘Wow,’ Doc said, then checked herself. ‘This is a serious allegation, Geoff. Have you got any evidence to back it up?’

‘Not exactly.’

‘Why do you say, “not exactly”? What’s on your mind?’

Geoff took another drink and looked out at the darkened bush, beyond the cone of light from the house. Out there, whether they heeded it or not, was danger.

‘One thing didn’t make sense,’ Geoff said. ‘And that was why Mr Big would want Steven arrested. The cops might have made a link. It would have been ideal for Mr Big if you ended up with Steven’s live pangolin that day, as it suited his plan, but even better if Steven, a poaching middleman, also escaped and was able to carry on his business, except now supplying to Mr Big.’

Doc drew a breath. ‘He almost did.’

Geoff nodded slowly.

‘Shit,’ Doc said. Doc thought about how Jason had jumped the gun at the sting operation to catch Steven. ‘Jason Chow?’

Geoff turned to her. ‘Jason’s coming to Hoedspruit.’

‘He is?’ Doc was surprised. ‘What for? How come I didn’t know about it?’

Geoff shrugged. ‘He’s kind of been hanging out with us – me, Sue and Zola.’

‘He has?’

‘Don’t look so surprised, Doc. He’s young, like us, and we met when you let us attend the briefing for the operation. Jason’s cool, and Zola and Sue invited him to come for a drink with us after the briefing. We went to a cocktail bar in Melville. Jason paid for the girls; afterwards they all went to a club and went dancing.’

Doc digested the news. She, like the rest of the task team, had been prepared to write off Jason’s premature charge in his car to bust Steven as a mix of inexperience and youthful exuberance; Doc knew for a fact that Frank Galloway had given Jason a dressing-down during the debrief.

‘Did the girls invite Jason out here?’ Doc asked.

‘Kind of. I remember him talking to them in Melville, telling them how he’d grown up in Joburg and how his parents had never been interested in wildlife or going on holidays to the Kruger Park or any game reserves. He said he’d never seen a lion in the wild and Zola and Sue were, like, “Shame, man, we have to get you out to the bush”. He was supposed to be here tonight, for your party. I guess he’s on the way, maybe got stuck in traffic on the N4.’

‘I see,’ Doc said. ‘Do you think Jason is working for Mr Big?’

Geoff shrugged. ‘I’m not a policeman, Doc. I’m a safari guide who wants to work as a zoologist. I read tracks, signs, look and listen. That’s all. But some things don’t add up.’

He was being modest. He had a good brain. He’d make a good scientist and maybe, one day, a lecturer. Geoff would also have made a good detective.

Doc had wanted to come to the bush to get away, to forget, but it seemed her past was rising up again, like bile burning the back of her throat. At the same time as she examined her revulsion she knew the slow fuse of anger over Jurie’s death and her part in it was still burning inside her.

Pete the veterinarian came outside, tossed his cigarette on the ground and stomped it out. He downed the last of his Windhoek Lager and gave the bottle to Geoff. ‘Look after this, will you, my boy.’

Geoff smiled. ‘Sure.’

‘Doc,’ Pete hiccupped. ‘They’re playing the Pet Shop Boys. It’s what these young people call “old music”. Come, dance.’

‘Pete, I don’t think . . .’ He grabbed her by the forearm and Doc let herself be led back inside, rolling her eyes at Geoff on the way.

David and Veronica were in the centre of the lounge room doing an approximation of a jitterbug and some of the students had their phones out to do some videoing. Doc surrendered to Pete who, even though he was drunk, was surprisingly light on his toes.

‘It’s a Sin’ blared out. Their dancing was a sin. Doc shook her head to try and clear the champagne and tell herself to enjoy her time here.

‘Have I ever told you that I loved you?’ Pete breathed beer in her ear.

‘Several times, Pete. The last time was at the bar at the old train station, at Skukuza, after the conference.’

‘Oh, yes. That’s right. What did you say?’ He twirled her and she threw her head back theatrically at the end of the movement, to hoots of encouragement from the crowd of onlookers who had gathered.

‘I told you that I was in love with someone else.’

Peter swung her back into his arms. ‘Oh yes, I remember . . . Lucky guy.’

Doc couldn’t bring herself to remind the drunken veterinarian that the man she was talking about was dead.

As the song ended, Pete let Doc fall back in an elaborate dip. When he brought her back up, the crowd was whooping and applauding.

A moment later the lounge room was invaded as the DJ found some ABBA. Geoff, Zola and Sue, as well as Graham Foster and his latest target, Annaliese, enfolded Pete and Doc in a group hug and they all danced together. By the end of the song, Doc found she was actually having fun.

Then Jason Chow walked into the house.

Chapter 6

The song ended, but Sue had already broken away from their dancing group and darted through the dancers and watchers to Jason. He took her in his arms and kissed her.

Doc blinked. Her mind was fuzzy from champagne and spinning around, but the sight of Sue and Jason holding hands as they spoke to each other sobered her. She excused herself from the others.

‘Hi, Doc, I’m sorry I missed your party,’ Jason said.

‘I’ll get you a beer, Jason,’ Sue said. ‘Castle Lite, right?’

‘Thanks, babe,’ Jason said.

Babe. ‘Nice to see you, Jason,’ said Doc. ‘I think for some of this crowd the party’s just getting started.’

‘I could hear it driving up the road.’

He wore a shiny Manchester United shirt crowned with a gold necklace, Gucci shorts and Nike slides. His hair was spiky with gel and Doc noticed, for the first time, a diamond stud earring. Jason was a good-looking kid; on duty he dressed conservatively, chinos and polo shirt.

He surveyed the crowd. ‘I think I should have brought some green clothes.’

‘Only if you’re planning on walking in the bush,’ Doc said. ‘How have you been?’

He shrugged. ‘You know.’

She looked into his eyes. ‘I do.’

‘Doc . . . I . . .’

‘Save it, Jason,’ she said, giving him a sympathetic frown. ‘We can blame ourselves all we like, but what happened, happened. We arrested Steven, but someone was ready to kill John Chen, and maybe me, and maybe Jurie, too. Or he just got in the way.’

He nodded. He’d obviously been privy to the task group’s theories and seemingly endless discussions over motive, means and opportunity. ‘You think you were a target as well?’ Jason asked.

‘Yes.’

‘Then why aren’t you dead?’

She was taken aback. ‘Most people just say “sorry for your loss”. Some days I wish I had been shot.’

He gave a small nod, as if she’d just confirmed something he had thought. ‘The way I heard it, the shooter had a clear line of sight for long enough to shoot you,’ Jason said.

She opened her eyes. ‘What are you saying?’

‘He didn’t want to kill you, Doc. Why?’

‘How the fuck should I know, Jason? What are you trying to say?’

He held up his hands. ‘Chill, Doc. I don’t mean any offence. And, hey, everyone’s pointed the finger at me, whether they had the official excuse or guts to say it to my face or not. Half of the people I work with think I’m a rhino or abalone kingpin in disguise, the other half think I can single-handedly bring down the Chinese triads because of my so-called connections. I can’t win.’

Doc thought about the conversation she’d just had with Geoff. Was this just Jason going on the front foot – the best defence being offence?

‘One theory you may have heard,’ Doc said, ‘was that killing me would have brought more heat down on whoever organised the hit than just killing a gangster and a cop.’

Jason worked his lower jaw, moving it from side to side as he thought about that. ‘I don’t buy it. You’ve saved more pangolins in the last three years than the entire police and environment department combined. It’s not in any poacher or exporter’s interest to have you alive. Your death might have made the newspapers and TV for, what, three days, tops?’

As ‘cool’ as he might be, there was a hardness to the young detective. Doc guessed that came very quickly on the job in Johannesburg, and Chow, perhaps fast-tracked because of his ethnic background rather than in spite of it, would still have had to do some time as a uniform, with all the horror that brought with it.

‘Why are you here, Jason? A bush holiday?’

He met her stare. ‘Partly. Sue’s asked me to come on the tour with you.’

Doc was taken aback. ‘Don’t take this the wrong way, but you’re not invited.’

Sue came back to them then and handed Jason his beer. ‘Your professor here says I’m not allowed to come on your pangolin tour of Africa,’ he said to her.

‘What?’ Sue said.

‘We’re full and all the accommodation’s been booked, Sue, you know that,’ Doc said.

‘There’s no law against Jason following us to Zimbabwe and Namibia. He was planning on driving his own car in any case, and I’ve got a room of my own everywhere we’re staying – remember my parents paid for the single supplement?’

Doc sighed. ‘Yes, I do.’

‘Doc, if you have a problem with me –’ Jason began.

‘No, no, not at all.’ She did not have a problem with Jason, per se, and despite the concerns Geoff had raised she was not inclined to mentally convict Jason of being a secret Triad member infiltrated into the Hawks – at least not without proof. She felt bad, now, that subconsciously she might have let some latent prejudice get the better of her.

‘I won’t be crashing your meals, or the nights you spend at game lodges, Doc. The truth is, I’ve never travelled to Zimbabwe or Namibia, and I’ve never really been on a safari. I want to keep working on cases like I’ve done with you, busting poachers, so I realise I need to increase my knowledge base. If it’s going to be that big a deal I’ll drive back to Johannesburg tomorrow.’

‘It’s fine, Jason, and I’m sorry if what I said came out the wrong way,’ Doc said.

‘No problem.’ He smiled and put an arm around Sue. ‘I guess you’ve heard that we’re, well, kind of good friends now.’

Sue shot him a look. ‘Good friends?’

‘Well, boyfriend and girlfriend.’

‘Then I’m happy for you.’

‘So who else is coming on this tour?’ Jason asked. ‘And what’s it all about?’

‘Sue hasn’t told you?’

‘It was kind of a last-minute invitation,’ Sue said.

Doc could only marvel at the impetuosity of young love. ‘Sara, the filmmaker who you already know, is joining us to shoot a documentary. Geoff, Zola and, of course, Sue, are coming along too. Zola’s bringing someone – a paying guest – as well. I think it’s her uncle or someone. We had a cancellation and Zola said her relative would fill the spot.’

‘So, I’m not the only late addition.’

Doc frowned. ‘I suppose not.’

‘I didn’t think I was doing anything wrong, Doc,’ Sue said.

‘It’s fine.’ Doc checked her watch.

‘We should get going,’ Sue said.

‘But I only just arrived,’ Jason protested.

‘Well,’ Sue twirled a finger in her hair, ‘you can either stay here and drink, or you can come with me to my rondavel at the wildlife college. There isn’t room for all of us here, and if you come to my place I can brief you in more detail on the tour, young man.’

Doc tutted in mock shame as Sue led Jason away. The detective waggled his fingers at Doc over his shoulder. Doc envied them for a moment, though she still felt somehow uneasy about the news that Jason would be tagging along with them. But as Sue said, there was nothing to prevent him from following the tour.

She stretched and yawned just as Geoff came out of the lounge area.

‘I’ve had enough to drink. I’m going to turn in, I think,’ he said.

‘Me too. I won’t say thank you for the surprise party, Geoff – I still hate them – but, well, thank you for thinking of me. It was nice to see all the familiar faces.’

He shrugged. ‘We think of you . . . well, I don’t know, as more than a professor.’

‘That’s sweet,’ she shot him a look, ‘but it won’t earn you any more marks.’

‘I know. I look forward to working with you in the field tomorrow, and on the tour, Doc.’

She groaned. ‘Now I really need to sleep. Walking in the bush in the Lowveld heat tomorrow is going to make me regret the champagne. Goodnight, Geoff.’

He smiled at her. He really was very handsome. ‘’Night, Doc.’

Doc made the rounds of the party, which was breaking up. Pete slurred a goodnight and gave her a hug, then said he was walking home.

‘Be careful of the leopards,’ she said.

‘I’m not worried about leopards. ’Sides, I’m only just down the street.’

Graham Foster came up to Doc. ‘I hear you’re out in the field tomorrow with the students, in the Balule Nature Reserve.’

‘I am,’ Doc said, ‘and I’m already regretting it.’

‘I’ll be there, as well,’ Graham said.

‘What? Says who?’ Doc was used to planning her own expeditions, although she had outsourced some of the logistics for tomorrow to Pete, who would have a worse hangover than her.

‘Pete knew that you and I know each other, and when I heard you were coming to the Hoed’, I volunteered. You need an armed ranger to escort you on your walks with your pangolins in Balule, and I’m your man.’

He was presumptuous bordering on arrogant, but Doc couldn’t be mad at Graham when he flashed that smile. ‘Graham . . .’

‘Denise . . .’

She laughed. ‘Only my mother calls me Denise, and then only when I’m in trouble.’

He lowered his voice. ‘Would you like to be in trouble?’ He raised his eyebrows.

Doc punched Graham in the chest, half playfully. ‘Enough, young man.’

‘I’ll be good, I swear. Unless you want me to be bad.’

‘Graham. I’ll see you in the morning.’

‘’Night, Doc, I’ll see you in my dreams.’ He gave her a hug, for about three seconds too long.

‘I suggest you sleep in the back of your bakkie. I’m sure Zola or Geoff can find you some blankets.’

‘It’s nice that you care about me, Doc.’ Graham’s phone dinged. He looked at the screen and frowned.

‘Everything OK?’ Doc asked.

‘Work stuff. It’s my partner, Oscar Mdluli.’

‘I remember him. Nice guy,’ Doc said.

‘Sorry, I’m afraid I have to go.’

She waved him off. ‘Goodbye, Graham.’

*

Sara finished her last beer of the night and watched Graham’s clumsy last-ditch attempt to get close to Doc again. She’d heard from the students how Graham and Doc had once had a ‘thing’.

Jason Chow’s arrival had been a surprise, and she guessed it might have come as something of a shock to Doc as well. Sara saw how Sue and the handsome young detective were holding hands, and had just left together. Inevitably, her mind turned over how this new relationship might play out in her documentary.

Aside from Doc shooting Steven, and the death of Jurie, neither of which she would be able to show in detail in her film, some of the best action from the first bust had been Jason screaming across the car park and spilling from the vehicle, gun drawn. There was the small problem that Jason had acted too soon, and been reprimanded for his foolishness, but the viewing public need not know that. To her audience in Europe, America, the UK and elsewhere who were streaming her documentary it would just be a hip young detective racing to the rescue.

Sara looked around the lounge room. Even the diehards were leaving now, including Graham Foster; she knew Graham from her time working at Khaya Ngala lodge in the Sabi Sand Game Reserve. During the COVID lockdowns, Sara had worked as a camera person on the Stayhome Safari program, webcasting live safari game drives to frustrated Africa addicts around the world. Graham had been working there as an anti-poaching ranger, and had been going out with Sara’s friend, Mia Greenaway, the lodge’s head guide. That was before Graham and Doc had hooked up, before Sara had even met Doc. Sara had always had a bit of a crush on Graham. She was sorry, now, that he’d left the party on his own. Sara wished that she’d invited him to stay in her bed.

She had Graham’s number and, on impulse, sent him a message.

Howzit Graham. Nice to see you at the party. Hope you made it home safe. Great to see you again tonight. She paused, thinking about how to end the message without sounding too desperate. Maybe coffee in between activities tomorrow?

She saw Zola sitting in a corner, tapping the screen of her phone. A full glass of wine was on the side table next to her, untouched.

‘Not ready for bed?’ Sara asked Zola.

Zola looked up. ‘Oh. No. I mean, yes, soon. Just dealing with something.’

Sara saw that Zola was biting her lower lip. ‘Everything OK?’

‘All good. I think I just need to get some sleep,’ Zola said.

Sara had noted, during the evening, how Zola had stayed on the edge of the crowd, not dancing, except for the one ABBA song where they had all encircled Doc. Only then did it seem that Zola had truly joined in and enjoyed herself. She was looking at her phone again now, and holding it close to her chest.

‘I hear you’re bringing someone on the tour,’ Sara said.

Zola looked up, startled. ‘Who told you that?’

‘Doc.’

‘Oh.’

‘She said it’s a family member, is that right?’

‘No. Not exactly. Just someone I know. Why? Did Doc ask you if you knew who it was?’

Sara pulled up a dining chair that had been pushed aside to make room for the dance floor. ‘No, but now you have me interested. Doc didn’t tell me the name of your mystery guest, but is it a secret? A surprise?’

‘No.’ Zola looked down at her phone again, as if she was expecting a reply from someone.

Sara put a hand over her mouth. ‘Oh my word, is it a handsome stranger? Are you setting Doc up with someone, Zola?’

There was no smile in return. ‘Absolutely not. Shit.’

‘What is it?’

‘Nothing,’ Zola said.

There was the sound of a glass falling and shattering. Sara’s journalistic instincts made her want to quiz Zola more, but she saw Doc, in the kitchen, bending over to pick up the mess, so she got up to help.

Sara went to Doc and saw that she had been cleaning up. Sara began picking up empty beer cans and bottles and tossing them in the bin. When she looked over she saw that Zola had stayed seated and was staring at her phone.

‘Zola?’ Sara called from the kitchen.

She looked up, blinking. ‘Yes?’

‘Maybe give us a hand here, help clean up?’

‘Oh, OK, sure.’ Zola sounded reluctant but stood up.

‘Go to bed if you’re tired, Zola.’ Doc closed the door of the dishwasher and switched it on.

‘No, no, I’m fine. Really.’

Sara saw Doc give Zola a puzzled look.

Zola shook her head as if to clear it. ‘Well, all right. I’m tired and I’m going to bed. Goodnight, Professor Rado,’ she said. ‘’Night, Sara.’

Sara watched Zola shuffle away and looked to Doc, who was watching her student with a concerned expression.

‘Do you think she’s OK?’ Doc asked Sara, once Zola was in her room with the door closed.

‘I’m not sure,’ Sara said. ‘I’ve seen some changes in her during the relatively short time I’ve known her.’

‘How so?’ Doc had clearly been tied up with her own problems.

‘When I first met you all, about five months ago, she seemed like a happy kid, keen, always smiling, and then she seemed even happier, like she was floating on air, in love maybe.’

Doc nodded. ‘I think I remember noticing that. Too much time on her phone, grinning, whereas now she was looking worried when she was checking her screen.’

‘Yes. I’ve been doing some interviews, to . . .’ Sara didn’t want to say, ‘fill in time’, even though that’s what it had been, ‘to flesh out the story. It’s hard to get Zola to concentrate, even for a short period.’

Doc put a hand to her mouth and yawned. ‘I’ll have time to talk to her out in the field and on the tour. I’ll make sure I do.’

‘That sounds like a good idea. Goodnight, Doc.’

‘’Night, Sara.’

Sara felt restless so she stood out on the deck next to the swimming pool. A Scops owl made its high-pitched repetitive brrrr call somewhere nearby. In the distance a train driver sounded his horn, a reminder that man and wildlife lived cheek by jowl in parts of Africa, no matter how wild the place seemed. Somewhere out in the bush the estate’s resident leopard was probably hunting right now. Sara heard a clanging noise and walked up the driveway to the front of the house.

Jason Chow was wrestling with a ladder attached to a rooftop tent on top of a HiLux bakkie. The tent was halfway open and he was grunting.

‘Need some help with that?’ Sara asked.

‘Um, yeah, maybe, thanks. I only just bought this thing and it’s the first time I’ve tried to open it.’

Sara walked around the vehicle and saw that the tent’s waterproof cover was hanging off the other side and a strap had snagged. She unhooked it. ‘That should help.’

Jason was able to fully fold out the tent. ‘Phew, thanks, Sara.’

‘You’re sleeping here the night?’ she said. ‘I thought you left with Sue earlier?’

‘Yeah. It turned out that the rondavel Sue was staying in at the wildlife college was double-booked. I drove her home, to the college, but her roomie can’t move anywhere else – the place is full and I was told I couldn’t camp there. So I dropped Sue off and came back here. Sorry if I woke you.’

‘No, you didn’t. I was just cleaning up. You don’t exactly look like you go camping every weekend.’

‘I don’t.’

‘You’re really going to follow us all over southern Africa, like a puppy following its pretty owner?’

He laughed. ‘I never thought about it that way, but yes, that’s about right. I needed to get away from the city, from all the bad stuff.’

Sara nodded. ‘I can respect that.’

‘What are you doing here? Why aren’t you back in Norway? Don’t you miss it?’

‘Norway’s safe, orderly, tolerant, with lots of rules and very little crime. Sometimes I miss that, but when I’m there it drives me crazy. This place is wild.’

Jason shook his head. ‘You don’t know the half of it.’

‘I’m sure. Sleep well, Jason.’ Sara left Jason to his setting up.

She went to her room and, still restless for some reason, fossicked in her day bag until she found an old-fashioned cigarette tin that she’d bought at a flea market in Johannesburg. She opened it, took out a joint and went back outside.

Sitting on the edge of the pool, her feet in the water, she lit up and took a deep drag. She hoped the marijuana would soothe whatever it was that was bothering her.

Her mind wouldn’t let up, so she harnessed it to imagining the storyline so far for the documentary about Doc. Doc’s Documentary. That gave her a chuckle.

She had already done a rough edit of the vision she had shot to date. The action was all well and good, but how was she to handle Jurie’s death? They could not leave it out of the documentary, as it was a critical part of Doc’s story. What she had cut, she tried not to think about. She had kept the camera rolling as she’d approached Doc, who’d been cradling Jurie’s head in her lap. Doc had looked up at her, screaming, pleading for help. Others were coming, and Sara did switch her camera off, drop to her knees and check Jurie. As she suspected, it was too late for him. The bullet had killed him instantly. But Sara knew in her heart she had kept filming for maybe just two or three seconds too long.

She shuddered, now, under the stars. Why did I do that? The vision was too gory to use, so there was no need for it, but for those two seconds she had remained detached from reality, as if watching the events on television rather than through the viewfinder of her video camera.

This was what Sara wanted to be, a filmmaker who would shoot and produce documentaries that would make the world sit up, once and for all, and take notice of the illegal wildlife trade. It wasn’t just the rhinos, elephants and pangolins being killed, it was about people, like Jurie, losing their lives, and those such as Doc, whose lives were changed forever.

Pangolins in the Mist? Sara laughed. She was hungry and was wondering what was left from the party snacks when her phone rang.

It took Sara a second to come out of storyboard mode and back to reality. She fumbled in the back pocket of her pants for the phone and flipped the ringer to silent. She didn’t want to wake the rest of the house. The screen said: Graham Foster.

‘Well, hello, big boy.’ She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. ‘This is unexpected, how are –’

‘Hello, who is this?’ a woman’s voice asked.

‘Um . . .’ Shit, did Graham have a steady girlfriend he hadn’t told anyone about? Had she seen Sara’s message?

‘Who is this?’ the voice repeated, impatient, if not angry. ‘Do you know a Graham Foster? This is his phone.’

A Graham Foster? ‘Yes,’ Sara said. ‘Graham and I are friends . . . yes, good friends, but just friends. Can I help you with something?’

‘I . . . Sara?’

‘Yes, this is Sara. You can probably see that from his call history. Who is this? What are you doing with Graham’s phone?’

There was a pause. ‘I . . . I just found it. Graham . . .’

Sara heard a noise, like a gasp, maybe a sob. Also through the phone’s speaker she heard the wail of a siren, screaming louder and louder until it was abruptly cut off. Sara heard the crunch of gravel, and voices.

‘Are you hurt?’ a man asked in the background.

‘Graham what?’ Sara said, worried now. She was getting annoyed at this person, who might be more stoned and drunk than she was, which would be saying something.

‘I’m sorry,’ the woman said, sniffing, ‘but Graham Foster is dead.’

Chapter 7

Doc had just fallen asleep when Sara shook her awake and broke the news to her.

‘The police say they want to come and talk to us tomorrow – I mean, later this morning. It’s already tomorrow,’ Sara said.

Doc shook her head. ‘No. Let’s go now. Are you OK to drive?’

‘Yes,’ Sara said. ‘I didn’t drink too much.’

Doc smelled marijuana on Sara’s clothes. ‘On second thought, let me borrow your van, please. You stay here and get some rest.’

Sara shook her head. ‘No way.’

Doc knew better than to try and argue with the forthright Norwegian. ‘All right, but drive slowly.’

Doc put her T-shirt and jeans and shoes back on. The news had not really sunk in.

Sara did drive uncharacteristically slowly in the pre-dawn blackness, peering intently through the windscreen as they exited the wildlife estate’s boom gate, turned left at the Pick n Pay and headed out of town on the long, straight road that bisected the area’s game reserves.

Doc couldn’t quite believe Graham was dead. She listened as Sara explained that the woman who had called, after seeing Sara’s SMS on Graham’s phone, was a Kruger National Park employee on her way from her home at Phalaborwa, north of Hoedspruit, to Skukuza in the south of the reserve. She had left home in the early hours of the morning, in darkness, to arrive at the Paul Kruger Gate entrance to the reserve just before dawn. She had come across a bakkie parked on the side of the road, and spotted the body of a man next to it.

Sara slowed even more as they saw red and blue flashing lights up ahead. She pulled up fifty metres short of where police had set up arc lights and a generator and roped off an area around Graham’s vehicle with crime scene tape. A camera flash lit up the area like a strobe light.

A uniformed constable broke from the scene to intercept them as they got out and started walking.

‘I am sorry, you are not allowed here.’

‘My name is Dr Denise Rado,’ Doc said, hoping the weight of her official honorific would help them get through. ‘We’re friends of . . . the deceased. We were the last ones to see him.’

The constable put a hand to his mouth and yawned, before pointing over his shoulder. ‘Warrant Officer Mdluli is investigating. See him.’

‘Thomas?’ Doc said.

‘Yebo.’

Doc nodded and led Sara on. ‘I know him. He’s a good man.’

As they approached the cone of light a short man, bald, came to the tape, saying, ‘I’m sorry –’

‘Thomas. Hi, it’s me, Denise – Doc.’

He blinked a couple of times. ‘Professor Rado.’

‘Yes, how are you?’

‘I am fine, and you?’

Doc shrugged. ‘Not good for hearing this news.’

‘Yes.’ Thomas looked at the notebook in his hand. ‘The woman who discovered Mr Foster’s body spoke to a Sara Sk–’

‘Skjold,’ Sara said. ‘It’s Norwegian. That’s me.’

Doc introduced them to each other. ‘We were both with Graham – Mr Foster – this evening, at a function at the Hoedspruit Wildlife Estate. The woman who called said Graham had been shot? Have you got any idea what might have happened, Thomas?’

‘I wouldn’t normally discuss such matters with a civilian, but since you and I have worked together, Doc, I can tell you what little we have found.’ He gestured to the bakkie behind him with his thumb. ‘It appears Mr Foster suffered a flat tyre and had stopped and begun to change it when he was accosted by someone, who shot and robbed him.’

‘What was taken?’ Doc asked.

‘He has an empty pistol holster on his belt, and no sign of a firearm in the car, from what I can see, so we are assuming a firearm was taken. I’m waiting for the forensics team to do a thorough search of the vehicle.’

Doc nodded. ‘Graham carried a .44 magnum revolver.’

Thomas gave a low whistle. ‘A very powerful handgun.’

‘Graham was an anti-poaching ranger. He carried the .44 in case he was confronted by dangerous game, as well as poachers.’

Thomas took a pen from his shirt pocket and wrote in his notebook. ‘I see. That is something we can look into. He would not be the first anti-poaching ranger to be assassinated in this area.’

‘You think this might be more than just a roadside robbery?’ Doc asked. Sara was standing to one side, and Doc was thankful that she was letting her do all the talking.

Thomas pursed his lips, as if wondering whether to share more information, or if he’d already said too much.

Doc thought fast. ‘Thomas, Graham was going to be working for me, providing backup. My task team was ambushed a few months ago.’

‘I heard,’ Thomas said. ‘I met Jurie once, at a conference in Pretoria on wildlife crime. He gave a briefing on the work you and he were doing before I met you. He was a good guy. His death is a terrible loss for the SAPS and for our country and I’m sorry for the loss of your friend.’

‘Thank you,’ Doc said. She added nothing more, but waited for Thomas to put the pieces together.

‘You think this might be a hit, related to your work with pangolins?’

Sara glanced at her as if this was news to her, which it probably was. In truth, Doc had no idea if whatever had happened to Graham was in any way related to her or anything she may have done, but she wanted to know as much as she could about Graham’s death, as quicky as possible, and Thomas was the best source of that information. ‘Maybe.’

Thomas sighed. ‘Are you OK with viewing the body?’

‘Yes,’ Doc and Sara said at the same time.

‘Not you, Miss . . .’

‘Sara is fine. But –’ Sara began.

‘Sorry.’

‘Sara, will you wait for me here, please?’ Doc said.

‘Of course.’ Sara was chastened, but she gave a small nod, as if to say she knew what Doc was up to, and approved.

Thomas lifted the crime scene tape for him and Doc to duck under, and led her past a police bakkie with a blue light flashing, and a couple of crime scene technicians dressed in white overalls, who were shining torches on the ground.

‘Anything?’ Thomas asked them.

‘No fresh tracks that we can see, other than the deceased’s,’ a female technician said. ‘Looks like the killer must have been standing on the tar road, not the dirt.’

Thomas looked to Graham’s bakkie and the body, which was lying about three metres from the vehicle, on the edge of the sealed road.

Thomas led Doc to where Graham lay.

Doc cast her eyes about. Graham’s Ford Ranger was jacked up; the right rear wheel had been removed and a furrow in the gravel showed where he had dragged it away from the vehicle. The inflated spare was propped up against the vehicle’s body. The wheel spanner lay on the ground, along with the nuts.

Thomas knelt by the body. ‘You sure?’

Doc nodded. Thomas moved the blanket. Doc drew a sharp breath. ‘It’s him, Graham Foster.’

‘Thank you for the formal identification,’ he said. ‘My brother, Oscar, works with Mr Foster, but I’d never actually met him.’

Doc looked down at him. ‘Single gunshot to the forehead.’

‘I’m waiting for the medical examiner, but I’d say death was instantaneous. You can see the powder burns around the entry wound. The shooter must have been right in front of him, at very close range.’

‘Any signs of a struggle?’ Doc asked.

Thomas shook his head. ‘Nothing.’

Doc surveyed the scene again. ‘He stood up from what he was doing, changing the wheel, and walked towards whoever shot him.’

‘Yes,’ Thomas said.

‘Someone showed up, perhaps posing as a good Samaritan, offering to help?’ Thomas suggested.

Doc thought about that. ‘Graham wouldn’t have needed or accepted help to change a tyre. He was too alpha for that.’

‘He was at your party?’

‘Yes,’ Doc said, her eyes still roaming.

‘The medical examiner will do a blood test, but had he been drinking?’

‘I’m afraid so,’ Doc said. ‘I told him to stay, to sleep in his bakkie. I wish he’d listened to me.’

The sadness washed over her like a wave as she looked down at him. Yes, he was confident to the point of arrogance, and thought he was God’s gift to women, but at heart he was a good man, dedicated to the fight against poaching. Judging by the way he had hit on her at the party, she thought Graham had probably muscled his way in on her field trip in order to sleep with her, or one of the female researchers. But his death had shaken her, beyond the fact that it was a terrible loss of a young man’s life.

‘Eish, drinking and driving, is such a problem here,’ Thomas said.

‘As is murder,’ Doc said. ‘The woman who called Sara – who was she?’

Thomas checked his notes. ‘Thandeka Baloyi, SANParks employee, based at Skukuza in the Kruger Park. She’d been on leave and was getting an early start to drive back to the game reserve. She saw the car, and Mr Foster lying on the road. She stopped and saw that he was dead. She said she called the number of the last person who had messaged Mr Foster.’

‘Sara.’

‘Yes.’

‘Sara told me that Ms Baloyi knew Graham’s name. How so?’ Doc asked.

‘His wallet was gone, but whoever killed him had taken out his driver’s licence and dropped it beside his body on the ground. I have bagged it for evidence, in case there is a fingerprint on it.’

‘Strange?’ Doc said.

Thomas shrugged. ‘I’ve seen stranger things. There is no wallet on the body or in the car, so we assume he had one and it was stolen, along with his revolver.’

Doc nodded. ‘His prize possession.’

‘I am afraid that a gun like that, alone, is worth killing for in this country. Sometimes farms are robbed solely for the firearms, as they are sought after by rhino poachers as well as robbers.’

Hoedspruit was not Johannesburg. Hijackings, cash-in-transit robberies, murders and other violent crimes were rare in the Lowveld, which was known to many as the ‘Slowveld’ because of its relaxed, easy pace of life. People moved here to get away from the crime in the big cities, and here was a man randomly gunned down while changing a tyre.

‘Graham had a reputation,’ Thomas said.

Doc looked up from Graham’s face. ‘How so?’

‘A poacher was killed in the Timbavati Game Reserve last month – a colleague of mine was the investigating officer and my brother told me some of the details, although he was on leave at the time it happened. Graham Foster shot the man, who was part of a suspected rhino poaching gang. Security is very good in that reserve and Foster and another man, with a tracker dog, responded to a sighting from a camera trap. They tracked a gang of three poachers and when they cornered them the poacher with the rifle shot at them and wounded the dog. Foster said he fired a warning shot and called to the man to surrender, but the poacher then opened fire on him. Foster shot the poacher in the chest, killing him. The other two poachers then surrendered and were arrested by Foster and his colleague.’

Doc shook her head in quiet awe of the men and women who continued to fight on the conservation front lines. ‘How horrible.’

‘As is procedure out here, a manslaughter docket was opened to investigate the incident. It was decided that Foster had acted in self-defence, but he still had to testify when the two other poachers appeared in court. I heard there was an angry crowd of local people in attendance, relatives of the dead man. My colleague told me he heard more than one of those members of the deceased’s family threaten to kill Graham Foster.’

It was possible this was a payback crime. Perhaps someone had been out driving in the night and had recognised Graham’s bakkie. Doc closed her eyes and tried to picture the scene as it had played out just a short time ago.

‘Are you all right?’ Thomas asked.

‘Just thinking.’

‘Very well.’

She heard Thomas’s footsteps, then his voice as he moved away from her and conversed with one of the crime scene technicians in Xitsonga.

Graham had been drunk, but he was built like a Springboks forward and could hold his liquor better than most – not that his build was an excuse for his drink driving; it wasn’t. He lived his life on the edge, hunting poachers for a living, and from what Doc had seen of him, he was always armed. Stopping on a quiet roadside at night on the edge of a game reserve, with no streetlights or houses or other humans around, was not a wise thing to do at the best of times. Graham, she was sure, would have been aware that he was in a vulnerable situation.

She pictured a car pulling up, before Thandeka Baloyi had arrived, and slowing to investigate why a bakkie was parked on the grass verge of the road.

Graham would have had a light on, she imagined. The driver’s-side door of the vehicle was still open and the interior light of the vehicle still burned. Perhaps that was enough light for him to change the tyre. What would she have done in the same situation?

Doc opened her eyes again and looked at the bakkie. On the ground was the long-armed socket wrench Graham had been using to loosen the wheel nuts. If she had been in his position, she would have at least picked up the wrench and taken that with her if she was going to talk to a stranger who had just pulled up in a car.

Graham, of course, had a gun. He would have been acutely aware, as Thomas had mentioned, that anti-poaching rangers had been targeted in this part of South Africa in the past. A senior ranger had been gunned down outside his home at Acornhoek a couple of years earlier in a high-profile assassination.

Would Graham have drawn his gun? She recalled there was a flap and a clip on the holster, so perhaps he would have at least undone that.

There were so many unknowns, it was hard to work out what might have happened next. Thomas came back to her.

‘Doc, I need to finish up here.’

‘Of course. Were there any spent bullet casings?’

He shook his head. ‘Not that we can find so far, but we’ll check the trees over there,’ he jabbed a thumb over his shoulder towards the bush on the other side of the fence, ‘to see if we can find the slug that killed Mr Foster embedded in a trunk. We might get lucky.’

Talk about a needle in a haystack.

‘Is there anything more you can tell us about Mr Foster,’ Thomas asked, ‘or last night?’

Doc nodded. ‘When he left the party he said he was going to attend to some “work stuff”, and he mentioned his partner – your brother, Oscar Mdluli.’

‘I’ve already left a message for Oscar on his phone, as I know he and Mr Foster were close. I will talk to him.’

A lump rose in Doc’s throat as the stark reality that another man she had known had been killed threatened to overwhelm her. She put her hand over her mouth.

‘I’m sorry, Doc.’

‘It’s OK.’ She sniffed back the tears. They would come later. Thomas nodded to a uniformed constable standing by Graham’s body, and he covered Graham’s face with the blanket again.

‘The work you’re doing out here,’ Thomas asked, ‘is it another sting operation?’

‘No,’ Doc said. ‘I’m just here to supervise a couple of research programs my students are undertaking. I haven’t done any undercover busts since, well, since Jurie. I’ve got no ongoing operations here. Graham was just going to keep an eye out for dangerous game, and poachers, of course, while we were in the bush.’

‘So he wasn’t really part of your anti-poaching pangolin task team.’

Doc shook her head. ‘No, he wasn’t, Thomas, and I’m sorry if I gave that impression.’

He shrugged. ‘It’s OK. I’ve seen you speak and I know what you and Jurie and your team achieved. Another pair of eyes on a crime scene shouldn’t bother anyone, unless they have too much of an ego. And it’s late, and I’m tired, and we never have enough resources or money.’

‘I hear you.’

‘I’ll look into his background, what he’s been up to lately in the reserve in addition to the shooting of the poacher,’ Thomas said. ‘Can I count on your help?’

‘Absolutely,’ Doc said. ‘I know every ranger in the Timbavati will want to help you. Graham was . . . well, he had his faults, like all of us, Thomas, but he was one of the good guys. We’ll do anything we can to ensure his killer is brought to justice.’

‘Thank you, Doc. Are you here for long?’

‘Three days, as part of an organised tour that begins tomorrow, and then we leave Hoedspruit for Zimbabwe via the Kruger Park. You’ve got my number – just call me if there is anything I can do.’

‘I will.’ Thomas closed his notebook. ‘What do you think, Doc? Was this a hit on Graham, or was he just unlucky? Could he have been targeted because of his association with you?’

She looked into Thomas’s eyes. ‘I don’t know. I just don’t know.’

Doc turned and started back to where Sara was waiting for her, probably champing at the bit to find out what Doc knew. She glanced back over her shoulder at Graham’s lifeless body and the sorrow welled up in her again.

It all seemed so hopeless. Graham, big and strong, fit and young and with his stupid big handgun, was no more. The side of evil had won another round, taken another victim, just like it had taken Jurie. And Doc was left to ask why, to run the theories over and over again in her head, and to watch a species disappear from the face of the earth.

They called people like her, Jurie and Graham heroes on social media, celebrated their meagre triumphs with reels and stories on World Ranger Day and World Pangolin Day, but in the end what did they achieve? Two men had gone to early graves and the slaughter of wildlife continued.

It was all for nothing.

Each step she took felt like there was a dead body tied by a rope to her ankles. Every time she tried to move she saw a white, lifeless hand outstretched, reaching for her, trying to grab hold of her. Jurie, Graham, who would be next? And why, oh why, had she been left alive? Why had she been spared, only to be dragged down by grief?

Sara’s eyes widened when she saw her. ‘Oh, Doc . . .’

Doc clung to her, and wept into Sara’s shoulder.

Chapter 8

Geoff delicately moved a buffalo thorn branch out of his way as he followed the pangolin.

The tiny, wicked thorns on the stem gave the tree its slang name, the ‘wait-a-bit’, as the barbs latched onto clothes, skin and hair with painful ease. He kept his eye on the precious animal as he ducked and weaved.

The pangolin scratched in the dirt with his strong front claws, and then his narrow pink tongue, almost as long as his body and anchored deep inside his body near his pelvis, shot out like a striking snake. The ants he’d uncovered were helpless, and became trapped in the sticky saliva that coated his tongue.

Fed, Geoff tapped into the notes page of his phone as the tongue disappeared as fast as it had appeared. He recorded the time. When the pangolin had licked up a few hundred ants and began to move again, Geoff quickly dropped to one knee, snapped a photo of some of the lucky survivors who had evaded becoming brunch, and made a note of the species of ant. Pangolins were fussy eaters. He’d already recorded this one eating six different types of ants.

Geoff’s thoughts turned to Graham. Geoff, Zola and Sue had been discussing and speculating on their professor’s love life in a bar in Johannesburg one night and Sue had mentioned that Doc had once had a fling with a ranger.

‘That’s the one I told you about,’ Sue had whispered to Geoff when Graham walked into the house party in Hoedspruit. Geoff had been checking his phone at the time and he’d been surprised – shocked, even – to learn that Graham, with whom he’d worked briefly when Geoff was a guide in the Sabi Sand Game Reserve, had been Doc’s lover.

Geoff wondered if Doc would make it into the field today to check on him and his research. He’d woken at the house when his alarm went off at five and been surprised to find Doc and Sara walking in through the front door. He’d learned what had happened to Graham, and how Sara had found out about the shooting.

He had wanted to help, to comfort Doc in some way, as she seemed to be taking the news badly, but Sara had put Doc to bed and told him that probably the best thing he could do was to carry on with his field work.

‘That’s what she would want you to do,’ said Sara, who had a way of taking charge of a situation.

Geoff had packed his gear, gone to his bakkie, and driven out to the Balule Nature Reserve, where he had an access pass that allowed him to come and go as he pleased. The reserve was a large tract of privately-owned bushveld on the western side of the Kruger National Park. The fences between the Balule and other game reserves bordering the Kruger had been taken down years earlier, and now game was free to migrate back and forth.

Geoff followed the pangolin out of the trees and across a dry, sandy stream bed. They emerged over the opposite bank into an open area of golden grass. The reserve was like that, a pleasing mix of bush and savannah, ideal country for all of Africa’s iconic Big Five – lion, leopard, buffalo, elephant and rhino.

A grey go-away bird screeched its eponymous call, a warning to other creatures in the area that a two-legged interloper was moving through. Geoff touched a finger to the brim of his Rogue bush hat in acknowledgement. The pangolin snuffled on, unfussed.

This one had been discovered on a farm outside of Hoedspruit. Mercifully, the young man who’d found the pangolin was not a poacher but a herdsman walking with the farm’s small herd of cattle. He had come across the animal stuck under the electric fence that surrounded the property. Pangolins had a habit of trying to burrow under fences and then getting hung up on their scales. Many were killed when they came into contact with low-strung electric tripwires.

They had named this pangolin, a male, Charlie. It was ironic – well-heeled safari-goers could spend fruitless weeks and thousands of dollars trying to find one of these shy creatures, yet poorly paid workers who spent much of their time outdoors could sometimes trip over them.

Geoff heard a crack like a gunshot and stopped. He looked around and listened. There it was again, not a rifle, but the sound of splintering wood – a branch being broken. Elephant.

He dropped to one knee, picked up a handful of dusty, dry dirt and stood again. He let the tiny grains fall through his fist, showing him the direction the wind was travelling, then tilted his face and sniffed the air. They were upwind, to the east. Geoff peered through the trees lining the watercourse he had just crossed. For huge animals, elephants were extremely difficult to detect. They padded about the bush, literally, on feet lined with a spongy sole.

Geoff heard another branch being severed and this time the noise was definitely louder. To his right he saw movement, the flap of a grey sail-like ear through the foliage of a leadwood tree. The elephants were coming his way.

As a qualified field guide he’d had training in how to approach dangerous game, though he was not as experienced as the trails guides who led walking safaris, armed with rifles. By rights, he should have cancelled his walk in the bush with Charlie the pangolin after he learned that Graham was not going to be with him and no substitute had yet been arranged.

Geoff was now wondering if Sara was wrong and he should have stayed at the wildlife college, as a sign of respect over Graham’s death.

‘Geoff is on the spectrum, ever so slightly,’ Geoff’s mother was fond of saying to her friends. It annoyed Geoff, because he didn’t feel different from any of the other kids in school, although he had struggled with some subjects and he knew that he often misread what other people were thinking or how they felt. He did know about true love, though.

Reading and English comprehension had been difficult for him, although he’d done well at mathematics and anything that required him to commit rules or formulae or facts to memory. That skill had made him a good safari guide. He could impress his former clients with information about different animals’ eating habits, gestation periods and average sizes and weights.

The pangolin had moved to the far side of a termite mound and Geoff crouched down. By getting lower, he could better track the movement of the approaching elephant herd, because he could now see their legs moving below the curtain of leaves. They were still heading his way.

The elephants’ smell was getting stronger and Geoff heard the low rumbling noise from their bellies as they communicated with each other. The herd broke from the cover of the trees, led by the matriarch, a tall female with fine, long, thin ivory, and her latest calf trotting in her way. The baby was less than a year old – it could still fit under its mother’s belly – and it waved its trunk about, still not entirely sure what the appendage was for.

After the leader came four younger females, two with calves of their own. Knowing the structure of a typical herd, Geoff assumed these others were all females too, the daughters or even granddaughters of the haughty old lady in the lead, who paused and raised her trunk to sniff the air for possible danger.

Geoff looked to Charlie. If Geoff wasn’t busy watching over the pangolin he would have retreated to a respectable distance, out of the path of the oncoming pachyderms. Only the most foolish of guides went out of their way to bring on a confrontation with elephants, taunting them to get a rise out of them, to make them flare their ears, raise their trunks and trumpet, so that a tourist might record a bit of action on their phone. Not Geoff.

He had his nine-millimetre pistol in a pancake holster on his belt, but this was a token nod towards personal protection in the bush. The rounds in his magazine would bounce off an elephant’s head or the armoured boss between an angry buffalo’s horns. He was beginning to regret coming out into the field without an escort now.

Geoff watched as the matriarch lowered her trunk then swung her enormous head from side to side. The rest of her family had halted behind her, moving into a loose semicircle with their calves behind them. The big mother set off, making straight for the anthill behind which Geoff crouched.

‘Shit. Charlie, you’re on your own.’

The pangolin was a wild creature; it would get out of the elephants’ way if it needed to, and Geoff could always turn on his radio tracker again and find it without too much difficulty. He rose to a half-crouch and started backing away.

Just then, he heard a growl.

Geoff almost couldn’t believe it, but if there was one thing that he had learned in his brief time as a safari guide, it was to expect the unexpected. He turned to face where the noise had come from, further downwind from where he and the elephants were and, about fifty metres away, he saw a lioness stand up in the long golden grass.

Like the female elephant, the lioness also sniffed the air and turned her face to the elephant herd. Geoff froze, then lowered himself again. He was away from the relative shelter and cover of the termite mound, but was now stuck between several tonnes of irascible grandmotherly concern and Africa’s apex predator.

The lioness growled again and, to Geoff’s horror, a fully grown male lion, with an impressive russet and black mane, stood up from where it had been laying in the grass next to his mate. The male walked around behind the female and he, too, eyed off the elephants. The matriarch had stopped and was sniffing the air again, her trunk up.

Ordinarily, Geoff would have been thrilled to witness this kind of wildlife interaction – but right now, he was terrified. He knelt down in the grass. The two sets of animals were, for the time being, fixated on each other rather than him.

The male lion blinked twice, then started to walk, but he was stopped by his mate, who shot out a big paw and slapped him in his shaggy face. He stopped and the lioness turned to present herself. Clearly, they were a mating pair, which was why they appeared to be on their own, and she was unfazed by the looming presence of the elephants.

The lioness lowered her rump and the big male mounted her. In true lion fashion, the coupling was brief and violent. The lioness snarled and the male bit down on the back of her neck as he vigorously entered her.

Geoff put a hand over his mouth. Despite the seriousness of the situation he was in he had to stop himself from laughing at the look on the lion’s face as he turned his big head, mid copulation, and stared wide-eyed at the elephant herd, which was on the move again and now striding purposefully towards the big cat and his mate.

As soon as he was done, less than twenty seconds after he had begun, the male lion withdrew, stood up and ran away in the opposite direction to the elephants. He left the lioness, who stood and snarled again, this time at the advancing giants.

The matriarch of the herd raised her trunk again and let out a trumpet call to show she meant business. Geoff knew elephants hated lions and would usually do their best to chase them away from their young. The big female elephant broke into a charge, and her brood followed.

The lioness stood defiantly in the grass, trying to stare down the matriarch. The problem for Geoff was that if the elephants continued on their current course then they would trample him into the ground on their way to trying to kill the lioness. When being chased by an elephant it was acceptable, as a last resort, to run for your life, but to run in full view of a lioness might encourage her to zip after him and take him down as an easy snack.

Geoff drew his pistol, pulled back the slide and then let it fly forward, chambering a round. He took a deep breath and stood, then raised his right hand over his head. The elephant matriarch saw him and slowed. She shook her big head again, then changed direction slightly towards him.

‘Hey!’ he yelled. ‘Voetsek!’

The sound of his voice telling her to go away made her stop, her family bunching to a halt behind her in a cloud of dust. She shook her head again, then decided to kill him. There was no flaring of her ears, no angry trumpet blast. Instead, the old cow folded her ears flat by the sides of her head, curled her trunk up between her tusks and under her chin, lowered her head, and charged.

These were all warning signs that there was nothing ‘mock’ about this attack. Adrenaline coursed through his body, and despite his training and experience he felt fear. This was the first time he’d been on the receiving end of a full-blown charge while on foot.

The cow raised a cloud of dust in her wake as she shifted the focus of her anger and her relatives followed her. Geoff could feel the earth vibrate under the pounding of their feet. He raised his hand and pulled the trigger twice, firing two shots in the air. All this did was scare the lioness, who turned and ran off into the bush, but the noise of the gunfire just seemed to enrage the elephant even more.

Geoff ran for his life, arms and legs pumping, the radio tracking gear bouncing and bumping off his body. He cleared a fallen tree then stumbled as his right foot went into a shallow depression. His arms windmilled as he fought to keep from falling but his feet carried on, almost tripping over themselves. If he fell now, he would be dead.

Ahead of him was a line of trees, which he made for. He recalled there was a game-viewing road somewhere nearby. As he sprinted, not daring to look back, he heard a noise.

Bang. Bang.

Gunfire. The elephant was gaining on him easily, still committed to its mission to catch him and crush him to death. Geoff wondered if someone was shooting at him, or at something else – poachers, maybe. Then he realised that by firing two shots in the air earlier he had inadvertently given the bush-telegraph signal that he was lost – even though he wasn’t. The person who had just fired their weapon was answering him.

Geoff raised his pistol and fired again, twice. The elephants behind him took no notice, judging by the sound of their feet and the odd trumpet blast from an excited juvenile or two, thrilled to be caught up in the hunt.

Thorn branches whipped and ripped at his bare arms as he entered the tree line. The elephants would crash through and mow down this thin vegetation like it wasn’t there. Ahead of him, Geoff could see another clearing. He heard the sound of gunfire, two shots, close enough to be almost as scary as the animals on his tail. Someone had heard and answered his two-shot call for assistance, but he was not safe yet.

Geoff vaulted a mound of dirt and came to the road. In his peripheral vision on the left he saw movement: an open-top Land Rover game viewer was racing towards him. Someone in the back was pointing.

Geoff took a chance and broke ninety degrees left onto the road. ‘Reverse!’ he yelled.

The Land Rover kept coming.

Still running, Geoff raised his gun hand over his head and waved his arm down, away from himself. ‘Reverse!’

The driver seemed to get the gist of what he was saying and the game viewer stopped. Geoff glanced over his shoulder and saw the matriarch and her brood burst out onto the road and stop in a cloud of dust. The grandmother wailed a long, high-pitched trumpet blast at Geoff and the people on the truck.

Geoff kept sprinting until he reached the Land Rover. He put a foot on the front bumper bar and slid into the tracker’s seat perched on the front left-side fender of the vehicle. ‘Drive! Drive! Drive!’

The woman behind the wheel rammed the gear stick into reverse, let out the clutch and accelerated.

Geoff gripped the handle on the side of the green canvas-covered seat hard as the driver reversed at high speed, jinking the steering wheel to stay straight. The female elephant loomed large in Geoff’s view and for a moment he thought he’d left his escape too late.

At that moment, the driver turned hard and took them around the bend. Geoff saw the matriarch falter, then slow as they disappeared from view. The driver kept swinging, then rammed the stick into first and accelerated away, thankfully heading forward this time. Geoff slumped into the seat, feeling faint and dizzy.

A kilometre on, with no sight of elephants in the rear-view mirrors or any other game around, the guide driving the Land Rover pulled off the road into a well-trodden clearing.

‘Geoff? Are you all right?’

He turned and saw Doc, sitting in the row of seats behind the driver. She had a worried look on her face and was cradling a rifle across her lap.

Sue and Zola, in the rearmost tier of seats, broke into uncontrollable fits of laugher.

‘Knock it off, you two,’ Doc said to the two young women.

They all climbed out of the Land Rover and Doc introduced Geoff to the driver, Margaux. ‘She’s a freelance guide and she’s going to be driving us on our tour through Zimbabwe and Namibia.’

‘That was smart work, firing the two shots in the air,’ Margaux said as she shook hands with Geoff. She was tall with short red hair and a nice smile, which she flashed him.

Geoff looked down. ‘Um, thanks, but I feel like an idiot.’ Geoff thought Margaux was probably trying to spare him some embarrassment, but Doc looked angry.

‘You should not have gone out in the bush alone,’ Doc said.

‘No. Bad boy,’ Sue said, from over Doc’s shoulder.

Doc silenced her with a look, then said: ‘Help Margaux organise some water and coffee, Sue.’

‘Yes, Prof,’ Sue said, not quite contritely.

‘But seriously,’ Doc said, turning back to Geoff, ‘why did you go out there unescorted? You never qualified as a walking trails guide, did you?’

He shook his head. ‘No. But I had my nine-mill with me.’

‘Yes, but other than using it to call for help, you know as well as I do that peashooter’s useless against an elephant, and not much better against a lion.’

‘I saw a lion – two in fact, a mating pair,’ Geoff admitted.

Doc glowered at him. ‘Don’t be smart with me, young man.’ Geoff heard Zola and Sue sniggering and whispering behind her, but Doc didn’t react. ‘I know section rangers in the Kruger Park twice your age and with a thousand times more experience who won’t walk more than ten metres from their vehicle in the bush without a .375-calibre hunting rifle. Don’t you ever pull that shit again.’

He looked at the ground. ‘OK, Prof.’

‘No. Yes, Professor.’

He toed the dirt. ‘Yes, Professor.’

Doc put her hands on her hips and sighed. ‘Now, where are these lions, and where’s Charlie?’

*

After Geoff had described where he’d last seen Charlie and the lions, Doc walked to Margaux, who had lifted a cooler box from the back of the Land Rover and was busy pouring coffee. ‘You think we can find the lions?’ Doc asked the guide.

Margaux handed her a mug. ‘Sure, if you’re up for a bit of a game drive and maybe some tracking.’

Doc shook her head. ‘We’re not here to sightsee, but apart from Charlie – if he hasn’t been trampled to death – there’s another pangolin somewhere in this block and I need to know where the lions are so we don’t stumble across their path while my students are doing their research. Let’s find these cats so we can stay out of their way.’

‘After coffee?’ Margaux asked.

Doc took a long sip. ‘Definitely after coffee.’ She lowered her voice. ‘And after Geoff recovers from his near-death experience and the dressing-down I just gave him.’

Margaux laughed. ‘Having just seen you in action, Doc, if it was me, I’d rather face a charging elephant.’

Doc breathed in the cool, dry morning air of the bushveld. This was where she was meant to be, not busting poachers in shopping centre car parks and casinos in Johannesburg. She’d been seduced by the thought that she could make a difference and maybe she had, for a while, but that part of her life was over now.

Dead.

Doc thought about Graham. She replayed her last conversations with him. He’d been his usual flirtatious self and while she’d rebuked him with a firm no, she consoled herself by remembering his smile and the mischievous look in his eye that had said: ‘You’ll change your mind’.

‘What are you smiling about?’ Sue Oliver had sidled up to her without Doc noticing.

‘Oh, nothing; just something Graham said to me,’ Doc said. She didn’t want to say she was smiling about a guy who had just been murdered. The truth was that Graham’s murder had unsettled her. If she was reading too much into it, that it was somehow related to the work she was doing, then it was a sign that she was going crazy. If Graham’s murder was totally unrelated, just the actions of an opportunistic criminal who had decided to shoot and rob a man with a flat tyre, then that said too much that she did not want to acknowledge about her beloved country.

‘Do you think Graham might have been murdered because of his anti-poaching work?’ Sue asked.

‘It’s possible,’ Doc said. That was the third and, possibly, most likely reason why Graham had been killed. Hoedspruit was not a big town and everyone knew everyone’s business. ‘Graham’s shiny camouflage-painted Ford Ranger was a very distinctive vehicle and there are probably many poachers or their friends or relatives who wanted to get even with him. He had a reputation as a real tough oke.’

‘So I heard.’ Sue looked over her shoulder. ‘I think Sara fancied him.’

Doc looked past Sue to where Sara had set up her video camera on a tripod. She seemed to be filming overlay, or ‘B roll’ as Doc had learned it was called – vision that generally set the scene for life in Africa. A coffee stop in the bush fitted the bill.

Doc recalled that it was Sara who had taken the call from the passer-by who had found Graham’s body, but in the rush that followed Doc had forgotten to ask why.

‘What makes you say that?’ Doc said.

Sue dunked a rusk in her coffee before answering. ‘I saw them chatting, quite a bit, at your surprise party. At one point it looked like Sara was giving Graham her number. He took her phone off her and was keying something in.’

As with Annaliese on the dance floor, Doc felt not the slightest hint of jealousy about Sara and Graham potentially getting together, even though Graham had been trying to hit on her at the same time. Nonetheless, she would not have picked Graham as Sara’s type. Like Geoff, though, Graham was very handsome. Had been.

She remembered Graham lying in the dirt, his face drained of life, the bullet wound in his forehead. Was that my fault?

‘Are you OK?’ Sue asked.

Doc took another sip of coffee and nodded. ‘Fine.’ She wasn’t. Another man was dead.

‘Do you think that whoever killed Graham might have been involved in pangolin poaching?’

Doc looked at Sue. ‘Why would you think that?’

She shrugged. ‘Graham was going to be our bodyguard, in the bush. He was a bit of a bragger, wasn’t he?’

Doc thought about that. ‘He did have a tendency to shoot his mouth off after a few drinks.’ Doc remembered the first time she had met Graham, how he’d told her about a gunfight he’d been in, at Khaya Ngala. He and his partner, Oscar, had come across a gunman, a ranger who turned out to be corrupt. Graham had told her at great length about how his partner had been wounded and how Graham had saved his friend’s life.

‘Yes, he told me a couple of stories as well,’ said Sue. ‘Maybe he talked too much about what we’d be doing here. Do you think that maybe some poacher might try and follow us here, in the bush? I mean, they’d know we’ll be tracking pangolins, if Graham said anything about our work.’

It sounded far-fetched, but Doc reminded herself that this was South Africa and criminals were resourceful, cunning and well-informed. Also, the stakes for taking a pangolin were high.

‘We’ll be careful,’ Doc said. She raised her voice so the others could hear her. ‘We’ll be careful, like not going out in the bush without a proper armed escort, whether we’ve been a safari guide or not. Today’s shown us that it’s certainly not just poachers we need to be worried about out here. We’re operating in Big Five country and I want everyone to remember that.’

Geoff nodded. ‘Yes, Professor.’

She gave him a small smile. ‘It’s Prof. Or Doc when we’re being less formal.’

He grinned back at her, happy as a puppy again. ‘OK . . . Doc. Sorry.’

She drained her coffee and held up a hand. ‘Enough. Lesson learned. Now, let’s find these lions, and Charlie.’

Chapter 9

Where am I? Ian Laidlaw groped in the darkness for the bedside table and his fingers closed around his phone. He pressed the side button and the screen illuminated the room. Ian blinked. He was in the Intercontinental, at Johannesburg’s OR Tambo International Airport.

He looked at the time: 4.00 am. Ian groaned. He was now wide awake with jetlag. He got up, searched for the light switch and went to the bathroom. He rummaged in his wheelie bag for his running shorts, shoes and T-shirt, dressed, and found his way to the hotel gym.

It was dark outside, the terminal’s lights doing battle with fog or smog, or both. Ian was breathing too heavily after his first kilometre on the treadmill. A man got on the machine next to him and said something to him in a language he didn’t understand, but which he thought was probably Afrikaans.

‘Sorry?’ Ian pushed a button on the treadmill and dropped his pace per kilometre by ten seconds.

‘Don’t worry,’ the guy said in English in between sprints, ‘it’s the altitude. You’re nearly 1,800 metres above sea level.’

Ian panted. ‘Oh, good. I thought I might be heading for a heart attack.’

‘Australian?’

Ian saved his breath and gave another nod.

‘You’ll enjoy it here. I lived in Perth for ten years, but I came back. Too many bloody rules and the cost of living was ridiculous. Also, we couldn’t afford a cleaner and my wife was complaining about having to scrub the toilets.’

Ian jogged on, happy to let the man do the talking.

‘There’s a lot of kak here, with load shedding – no electricity – water problems, crime and crazy politics, but we know how to enjoy ourselves. And the beer and wine are cheap compared to Australia.’ The man ended his run. ‘You must enjoy it here as well.’

‘Thanks.’

Ian pushed himself through five kilometres then went back to his room, showered, packed, checked his emails, and headed for breakfast. Back in the airport terminal he stopped in Books & Things and found himself a thriller novel set in Africa before carrying on past other shops and restaurants to the domestic half of the terminal.

He found the South African Airlink counters and checked in for his flight to Hoedspruit.

His guess at the pronunciation of the name of the town was way off and the woman behind the counter gently corrected him while printing him a boarding pass.

Ian thanked her and headed through security.

Ian found and paid to enter an airline lounge, then browsed the buffet and made himself another cup of coffee. He felt restless. Going through his emails earlier had reminded him, in the sober pre-dawn darkness, of how little he had to do anymore with the business he had created from nothing.

He’d seen little of Africa or African people so far, other than an annoyingly slow hour-long wait to pass through immigration on landing, and the check-in clerk and room service waiter who had brought him a good piece of fillet and a decent bottle of red wine for dinner. The man on the treadmill next to him had given him some insights, but had also left him feeling slightly apprehensive about what lay ahead.

When it was time for him to go to his gate, Ian went down the escalators to ground level, where a bus would take him to his aircraft. Every time the sliding doors opened to allow passengers on other flights to exit the terminal a chilly wind knifed through the lightweight khaki safari shirt he’d bought at the Kathmandu store in Sydney. He boarded the flight on time and nodded off, only to be wakened by the pilot’s voice.

‘Temperature on the ground in Hoedspruit is a warm twenty-six degrees today. We’ll have you disembarking on time.’ The pilot told the crew to prepare the aircraft for landing and Ian stretched his arms over his head and yawned. He turned to look out the window.

‘Sometimes you can see animals,’ the blonde woman next to him said.

‘Really?’

She smiled. ‘Yes. Look for movement. Giraffe, especially, stick out.’

He stared, then glanced back at her. She had smiled at him when she had first taken her seat, and he had noticed that she was attractive, her hair and nails immaculate. She wore a simple white T-shirt and a denim skirt. She had bangles on her wrists.

‘From where are you?’ she asked.

‘Australia.’

‘First time?’

He nodded. ‘Are the clothes a complete giveaway?’

She gave a little laugh. ‘Yes and no. Yours look nice and new, but practically everyone in Hoedspruit wears bush clothes. I like your shirt.’ She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear.

She was in her late forties, he thought. Ian caught sight of movement below. ‘Elephant!’

The woman leaned over him close enough for her hair to brush his shoulder. He smelled her perfume. ‘Well spotted,’ she said. ‘A lone bull. Shame, he’s probably looking for love.’

It was an odd thing to say, he thought, but then he saw she was pointing to more elephants, a herd marching through the dry brown vegetation.

‘The females stay with the herd. He’s following them, looking for some action.’

‘Cabin crew, seats for landing,’ the pilot said over the intercom.

The woman leaned close to Ian again. ‘This is a little embarrassing, but will you hold my hand, please? I hate this bit.’

‘Um, sure.’ He took her hand and she smiled, then closed her eyes.

The aircraft touched down with a squeak of rubber and a bump and he felt her squeeze his hand hard. He noticed her earrings were tiny silver cats – leopards, maybe.

The pilot put on the brakes and turned the plane towards a small single-storey terminal building. The runway was fringed with bushes and trees the same dull colours as the clothes worn by every second person on the flight. Ian heard French and German, and an American family behind him.

‘First of the Big Five already,’ the father said to two young women who looked like his daughters. He high-fived one of the girls. He was referring to the elephants, Ian guessed.

The woman let go of his hand, but not before giving it another squeeze, softer this time. ‘I hope you enjoy your safari. Where are you staying?’

Ian racked his jetlagged brain. It was on the itinerary. Someone would be waiting to meet him at the airport.

‘Baloo-something?’

‘Balule. A private reserve, part of the greater Kruger Park. It’s beautiful.’

She made eye contact with him as the plane rolled to a halt. He wanted to say something corny, like, ‘So are you,’ but he’d only just met her.

‘I’m Lyndal. Maybe I’ll see you around.’

He put out his hand again and she took it, with a more formal shake this time. ‘Ian. Maybe, but I’m not sure where I’ll be outside of Balule.’

She gave him an actual, honest-to-goodness wink. ‘Hoedspruit’s a small town, and Balule’s close by.’

He remembered now that Balule was the name of the reserve, and Antares was the camp, or lodge, or whatever it was called, inside the reserve.

They stood and shuffled awkwardly in the narrow aisle as they took their bags from the overhead lockers. Lyndal was tall, and the press of passengers meant that their bodies were almost touching.

‘Did anyone ever tell you that you look like George Clooney?’ she whispered.

He half laughed. Were all South African women like this? ‘No, but now you’re making me think twice about losing the grey beard. I was going to shave it off.’

She gave a decisive shake of her head. ‘Don’t.’

Lyndal was in front of him as the passengers began filing off. Ian squinted into the bright sunshine as he walked down the airstairs and extended the handle on his small wheelie bag. Lyndal had a leather tote slung over her shoulder and she strode ahead of him, outpacing him as they crossed the tarmac to the terminal.

He was going to catch up to her and ask for her phone number when a tall, solidly built man in very short khaki shorts and a two-pocket shirt in the same colour met her at the entry to the terminal. He took her in his arms and kissed her deeply.

Relieved he hadn’t made a fool of himself, Ian looked around and saw a woman in green with short red hair holding a sign board with his name on it, as well as several other names. He walked over to her.

‘Hi, I’m Ian.’

The woman grinned. ‘I’m Margaux Langley. I’ll be your guide for the tour. Welcome to Africa.’

They shook hands. ‘Nice to meet you, Margaux.’

‘And you, Ian. How was your flight?’

‘Fine.’ Crazy, more like it.

‘Good to hear. We have three more people joining us with your group.’

By his group, Ian assumed they were people coming on the pangolin tour. The bulk of the passengers on the aircraft were now filing through the terminal, with most of them congregating in the baggage area. It wasn’t a carousel, but rather a raised platform on which bags were now being deposited. Ian saw his, and went and retrieved it.

By the time he was back with Margaux, the guide was talking to a couple who looked to be in their seventies, with accents he couldn’t quite place.

‘Pär Öthander,’ said the man, who was tall and thin with a snow-white beard, ‘and my wife, Eva. We are from Sweden.’

Eva gave Ian a smile. ‘You must be our Australian.’

‘Clearly,’ Ian said, shaking hands with them. Everyone on the tour would know more about what was going on than him.

‘Are you on the board of Save the Pangolins Australia?’ Eva asked.

‘No, I got drunk at a charity dinner and paid too much money to be here, in order to try and impress a woman.’

‘Oh,’ Eva said.

Pär burst into laughter. ‘Very good!’

‘Well, I hope you’re at least keen to see some pangolins,’ Eva said.

‘I am. I think.’

‘You think?’ said Pär. ‘Eva and I had been on fifteen safari holidays to Africa before we even saw one of the elusive things. They’re the holy grail of game spotting on safari, don’t you know?’

Ian shook his head. ‘No, I did not know that.’

‘We had to join Save the Pangolins Sweden and weasel our way onto the board after five years of membership just so we could come over here and see the little creatures,’ Pär said.

‘Hush, Pär,’ Eva said. ‘You know that we joined because we’re passionate about conservation, not because we want to take pictures of endangered animals.’ Eva looked to the baggage area, and as she did so, Pär pantomimed his wife taking a picture of something low down behind her back.

Ian held back a laugh.

An African man, head shaved, middle-aged, stocky and well dressed in a blue blazer and chinos came up to Margaux, greeted her and shook her hand.

‘Good morning. I’m Dr Moses Khumalo,’ he then said to all of them. ‘I’ll be joining you on the tour.’

Ian and Pär shook hands with him and Pär introduced Eva.

‘A doctor?’ Pär said. ‘At least we’ll be all right if we contract some disease or get bitten by a lion.’

Khumalo frowned. ‘I am not a medical doctor, I have a doctorate in Zoology. I’m the Dean of Science at the Tshwane University of Technology.’

‘Sorry, my mistake,’ Pär said. ‘No offence meant.’

‘None taken.’

Ian wasn’t so sure that was true. Khumalo scanned the terminal and craned his neck to look out into the car park. He seemed impatient, as if some other welcoming committee should have been there.

Just then, a young woman, her hair in an elaborate arrangement of braids, came running into the terminal.

‘Zola!’ Moses said, and Ian didn’t miss the way the haughty-seeming professor’s eyes lit up.

‘Um, Professor,’ she ran her hands down the front of her denim skirt, ‘I’m so sorry I’m late.’

‘It’s fine. Margaux?’

‘Yes, sir?’ the guide said.

‘Fetch my bag, it’s the green one with the Louis Vuitton stripe on it.’ He nodded to the collection area. ‘And bring it outside for me. I’ll be travelling to the Antares lodge with Zola here. She’s one of the university’s students.’

‘Very well,’ Margaux said.

Ian got the feeling that Margaux was not used to being treated like a porter, but nevertheless she went to the baggage collection area.

Khumalo nodded to Ian and the others. ‘I’ll see you all later, probably at dinner at Antares this evening.’

‘Bye,’ Ian said.

Chapter 10

Doc was waiting in the main dining and reception area of Antares Bush Camp just after Margaux WhatsApped the owner, Melanie, to let her know that she was ten minutes out.

Doc loved the lodge. It was intimate, with accommodation for only one group at a time, in five double rooms, plus some extra accommodation for guides. The rooms and common area were all connected and opened out onto a wooden deck with lounge chairs and a coffee table overlooking the lodge’s star attraction, the Umgede Hide. The hide was sunken, deep into the ground, so that photographers could get an eye-level view of a waterhole.

Inside, the lounge and dining area were tastefully furnished with timber furniture and Persian rugs on the polished concrete floor. The gnarled trunk of an old leadwood tree was a centrepiece and gave a feeling of a transition between indoors and outdoors.

A young baboon on the edge of the waterhole shrieked as he was disciplined by the troop’s leader and the rest of the extended family of thirty or more grunted companionably to each other as they drank or groomed each other in the sun.

Doc frowned as Sue and Geoff clomped up the wooden steps from the swimming pool. It was a warm day and they had jumped into the water while waiting for the group to arrive. When Margaux had called, Doc had told them to get out and make themselves presentable. Geoff was pulling on his shirt and buttoning it to cover up his sixpack. Sue was laughing.

Doc took a piece of paper out of her pocket and read the names again, trying to memorise them. Ian Laidlaw and Pär and Eva Öthander. All donors to Save the Pangolins. The two Swedes were committee members. She sighed. Sara was on the other side of the pool, in the hide, and Doc could see that her long lens had swung around to film a kudu bull that was approaching the waterhole. At least she wouldn’t be pointing cameras in the tour guests’ faces – not yet, anyway.

After Geoff’s fiasco with the elephants, they had located the lions, then, judging them far enough away not to be a bother, had tracked Charlie again and watched him for a while.

Unfortunately, they had been unable to find Charlize, the second recently released pangolin that Sue was supposed to be tracking, but that happened sometimes. There could have been a fault with the tracking gear or the device attached to the animal, but they would try again today and if they did not pick up a signal, then they would just have to search harder, looking for actual tracks in the area where it was last reported.

Doc watched Geoff and Sue with a mix of disapproval and envy. She checked her watch; they should have been properly dressed and with her by now, waiting to greet the arriving guests, but they’d been having too much fun in the pool. Sue nudged Geoff as they walked and he laughed, sharing some whispered joke. Doc wondered how they could be laughing less than twenty-four hours after the body of someone they both knew had been found.

‘Glad you could join us,’ Doc said to them.

Sue gave a mock, exaggerated frown. ‘The do-gooders aren’t here yet.’

‘That’s enough of that, Sue,’ Doc said. ‘It’s people like these who make your life possible.’

‘And we’re grateful for it,’ Geoff chipped in as he tucked in his shirt.

Two more male kudus walked slowly out into the dry riverbed, following the disappearing baboons, and Doc smiled to herself. Just seeing something as beautiful as these majestic antelope could lift her mood a little. She heard the growl of Margaux’s tan-coloured stretch Land Cruiser touring vehicle outside.

Melanie and two of the camp’s domestic staff, who had just appeared and were carrying trays laden with cold towels and brightly coloured mocktails, walked out into the midday sunshine to greet the arriving guests. A few minutes later they entered the lounge area and Doc stepped forward to meet them.

Pär and Eva, dressed in their matching khaki safari gear, were how she had pictured them. ‘Look, kudu,’ Eva said as she sipped her welcome drink.

‘What? Where?’ asked Ian.

Doc had just shaken hands with the Australian and his smile and the way his eyes locked onto hers as they touched had slightly unnerved her. Ian was now looking out through the open doors, over the deck.

‘Look!’ Ian’s hand shot out as he pointed to the bush beyond the waterhole. ‘A zebra!’

She stepped back and watched him, and his open-mouthed, wide-eyed look made her smile. Doc also couldn’t help but notice that Ian did something that very few people could do – make safari clothes look good. Apart from his striking green-brown eyes, he looked to be in good physical shape and his hair, though mostly grey, was thick and perfectly styled, his beard neatly trimmed.

He looked at her. ‘Amazing . . .’ He gave her a goofy look. ‘Sorry, you must see zebras every day.’

She gave a little nod. ‘Pretty much. But it never gets old.’

‘Seeing zebras?’

‘Yes, any wildlife, but I meant seeing the look on someone’s face when they first get a taste of Africa – that’s always wonderful to see.’

‘Really?’

Doc nodded. ‘I’ve seen people cry the first time they saw an elephant.’

He laughed, throwing his head back. ‘I promise not to cry. And actually, I’ve already seen one – from the aeroplane.’

‘That doesn’t count. Also, don’t make promises you might not be able to keep.’

‘All right,’ he said, smiling. ‘It’s nice to meet you.’

‘And you.’ Doc spread her arms wide quickly to take in the others. ‘All of you. If you can spare a moment, Melanie needs to run through the formalities with you.’

Melanie stepped in and had the guests sit on two lounges, facing her, while she talked through the daily routine and rules of the lodge. She gave them the times for breakfast, lunch and dinner and the reporting times for the morning and afternoon game drives over the next three days before they were due to leave for Zimbabwe.

‘But Doc will fill you in on what you’ll be up to as members of her tour,’ she concluded. ‘If you’ll excuse me, I’ll just check whether your rooms are ready.’ Melanie and her two staff quietly withdrew.

‘Thanks, Mel,’ Doc said, then turned to the guests. ‘We can be flexible, but as well as Margaux, your guide taking you on drives to see wildlife, we’ll arrange for you to meet up with the students and me as we monitor a couple of pangolins, Charlie and Charlize, here on the Balule Nature Reserve.’

Eva rubbed her hands together. ‘Goody.’

Doc introduced the group members to Sue and Geoff. ‘And you may have met Zola, who went to the airport to pick up another guest.’

‘Yes,’ Ian said. ‘She picked up a professor someone or other. I’m afraid I can’t remember his name.’

‘Oh, OK,’ Doc said. A professor? Doc looked to Ian. ‘Am I right in thinking this is your first safari?’

‘It is.’

‘OK, I’ll let Margaux know that you might want to see something other than pangolins.’

‘But that is the primary reason we’re here, why we . . . why we support the cause as we do,’ Eva said.

‘Eva,’ Pär interjected, ‘for goodness’ sake, if Ian wants to see a lion or a leopard, I won’t be complaining.’

Ian held up a hand. ‘This is all new to me, so whatever I see, wherever and whenever, is fine by me.’

‘Thanks,’ Doc said. ‘We’ll do our best to make sure everyone has a good time, and gets something meaningful out of this tour.’

They all stood as Melanie came back to the group.

‘Ian,’ Melanie said, ‘the maintenance manager – that is, my son – is just replacing a faulty light switch in your room. Can I please ask you to just wait here for another five to ten minutes, and then I’ll be back for you? I’ll take Pär and Eva to their accommodation in the meantime.’

‘No problem at all,’ Ian said.

Melanie and her staff led the others away to their rooms and Sue and Geoff left for the back-of-house area of the camp, leaving Doc alone with Ian. The handsome Australian took a seat opposite her and ran a hand through his hair. His eyes looked tired, and he had the air of a kid trying to stay awake.

‘Jetlag?’

He nodded and finished his welcome drink. ‘I should be used to it, but it doesn’t seem to get easier.’

‘I know. I travel quite a bit for conferences,’ she said.

‘You’re Denise Rado, is that right?’

‘Yes, but everyone calls me Doc, after my initials and, well, because I have my doctorate. I’m going to get a coffee; would you like one?’

‘Sure,’ Ian said. ‘Long black please.’

‘It’s a communal kitchen here at Antares, Ian.’

‘Oh, sorry.’

‘It’s OK, I’ll make it.’ Doc walked through to the kitchen and Ian followed her. ‘But I can show you where everything is.’

‘Let me,’ he said.

‘All right then.’ Denise pointed out where the cups, coffee and cutlery were.

‘Forgive me,’ he said as he spooned instant coffee into two mugs, ‘but is Rado an Indian name?’

‘No. My father was Hungarian. He came to South Africa in the eighties. He was a young geologist and the South African government was happy to let Europeans migrate here, as long as you were white. He worked in goldmines around Johannesburg. My mom is Indian and she fell for my dad, which was very complicated, for everyone. Her family – we’re Hindus – didn’t approve of her seeing a white guy, and interracial relationships were illegal when they met. It was 1983 and apartheid was still very much alive.’

‘Wow, that’s crazy,’ Ian said. ‘I mean, I know about apartheid, but I didn’t realise the impact it had on ordinary people’s lives.’

‘They kept their relationship secret for a while but my mom was in medical school and she was also a member of the ANC – the African National Congress. She actually got arrested when she and my dad publicly declared their love and went to a restaurant together. She spent a few days in prison. They were able to get married a year later, when the so-called Immorality Act was amended, but they still suffered verbal abuse, and some people at my father’s work wouldn’t socialise with them. However, they still have many good friends from those days and my mom went on to become a fantastic doctor.’

‘Is she still politically active?’

Doc laughed. ‘Yes, but now she hates the ANC government because, in her words, they have pretty well ruined the country that Nelson Mandela took over in 1994.’

‘And your dad?’

Doc felt the sadness seep back in. It was always there. ‘He died of cancer four years ago. They were very much in love, right until the end, and he died in my mother’s arms.’

‘I’m sorry to hear that, but it sounds like a great relationship, and strong, especially given the times and the circumstances.’

‘Yes.’ Time to change the subject, Doc thought. ‘You’re travelling solo?’

He smiled. ‘So it would seem.’

‘Are you married?’

‘No.’ He paused.

Doc felt self-conscious. She had no agenda asking the question – she did not consider herself in the market for love or a relationship – but her question suddenly seemed forward, and inappropriate. ‘Sorry, I don’t mean to pry.’

‘No, it’s fine. It’s just a question. Actually, I’m divorced. My ex, Katrina, is a wonderful woman who has two children of her own – we never had kids together and I was her second husband – but she left me for another guy.’

‘Again, sorry.’

He shook his head. ‘Don’t be. I just had a thought. What I’m doing here, or am about to do, was actually the sort of thing that she would have wanted to do. I was so wrapped up in my work that I rarely took time off, and while she said she understood, I realised I didn’t spend enough time with just her, or her and her girls. It’s only now that I’ve sold my business that I realise that I put too much time and too much of my life into it.’

Doc didn’t know what to say.

‘Wow.’ Ian gave a little laugh. ‘That was deep. My turn to apologise.’

He didn’t ask her about her relationship status, and she decided not to volunteer it, as it would probably lead to her talking about Jurie and getting sad.

A young man in khaki walked into the reception area from the direction of the tented suites. Doc recognised him as Mel’s son, Carey, the maintenance manager. ‘Hi, Carey.’

‘Hello, Dr Rado. I’ve come to say that the guest’s room is ready now.’

‘Thanks, Carey.’ Denise put her hands on her knees. ‘Right, shall I save Melanie one more chore and take you to your room so you can get settled? I think I’ve stayed here long enough to know how to give the room brief.’

Ian set down his empty cup and gave his nice smile. ‘That’s fine by me.’

Doc gestured around her as they walked along the deck which led to the rooms outside the kitchen and lounge area. ‘So, the camp is completely open. You need to be aware that we’re in Big Five country, so lion, leopard, buffalo, elephant and rhino – not to mention the more common animals – could move through here at any time.’

‘Right.’

She smiled. ‘Don’t worry. You’re fine to go between your room, the pool, the main reception area and the hide in daylight, but don’t wander about on ground level without an escort.’

‘The camp waterhole is just over there,’ she gestured beyond the swimming pool, which was flanked with sunbeds, ‘and it gets quite a bit of action. This morning a big bull elephant was there. You just missed him.’

‘I don’t know whether to be relieved or disappointed.’

Doc paused, hands on hips, to scan the bush. ‘You’ll get into the swing of it. How are you liking South Africa so far?’

‘I didn’t know what to expect – maybe not seeing animals so soon,’ he said.

‘You ain’t seen nothing yet.’ Doc had thought she glimpsed movement in the tree line, but wasn’t sure. Instead of dropping Ian at his room, she led him past where the others were settling in. ‘Let’s just take a quick look at the hide, first.’

They went down the stairs, towards the boma, which she explained to him was an African term for a circular fire pit, and the Umgede Hide.

‘How did you end up here, on this tour?’ Doc asked as they walked.

Ian explained and Doc laughed at his honesty.

‘Well, you’re going to see and do things most people would never experience on their first safari,’ she said.

He raised his eyebrows. ‘Like I said before, should I be relieved or scared?’

She laughed. ‘Maybe a little of both.’

‘I haven’t had a lot of excitement in my life lately,’ he said, ‘so maybe that’s a good thing.’

At that moment Doc thought of Jurie, bleeding in her arms. What she needed was a little less excitement.

‘Doc?’ Ian said. ‘Can I call you that?’

She realised her mind had wandered and she had not been paying attention. Ian had been speaking. ‘Sorry? Yes, of course.’

‘I said, is that something moving over there, in the bush?’

Doc stopped on the pathway that led to the hide and looked to where Ian was pointing. It was near where she had seen movement on the far side of the waterhole. At first she saw nothing, but then she forced herself to look through the trees, not at them.

She saw a tawny blur.

‘Don’t move,’ Doc whispered.

Ian was staring in the same direction as her and she realised that when she had stopped, after not paying attention, she had almost bumped into him. She was acutely aware of his physical presence and could smell his aftershave. It was nice, but that wasn’t what was holding her attention now.

‘Is that a . . .’

‘Shush.’ Doc lowered her voice to a whisper. ‘Yes, it’s a lion.’

Doc stood stock-still and prayed that Ian would have the sense not to move. She hadn’t even given him the ‘whatever you do, don’t run’ briefing yet. At a signal from her they lowered themselves to a crouch, seeking some concealment behind the bushes that lined the pathway.

He leaned even closer to her. ‘Is it a female?’

It was a good guess, but as the cat emerged into the open and raised its face to sniff the air, she got a better look at it. ‘See that little mohawk, between the ears? It’s a young male. He’s probably been kicked out of the pride.’

Ian nodded.

The lion walked towards the waterhole and Doc noted the limp, then saw the fresh gash on its right rear leg. The lion’s shoulders rolled, the bones visible through the skin, and fuzzy fur hung from its frame.

‘He’s not in good condition,’ she breathed to Ian. ‘Hungry.’ She smiled to herself at the way Ian’s Adam’s apple bobbed in response to her last word. It was a magical sighting, especially for someone on their first day in the African bush.

The lion looked around, then slunk to the water’s edge and began to lap.

‘Eish!’

They both turned and saw one of the lodge’s domestic workers, a young woman coming down the stairs. She wore a khaki dress, pinafore and brightly patterned headscarf with her hand over her mouth.

Doc held up a hand in a stop sign, and the woman stared in horror at the lion.

‘No!’ Doc hissed.

The young lion heard the noise and was instantly alert. It stopped drinking and pivoted on the spot to stare in their direction. Doc thought it was about eighty metres from them, but she had seen lions charge and she knew it could cover that distance before any of them had the time to mumble the shortest of final prayers.

Ian was between Doc and the woman, who dropped her bucket and mop and started to run towards them. Ian stood and opened his arms to block the woman’s passage down the pathway. She just about knocked him over as he wrapped his arms around her.

‘Shush, shush,’ he said to her as he brought her into the lee of a big leadwood tree.

The lion was attracted by the noise and movement and he started coming their way, lowering his body to the ground in a stalking stance.

Doc lifted the back of her shirt and drew the nine-millimetre Glock from her holster. She stood, feet apart, both hands wrapped around the pistol as she aimed at the cat. Ian held the woman, who was now quietly sobbing.

‘Hey! Hey!’

They all looked towards the lodge to see Margaux, who was standing tall, waving a hand above her head. In her other hand was her .375-calibre Brno hunting rifle, which she now brought up into her shoulder. ‘Hey!’ At Margaux’s renewed call, the lion looked her way, then turned and trotted off, back into the bush in the direction from which it had emerged.

‘Bloody hell,’ Ian said.

Doc lowered her pistol. The domestic worker was still crying.

‘I am so sorry. I know I shouldn’t have run,’ the young woman said, ‘but I was so scared. I’m new. This is only my first week.’

Ian gave her a hug, then released her. She wiped her eyes.

‘Yes, you should have just stayed still,’ Doc said, ‘but it’s all right now.’

Doc holstered her pistol after watching the lion retreat back into the bush. She looked to Ian, who was also keeping an eye on the departing cat.

Margaux came over to them. The domestic worker, somewhat hesitantly, retrieved her bucket and mop.

Margaux checked on the woman and spoke a few soft words to her in Xitsonga. Then she turned to Doc and Ian. ‘Are you two OK?’

‘Fine, I think.’ Doc looked to Ian.

‘Um, sure,’ he said. ‘Just another day in Africa, right?’

Margaux laughed. ‘Only if you’re around Doc.’

‘Really?’ Ian said.

‘One of her postgraduate students – Geoff, you might have met him just now – was nearly squished by an angry elephant cow this morning, when the elephant charged a pair of mating lions.’

‘It’s not always like this,’ Doc said to Ian.

‘I did say I wanted a bit of excitement.’

Doc laughed. ‘But seriously, you did good by not running, and thank you for saving that woman.’

‘I don’t think I saved anyone.’

Margaux shook her head. ‘If she had kept on running down the path, that skinny boy,’ she jabbed a thumb over her shoulder in the direction of the retreating lion, ‘would have had her for lunch. You did well stopping her. I saw it all from the reception area. You did good, Mr Laidlaw.’

‘Thanks. One question, though?’

‘Yes?’ Doc said.

‘Who do I have to save to get a beer around here?’

Margaux laughed as she unloaded her rifle and Doc led Ian into the hide at the end of the path.

‘This is like the presidential suite equivalent of a hide,’ Doc said as she moved down a sunken walkway and opened a door. ‘Plenty of lodges have hides, and these underground ones are not new, but this is the most luxurious one I’ve ever seen.’

Inside there was a raised platform that ran along the side of the building overlooking the waterhole. On it were half a dozen comfortable office chairs, the kind that swivelled and reclined and could be adjusted up and down. There was an array of gimbals and other camera mounts.

‘This is for serious photographers,’ Ian said.

‘Yes.’ Doc gestured around. ‘There’s a couch over there and you could even sleep in here if you wanted to. There’s a fridge and a kettle for making tea and coffee.’

‘It’d be exciting being out here at night.’ Ian walked around the structure and paused to look at an enlarged picture of a leopard, taken at night, with a starry sky as a background.

Again, Doc felt weird being so close to a handsome man in a confined space. ‘It would. Now, I’ll show you to your room.’

She led him back outside and up onto the deck, where she opened the door to Ian’s room, which also overlooked the waterhole.

She showed him through the bathroom to the outdoor shower and pointed out an air horn in the room. ‘In case of emergencies,’ she said.

‘Like if a lion appears and tries to eat one of the staff?’

She laughed, loudly, and put her hand over her mouth. It was the second time it had happened in his presence and she checked herself as the guilt rose up inside her.

‘You OK?’ Ian asked. ‘Sorry, was that some kind of taboo joke to make in Africa? If it is, I apologise.’

She realised he must have read the expression on her face. ‘No, it’s fine. It’s just been a while since I laughed like that. Kind of took me by surprise.’

‘Well, I’m glad. I think.’

‘OK, I’ll leave you to it. Our first game drive and walk leaves at four, but please feel free to come to the reception area at three-thirty for afternoon tea.’

He nodded. ‘Will do. I just need to shower, or bathe, in one of the many washing options.’ He grinned.

For some reason she felt like lingering. ‘Do you need me to show you how to use your safe?’

‘I think I’ve got that.’

‘OK.’ Doc checked her watch and remembered that she also needed to see Zola and meet the last guest before the game drive. ‘I’ll leave you to it then. See you for afternoon tea.’

‘I look forward to it.’

She turned, walked out of the suite, and hurried down the stairs.

Chapter 11

Ian stood on the deck outside his room and watched Denise ‘Doc’ Rado walk away.

He ran a hand through his hair. ‘Shit.’

Ian went back inside and found a chilled bottle of water in the bar fridge. He unscrewed the cap and took a long drink.

He’d been drunk enough to pay $15,000 for this safari at the fundraiser, and he barely recalled the promotional video the charity had shown. He’d remembered seeing a woman in it, but most of the vision had been of pangolins waddling through the bush, smiling schoolkids being shown one of the animals, and gory shots of a dead one ready for the pot in Vietnam or wherever the things were eaten.

Ian most definitely did not recall a beautiful woman with the most captivating eyes he’d ever seen – and a gun.

He drank some more water. He felt light-headed, and wondered if it was dehydration. As an Australian he was used to hot weather, but the air here felt so dry it was like the moisture was being sucked out of his eyeballs. Ian took a seat on the fold-out director’s chair on the deck and looked back towards the waterhole, remembering the lion.

There hadn’t even been time to process his close encounter with a dangerous animal on foot – everyone else had carried on with their business like nothing had happened. This was already shaping up to be the most unpredictable, exciting holiday he’d ever had.

Holiday?

Was that what this was? He’d been to the Maldives with Judy, staying in a bungalow over the water, reading every day and diving into the clear blue sea every morning and afternoon. Here, he was in a tent with a lion outside and surrounded by people with firearms. Ian had never served in the defence force, but he was wondering if this was what it was like for people in combat, in a war zone, where danger and unpredictability became the norm.

Finishing his water, Ian stood, went back inside and began to unpack. As he hung up his shirts and spare trousers he realised there was something familiar yet profoundly different about emptying his bag this time. He’d been travelling all his business life and yet now he was unpacking with the knowledge that there was no meeting to attend, no business dinner tonight, no need to have a shirt ironed for the morning.

However, nor did he have a girlfriend or wife with him to share the adventure. On the one hand it was liberating, and on the other, sad.

He was getting maudlin, which he knew was a sign he was tired or stressed. It could not have been the latter, so he went back inside, undressed and went through to the outdoor shower.

Although he had showered early that morning, he felt grimy and dusty. Standing under the water, he looked up and saw a clear blue sky with not a trace of cloud. The afternoon sun was warm on his face as he washed himself. His first outdoor shower felt good and he thought how nice it would be to have one back home in Australia.

Ian finished, grabbed his towel and went back inside to make himself a cup of coffee. He sat down on the king-size bed and looked around his empty room. So, this was what people did on holiday. Nothing.

‘Hello? Knock-knock?’ It was a woman’s voice.

‘Yes?’ he called.

‘Are you decent?’

‘Pretty much,’ he called back.

‘I’ll take that as a yes.’

He heard footsteps on the stairs outside and stood, checking that his towel was securely fastened around his waist.

‘Hi. Ian?’

‘Yes . . .’ It was the young dark-haired student with the tattoos whom he’d met briefly in the reception area, and he noticed, with a start, that she was carrying his laptop bag.

‘Sue,’ she reminded him. ‘We met earlier.’

‘Yes, I’m sorry. Jetlagged.’

She smiled and took a step inside his tent to hand him his bag. ‘Doc asked me to bring this to you, but to not disturb you if you were sleeping. Maybe she thought you needed a nap.’ Sue gave a giggle.

‘No, I’m fine, but I would have had a heart attack as soon as I noticed that missing.’

Sue stood there, smiling, and he couldn’t help but notice how she looked him up and down. He figured she was less than half his age.

‘How was your flight?’ she asked.

‘Fine, thanks, though I’m a little tired now.’

She nodded. ‘Half of my family – aunts, uncles, cousins – are in Australia, so I’ve been a couple of times. That’s a bad flight, but the jetlag’s going to be even worse for you heading back to Sydney.’

‘Thanks. That’s good to know.’

She laughed and twirled a strand of hair in the fingers of her right hand. She showed no inclination to leave. ‘Are you here because you’re pangolin-crazy?’

‘No. I paid for this trip at a fundraiser in Australia that a friend took me to.’

‘And yet she’s not here with you?’

Clever girl. She had obviously been asking around about him. ‘No, we’re no longer friends. Well, not good friends; anyway, I ended up with the trip.’

‘Lucky you. It’s going to be terrific. You’re going to see a lot of Africa, and plenty of pangolins, whether you want to or not.’

‘I look forward to it.’ He felt that he should get dressed, or lie down, but Sue was still just standing there. ‘What are you studying?’

‘Pangolin burrows. I’m monitoring the temperature inside them, when pangolins are present and when they’re not, and at different times of year, to see how changes in temperature affect their behaviour – you know, do they go out when it’s cooler, or stay indoors? That kind of thing. There might come a day when we have to start setting up protected areas for remnant populations to live and breed in, and that might require us humans to recreate ideal living spaces for them.’

‘That sounds very interesting . . .’

She looked down at his towel. ‘But now you need to get some clothes on.’

‘Um, yes.’

‘OK, I’ll leave you in peace.’ She gave him a smile. ‘And I look forward to spending time with you on the trip, Ian.’

‘Same here.’

She turned and went back out and down the stairs, and he watched her go. When she was twenty metres up the path, Sue looked back and gave him a wave.

Ian went inside. What just happened there?

*

Doc was sitting in the reception area under a ceiling fan, reading another student’s thesis while she sipped a coffee. Sue walked in and Doc put her reading glasses up on her head and looked up.

‘You gave Ian his computer bag?’

Sue showed her empty hands. ‘Yes. He’s hot. No dad bod there.’

‘What do you mean?’ Doc set down her pen.

‘I mean capital H. O. T. That grey hair and beard. You should see his abs, Prof.’

‘How did . . .?’

‘He’d just got out of the shower, I think. He only had a towel on. You should totally get his number, before someone else does.’

‘Sue . . .’

Sue laughed. ‘Relax, I’m not going after him.’

‘That’s not what I meant.’

‘I know,’ Sue said. ‘I’m going back to my room to write up some notes. See you for the afternoon drive?’

‘Sure,’ Doc said.

‘Grab the seat next to Ian on the Land Rover.’ Sue winked at Doc.

‘Sue . . .’

‘Or I will. Bye.’ Sue walked out, passing Zola, who came into the reception area followed by her guest.

Doc looked up and recognised Zola’s companion. ‘Moses,’ Doc said, doing her best not to add an expletive. ‘What a surprise to see you here.’

Zola stepped almost deferentially to one side as the tall, broad bulk of Dr Moses Khumalo seemed to fill the otherwise light and breezy space of the common area. Zola’s eyes were downcast, as though she was ashamed, or feeling guilty that she hadn’t warned Doc.

‘Lovely to see you, Dr Rado,’ Moses said.

He smiled as he took her hand, but Doc had seen friendlier faces on hyenas fighting over a carcass.

Moses looked around the room, then raised his hand and snapped his fingers. ‘Is there a waiter somewhere?’

‘It’s self-catering here, Moses. We help ourselves to our own drinks. The ladies who work here will clean the dishes and our guide for the tour, Margaux, will do most of the cooking. If you’d like a cup of tea or coffee, I’ll have one with you.’

‘I’ll wait, thank you,’ he said.

Doc folded her arms across her body. ‘I thought Zola was bringing a friend, or a relative.’

‘I am a friend . . . of her family.’ He looked to her, and Zola gave a small nod.

‘So why not tell me earlier that you planned to come on the tour?’

He shrugged. ‘You were busy at the university, and I know that you have, ah, had some personal issues, for which you have my deepest condolences.’

‘Thank you, Moses.’

He smiled and spread his hands. ‘And even I need a break sometimes. I’ve wanted to revisit Zimbabwe and Namibia for some time now. Also, I have an interest in your work, and in the concept of bringing pangolin experts from across southern Africa together. I think it will be a great achievement for our university and a model for future collaborations. The senior leadership team needs to be across such important initiatives, don’t you think?’

She eyed him. ‘I’m just doing my job.’

‘As am I.’

‘So you’re part of the senior leadership team now?’

He narrowed his eyes. ‘It’s no secret that I would like to be, just as many in the workplace talk of you as a future vice chancellor, Denise.’

‘I’m not interested.’

‘So you say – publicly.’

Doc had heard that Moses had been waging a charm offensive, wining and dining members of the board and the current vice chancellor, Professor Tumi Dlamini.

Tumi was retiring at the end of the year. Doc had immense respect for the woman. Tumi had started her working life as a schoolteacher, trained at the African-only Fort Hare University in the apartheid era. Tumi had been active in the independence struggle and had been imprisoned for six years for her part in organising student protests and strikes, and for harbouring a young man wanted for bomb making, who had been shot and wounded by the police.

Moses liked to talk up his struggle credentials, attending conferences and rallies as a veteran of MK, uMkhonto we Sizwe, the Spear of the Nation, as the armed wing of the African National Congress was known. Doc had been told that Moses had joined MK near the very end of the struggle, as a nineteen-year-old, but had still been in training, in Zambia, when the apartheid regime crumbled.

‘I’m not interested in the top job, Moses,’ Doc said. ‘I’ve got enough to do out here, on the ground, supervising my students.’

‘The welfare of my students is my first and most abiding priority, also.’ He cast a glance at Zola, who returned a small smile. ‘Zola?’

‘Yes, Professor,’ she said from the corner of the room, where she had been hovering, trying to stay out of earshot.

‘Perhaps you’d be good enough to make me a cup of coffee, my dear . . . but only if you’re having one yourself. And please can you make something for Professor Rado.’

Doc frowned. ‘I’m fine.’

Zola went into the kitchen.

‘Has Zola shown you to your room already?’ Doc asked.

‘She has.’

‘So, you’re just here to enjoy the tour, is that right? Are you taking a vacation, Moses, or is this official business?’

‘Oh, I’m paying for myself, Denise, of that you can be assured.’

Doc knew that the tour, put together by Save the Pangolins, was not cheap. They were staying in nice accommodation along the way, such as Antares, and all meals and drinks were part of the package. The fee also included a hefty donation for the charity. Moses did not appear to struggle for money. He parked a new model Range Rover in his space at the university and, like today, he was always impeccably dressed.

There were rumours, too, that Moses had profited from some major expansion and infrastructure projects at the university. His brother ran a construction business that had erected a new lecture hall and sports facility and Moses had been on the committee responsible for approving such projects. She’d heard him protest publicly that he had recused himself from meetings discussing the tenders, but others said that Moses had influenced the other members of the committee, and that he had opened doors to two other universities in Gauteng for his brother.

‘So this is purely pleasure,’ Doc said.

Zola appeared with Moses’s coffee and he took it without thanks. ‘Shall we sit, Denise?’ They eased themselves into wood and canvas director’s chairs.

The coffee table between them had a glass top over a display box. Inside, on a bed of sand, were the skulls of a baboon, a lion and a hyena. Doc thought the predators seemed to be grinning up at her.

‘I’ll see you later, Professor,’ Zola said to Moses, taking some unspoken cue to leave. ‘Talk later, Prof.’

‘Bye, Zola,’ Doc said. ‘See you at fifteen-thirty for afternoon tea.’

Zola nodded and walked out.

‘Denise, I have to be honest with you.’ Moses sipped his coffee then set it down. ‘We, the faculty, are concerned about you, or, rather, for your welfare.’

She was taken aback by his sudden candour. Doc narrowed her eyes – he’d had ages to express ‘concern’ for her and hadn’t so far, other than some platitudes about Jurie after his death. ‘There’s nothing wrong with me.’

‘Denise.’ He leaned forward and clasped his hands together. ‘You went through a terrible trauma losing your . . . friend, the policeman. I know how hard that must have been for you. I know the two of you were close.’

She felt her blood pressure start to rise. ‘Jurie and I had a professional relationship.’

‘I’m not suggesting anything to the contrary, despite what some gossipmongers may have said in the past. After all, I believe the detective was a married man, with two children.’

Doc clenched her teeth together. Moses was one to talk. He was married, but the word around the university was that he’d had a string of affairs with students and she now wondered if there was something going on with Zola, given her subservient attitude to him. So far, he had escaped censure, but Doc – and others – believed that was because he had some other members of the senior faculty in his pocket, or else they also had a history of sleeping with students and were not in a position to cast the first stone.

‘Like I said, we had a professional relationship.’

He nodded, deeply, then looked her in the eye again. ‘I understand there was also an inquiry into the officer’s death, which looked at the legality or otherwise of the sting operation you were involved in on that day.’

He had been digging, or he had a source inside the police. ‘Yes.’

Moses held her stare and she did not want to be the first one to break. The truth was that the internal police investigation into Jurie’s death had raised concerns about Doc being the undercover operator in the second operation they had carried out on that terrible Sunday. Off the record, Frank Galloway had told Doc later that if it had been she who had been killed, then Jurie might very well have been suspended, or even dismissed. Yet another reason why she had to put the sting operations behind her now.

Sensing he was going to get no further reply, it was Moses who broke eye contact and sat back in his chair. He picked up his coffee again and took another sip. Outside, a baboon called its distinctive wah-hoo bark.

Doc looked over her shoulder, towards the waterhole, the direction in which the noise had come from. ‘That’s a warning call.’

‘I wouldn’t know,’ Moses said. ‘I grew up in Soweto, fighting for my country’s freedom, not holidaying in the Kruger Park. That was something for white people, and perhaps your community.’

‘My “community”? You think we had it easy?’

‘I am sure your family suffered, like many others, though I understand your father was a European – a Hungarian refugee, I believe.’

What was he getting at? ‘My mother spent time in prison, fighting for the right for people to be able to love who they wanted to. My father left Eastern Europe because he believed communism had failed his country, and he was right about that.’

If Moses picked up on the note of hostility in her tone, he studiously ignored it. ‘I understand another man was killed near here.’

Doc nodded. ‘Graham Foster, an anti-poaching ranger. He was supposed to be our armed escort in the Balule, for our current field work. It’s a terrible shame. He was a good man.’

‘And I believe you knew him, as well?’

Who was feeding him information about her personal life? Zola? The young student had no reason to want to cause problems for Doc. Zola had come to Doc as a keen, intelligent undergraduate with a bright disposition. As she’d discussed with Sara, Doc had noticed a change in her student’s behaviour in recent months – she had become quieter, more withdrawn. Doc was beginning to wonder if she’d found the reason why.

‘I did. In fact, if you must know, Graham was something of a friend and I slept with him once. Happy?’

He shook his head. ‘No, I am not happy, just sorry for the loss of your friend and, now, even more concerned about your welfare, Doc.’

It was the first time he had ever addressed her by her nickname. Was he now trying a softer approach, to build rapport? Doc reminded herself that whether or not she liked it, Moses was now more than a colleague – he was a paying guest on a tour around southern Africa of which she was the principal guide.

‘Like I say, I am fine. It’s sad about Graham – he was robbed and murdered – but we were no longer intimate. It was a bit of a blow for the students as well.’

‘I can imagine,’ Moses said. ‘Have your organised a replacement escort for our field work in the bush?’

So much for Graham. ‘Margaux, who runs a safari tour business, will be our walking guide.’

‘A woman?’

Doc’s jaw dropped. ‘Margaux is a fully qualified trails guide and she’ll also be our escort when we’re walking in Big Five country. When she passed her course she was the top student, notably out-shooting all of the males she was up against.’

‘Of course. I meant nothing by my remark. It’s just that most anti-poaching rangers I have met are men,’ Moses said.

‘I’ve met female rangers in the Kruger Park who have killed poachers and been in more action than many of their male counterparts,’ Doc countered.

‘Point taken. I am sure we’ll be in safe hands with Margaux.’

The baboon called again.

Doc looked out of the lounge area beyond the waterhole. ‘There was a lion there, just now.’

Moses sat upright, craning his head. ‘A lion! Will Zola be all right? She told me she was going to walk to her quarters. There is no fence around the camp, apparently.’

‘The lion’s gone now. She’ll be fine,’ Doc said. ‘Tell me, how do you know Zola?’

‘Through her studies, of course, but I’m acquainted with her family. You might call me an old family friend, and in our culture I’m, well, like a father to her.’

‘I see. Does Zola have a boyfriend?’ Doc asked.

Moses took another sip of coffee and looked into his cup, not at her. ‘No, not that I know of. Why?’

‘She’s been distracted lately, missing classes, late in submitting her work. Until recently I would have said she was one of my top five students, but now she’s slipping. She’s changed. I wondered if it might be boy or girl trouble.’

‘Zola is not interested in women.’

His reply was immediate, almost defensive of Zola, as if Doc had meant the statement as a criticism of her sexuality. It wasn’t. It was bait.

‘I suppose you know that,’ Doc said, ‘as a family friend.’

‘Yes, yes, of course.’

‘But sometimes we don’t know what goes on behind closed doors, do we, Moses, even in the most upright, most conservative of families.’

‘Zola is a good girl.’

‘Young woman, I would have said,’ Doc said.

‘Of course. I must remember the times are constantly changing. Let me ask you something, Denise, directly, if I may.’

The baboon called again. The danger was out there, somewhere, still. ‘Of course.’

‘If you were asked – encouraged – by the university board, to formally apply for the position of vice chancellor, would you do so?’

There it was. He was laying his cards on the table, on the first day of the two weeks they would be spending together. She had told herself that she wasn’t interested, and the thought of the sheer volume of administrative workload and internal and external politics and human resources nightmares was frankly terrifying to her.

However, the thought that the rumours passed on by friends, and the whispers she’d heard might be true, that there were some who wanted her in charge of the university, was undeniably flattering. She had made a conscious decision to end all her law enforcement–related work over what had happened to Jurie, and Graham’s death was a reminder that those involved in the illegal trade in wildlife would kill without a second thought. But if she had truly given up the challenge of stopping the trade in pangolins, then how else could she find true fulfilment, or do something to improve the situation for all endangered species? Could taking charge of a university and potentially developing or changing its role in the conservation of wildlife and wild places be a new way for her to fight the evil that had robbed the world of Jurie, and maybe Graham?

‘The true answer is that I don’t know, Moses. It’s a hypothetical question.’

‘Maybe not. I know there are those on the board who would prefer you,’ he said.

Now that was an interesting way of putting it. Not that she was the best candidate for the job, but rather that it was a toss-up between Doc and someone else. There was no doubt in Doc’s mind who that other person was, or why he was currently sitting six hundred kilometres from Pretoria in an environment as foreign to him as the Antarctic, grilling her.

‘There is part of me that is interested in making a tilt at the leadership,’ she said. ‘I’m worried about the level of corruption in the awarding of tenders at the university, as well as talk of inappropriate relationships between faculty and students.’

Moses narrowed his eyes. Gone was the playground game of being the first to blink – he was watching her in the same way that a cobra would fix on its prey, in the moment before striking.

‘Quite frankly, Denise, and I say this as a friend and colleague, some members of the board think your manner, your past involvement in sting operations, was reckless, and unbecoming in a senior member of the faculty. Your behaviour was also dangerous, resulting in the tragic death of your colleague, and you put our students at unnecessary risk by allowing them to accompany you on your last “mission” or whatever you want to call it.’

Doc tried to control her breathing. ‘I have ceased my undercover work, and do you know what’s happened since that last operation?’

‘No.’

‘Nothing,’ she said, her voice low and cold.

‘Nothing?’

‘Yes, Moses. Not a single arrest has been made in relation to pangolin poaching or smuggling in Gauteng, Limpopo or Mpumalanga, the provinces where Jurie and I used to operate, in the last three months. Not a single animal has been saved. The trade in these animals has not stopped or even slowed. If anything, it’s probably increased as the world forgets about COVID and the spread of disease from wildlife to humans.’

He waved a hand in the air. ‘Nevertheless, you’ll agree it was wrong to put students in the firing line.’

‘They played no active part in the operation.’

‘No, but they saw two men die.’

She remembered Jurie’s last breath. She would not let this man unsettle her or make her feel any worse than she did already. Moses had set the ground rules for the coming two weeks and she could now see quite clearly why he was here. He was either going to force her, somehow, to categorically withdraw from running for vice chancellor of the university, or he was going to try and gather enough dirt on her to preclude her from the race or paint her as mentally unstable.

‘Three, if you count the death of Graham Foster last night,’ Doc said.

He looked surprised. ‘You think his death was also related to your Quixote-like crusade to save the pangolin?’

She hated the way he trivialised all the work that had gone into the countless operations, and, by inference, Jurie’s death. ‘I don’t know. I’m going to see what I can find out before we set off on this dog and pony show.’

He smiled. ‘Then I wish you luck with that. I don’t want you to think for a moment that I do not value the hard work done by the brave men and women fighting to protect South Africa’s wildlife.’

Platitudes. He mouthed them like the politician of academia he aspired to be.

‘All I’m suggesting, Denise,’ he adopted a more conciliatory tone, ‘is that perhaps you have done your bit and the best thing now for you and the students under your supervision is to return to the business of study, not law enforcement or the tiresome job of running a university.’

That was exactly what Doc had intended on doing, until Moses had showed up on her tour. She looked at him through snake eyes. ‘Thank you for your concern, Moses.’

Chapter 12

Ian allowed himself half an hour’s sleep, but woke at 3.15 pm when his phone alarm sounded.

He’d napped on his back dressed only in his shorts, so he got up, put on his shirt, shoes and hat, then grabbed the binoculars a South African friend in Australia had advised him to bring and headed to the reception area.

Ian kept a weather eye out for lions, and remembered the other advice that his friend Adriaan, a South African banker, had given him. ‘Get your hands on a gun, if you can. If you don’t get robbed in your sleep you’ll get hijacked in whatever car you’re driving.’

When he’d asked Adriaan if he was joking, his friend had replied: ‘Half.’

Other South Africans he’d met in Australia generally talked down their home country, especially its political leadership and crime rates. But, in the way of expats, they also underrated certain elements of it, notably the wildlife. And they all remained Springboks supporters when the rugby was on.

Ian arrived at reception alive and with all of his extremities intact. Margaux, Melanie and one of her staff were waiting with offers of tea, coffee, iced coffee, juices and an array of cakes that would make Ian’s personal trainer back in Sydney wince.

‘Iced coffee, please.’ He helped himself to a slice of cheesecake. What the hell; he was on holiday – no, practically retired.

Eva and Pär, the Swedish wildlife experts, were there already. Each carried a hefty camera pack. The three students, Geoff, Sue and Zola, were standing in a clutch by themselves, on the other side of some sofas.

‘Not bringing a camera, Ian?’ Eva asked as she sipped tea.

Ian held up his iPhone.

‘Tsk, tsk.’ Pär pulled out a Canon with a lens the size of a bazooka. ‘He who has the biggest appendage wins in the world of wildlife photography.’

Ian laughed. Eva was earnest and serious, but at least Pär could poke fun at himself.

Denise ‘Doc’ Rado walked in through the front entrance.

‘Good afternoon, everyone,’ Doc said.

She had changed into a green T-shirt, matching shorts and elastic-sided riding boots. Her hair was pulled back in a ponytail. She looked lovely. ‘Can I get you something to drink?’ Ian asked.

‘That would be great, thanks, Ian. Just a water, please.’

He fetched a glass and brought it to her. ‘Are your boots R.M. Williams?’

‘Thanks.’ She took the glass. ‘Yes, I bought them at a wildlife conservation conference I went to in Cairns. Hellishly expensive, but so comfortable. I liked Australia, but there were too many rules for me.’

Ian pointed to the pistol in the holster on her belt. ‘Yes. You’d get locked up for that.’

‘Exactly.’

He was still having trouble getting his head around the notion of a gun-toting professor. She was like Indiana Jones, but with distracting legs.

The three students came in, followed by Dr Moses Khumalo, who had also changed, into plaid shorts and a golf shirt. He rubbed his hands together. ‘Ready for some field work, good people?’

‘I can’t wait,’ Eva said. ‘What’s your role in the tour and the pangolin conservation effort, Professor?’

‘Please, call me Moses. We’ll be travelling companions for the next two weeks, so let’s drop the protocols. And I must say, it is a great pleasure to be travelling with people so passionate about the future of Africa’s wildlife.’

Eva glanced in Ian’s direction. ‘Well, most of us are.’

Ouch. Ian saw Doc look his way, her face hidden from Eva. She mouthed the word sorry. Ian grinned at her, also out of sight of the others.

‘I’m sure that by the end of the tour young Ian here will be an expert in pangolins, isn’t that right, dear?’ Pär chipped in.

‘Oh, yes, of course,’ Eva said. Perhaps realising her gaffe, she addressed herself to Moses. ‘Dr Khumalo, what is your particular discipline at the university?’

‘I lecture in environmental science. My students will be involved in preparing or assessing environmental impact statements for major developments and the like.’

‘One of the reasons I was brought onto the university staff,’ Doc put in, ‘was to make sure those future bureaucrats and apologists for builders, mines and other invasive industries actually know something about the species which might be impacted by all that stuff.’

Ian noticed the frosty look Moses gave Doc. Was there some point-scoring going on between these two? He’d been in enough boardrooms and business meetings in his work life to recognise a pissing competition between a couple of alphas, and that’s definitely what these two professors were doing. Watching it unfold was mildly amusing; being in the gladiatorial arena oneself was just tiring, and there was rarely a real winner. Usually, when a new bull or matriarch gained the ascendency, other people lost their jobs.

‘Well, I for one,’ Pär said, breaking the impasse, ‘am looking forward to seeing some creatures great and small.’

Margaux, who had been hovering at the edge of the group, stepped in. ‘On that note, I think if we’re all finished afternoon tea, then it’s time to get going.’

They gathered up their bags and gear – Ian was feeling under-equipped now – and Margaux led them outside to the front of the lodge, where the green Antares Bush Camp open-top Land Rover game viewer was waiting.

Ian appraised the vehicle. ‘This looks cool.’

‘We’ll use the lodge’s open vehicle to view animals while we’re here, and switch back to Margaux’s Land Cruiser for the next stage of the tour, once we leave here. Do you want to sit next to me?’ Doc asked Ian.

‘We prefer the middle row of seats,’ Eva announced. ‘The prime position.’

‘I’ll sit anywhere,’ Ian said to Doc, ‘but yes, that would be nice.’

Doc ushered Ian into the front row of three seats just behind Margaux, with Pär and Eva behind them, with a seat spare between them, and the three students perched together in the last row. Moses opened the front passenger door, picked up Margaux’s binoculars and a couple of field guide books off the seat and dumped them on the centre console. He got into the front passenger seat. Ian noticed Margaux’s frown, but she said nothing. The professor was clearly a man who liked getting his own way, and felt he didn’t need to ask for it.

‘This way you can hear what Margaux’s saying,’ Doc said to Ian, ‘and you get some elevation to make it easier to see the good stuff.’

‘It’s all new to me, so it’s all the good stuff,’ Ian said. ‘Did you grow up in the bush, Doc?’

She shook her head. ‘No, in Phoenix, a suburb of Durban, but my parents, especially my father, loved visiting the game parks.’

Doc had a gold chain around her neck and a matching bangle complemented her skin perfectly. She had an amazing smile, which she flashed him now. Ian settled back into his seat as Margaux started the engine and drove off.

They hadn’t gone far before she pulled over, turned and sat leaning against the steering wheel so she could face them all.

‘Now, I know most of you have been on a game drive before . . .’

‘Perhaps we could fill Ian in while we drive,’ Eva said.

Ian said nothing. In his experience there was an Eva in every group.

‘Not while I’m driving,’ Margaux said, which shut Eva up. ‘So, thanks for your attention, and I’ll just run through a few basic rules.’

Ian paid attention as Margaux explained that they were welcome to talk during the drive, but they should not stand up when she stopped at an animal sighting.

‘The animals are used to seeing the outline of our vehicles with everyone sitting down, so if you stand, you break the silhouette and that startles them. And please keep your voices down to a whisper if we are stopped. I’ll be explaining things during the sighting, so the animals are used to some noise.’

Dr Khumalo studied his iPhone throughout Margaux’s briefing, only looking up once she was done.

They set off again and Ian found that he was excited. The afternoon air was warm and it was a wonderful feeling being out in the open, in the African bush. It was almost surreal.

‘What do you do for work, Ian?’ Doc asked.

‘Until recently, I ran my own public relations company.’

‘That’s quite an achievement.’

Was it? ‘I suppose. I sold the company a couple of years ago to a big international corporation. I’m just working out some time as part of the takeover deal. When I look back on it, I don’t know that I achieved very much at all.’

‘But you must have helped some people?’

‘Sure. There were a few NGOs that we did some pro bono work for, but at the end of the day there’s no one thing that I can think of that truly made a difference.’

Doc didn’t reply and Ian was worried he’d killed their conversation before it had really begun.

Margaux was driving along a winding dirt road through an area of thick bush. Ian saw a bird with a long yellow banana-shaped beak – like the one in The Lion King – but it was gone before he could ask what it was. He thought of one achievement.

‘But I did turn down some work,’ he said. ‘Funnily enough, I’m probably most proud of who I didn’t help – the Japanese whaling lobby back in the nineties, for one.’

She nodded. ‘I know a little bit about PR, but not enough. I know that not enough people know that the pangolin is the most trafficked mammal in the world. There are about 20,000 rhinos left, mostly in Africa, and they get a lot of news coverage, deservedly, but more than 20,000 pangolins are killed for their meat and scales every year.’

‘Really? I had no idea.’

‘That’s the problem,’ Doc said.

‘I remember that at the fundraiser I went to, people were talking about how successful you were, busting poachers and traffickers,’ he said.

‘Hold on!’ Margaux called from the front.

Ian saw that she was about to head down a slope that looked almost vertical. He and Doc grabbed the tubular steel bar in front of them as Margaux pitched over a precipice and nose-dived towards a dry riverbed lined with towering shady trees. When they were level again, Margaux shifted a gear lever into low range, turned right and ploughed along the bed, through soft sand.

‘I sometimes wonder if I achieved anything either,’ Doc said.

Ian shrugged. ‘You saved a lot of animals, right?’

‘A couple of hundred, maybe, but what’s that in the face of maybe 80,000 animals lost in the four years when I was working undercover?’

‘“Was”?’ he asked.

‘I’ve given up the sting operations.’

‘Can I ask why?’ Ian said.

She looked away from him. ‘A friend was killed during a bust. And it was getting too much for me, anyway; taking too much of a toll.’

‘On the right!’ Margaux pointed and they all looked.

‘What is it?’ Ian said.

‘Leopard,’ Doc whispered.

Margaux swung the wheel, churning her way towards the right-hand bank.

Doc put her hand on Ian’s arm and his eyes followed where she was now pointing. ‘Up there, the long, black branch overhanging the riverbed.’

It took him a few moments more. ‘That’s incredible. How did you . . . how did Margaux see that?’

‘It’s his tail, probably,’ Doc said.

‘Exactly.’ Margaux switched off the engine and they all sat in silence. She’d taken them to within about twenty metres of where the cat lay stretched out on the branch. It had lifted its head to watch them, fixing them with golden eyes, but after a few seconds it laid its cheek on its forepaw and went back to sleep.

‘Incredible.’ Ian heard the clatter of Pär’s camera firing behind him, and remembered his phone. He took it out and tried to focus on the sleeping cat.

‘I’ll move closer,’ Margaux said softly. She started the engine and the Land Rover crept forward, the gearbox whining as she moved slowly in low range.

Ian leaned over the empty middle seat, closer to Doc. ‘Is this wise? Won’t it jump down on top of us?’

Doc gave a little laugh. ‘If he wanted to kill us, he would have been in the truck already and dragging one of us away for lunch.’

‘And that doesn’t happen? Ever?’

‘I can’t say never. Leopards do kill people, but generally it’s either a very old or very sick leopard. They seem to know that people are off limits and that if they need to take one of us – even though we’re probably the easiest things to catch on earth – then it will most likely be the leopard’s last supper.’

Ian kept his eyes on the leopard as Margaux stopped again, this time almost directly under it. ‘And this one’s healthy?’

‘Very.’ Margaux turned and smiled. She’d been listening in on their conversation. ‘As Doc pointed out, this one’s a male. His name’s Mbvala, the Shangaan word for bushbuck, which is his favourite antelope to eat. He’s in the prime of his life, so he doesn’t need to even think about going after something as scrawny as a human being. Leopards are solitary cats, only coming into contact with females when they need to mate. A male like Mbvala here dominates a territory of a few square kilometres, and within that territory will be several females, who, for now, belong to him.’

‘For now?’ Ian said.

‘Until another male kicks him out,’ Doc said.

‘Such is the way of the world,’ Moses said from the front.

Ian wondered what, exactly, he meant by that, but none of the others in the vehicle asked him.

They stayed with the leopard for another ten minutes and Ian thought he could have sat there all day, perhaps with a drink or a coffee, and just savoured the moment of being so close to such a magnificent creature.

‘We have pangolins to see, do we not?’ Eva said from behind Ian.

‘Are we good?’ Margaux searched their faces for dissent, but Ian just smiled and nodded.

‘Fine by me,’ he said, at last.

Leaving the riverbed, Margaux took a sharp left and ascended a pass as steep as the one they had plummeted down a short while ago. The Land Rover climbed like a mountain goat and then they were back on flat ground, leaving the trees for a road in a more open, grassy area. This was the Africa Ian had pictured, a savannah panorama dotted with exotic-looking trees.

Doc leaned over the empty middle seat. ‘You’re lucky.’

‘How so?’

‘Seeing a leopard on your first game drive. Some tourists will come to the Kruger Park for years and not see one. I was twelve when I saw my first and I’d been coming since I was seven or eight.’

‘Really? I was pretty stoked just to see the zebra and the lion back at the lodge.’

‘Stoked? You just about passed out.’

He laughed. ‘Is it always this much fun?’

‘Yes. It’s part of the addiction, not knowing what’s around the next corner.’

Margaux slowed, stopped and picked up her binoculars.

‘What do you see?’ Moses asked her, looking up from his phone, which he had been transfixed by since they’d left the leopard sighting.

A phone dinged behind them and Doc looked over her shoulder to see Zola quickly checking her screen. ‘Maybe turn that off, or to silent, Zola?’ Doc said.

‘Yes, Prof. Sorry.’ She put her phone in her pocket.

‘I’m not one hundred per cent sure,’ Margaux said in answer to Moses’s question, ‘but I have a sneaking suspicion.’

Margaux put the engine in gear and accelerated away. She took them along the road for another three hundred metres or so, then swung the wheel to the left and bounced onto the uneven grassy ground. She slowed to weave between some young thorn trees. ‘There.’

Ian stared, but could see nothing.

‘Movement,’ Doc said. ‘Another giveaway. Look at that ear twitch.’

‘Where?’ Ian was still flummoxed.

‘Rhino,’ Geoff whispered from the last row of seats.

‘I see it.’ Pär raised his Canon and opened fire.

Ian was lost until Doc put her hand on his arm again and pointed. He saw a ridge of grey above the tips of long stalks of golden grass, and then it moved into a clearing. ‘Oh my,’ he said.

Margaux had stopped, but now drove the vehicle closer, and as they approached, Ian saw how unfazed the rhino was. It had moved towards a waterhole and was nibbling at some green shoots of grass on the ground. Margaux killed the engine again.

The rhino raised his head, snorted through his big nostrils and twitched his ears, which looked like big grey funnels.

‘He’s huge,’ Ian whispered.

‘Yes,’ Doc said. ‘And placid, and slow, nearly blind, and carrying a horn that’s probably worth around $300,000 in Vietnam. In short, he’s a poacher’s dream.’

‘It’s like I could just walk up to him and touch him. He’s magnificent.’

‘A bull,’ Margaux said. As if on cue, the rhino lifted his enormous head and fired a high-pressure spray of urine out between his rear legs. ‘Marking his territory.’

Eva took out a compact camera which played a musical chime as she turned it on. The rhino inclined his head.

‘His hearing is excellent,’ Doc whispered. ‘His best defence.’

But if the prehistoric giant was troubled by the presence of the humans, he gave no sign.

‘We’ll get to your pangolins eventually,’ Margaux said, ‘but I couldn’t go past this big boy.’

‘Why did you single out Vietnam?’ Ian asked. ‘I thought China was the biggest market for rhino horn.’

‘It was,’ Doc said, ‘and still is, to some extent, but demand for wildlife products changes with the times. Yemen, in the horn of Africa, used to be the big market for rhino horn – it was carved into ceremonial dagger handles – but decades of civil war have closed down that market. China’s actually become quite good at cracking down on some illegal products, such as ivory, but Vietnam has undergone a period of economic growth which means that more people there can afford traditional medicines and valuable commodities that were denied to them when their country was poor, and at war.’

‘Is it the same with pangolins?’ Ian asked.

‘Yes. Vietnam’s a big market for pangolin meat and you would have read how the wet market at Wuhan, in China, was stocking pangolins before the COVID pandemic. So the market for pangolins is actually far greater than for rhino horn, which has become more of a sought-after status symbol for the wealthy, like showing off a designer handbag, than for use as medicine.’

‘I don’t know what’s sicker, thinking something like rhino horn or pangolin . . . bits . . .’

‘Scales,’ Doc corrected.

‘OK, scales, can cure something, or killing an animal to impress someone.’

‘The only answer, in the long run, is getting people in the user countries to change their behaviour,’ Doc said.

‘Can that ever happen?’ Ian asked. He looked at her, now, rather than the rhino.

She shrugged. ‘In some societies, yes. We have to remember that rhinos were nearly wiped out by farmers and big game hunters in South Africa by the 1920s. There were only something like fifty animals left alive, but then a halt was called – ironically by people with an interest in hunting, who realised they’d have nothing left to shoot if they kept killing rhinos and other big game at the same rate. From that small population, South Africa managed to get its rhino numbers up to around 20,000.’

‘That’s amazing,’ Ian said.

‘Yes and no,’ she said. ‘It made us a big fat target. Over the last fourteen years we’ve lost thousands of those rhinos because we’re the last big stronghold and, consequently, the biggest target. Namibia and Zimbabwe also have viable populations, but South Africa is where most of the rhinos are.’

Ian felt a rush of emotions. One minute he was wowed by the sight of Africa’s magnificent wildlife in front of his eyes, and in the next breath he was learning just how precarious the situation was.

‘But the anti-poaching guys do a great job here,’ Doc continued.

Ian gazed at the rhino and then back at Doc. After her last comment she had looked away from him, not at the animal, but off to the other side of the vehicle. He saw her shoulders rise and fall and she put a hand to her eyes.

‘Are you all right?’

Margaux turned in her seat and reached over. She put a hand on Doc’s knee and gave it a squeeze. ‘Doc, everything OK?’

Doc looked at her, and wiped her eyes. ‘Yes. Sure. I was just thinking of . . .’

Margaux nodded, then cleared her throat. ‘Are we OK to move on?’ she said to the group.

‘Yes, please,’ said Eva, who didn’t seem to have noticed anything of what Doc had just been through, whatever it was.

Margaux looked again at Doc, who forced a smile and nodded. Ian thought better of asking what had just gone on, but resolved to try and find out later.

Once more, the wind was in their faces and the afternoon sun on their backs as Margaux set off on the bumpy roads. She looked back again. ‘Sue, do you want to do your thing?’

‘Already on it,’ called Sue, who had her head down as she rummaged for something below her.

Ian turned and saw Sue stand up, now wearing a set of headphones. She then held up what looked like a small version of an old-fashioned television aerial, mounted on a pole. She rotated the antenna, fiddled with a box slung around her neck, and put a hand on one of her headphones.

Doc leaned forward and spoke to Margaux. Ian couldn’t hear what Doc was saying over the breeze and the Land Rover’s engine, but for now, he was content to sit back and enjoy the ride. The air had an earthy smell to it, dry, dusty, yet full of life.

‘Yellow-billed hornbill,’ Margaux called out and pointed with one hand as she steered with the other. Ian saw the same bird he’d seen earlier, gliding through the air right beside him for a magical moment.

Doc leaned back. ‘Keep an eye out, Ian. We saw lions and elephant in this area this morning, although they could have moved on, of course.’

Ian felt excited, and truly alive for the first time in what seemed like years.

‘Maybe take a left, Margaux,’ Sue called from the back. ‘I’m getting a strong signal.’

‘OK.’ Margaux turned off the road onto an open grassy plain. She slowed, perhaps because she didn’t know what the grass might be hiding.

‘Left a bit more,’ Sue said. She didn’t have to shout now that they had slowed. Everyone was quiet, watching and listening intently.

‘This is a pangolin we’re tracking?’ Ian whispered.

Doc nodded. She looked back at Sue, as did Ian. Sue was frowning now.

‘Shit,’ Sue said.

‘What is it?’ Doc asked.

‘Steady tone. Getting louder. Stay on this course, Margaux, we’re getting closer every metre. Damn.’

‘What’s wrong?’ Ian said. The mood between those in the know, excluding Eva, Pär, and Ian himself, had grown noticeably sombre.

‘What does a steady tone mean?’ Eva asked; clearly, she had also picked up on the change in the vibe.

‘Maybe a problem with the tracking device,’ Doc said. ‘Maybe . . .’

‘We must be nearly on it,’ Sue said. ‘Stop, please, Margaux.’

Margaux braked and turned off the engine. They all sat there for a few moments longer before Sue moved to exit the vehicle. ‘I’m going to look for it.’

‘Just a minute,’ Doc said. ‘Wait for Margaux.’

Sue stayed standing in her perch in the rear, elevated seats, a hand still pressed to her right headphone. Margaux unzipped the green canvas rifle case on the dashboard of the Land Rover and slid out a hunting rifle. She opened her door, got out, and proceeded to load five fat brass rounds from the leather cartridge belt around her waist into the breech of her rifle before working the bolt closed. She walked a few metres from the vehicle and surveyed the bush around them.

‘If there’s a lion or other predator somewhere in this long grass,’ Doc said, leaning closer to Ian, ‘it will probably raise its head now to take a look at Margaux.’

‘What makes you think there might be something dangerous around here?’

‘A cat could be anywhere, and they blend into the bush and grass amazingly well,’ Doc said, ‘but we’re also worried for this pangolin.’

Sue clambered down from the game viewer, her monitoring device slung around her neck and the antenna still gripped in one hand. She walked away from the vehicle, towards where the sun, a ball of malevolent red, was hovering above the distant tree line. Margaux went with her.

Sue lowered the antenna and tilted her face to the sky. ‘Fuck!’

Chapter 13

Doc jumped down from the Land Rover and strode to where Sue was standing. The guests and Zola and Geoff followed in her wake.

Sue and Margaux stood side by side, looking at the ground. Doc hurried to them, just as Sue was bending down.

‘Don’t touch it,’ Doc called.

Too late, Sue had bent at the waist and picked up the transmitter.

‘Why not?’ She put it back down in the grass.

‘Fingerprints.’

Doc dropped to one knee to examine it.

‘What is that?’ Ian said. He was now standing next to Doc, his shadow covering her.

‘It’s a VHF transmitter.’ She ran her right index finger over the device without touching it. ‘This is the aerial, about sixteen centimetres long, and this little box covered in waterproof green plastic is known as the corpus. It houses the transmitter. This metal plate,’ Doc picked up a stick and used it to point for all of them, who had gathered in a semicircle, ‘is actually bolted onto one of the pangolin’s scales, near where its tail starts.’

‘Sometimes the trackers fall off; the nuts on the bolts come loose and the aerial or device snags on low-lying branches or roots in the pangolin’s burrow,’ Geoff weighed in.

‘Yes, but when I checked it two days ago, the nuts and bolts were secure,’ Sue said.

‘How are the bolts attached, exactly?’ Ian asked.

‘We drill through the scale,’ Doc said. ‘It’s made of keratin, like your fingernail, so there are no nerves. It’s a painless procedure.’

‘So this one couldn’t have accidentally come loose in a couple of days?’ Pär asked.

Doc used the stick to flip the device over. ‘Theoretically possible, I suppose,’ Doc said, ‘but how does that account for the nuts being screwed back onto the bolts?’

‘Fuck,’ Sue said again.

Eva coughed.

‘Language, please,’ Doc said to Sue.

‘Sorry,’ Sue said, ‘but someone has stolen my pangolin.’ She looked around at them all. ‘Who? Why?’

Doc stood and realised they had just all inadvertently contaminated a potential crime scene. ‘Margaux, do you think you could do a sweep for tracks, please?’

‘Ja, sure, Doc. I’m on it.’ Margaux moved away from the group and began walking in a circle, around them, studying the ground.

‘Everyone else stay here for the moment, please,’ Doc said. She stared down at the transmitter. ‘This is weird. Someone has taken the time to carefully remove this transmitter. I’ve only seen a couple of other tagged pangolins that had been taken by poachers and in one of those cases they cut off the scale with the device, and in the other they just ripped it from the animal’s body.’

‘That’s horrible,’ Eva said.

‘I agree.’ Doc straightened and looked around her. ‘The signal Sue was getting was an alarm that the pangolin had stopped moving. She was worried because that can either mean the pangolin is dead, or the device has come off or is malfunctioning.’

‘Why would the poacher take the time to replace the little nuts on the bolts, having just removed the tracker?’ Ian said.

Doc rubbed her chin. ‘That’s what’s puzzling me. It’s almost like it was someone who knows how important, how valuable, a transmitter is, and that if they were careful with it we could use it again.’

‘An inside job?’ Geoff said.

‘This is most unusual indeed,’ Moses Khumalo said, adding absolutely zero to the conversation.

Doc looked at her colleague. ‘Any thoughts?’

Khumalo shrugged. ‘Any poacher here would most likely be looking for rhino and we know they are ruthless types. If one of them came across a pangolin they might very well know its value and take it, but like Ian said, I can’t see them taking the time to fiddle about with nuts and bolts. An anti-poaching ranger, however, might be tempted, and might see taking a pangolin as perhaps a lesser crime than killing a rhino. And he – or she – would appreciate the value of a tracker.’

Doc nodded. Finally, something sensible was coming out of Moses’s mouth. ‘I also remember cases from a few years ago of veterinarians being involved in rhino poaching. They’d dart the animals rather than shooting them with a gun, dehorn the rhino and then leave it to come around. There was even a term for it – “green” poaching.’

Margaux was walking in a larger circle, and when Doc checked her progress again she saw that the guide had stopped and dropped to one knee. Margaux raised a hand. ‘Doc, come to me, please!’

‘The rest of you please stay here for a moment,’ Doc said. ‘We don’t want to walk over any more tracks if we can help it.’

Doc went to Margaux, who stood and pointed to the ground. ‘I’ve picked up some spoor, but whoever picked up your pangolin is clever.’

Doc looked where Margaux was indicating. ‘It’s faint, even though the ground is clear of grass here, and dry.’

Margaux nodded. ‘It looks like they’re wearing socks over their shoes. That’s what makes it such a soft, indistinct track. It’s not a big foot, so it’s either a shortish man, or a woman, maybe. We do have women working in the reserve, as guides, in lodges, and there’s even an all-female anti-poaching patrol that works in the Balule reserve.’

Doc shook her head. She knew full well that money corrupted and that the financial reward for taking a pangolin was huge compared to the relatively minor risk involved in finding and stealing one. This was not a two-tonne animal that needed to be brought down with a heavy-calibre hunting rifle, and there were no armed anti-poaching rangers specifically patrolling the bush looking for pangolin poachers, even though protecting all wildlife was part of their remit.

‘What are you thinking, Doc?’ Margaux asked.

Doc was aware that she had been standing there in silence, ignoring their guide and the group of tourists and students that were still waiting for her. ‘That this is either a very random opportunistic crime, or it’s an inside job.’

‘Someone who knew where the pangolin would be?’

Doc nodded. ‘Our research program is no secret – in fact, we attract a lot of interest from guides, staff at the lodges and on the gates, and tourists on game drives. The students and I have often been invited to visit various lodges in the reserve to talk about our work. There are two pangolins we’re monitoring in this area – Charlie, who Geoff has been studying, and Charlize, who was Sue’s animal.’

‘Poor Charlize,’ Margaux said.

‘She was going to be the star of Sara’s film. No Oscar for Charlize this time,’ said Doc.

‘What do you want to do about these tracks?’ Margaux asked. ‘They’re going to be difficult to follow.’

Doc looked to her other charges. ‘And it’ll be even harder with that lot in tow. Let’s call it in, Margaux, and get the reserve’s anti-poaching team on the job.’

They started walking back towards the group. ‘I’ll get on the radio,’ Margaux said, peeling off towards the Land Rover. ‘There’s a dog team based at the reserve gate – they’ll be the best bet to follow whoever took your pangolin.’

Doc met up with the others and told them what was going to happen.

‘Can we at least go and track the other pangolin?’ Eva asked.

Doc looked to the west. ‘The sun’s almost set, Eva. Our plan was to track Charlize today, and to take you looking for Charlie tomorrow morning. We don’t have enough time or light to find Charlie now.’

‘So, do we head back to camp?’ Ian sounded almost disappointed.

‘Not a chance,’ Pär proclaimed. ‘I’d say it’s sundowner time, right, Doc?’

Doc produced a smile; she was worried about the afternoon’s turn of events, but needed to hide her concerns. ‘Exactly.’

*

Margaux drove them to an ideal spot to watch the sun go down, an open area on the crest of a low hill which gave them a dazzling view of the countryside around them.

Ian accepted a dewy can of Windhoek Lager from Margaux, who had set up a folding table and offered drinks and snacks to everyone, and then moved away from the group. The students were talking among themselves and Eva and Pär were discussing painted dogs with Margaux.

‘That’s Venus.’

Ian turned at the sound of Doc’s voice. She had come up behind him and now pointed to the bright planet, which hung against the mauve sky. ‘It’s beautiful here,’ he said.

‘It is.’

‘I mean,’ he struggled for words, which was unlike him, because he’d been writing, in one form or another, all his working life, ‘I mean it really is beautiful.’

‘Really?’ Doc grinned.

He laughed. She was looking up at the sky, but the smile had left her face.

‘Are you thinking about the lost pangolin?’

She shook her head. ‘Just loss, in general.’

He wondered what was troubling her. ‘Before, when you were checking the tracks with Margaux, I overheard your students talking. Geoff said that he’d heard there would be a funeral for a guy named Graham next week. Did you know him?’

‘Yes.’

Ian waited. It was none of his business if she didn’t want to talk about it. She was an interesting woman – pretty, and in control, and he guessed the latter came from being a professor, someone who had to keep lecture rooms full of twenty-somethings on track. And she carried a gun, so whatever it was she did involved some element of risk. Yet there was a vulnerability to her as well.

‘He was a guy I knew socially, an anti-poaching ranger. Graham Foster. He was as brave as a lion, but he could also be infuriatingly sexist and arrogant. He was murdered.’

‘Bloody hell.’

She nodded. ‘It can be, when it’s not paradise.’

‘Most of the South Africans I know in Australia tried to stop me from coming over here.’

Doc snorted. ‘Yes, that happens a lot. But what happened to Graham was out of the ordinary, unusual for this part of the country.’

‘Like your pangolin being stolen by someone who wanted to protect the tracking device so it could be used again?’

She turned her face to him. ‘Yes.’

Ian heard a whooping noise; it was eerie, almost other-worldly. He looked around.

‘Spotted hyena,’ she said.

‘Are they dangerous?’

‘Depending on where you sit in the food chain, yes and no. They don’t usually bother people, but give them half a chance and they’ll sneak up to your braai – barbecue to you – and steal your chop. They’re opportunistic. They have a reputation as scavengers, but they’re incredibly efficient hunters as well. You can’t take anything for granted out here. If you do . . .’

Ian held up his hands. ‘OK. I get the picture. I’m scared already.’

She looked into his eyes and smiled. ‘Don’t be.’

‘Why not? You’ve told me about a murder and opportunistic predators.’

‘I’m here to protect you.’

She turned and walked back to where the others were. Rightly or wrongly, he didn’t feel scared, really. He was more on edge, in a good way. He felt like all his senses were being switched on, as if they’d been lying dormant in the city for so many years. He heard another sound, like a cross between a moan and a wheeze. Ian took a long sip of beer and looked up at Venus as he tilted his head.

I’m here to protect you. What did that mean? Did he really need protecting?

Ian smelled death on a soft breeze. He raised his nose and caught the stench of decay. It clung to the inside of his nostrils and the back of his throat. And then he smelled perfume.

‘What are you doing all alone over here, gazing at the stars?’

He turned and saw Sue, the student who had come to his tent. She had a glass of wine in her hand. ‘Star. Singular – in fact, a planet.’

‘Venus,’ she said. ‘Named after the goddess of love.’

He raised his nearly empty beer can to take a sip, not intending to make a toast, but Sue reached out and touched it with her glass.

‘I’m sorry about your pangolin,’ he said, feeling a little awkward.

‘I think Eva’s more upset. That’s one less sighting she can chalk up and tell all her Facebook friends about.’

‘You’re not worried?’

She shrugged. ‘Sure. But poaching is a fact of life in any game reserve in Africa. Pangolins are the most trafficked animal in the world, so it happens. Don’t get me wrong; I hope the anti-poaching guys can find whoever did it and string them up. Not literally, of course.’

‘Is it a setback for your studies?’ he asked.

‘It would have been if Charlize disappeared six months or a year ago, but I’ve nearly finished my PhD. The field research component is already done; I’m just writing it all up at the moment, so the show with Charlize was going to be just that – to show a pangolin to you, Eva and Pär.’

‘I see. Doc seems to be taking it a bit harder.’

‘She’s tired,’ Sue said. ‘She was in the trenches for too long. She’s been to too many busts only to find a dead pangolin being trafficked, or a bag of scales. And then there was . . .’

‘Graham?’

‘You heard about that?’

‘Doc told me,’ Ian said. He finished his beer.

‘I was going to say Jurie,’ she said.

There was the sound he’d heard before, the sad lowing. He cocked his head.

‘Lion,’ Sue said.

‘Really?’

‘Yes. Not the cartoon roar like in the movies.’

‘Who was Jurie?’ Ian asked. ‘Sounds Russian.’

‘No, he was Afrikaans. He was a police detective. He was killed – shot dead – on a bust a few months ago. We – that is, Doc’s team – were ambushed. A pangolin smuggler was killed as well, just as Doc was setting up a buy, a sting operation. The theory was that a rival gang wanted to take him and Doc – and maybe Jurie – out at the same time.’

‘Shit.’

She nodded. ‘It was. Totally. He died in her arms. I think they – Doc and Jurie – were more than just friends. They tried to keep it hidden, but a girl can tell, you know?’

‘Why hide their feelings?’

‘Jurie was married.’

‘Oh.’ Ian bit his lower lip. He shivered – the temperature had dropped quickly after the rapid sunset.

‘Yes, poor Doc. And then there was Graham.’

‘Doc and Graham?’

‘Some kind of fling. Nothing serious. So, what were you two talking about out here, alone, under the stars?’ Sue twirled her finger in her hair, as she had done when she came to his tent.

‘Loss.’

‘So she told you some of that?’

‘Some.’

‘Don’t get down, Ian. It’s not always like this, in Africa. Yes, we have our problems – more than our fair share – but Doc’s just been super unlucky. She’s an incredible woman. Doc’s an example of what’s good about this crazy country.’

Sue’s phone dinged and she took it out of the back pocket of her shorts, which Ian now noticed were so short the pockets were showing below the hems. She smiled as she checked a message.

‘I didn’t know we had signal out here.’

‘Off and on,’ she said. She looked at the screen and tapped something in reply. ‘That’s Jason. You’ll meet him. He’s coming on the tour too – well, part of it. He’s a detective.’

The phone dinged again and Sue laughed out loud and had to put a hand over her mouth. Ian looked to the others, feeling like Sue was preoccupied, and noted an annoyed look on Doc’s face. ‘I’ll leave you to it.’

She put the phone back in her pocket. ‘No, wait.’

He’d taken a step away, but stopped. ‘Yes?’

‘Jason can be funny, and we’re friends, but he’s young.’

‘Lucky Jason,’ said Ian mildly, wondering where this was going.

‘I look forward to getting to know you, Mr Ian Laidlaw.’

‘Well, thank you, Ms Oliver.’

‘Miss is fine. I can be an old-fashioned girl, at times. Depending on the company, and if the mood takes me. And you remembered my surname. I’m impressed.’

‘I worked in public relations for many years,’ Ian said. ‘It’s a good skill to be able to remember names.’

Ian recalled something she’d said. ‘You mentioned a “Sara”? Something about a documentary?’

‘Oh, her, yes. She’s blonde, Norwegian, very tall. You’ll meet her soon – she’s been out filming. Watch out for her, she’s a maneater.’

Pot calling the kettle black, Ian thought, amused. He put on a serious face and nodded. ‘I’ll be careful.’

‘She’s making a documentary, on Doc and pangolins, and she’s coming to Zimbabwe and Namibia as well. It’s going to be a blast, don’t you think?’

So far, it was shaping up to be very interesting. ‘Sure. And you and Jason?’ he asked. ‘You’re friends?’

She winked at him. ‘With benefits, but we’re not like, committed.’

The lion called again, and soon after the hyena whooped.

‘There must be a kill close by,’ Sue said, changing the subject. ‘Perhaps we’ll find it, on the drive back to the lodge. It’s always good to see a bit of action, but we don’t want to spoil you on your very first game drive or there’ll be nothing left for you to discover.’

The breeze picked up again and once more Ian caught the smell of death in the darkness.

Chapter 14

Warrant Officer Thomas Mdluli and Jason Chow were waiting at Antares camp at 9 am the next day when Doc and the students and guests returned from their early-morning drive.

Margaux had found a pride of five lions on a buffalo kill and they had spent half an hour after their morning coffee stop watching the gory feast and listening to the sound of powerful jaws tearing at flesh and sinew.

Ian, Eva and Pär went into the lounge area, along with Geoff and Sue. Zola and Moses were absent, probably still in their rooms. They had skipped the morning drive, having passed on messages to Doc via Margaux that Moses had an upset stomach and Zola had decided to stay behind to work on her thesis.

‘Howzit, guys,’ Doc said, greeting the two detectives as she climbed down from the Land Rover. ‘Thomas, do you ever sleep?’

He gave her a tight smile. ‘I spent yesterday talking to people who knew Graham Foster.’

‘Did you talk to your brother?’ Doc asked, even though there was no need for Thomas to fill her in on all the details of his investigation. ‘I’m just curious about why Graham left the party.’

Thomas frowned. ‘Oscar has been out on anti-poaching patrols, in the bush. I’ve left messages for him to call me as soon as possible.’

Doc thought that was a little strange. Oscar and Graham had been good friends. Surely Oscar could have been brought back early from his patrol once he received the news. Thomas was probably thinking the same thing.

‘Hi, Doc,’ Jason said, interrupting her thoughts. ‘I spoke to Melanie, here at Antares. She said it would be cool for me to stay with you all here.’ Doc recalled that Jason had spent the previous night with a friend in Hoedspruit. ‘She said I could stay in the guide’s room tonight, since Margaux’s in a guest room – as long as you don’t mind.’

‘Fine,’ said Doc.

‘I’ve made it clear to my colleague,’ Thomas said, nodding to Jason, ‘that he’s welcome to sit in on my interviews, but I’m the lead detective in the investigation into Graham Foster’s death.’

‘All cool with me,’ Jason said, as though he had a choice.

‘Jason’s told me more about the death of Captain Jurie van Rensburg,’ Thomas said, ‘and that you might have been targeted as well, Dr Rado. Do you think Graham Foster’s death could in any way be related to what happened to you in Johannesburg?’

‘I don’t know. I think it would be a long shot,’ Doc said. ‘But do me a favour, please, Thomas, Jason,’ she added. ‘I’d rather our guests didn’t know any more than they have to about what happened to Jurie.’

‘Of course,’ Thomas replied.

‘Also, I have to tell you that we lost a pangolin yesterday, and the indications are that it was taken by poachers.’

‘Really?’ Thomas said.

Doc explained how Sue had picked up the signal of the static tracking device, and how they had found it in the bush.

‘There were tracks, near where we found the tracker, and they led to the game reserve fence, but there was no sign of where or how the poacher exited.’

Thomas took a notebook out of his shirt pocket and began writing in it. He looked up from the pages. ‘How old do you think these tracks were?’

‘Margaux – our field guide – estimated a day or so.’

‘Interesting,’ Thomas said.

‘How so?’ Doc asked.

Thomas drew a deep breath. ‘I have some disturbing news for you, Doc.’

The last thing she needed. ‘Go on.’

‘After you left the scene of Graham’s death, the forensics team searched his bakkie. They found a pangolin hidden in a box in the back.’

‘No!’ Doc had contravened her own warning to Thomas and Jason because the others, who were now in the lounge with their drinks, looked over in surprise at her outburst. She lowered her voice. ‘Not possible.’

Thomas shrugged. ‘I’m afraid the evidence doesn’t lie.’

‘Where’s the pangolin now? Is it alive?’ As shocked as she was by the news, her immediate concern was for the animal.

Thomas nodded. ‘We alerted the local nature conservation people and they took it to the Umoya Khulula rehabilitation place yesterday.’

‘Good. They know what they’re doing. But why didn’t you come to me with this, Thomas? I could have looked after the pangolin for . . .’

She saw the look in his eyes. Thomas bit his lower lip.

Doc answered her own questions. ‘You thought I was compromised.’

‘I think you’re too close to this particular investigation,’ Thomas said. ‘Perhaps I could talk to you in private?’

Doc shook her head. ‘I’ve got nothing to hide. Graham and I had a fling, a couple of years ago. He’s tried a couple of times since then to rekindle things, but I made it clear to him I wasn’t interested. You already know we were at a party together at the Hoedspruit Wildlife Estate the night he was killed, along with many other people, and he was suggesting we spend time together. I told him no.’

Thomas nodded. ‘Why do you think Graham took a pangolin, seemingly around the same time that one of your students’ research subjects also went missing?’

‘Who says he took it?’ Doc countered.

‘All right,’ said Thomas, ‘how do you think it ended up in his bakkie?’

‘Maybe someone tried to frame him?’

‘Frame him and then kill him?’

Doc threw her hands up. ‘I don’t know.’

‘As I understand it,’ Thomas flipped back some pages in his notebook, ‘Graham Foster was to be your armed guard for some field work by two of your students, Geoff Hoddy and Sue Oliver.’

‘That’s correct.’ Doc gestured to the people in the lounge.

‘So he knew the area in which your research was being carried out.’

‘Yes.’ Doc did not like the way this was unfolding. Graham had his faults, but he was no poacher. ‘He was a man who was dedicated to fighting wildlife crime. He put his life on the line to protect rhinos many times.’

‘Rhinos.’ Thomas looked up from his notebook.

‘Yes. Rhinos, but also elephants, pangolins, it’s all the same. He cared for all wildlife.’

‘Were you aware of his financial problems?’ Thomas asked.

‘No.’

‘We found some papers, on his body. He had received a third notice from his bank that they were going to repossess his Ford Ranger bakkie because he was behind on his repayments.’

‘Lots of people are doing it tough these days,’ Doc said. ‘It doesn’t mean they turn to crime.’

‘True, but we also found a number of ATM withdrawal receipts in Graham’s car. They were from Montecasino in Johannesburg, from last week. He withdrew several thousand rand and there was a slip saying the last withdrawal was not authorised, due to a lack of funds.’

‘I . . .’ She held her hands out. ‘I didn’t even know Graham was in Joburg last week. He didn’t contact me.’

Shit. What had Graham got himself into? The others in her group kept glancing over at Doc and the two detectives, their curiosity clearly piqued. Jason continued to stay silent, just watching and listening.

‘I need to talk to anyone who spoke to Graham at the party,’ Thomas said.

‘You can start with me,’ Doc said.

‘Very well.’ Thomas turned a page in his notebook.

She closed her eyes, recalling their conversations. ‘I spoke to Graham twice. Early on, and then later in the evening, just before he left.’

‘And how was he? What did you talk about?’

‘He was Graham. He was flirtatious, as he often was. He fancied himself a bit of a ladies’ man and he is – he was – very handsome. He told me he was sorry, about Jurie van Rensburg’s death, but in the next breath he was trying to hit on me, to rekindle whatever it was that he thought we’d had. I told him no.’

‘Did he become angry?’

Doc put her hands on her hips. ‘What? No, not at all. We didn’t fight. It was just the way he was. Graham was a chancer. After I spoke to him he was dancing with another girl on the dance floor two minutes later.’

‘What else did you talk about, other than the late Captain van Rensburg and your past relationship?’

Doc paused. There was something slightly unusual about the whole thing with Graham. ‘He told me that he had volunteered to be our armed guard in the bush, in case of dangerous animals.’

‘Was that unusual?’

She thought about Thomas’s question, which she had just been asking herself. ‘Yes. No. Maybe. I don’t know.’

‘Well, that’s definitive.’

Doc grimaced. ‘He’d been talking to Pete, the local vet, who had mentioned that I would be at Balule with the students and a tour group, and Graham said that he then got the idea to be our escort, so he volunteered. I was expecting Melanie’s husband, the co-owner here at Antares, to be our guide, but he had to go to the UK to visit a sick relative.’

‘I see. So Graham went out of his way to fill this role?’

‘Graham’s not a guide, he’s an anti-poaching ranger. He was as qualified as anyone to escort us, and he was very experienced, but I would have assumed that he had other duties, such as patrols or coordinating security.’

‘Is it possible he wanted to get a handle on where the pangolins were located?’

The premise of the question was that Graham was definitely a poacher. Doc wasn’t ready to accept that, but the same thought had crossed her mind. Thomas was just doing his job. She weighed up what they knew. ‘To tell you the truth, Thomas, Graham could have just volunteered to be our escort because he knew Sara, our filmmaker, and Sue, one of our students, were going to be in the group.’ Doc nodded discreetly towards the group at the dining table and Thomas followed her eyes.

‘I see.’ He gave Doc a knowing look. ‘And he was clearly still interested in you, perhaps in a romantic way, as well.’

‘Maybe,’ Doc said. ‘I do know he was talking to Sara later in the evening.’

‘Yes,’ Thomas said, ‘which was how the passer-by who found Graham’s body was able to get in touch with you all.’

Bloody Graham. He’d been trying to bed Doc, and Sara, and goodness knew who else at the party. Was it conceivable he’d spent that time with them, drunk all that booze, while he had a living, breathing pangolin in a crate in the back of his truck? She supposed that if he were a poacher then he would be as cocky and self-assured in his pursuit of crime as he was in his chasing of women.

‘It still doesn’t seem right – that he would be a poacher.’

Thomas sighed. ‘Someone says that every single time we catch a park ranger or a guide or a policeman who’s killed a rhino. It’s the money, Doc – it would corrupt a saint.’

‘But not you?’

Thomas shook his head. ‘I’m no saint.’

‘I don’t mean anything by that, Thomas.’ She didn’t. He was one of the good guys, but was it true? Was anyone corruptible?

‘I know. I’m just doing my job, Doc. These are the questions we have to ask, even if they’re uncomfortable. Tell me about the crime scene, where the pangolin was taken.’

That was a good question. ‘From what Margaux could tell, the poacher had socks over his shoes, to mask the tread and blur the track, and quite small feet.’

Thomas made a note. ‘Someone who knew what they were doing.’

‘Yes. And the only other thing that we noted was that the poacher had carefully removed the tracking device we had bolted onto the pangolin.’

‘Bolted?’

Doc explained how the person who took the pangolin had taken the time to carefully remove the transmitter and leave it, complete with all its nuts and bolts, where it would be easy to find.

‘That sounds like someone who knows about your work and even cares about it.’

She said nothing. Shit, could Graham really have become a poacher to solve his money problems?

‘Crime knows no bounds, nor racial profiles,’ Jason said.

Doc looked at Jason. ‘What’s your take on all this?’

‘I don’t know,’ he said. ‘But from what you say, the loss of this pangolin is looking more and more like an inside job. Maybe the poacher felt guilty about what he or she was doing, and that’s why they took such care with the transmitter.’

‘Maybe.’

‘Who else was at the party with Graham?’ Thomas asked.

Jason jumped in: ‘Sara, the blonde woman over there – she’s a filmmaker; Sue Oliver and Geoff Hoddy, the young guy, and Zola Nkosi.’

‘Anything else you want to tell me, Doc, anything which might help us work out who killed Graham and even what he was up to?’

Doc thought hard. ‘If he was involved in poaching – and I’m not saying he was – then he could have been killed by a rival, or maybe he arranged to meet a buyer and something went wrong, for Graham.’ She was thinking out loud, but came to the same conclusion. ‘But if that was the case, then why didn’t the other person take the pangolin from the back of the truck after Graham was killed?’

‘Unless whoever it was planted the pangolin, to make it look like Graham was crooked,’ Jason said.

That didn’t make much sense either. ‘Why? To ruin Graham’s reputation? Would anybody care that much?’ Doc thought some more. ‘What if whoever killed Graham wanted the pangolin to be found, but didn’t want to reveal that they killed him, or knew about his poaching?’

‘A vigilante?’ Thomas said.

‘I have no idea, but it wouldn’t be the first time people have taken the law into their own hands in this country. Remember PAGAD, that Muslim group in Cape Town?’ Doc said.

Thomas nodded. ‘People Against Gangsterism and Drugs – they were pretty heavy-handed.’

That still presupposed Graham was a criminal, and for all his faults, Doc just could not see that. She took out her phone and, as Thomas and Jason excused themselves, she made a call.

*

Ian came to Doc, meeting her on the wooden deck in front of the dining area overlooking the dry riverbed. ‘Would you like a coffee? I can get you a plate of breakfast.’

‘No, I’m fine, thanks,’ Doc said.

Ian leaned on the timber railing. The policemen were talking to Geoff, and Sue was sitting nearby, working on a laptop. Sara was drinking a cup of coffee and talking to one of the staff.

‘I’m sorry for all of this,’ Doc said. ‘I’m guessing that when you paid for this trip you didn’t expect it to be in the midst of a police investigation.’

‘No, I think it’s fair to say most holidays in Australia don’t begin with a murder, or an endangered animal being stolen.’

‘Oh, the police found the pangolin,’ Doc said.

‘Where?’

‘In Graham Foster’s vehicle. I just called the rehab place in Phalaborwa where the pangolin’s being cared for. From the size and sex it sounds like it’s a positive match for our Charlize, right down to the four small holes in a scale near the tail, where the transmitter was bolted on.’

He looked at her and saw the concern etched into her pretty face. ‘But Graham wasn’t a poacher,’ he said.

‘Thanks for not framing that as a question, even though you didn’t know him at all.’

Ian saw movement in the trees on the other side of the camp waterhole. ‘Giraffe.’

Doc turned her head to look. ‘You’re getting better at this.’

Despite the seriousness of what was going on around him he grinned and couldn’t help but stare at the stately animal as it moved slowly closer. He hoped it would come out in the open. He forced his attention back to Doc. ‘I can tell from the look on your face that you don’t think Graham was guilty.’

She looked into his eyes. ‘Can you tell I don’t have a fucking clue what’s going on here, and with my life?’

‘Yes. Ian sees all.’

She laughed. ‘I needed that. Thanks.’

‘My pleasure.’

Doc stared out over the railing, but Ian guessed she was not as fixated on the giraffe as he was. His troubles back home – his sense of unfulfillment after selling the business, his failed marriage and subsequent relationships – seemed trivial compared to what this woman had been through, and was doing. Here she was, in Africa, fighting a war to protect a species and dealing with the fallout of losing people she knew; the war analogy was a fitting one. Her police partner had been killed in action, and maybe this guy, Graham, for whom she clearly had feelings, had also been a victim rather than a criminal.

‘The head of anti-poaching for the Timbavati Game Reserve, near where we are now, was gunned down and killed outside his home in 2022. His wife was shot in the stomach,’ Doc said.

‘My God.’

‘The men and women involved in this war face this kind of threat every day. And it’s not just the risk of death; they’re being ostracised in their communities, targeted by blackmailers, and have to put up with a load of shit on social media with armchair experts around the world telling them how they’re failing to protect endangered species and how they’re corrupt.’

‘I never knew.’

She looked at him. ‘And now you do. A little.’

Her shoulders sagged as she leaned her forearms on the railing. She had seemed so confident, so in control when they’d first met, and now it looked like the life was draining from her, as if she, too, had taken a bullet.

‘What can I do?’ he asked.

Doc stared at the giraffe, which had broken from the cover of the trees and was walking slowly but purposefully towards the waterhole.

‘Enjoy yourself,’ she said.

‘Seriously?’

She turned to him again and blinked. ‘Yes, seriously. You need to have a good time here, and go back to Australia and tell people to visit South Africa, or to come back if they’ve been before but are too scared, because of COVID, or crime, or whatever. We need the world to know what’s going on here, with our pangolins and our rhinos and our elephants and everything else that’s under threat. We need you, Ian.’

He watched her face for signs of sarcasm or irony, but it was a heartfelt plea. He’d felt something of a fraud, paying his money at a dinner because he’d drunk too much and wanted to impress a girl, when people like Pär and Eva – even if she could be annoying – were clearly passionate and committed to wildlife conservation. And now Doc was asking him to help spread the word. It seemed such a little thing, compared to what she had done, what she’d been through.

He heard footsteps on the deck behind him and turned to see Moses and Zola walking towards them.

The big man was mopping his brow with a handkerchief as he approached them. ‘This heat. I just had a shower and yet I keep perspiring.’

‘Make sure you drink plenty of water, Moses,’ Doc said.

Zola stayed a pace behind Moses.

‘I hope you’re feeling better, Moses,’ Ian said.

‘What? Oh, yes. Just a minor stomach upset. Nothing to be alarmed about. How was your drive?’

‘Good,’ Ian said. ‘We saw a lion on a buffalo kill.’

‘Splendid.’ Moses wiped his forehead again and turned to Zola. ‘Fetch me some water.’

‘Yes, Professor.’ She left them.

‘Who are these men?’ Moses gestured to Thomas and Jason.

‘Police,’ Doc said. ‘Thomas Mdluli is local, investigating Graham’s death, and Jason Chow will apparently be joining us for the tour. Like you, he was a late addition.’

‘He wasn’t at dinner last night,’ Moses said.

‘No, he’s not paying the full package. He’s driving his own vehicle and will be following us around. He’ll be with us from tonight, though.’

‘How odd,’ Moses said. ‘And just as well he wasn’t at last night’s dinner, if he’s not paying the full amount for the tour.’

What was odd, Ian thought, was how the podgy, sweating professor happened to be absent at the same time as the attractive young student, and how they had a habit of disappearing and reappearing together at the same time. And the professor had forgotten that he was supposed to have been ill that morning.

‘Excuse me,’ Moses said to Doc and Ian, ‘I’m going to get some breakfast. I’m famished.’

Ian looked to Doc. ‘You work with that guy?’

She frowned. ‘Yes.’

‘Is he always like that?’

Doc put a hand over her mouth to hide a small laugh. ‘Yes.’

‘What’s he doing here, on this tour?’

‘I have my suspicions, and my fears.’

‘Fears? That sounds bad.’

Doc exhaled. ‘Moses is in the running to be the next vice chancellor of the university we work at, in Pretoria.’

‘But you also want the top job,’ Ian guessed.

She shook her head. ‘No.’

‘But you’re in the running, which makes you feel good, and as much as you’d rather be a teacher and not a CEO, you like the idea of him being your boss even less.’

She leaned back and looked him up and down. ‘You’re very good at reading people and situations.’

‘I used to get paid to get people out of tricky situations, or at least minimise the damage they faced. I worked in politics for a few years as a media adviser and people there were always in trouble. Is Moses running a campaign?’

‘Yes, he is. But out here, in the bush, what can he do?’

Chapter 15

Doc’s phone rang.

‘Professor Rado? Hi, it’s Tato Buthelezi from The Star here, how are you?’ the female voice said.

Doc mouthed ‘excuse me’ to Ian and moved further along the deck, away from him and the dining area. Ian was busy taking a picture of the giraffe, which had begun the awkward process of drinking. The big animal had looked all around and was painstakingly spreading its legs in order to lower its mouth to the water. This was the moment when it was most vulnerable to attack.

‘Hi.’ Tato, she knew, was the daily newspaper’s education correspondent. ‘Fine, and you?’

‘Fine, thank you, Professor. I hear that your pangolin research program may be on the verge of collapsing after the murder of one of your staff and the loss of an important pangolin to poachers. How much of a defeat for conservation is this?’

‘Wow,’ Doc said. ‘A loaded premise, an open question and some half-truths. You’ve been trained well, Tato. Or fed well.’

‘Fed, Professor?’

‘Your information’s so fresh it’s steaming. Where’s it coming from?’

‘Come, Professor, I’m sure you know that reporters never reveal their sources, and nor do they need to.’

Where to start? Before she could even begin, Tato opened up with another salvo.

‘I’ve also been told that the university is trying to save money by cutting waste and duplication of research projects.’

‘Waste and duplication?’

‘I’ve heard that the work your students are doing with pangolins is no different from several other studies that are currently ongoing, and that the money might be better spent on something else, like offering safe spaces for diverse students from the LGBTQIA+ community and others who feel under threat on campus, or increasing bursaries for those from our most poverty-stricken communities.’

‘What?’

‘There’s a view among some staff at the university that animals – wildlife – are taking priority over human needs. Do you care to comment on that?’

‘I’m a fucking zoologist.’

‘Can I quote you as saying that, Professor?’

Doc ran a hand through her hair as she fumed. ‘No, you may not.’

‘Professor?’ the reporter continued. ‘You have to give me something, or I’ll go to press saying that you declined to comment.’

Doc drew a deep breath and looked over at Ian, who was still staring out at the giraffe, mesmerised by it as it drank. ‘I’ll call you back.’

‘But I’m on deadline, and –’

Doc ended the call and went to Ian.

‘I’m in trouble,’ she said.

‘How so?’

‘You said you work in PR, right, and people come to you when they have problems?’

‘Yes, that’s right.’

Doc explained what the reporter had just asked her.

‘Let’s go sit down, somewhere private,’ Ian said.

Doc cast a glance at Moses and Zola. ‘Somewhere very private. How about my suite?’

Doc walked out of the dining area, and Ian had to quicken his step to keep up with her. She heard his footsteps behind her. Briefly, she wondered if it was a good idea being seen to invite a single male guest into her room, but then dismissed the thought. This was a crisis.

Doc’s room was closest to the communal area, so they reached it quickly.

Shit. As she opened the door she realised just what a mess the place was. Neatness was not one of her strong suits. Ian walked in as she was picking up her bra and pants from one of the lounge chairs. She took them through to the bathroom area. ‘Make yourself at home.’

Ian sat in the other chair and crossed his legs.

‘Sorry for the mess.’

He clasped his hands together in his lap. ‘No problem. Now, tell me, where’s the story coming from?’

She took a breath, trying to compose herself and cool her tone of voice. ‘A journalist from The Star wants to know why my research program is “collapsing” and why one of my so-called staff was murdered.’

‘Yes, but this reporter . . .’

‘Tato Buthelezi.’

‘OK, Tato didn’t wake up this morning and think, “I’m going to do a hatchet job on Professor Denise Rado”, and nor did she have to pound the mean streets of Johannesburg working her network of sources to find out you’d lost a pangolin and that Graham had sadly been killed.’

Doc listened and nodded. ‘She was fed.’

‘Yes,’ Ian said, ‘by someone who’s hungry.’

‘Fed by someone who’s hungry?’

Ian raised his eyebrows. ‘For power, maybe?’

‘Shit.’

‘You’ve known about the missing pangolin – which is not actually missing any longer – for how long now?’

‘Since late yesterday.’

‘And Moses excused himself from the game drive this morning, and then you get a call from a journalist.’

‘Exactly,’ Doc said. ‘You think Moses called the reporter?’

Ian shrugged. ‘Would she know him?’

Doc thought about that. ‘Yes. There was a feature article in The Star a month ago about under-representation of African professors in the country’s universities. Tato wrote it. The basis of the story was that there were still too many white or coloured people in senior academic and management positions. It was clear Moses was positioning himself as the answer.’

Doc had been so surprised, then angry, over the call that she hadn’t had time to process Tato’s questions in the way Ian had. He knew next to nothing about her and the situation she was in, but he’d brought a fresh, incisive perspective.

And he was cute.

‘You said the journo’s also inferring that your project, researching pangolins, is somehow less important than investing in people – safe spaces for vulnerable students or whatever.’

‘Yes,’ Doc said. ‘It’s an old argument, that our institutions, universities, national parks care more about wildlife than people. It’s a hangover from the apartheid days when people of colour were banned from national parks, and safari tourism was seen as the preserve of white people. That is changing in South Africa.’

‘So, don’t accept the premise of the question.’

‘That’s a good point. She’s loading up her questions with negativity, but why should I fall for that?’ She was impressed. ‘Did you think all this stuff up, about not accepting the premise of a question?’

‘No.’ He smiled. ‘I got that from watching The West Wing.’

She laughed. ‘So, what do I say?’

‘Nothing?’

‘No comment? Won’t that look bad?’

Ian stood up and started pacing back and forth across the room. He seemed to be thinking while walking. ‘Do you have a laptop, or can you type on your phone?’

She reached for her daypack, which was beside her chair. ‘I’ve got my iPad.’

‘Fine. Start typing – please.’

She took out her tablet and powered it up. ‘OK, ready.’

‘In a successful operation, police today recovered a living pangolin, which had been taken by poachers from the Balule Nature Reserve.’ Ian paused. ‘You got that?’

Doc finished typing. ‘Yes.’

‘OK.’ He kept pacing as he spoke. ‘This followed the tragic passing of a dedicated anti-poaching ranger who was volunteering with, but not directly employed or funded by, Tshwane University of Technology’s research program. Is that correct, Doc?’

‘It is. It was Graham’s idea to come and be our escort in the bush. There was no extra money in it for him – he’s paid by the reserve.’

‘Good.’ Ian stopped walking. ‘We need to address the human versus animal issue. How about this: South Africa’s wildlife is a major drawcard for international tourism, which contributes millions of rand . . .’

‘Billions,’ Doc corrected him.

‘Cool,’ Ian said. ‘Contributes billions of rand annually to the economy. Financial benefits aside, South Africa has the moral obligation to lead the continent, and the world, in the conservation of endangered species such as the pangolin, and I make no apology for that.’

‘Wow,’ Doc said. ‘Did anyone ever tell you that you’re very good at . . .’

‘Bullshitting? Yes. My ex-wife, Katrina, in particular, and often.’

She laughed, but she meant it. ‘No, you’re really good at this.’

‘Now, you need to drop a grenade.’

‘What do you mean?’ Doc asked.

‘You told us that on the tour we’re going to be visiting several pangolin rehabilitation places, with a view to getting them to cooperate with each other. Is that right as well?’

She looked up from her screen. ‘It is, yes.’

Ian stopped pacing and looked up at the roof of the tent. ‘Then we need a name.’

‘A name?’

‘Yes, for whatever it is you’re trying to do. Something that catches people’s imagination, makes them sit up and pay attention while they’re eating their Corn Flakes.’

‘Their what?’

‘Never mind. How about PWB?’

‘What does that stand for?’

Ian projected each word onto a different part of the ceiling with a sweep of his hand. ‘Pangolins. Without. Borders.’

She frowned. ‘You can’t be serious.’

He stared at her. ‘I am always serious. Type this: Today we have announced the official launch of PWB, Pangolins Without Borders, a South African–inspired world-first initiative, designed by Tshwane University of Technology, aimed at coordinating the worldwide conservation and protection of this flagship endangered species.’

Doc bit her lower lip. ‘Ian, you’re laying it on a bit thick here.’

‘So too was whoever gave this shit-stirring yarn to that journo from The Star. This isn’t the time to be faint-hearted, Doc. This is the time to take the fight to the enemy, to fire a shot across his bows, and to sink him with clichés.’

She laughed and nearly dropped her iPad. When Doc composed herself she finished typing up what Ian had dictated. ‘What now?’

‘Email it to the journo.’

‘What? I shouldn’t call her?’

‘No.’ Ian waved a hand in the air. ‘If you call her, she’ll just keep asking you more questions, and, with respect, she might steer you into a corner you can’t get out of. If you email her what you’ve written, then that’s all she can print. Of course, she mightn’t print any of it, and she might still do a number on you, but all you can control in this business is what comes out of your mouth, or from your iPad.’

‘I have her email address somewhere. She did a story on pangolins about three years ago. I stayed out of the limelight because of my undercover work.’

Doc found the address, copied and pasted what she had written into the body of the email and sent it to Tato. When she had finished, she looked up and saw that Ian was still standing, looking down at her.

‘What?’ she said.

‘You’re amazing.’

She felt her cheeks flush. ‘You said the words, I just typed them and sent them.’

‘No,’ he said. ‘They’re just words. You were undercover. You put your life on the line, to protect an endangered species and to bust criminals. That is incredible, Doc. Amazing.’

Now she felt doubly embarrassed. ‘It was nothing. We saved a few animals.’

‘A few?’

‘All right, two hundred or so.’

‘That’s something to be proud of.’

She shook her head; the sadness washed over her like an incoming tide, drowning the spark. ‘That’s one per cent of what we lose every year. It was a drop in the ocean.’

‘And if you’d done nothing, if you’d just sat in your classroom or lecture hall, or whatever you call it at uni, as worthy as that is, then those two hundred pangolins would have been dead. You have to say that what you did was worth it, was something, Doc.’

Doc rewarded him with a small smile, but Jurie, and the memory of him dying in her arms, came back to her again. Was any of it worth it? She started to cry.

Ian dropped down beside her chair and put an arm on her shoulder. ‘Hey.’

She lifted a hand and tried to sniff away her sorrow. ‘It’s OK.’ Doc pressed her eyelids closed, then felt his arm around her. There was nothing intimate or sexual about it; she just needed contact with someone right now. She laid her head against his chest and the tears flowed out of her as he held her tighter.

*

Geoff tried to recall the exact chain of events at the party as the police detective, Thomas Mdluli, asked his questions.

‘Graham and Professor Rado were talking at one point, yes?’ Mdluli said.

Geoff nodded. ‘Yes.’

‘What about?’

‘I’m not a hundred per cent sure. I was near them, but there was music playing, people dancing. I think he might have been trying to hit on her.’

‘Really?’ Thomas said.

‘She’s only a few years older than Graham . . . was. I think there’d been something between them in the past.’

‘Really?’ Thomas wrote in his notebook.

‘I went to see them, at one point, to see if she needed anything, if she was OK.’

Thomas looked him in the eyes. ‘Why?’

Geoff shrugged. ‘I don’t know. I heard from the girls, my fellow students, that Graham had a bit of a reputation as a ladies’ man – self-styled. He seemed to be monopolising Doc – Professor Rado – and I wanted to make sure that she was, well, comfortable.’

‘And was she?’

‘Um, yes, she seemed fine. I got her another drink, a glass of wine. By the time I was coming back to her she had finished talking to Graham and he was on the dance floor with a girl, one of the other students from the wildlife college. I’m sorry, I don’t remember her name.’

‘I see,’ Thomas said. ‘How would you characterise your own relationship with Professor Rado?’

‘Me? With her? She’s my lecturer, my supervisor for my doctorate. That’s all.’

‘She’s a very attractive woman,’ Thomas said.

Geoff ran a finger around the collar of his bush shirt. ‘I suppose. What are you suggesting?’

‘I’m not suggesting anything. Have you ever asked the professor out, like on a date or something, outside of your working or studying hours?’

‘No!’ Geoff did not like where this was heading. ‘Never. That would be . . . inappropriate.’

‘Yet you’re all adults, over twenty-one,’ Thomas said, smiling, ‘and don’t tell me there’s never been a relationship between a student and a member of the academic faculty.’

Geoff couldn’t help but glance over at Zola, who was sitting at a table having breakfast with Professor Khumalo. He now suspected the academic was the sugar daddy Sue had been teasing Zola about. Thomas noticed, and followed his eyes, but said nothing.

‘It’s frowned upon. We get talks about what is appropriate and what isn’t, and it’s university policy that relationships between undergraduate students and faculty who have anything to do with them of a supervisory nature are not allowed.’

‘Yes, but you’re not undergraduates, are you?’ Thomas said.

‘No, but it’s the same thing.’

Thomas made a note. Geoff leaned forward, to try and see what he was writing, but the detective drew his notebook closer to him.

Geoff looked around the dining area again. Sue was sitting at another table, with Jason Chow, and it seemed the lodge staff had brought him coffee, even though he wasn’t staying with them. Zola and Dr Khumalo were sitting a little further away. The other tourists, Eva and Pär, had left, presumably to go back to their room. Doc had disappeared with the Australian, Ian.

‘Who are you looking for?’ Thomas asked.

‘Me? No one.’

Thomas fixed him with a stare again.

Geoff swallowed. He waited for another question, but the silence unnerved him. ‘Look, I was a bit worried about Doc – the professor – as I thought Graham was coming on a bit heavy, that’s all. I went and spoke to them and I got her a drink, and then Graham left. That’s it.’

Thomas nodded, then flicked slowly back through a few pages of his notebook until he found a page he was obviously looking for. ‘Professor Rado told me that Graham came to speak to her again, just before he left the party.’

Geoff looked up. ‘Um, yes, now that you mention it, I do remember seeing that happen.’

‘So there were very few people left at the party by that stage?’

Geoff was confused. ‘No, it was still quite busy.’

‘But you were still watching the professor.’

‘Um, yes, I suppose so. Or, I happened to see her talking to Graham again.’

Thomas flicked back to where he was writing.

‘Where is this headed?’ Geoff asked.

‘Two men that Professor Rado worked with, and with whom she was close friends, have been violently murdered.’

‘And you think, what, that I did it?’

Thomas shook his head. ‘No, but I wanted to find out about Professor Rado and her personal relationships. She’s told me certain things, but I wanted to find out how much other people knew about her personal life.’

‘Then I suggest you ask her. Do you want anything more from me?’ Geoff asked.

Thomas closed his notebook. ‘No, that will be fine for now.’

The detective walked over to Zola and Dr Khumalo, said something to them, and then joined them at their table. Sue Oliver excused herself from where she and Jason Chow had been sitting and walked across the deck to Geoff.

‘How did it go?’ Sue looked back over her shoulder at Jason, who smiled at her.

‘Creepy is how it went,’ Geoff said. ‘I need a coffee.’ He headed for the kitchen and Sue followed him.

Sue leaned her bottom against the edge of the kitchen bench as Geoff filled the kettle.

‘What do you mean “creepy”?’ Sue asked. She raised her arms over her head, stretching, so that her T-shirt rode up, revealing her smooth pale skin and the jewelled ring in her belly button, which he’d seen when they’d been in the camp swimming pool together.

‘He was asking about how I felt about Graham, and even Jurie, like I was jealous of Doc or something like that.’

Sue grinned and pointed at him. ‘Well, you probably were.’

‘Sue. No. It’s not like that.’

She shook her head. ‘Uh-uh. I’m not buying that. You’ve got a massive crush on Doc. It’s clear. Everyone knows it.’

‘Who’s everyone?’

‘Every. One. As in all the PhD students and half the undergrads in Doc’s classes. We can all see the way you stare at her with those big dark eyes of yours, how you’re always hanging around after lectures asking questions, and how you’re the first to arrive.’

‘No.’

‘Come on, Geoff. I’m only teasing. Well, sort of. The detective was probably just grilling you because you’ve been studying under Doc –’ She giggled at her own joke, then composed herself. ‘– I mean, as one of her students, for longer than any of us. Wasn’t it you who told me about Graham and Doc?’

Geoff was taken aback. ‘Well, maybe. I was just, like, trying to warn you about Graham the first time you met him, when we started the monitoring studies out here, to be careful of him. I know Doc had been burned by him.’

Sue put her hands on her hips. ‘Listen, boet, Doc Rado doesn’t get burned by anyone. If she had a fling with Graham, or Jurie, for that matter, then it’s her business and she would have ended it, or not, on her own terms. She doesn’t need saving from men, and neither do I.’

Geoff held his hands up. ‘Point taken. You’re all strong, independent women, I get it, but forgive me if I can spot a sleazebag.’

‘And Jurie? Do you think he was a sleazebag, Geoff?’

The kettle boiled and Geoff made his coffee, grateful to escape Sue’s gaze for a few moments. ‘I don’t know why everyone is asking me about this stuff.’

‘Everyone?’ Sue said.

‘You, the cops . . .’

Geoff sipped his coffee, but it was too hot and it burned his tongue. He wanted to back away from Sue, go to his room and his laptop to work on his thesis, to not think about murders and crime, and Doc and her boyfriends.

‘What do you think about Doc’s relationship with Jurie?’ Sue pressed.

‘It’s none of my business, even if something was going on.’

‘Oh, something was going on all right,’ Sue said. ‘I saw them, when we walked in on them in that café in Eastgate Mall, on the day Jurie was killed. They were holding hands and touching each other under the table when we walked in. They quickly stopped, but I could see it.’

‘They were good friends.’

‘Not that good. They were having an affair, Geoff. I’m sure of it.’

Geoff looked out the kitchen window. A family of warthogs – a mother with two juveniles from last summer’s litter – trotted self-importantly out of the bush and paused at the edge of the waterhole now that the giraffe had left. A grey go-away bird called, echoing Geoff’s thoughts towards Sue right now.

‘That didn’t mean that Jurie deserved to die, because he was unfaithful,’ Geoff said.

‘I never suggested it did,’ Sue said. ‘But maybe someone’s targeting Doc, for some reason that we or the cops don’t know about yet.’

‘Because of the men she’s . . .’

‘The men she’s fucked?’ Sue spat the word. ‘Is that what you mean?’

‘I don’t know, Sue.’ He felt his cheeks burn. ‘What do you want me to say?’

Sue finally backed off. She took a step to the side, shifting herself further along the kitchen counter, and looked over her shoulder towards the waterhole. ‘I don’t mean to upset you, Geoff. It’s just that, well, we’re all concerned about what’s happened. I still can’t really believe that Graham was also a poacher, but the evidence against him is pretty damning.’

Geoff just nodded. He, too, had nothing to add to that finding.

‘But two murders, both connected to Doc, and both of them men with whom she’d had a relationship, seems like more than a coincidence. It’s just a theory I mentioned to Jason, that there might somehow be a personal angle to all of this.’

‘Jason?’

‘Yes.’

‘So that’s why this detective Mdluli was harassing me – you told Jason your theory about me being obsessed with Doc and he told Mdluli to give him a line of questioning. Thank you very much, Sue.’

‘Hey.’ She put a hand on his forearm, but he shrugged it off. ‘I never used the word obsessed, but if that’s what you think . . .’

‘It is not how I think.’ Geoff ran a hand through his hair. ‘Sheesh, Sue. We’re all cut up about Graham. We knew him, we were drinking with him, and the next minute he’s dead. I want to find out what happened. I cried for Doc after Jurie was killed because yes, I guess that I did suspect he was more than a friend to her, but that’s it. I feel for her, just as I’d feel for any human being. I’m not some crazy stalker.’

Sue placed her hands together in front of her and looked downcast. ‘I’m sorry, Geoff. I just wanted to help and thought that you might have had some insights into Doc’s personal life that the rest of us didn’t.’

He glared at her as she raised her face again. ‘Well, I don’t.’

‘All right. Don’t get shitty at me.’

Geoff took a deep breath. ‘Sorry.’ He wanted to change the subject, and turned the questioning back on Sue. ‘What’s with you and Jason?’

She glanced over at the police officer, and they saw that Jason had been watching them. Geoff wondered if he’d heard any of his outbursts.

‘We’re friends,’ Sue said. ‘I like him. We’re sleeping together, but I don’t think it’s serious. He’s never really been to the bush, so he wants to tag along, to see some more of Africa and the wildlife. I have to say that I feel a bit safer knowing that he’s going to be with us, like, riding shotgun.’

‘What happened with Jason in Joburg, at the shopping centre?’

‘The day Jurie was killed?’ Sue asked.

Geoff nodded.

‘Jason felt terrible about that, about jumping the gun. He received a reprimand. He’s stressed over it, and that’s another reason he’s taken leave, to have a break from work. You can’t imagine how tough it is for those guys and girls in the SAPS.’

Jason Chow was still smiling. Geoff blew on his coffee and took another sip. He got the feeling that Jason was watching him, rather than Sue, and Geoff made a note to do the same, to keep an eye on Detective Chow.

Chapter 16

Sara was cleaning her camera gear in her room when Doc walked onto her stoep and called her name.

She got up. Her equipment was strewn everywhere, and she had to move her tripod away from the door. ‘Hi, Doc. Come in.’

‘Howzit,’ Doc said.

‘Fine.’

‘Did the police talk to you?’ Doc asked, without further preamble.

Sara put down her camera. ‘Yes, they did already. Jason brought that detective to me, here. He said he was going to the dining area and deck to interview you and the others.’

‘He did. What did he ask you?’

Sara shrugged. ‘He knew I was the one who got the first call, from the woman who found Graham, and he asked me about my relationship with Graham.’

‘Which was?’

Sara was a little taken aback. ‘I could say, “that’s my business, Doc”, but I like to think we’ve become friends, so I’ll tell you what I told him. No, Graham and I had no relationship, but he was flirty and I was flirty and when I saw and heard you saying you weren’t interested, I sent him a text telling him I was.’

Doc frowned. ‘OK, thanks for clearing that up. Can I please sit down?’

Sara moved a Pelican waterproof case off the other lounge chair in her room and Doc sat.

‘My pleasure, but what’s all this about?’ Sara asked.

‘I’m not sure,’ Doc said. ‘But someone has been feeding a line to Thomas – the detective – that somehow the fact that Graham and I had some history might have been related to him being killed, and to Jurie’s murder.’

‘What?’ Sara was surprised. ‘No. You and Jurie were busting bad guys; Graham was busting bad guys. That’s where the cops should be looking.’

‘Do you think Graham could have been a poacher?’

‘I think Graham was framed, or else he’d somehow found the pangolin and was going to tell us about it later. I’m sure there would have been a logical explanation. I know that people can be corrupted, but Graham, from what I know of him, has been on the front line for years, often facing death.’

‘Thomas told me about some evidence he found that Graham might have had a gambling problem – debts, maybe.’

Sara shrugged. ‘I didn’t know him that well.’

Doc looked out of the window, beyond the stoep. A herd of elephants was walking through the bush. ‘Bloody Sue.’

‘Sue?’ Sara said. ‘What has she done?’

Sara liked Sue, partly because of her quirky character, but she was an acquired taste. She could be blunt to the point of rudeness, and she was acutely aware of her good looks and her effect on men, but she also had a wickedly dry sense of humour.

‘Sue’s been gossiping about me to Jason Chow, who seems to be her latest boyfriend. Jason was the one who floated the idea that my having some romantic connection to Graham, and to Jurie, might somehow have got them killed.’ Doc tried to take some pleasure from the sight of the elephants, but ended up having to wipe away an errant tear.

Sara reached out a hand and put it on Doc’s knee. ‘It was pretty obvious how much you loved Jurie.’

Doc took a handkerchief out of the pocket of her cargo pants and dabbed her eyes. ‘It was only for a few weeks, Sara. Hardly any time at all . . .’

‘No,’ Sara squeezed her knee, ‘it was more than that. I could see it from the moment I met you both, the way you were in each other’s company. You two were truly alive when you were with each other.’

Doc closed her eyes and the tears squeezed from under her lids. Sara slid her chair closer to her and put an arm around her shoulders.

‘I’m a mess, crying on everyone. First Jurie . . . now poor Graham.’

Sara held her tighter. ‘Graham knew the risks he was taking with his job, and he loved it all the same. I met plenty of “Grahams” in the Norwegian Army when I was in Afghanistan. They live for the risk, for the thrill, and you can’t tie them down even if they say they want to be tamed. Also, I can’t imagine him as a poacher, but we might never know.’

Doc wiped her eyes and eased herself out of Sara’s embrace. ‘There’s so much I want to know, stuff I need to do, but we’ve got this bloody tour. I’d rather stay here and work with the police to help them find Graham’s killer, and work out exactly what happened with that pangolin that went missing. It’s bizarre.’

‘It is,’ Sara said. ‘I want to do some interviews, quickly.’

‘Sara . . .’

‘You said I could have free rein, Doc, to report on your work honestly, warts and all, and this is something that has happened, and it might form an important part of the documentary.’

‘Even Graham’s death?’

Sara nodded. ‘It will be hard, and I’ll handle it sensitively. For goodness’ sake, I was attracted to the guy myself. I’ve got to separate any personal feelings I have and try to report his death honestly and dispassionately, whether it turns out he died as a wildlife hero, or he was the victim of some random crime – or, worst case, the cops find out he was a poacher.’

Doc stood and brushed her hands down her shirt and trousers, straightening herself out. ‘You do what you have to, Sara.’

Sara reached out and touched her forearm. ‘Doc, this documentary is going to be important, for pangolins and for conservation. Trust me.’

Doc nodded. ‘I do.’

Doc left and Sara walked out onto the stoep, watching her go. She leaned on the railing and watched an elephant herd, which had paused to munch on some more trees near the room two down from hers. Sara went back inside, fetched her camera and tripod, then set them up where she had been standing. The elephants would make good B-roll footage for her documentary, so she zoomed in on the matriarch and her cute little calf and started filming.

It was nice being able to film wildlife from a fixed camera position, rather than from the back of a vehicle. Although she worked mostly behind the camera, Sara had made news when she helped bust a rhino poaching operation by filming the perpetrators at work. Her payment had been in food and lodging – she did not have the necessary work visa for South Africa – but on her return to Norway she had used her moment of fame to help negotiate a deal with a production company to make a full-length documentary on rhino poaching. The program, which did well on the streaming channels, had won the Norwegian television Gullruten award for best documentary. The pangolin project, featuring Doc, would be her second full-length film. The images of Jurie dying in Doc’s arms were the most dramatic she had ever recorded, and the poignant drama of the brave policeman’s death would almost guarantee Sara a shot at a second Gullruten, perhaps even an Oscar.

But Sara was worried about Doc’s mental health and, selfishly, her own project. It was bad enough – for Sara – that Doc had stopped her undercover operations, but now she seemed on the verge of a breakdown.

Sara genuinely cared for Doc and she had been there, at Jurie’s funeral. A self-trained observer of people, Sara had also noted the animosity Jurie’s widow had shown towards Doc – further proof, not that Sara needed it, that Doc and Jurie had been close.

The baby elephant was suckling from its mother and Sara swung the camera on its mount and zoomed in. The mother continued to feed, keeping a wary eye on Sara. As Sara watched through the viewfinder, the cow swivelled her head and raised her trunk.

Sara looked up and cast her gaze around to see what had attracted the elephant’s attention. In her peripheral vision she caught a glimpse of red. Leaning out over her balcony railing she could just see the stoep of the room next to hers. It was, she knew, where Dr Khumalo was staying, but standing on the deck, in a similar position to Sara, was Zola. She was wearing a red blouse.

Sara felt a moment of guilt at being so voyeuristic, then took her iPhone out of her pants pocket, opened the camera function, and selected video. She pointed it towards Zola and used her fingers on the screen to zoom in. On the screen she could see the student lower her elbows to the wooden railing then put her face in her hands. Her shoulders shrugged as if she was crying.

Feeling worse, Sara was about to stop filming when a man walked onto the stoep. It was Dr Khumalo, wearing a white towelling dressing-gown, his legs bare beneath it. He reached out to Zola and laid a hand on her shoulder. For a moment she stayed where she was, but then she straightened her back. The professor turned her to face him, then took her in his arms and led her back into the tent.

‘Shit.’ Sara turned off her phone.

Now she truly felt like some kind of peeping Tom, as the English would say. Above that, she was concerned for Zola. She thought of her as a friend, although she was the quietest of the three students Doc was supervising. Sara had noticed the way that Zola and Moses seemed to arrive and depart from meal times and game drives at the same time, and had wondered what they were up to. Now she knew.

Sara was not one to judge people for their sexual preferences or orientation and she herself had experimented widely. She’d slept with men much older than her a couple of times, but never with anyone in a position of authority over her. She presumed the university had a policy about lecturers and students being in a relationship.

She toyed with the idea of deleting the video, but then her phone rang.

‘Hello?’

There was no sound on the other end of the line. Sara checked the screen and it said Caller ID blocked. ‘Hello?’

She suspected it was a scam phone call that was malfunctioning. Sara was about to hang up when a deep male voice said: ‘You were a friend of Foster.’

She was taken aback. ‘Um. Graham Foster? Who is this?’

‘Yes, Graham Foster. The man who is dead.’

‘Yes, that’s right. I knew him. Tell me, who are you, what do you want? How did you get my number?’

‘You ask a lot of questions.’

Sara spat back: ‘Talk to me.’

‘I saw who killed him.’

Sara drew a breath to calm herself and collect her thoughts. She had to keep this guy talking. ‘Who?’

‘I don’t know the name of the person. But I saw a car.’

‘You need to go to the police, to Warrant Officer Mdluli at Hoedspruit, and tell him. Or you can tell me and I will tell him, but you will need to testify.’

‘Ah, but I cannot do that.’

‘Why not?’ Sara asked, although she thought she knew why.

‘I am the one who took the pangolin. Graham knew that – I confessed to him. If I go to the police they will arrest me, and I will lose my job.’

She thought fast. ‘You’re a ranger. Do you work in anti-poaching as well?’

‘I did not say that!’

‘OK, OK,’ she said, ‘don’t get upset. I won’t tell anyone, I promise.’

There was silence on the end of the line again and Sara was worried the man was about to hang up.

‘So, are you saying that Graham had nothing to do with taking that pangolin from the game reserve?’

‘Yes. Graham was no poacher. I don’t want his family or loved ones to think that of him. It is not true.’

‘We have to meet,’ Sara said.

‘No. Now I must –’

‘No,’ Sara insisted. ‘Listen to me. If I tell the police what you have told me, they will be able to work out who you are from what I know about you.’ She thought of her documentary. ‘But, if you meet with me, and tell me all you know, then I can help you get a deal with the police. They’ll be more interested in solving a murder case than caring about a guy who took a pangolin. We’ll tell them it was your first offence, and that you surrendered the pangolin to Graham for safekeeping, something like that.’

‘I can tell you the make of vehicle, that is all . . . I can’t say more.’

Can’t or won’t? She had to meet this guy. ‘Please meet me. I’m a journalist, a filmmaker. I protect my sources. I’ve interviewed people who have committed crimes in the past, and I kept their identities a secret. The police will listen to me.’ Not all of that was true, but the man was still on the line, breathing deeply, hopefully considering what she was offering. ‘Trust me.’

‘Why should I?’ he said after a few seconds.

‘Because I can keep you out of prison, maybe even save your job. And because Graham was your friend.’ Sara thought back to her time in the Sabi Sand Game Reserve, when she was working as a camera person on the Stayhome Safari webcast program. She remembered an incident involving Graham and took a gamble. ‘And because he saved your life.’

‘What?’

‘You heard me. You were shot, by a poacher, another ranger who was corrupt. Graham carried you through the bush and got you to safety.’

‘No. Please . . . I am not a poacher.’

‘I believe we all make mistakes,’ Sara said. Despite his feeble protest, Sara was now sure she knew who she was talking to. Annoyingly, she was struggling to remember the guy’s first name. She could picture him – handsome, well-built, the same deep voice, but quietly spoken. He was a thinker, unlike Graham, the bullish action man. What the hell was his name? It was something English, yes, like a classical name.

‘I was going to tell you the make of vehicle, but now you have said too much. I am not who you think I am and I was wrong to call you.’

Shit. ‘Graham saved your life,’ she blurted out. ‘You would betray him with your silence? You can tell me your story.’

‘I can’t.’ A pause. ‘Sorry.’

He sounded like he meant it. She was losing him. She closed her eyes and tried to remember seeing Graham and the man together, on patrol, hanging around the Khaya Ngala lodge staff area, waiting for a call-out. He had the name of a famous writer.

‘Goodbye,’ the man said.

‘Oscar!’

There was silence on the other end of the line and for a moment she thought she’d lost him for real. Sara put her phone on speaker, so she could hear his reply, if she was right. She opened WhatsApp and searched her contacts for Audrey Uren, the personal assistant to Julianne Clyde-Smith, the owner of Khaya Ngala.

Sorry Aud, urgent, Sara tapped on the screen, what is surname of Oscar, anti-poaching ranger from KN, now working Balule?

‘You cannot tell anyone who I am. Please, it would destroy my family. I am sorry for what happened and it was not all my fault.’

She had to keep him talking. ‘What do you mean “not all my fault”?’

‘I knew the pangolin was never going to be harmed, that it would be returned to the wild, but it was still wrong, what I did. That’s all you need to know.’

‘Oscar . . .’

‘I did not say that was my name,’ he replied. ‘I must go, now.’

Sara’s phone vibrated and she checked her WhatsApp.

Mdluli was Audrey’s one-word reply.

She stared at the screen. It was a common Shangaan name, but her first hunch had paid off, so she tried a second.

‘Your brother, your family would disown you, Oscar, if they found out you were a poacher, a criminal.’

She heard a sharp intake of breath, almost like a sob. The voice was softer, less strident when it replied. ‘I should not have called you.’

‘You did the right thing, the honourable thing, Oscar . . . Mdluli.’

‘Please! No.’

‘I know where you are, at the anti-poaching rangers’ camp here on Balule. I know that your brother, Warrant Officer Thomas Mdluli, is currently investigating Graham’s death. I understand your fear, Oscar, but right now I’m the only chance you have to stay out of prison.’ She was winging it, but he was still on the line.

‘No.’

‘Yes. I’ll be there in half an hour.’

Chapter 17

Doc reported to the lounge area for their last game drive at Antares. Margaux was waiting for her.

‘Good afternoon, Doc,’ Margaux said. ‘I’m sorry, but Sara called me just now and said she can’t make this afternoon’s drive and that we should go without her.’

Doc went to the coffee urn and poured herself a cup. ‘That’s odd. We’re going to track Geoff’s pangolin and she was very keen to get some footage for her documentary.’

Margaux shrugged. ‘Sara said she wasn’t feeling too well, but that she was sure she’d get over it with a short rest.’

Doc frowned. That was very unlike Sara. Not only did she often boast that she never got sick – she had not even had COVID – but she’d also told Doc that when she was on a job nothing stopped her – not the weather, not sickness, nor fatigue. Either she was sicker than she made out, in which case Doc thought Sara would probably have come to her herself, or she was up to something.

‘No one makes an award-winning documentary by sticking to the rules,’ was another truism Sara had let slip after too many Jägerbombs one night. ‘Except your rules, of course, Doc.’

Pär and Eva were sitting on a sofa, drinking tea and eating cake. They waved to Doc to join them.

‘Hi Doc, sorry I’m late.’ Ian walked in quickly. ‘Have I got time for an iced coffee?’

‘Of course,’ Doc said.

Eva looked over her shoulder and held up her watch hand. ‘Drink fast, Ian.’

Eva laughed, but Doc could tell that for her this was no joking matter. She and Pär had paid to see pangolins, and they were getting impatient. Doc wanted to tell them that they would see plenty of the rare creatures where they were going, but thought it would do little good.

Ian’s arrival allowed Doc to linger next to him at the drinks station. ‘Let me pour for you,’ she said.

‘Thanks. I fell asleep,’ he said. ‘I didn’t think it was possible – I’ve been so stoked so far with everything I’ve seen, but I lay down on the bed to close my eyes for five minutes and crashed.’

‘It happens.’ She poured him iced coffee from a jug. ‘Not just the jetlag, but game viewing can produce sensory overload.’

He nodded his thanks and took the glass. ‘I hear you. I was dreaming I was seeing lions and leopards last night and that we also saw cheetahs, even though I’ve never seen one in the wild.’ He laughed.

‘We’ll see what we can do about that,’ Margaux said.

Doc sipped her coffee then lowered her voice. ‘And Geoff better be able to find his pangolin or else Eva might feed me to a leopard.’

‘Is Sara not coming with us?’ Ian asked, looking around.

‘She’s not feeling well,’ Margaux said, ‘so she’s sitting this drive out.’

‘Funny,’ Ian said.

Doc looked to him. ‘How so?’

‘I just saw her out walking with her camera bag slung over her shoulder, and her tripod. Looked to me like she was going to do some filming.’

‘Walking where?’ Doc asked. She felt vindicated for doubting Sara was ill.

‘That way,’ Ian pointed away from the lodge, towards the access road they had driven down to reach the camp, ‘and off on a path or dirt road that says Staff only. I haven’t got her in trouble, have I?’

Doc shook her head. ‘No, not at all.’ Sara was perfectly capable of getting herself into trouble, though. Doc was conflicted. She couldn’t leave the group.

Moses Khumalo and Zola walked into the lounge.

‘Sorry we’re late,’ Zola said.

‘We’re the guests here, Zola,’ Moses said to her as he strolled to the kitchen counter on which afternoon tea had been laid out. ‘People move around our timings. Not the other way around.’

Doc shook her head. How was she ever going to control this bunch?

*

Sweat pricked at Sara’s underarms and she brushed tiny flies away from her nose and eyes. She’d been to the anti-poaching camp once before, to get some vision of the reserve’s tracker dogs and their handlers doing some training, but that had been on a vehicle.

Technically, she should not have been walking through the bush away from the lodge’s main area, but she hadn’t wanted to draw attention to what she was doing. She paused to hitch her heavy camera bag up on her shoulder.

As a medic in Afghanistan, she had carried her heavy backpack and her HK416 rifle in extreme heat and cold, so she was no lightweight, but the tripod was awkward and dug into her other shoulder.

Sara reckoned the camp was no further than a kilometre away, and she had seen rangers using the road she was on to come and go from the main camp. Occasionally, game viewers also came this way, if an interesting animal was spotted between the lodge and the anti-poaching outpost. But there would be hell to pay from Margaux and the lodge manager if they caught her out here walking.

There was a rustle in the long golden grass to her right. Sara froze. She held her breath, knowing that if it was a lion or a leopard, then the worst thing she could do was run. She gave a start as a slender mongoose, its long tail curled like a horizontal question mark, darted from the foliage and ran across the road three metres in front of her.

Sara breathed again. Sometimes it was the smallest creatures, like this little predator or a scrub robin fossicking for bugs in the leaf litter on the ground, that made the most noise. An elephant, by contrast, moved almost silently through the bush on its big spongy feet. She licked her lips, adjusted her gear again and continued walking.

And what of Oscar? Would he be at the camp when she arrived, or would he have fled, away from his comrades and his family? She had to see him now, and, hopefully, persuade him to let her record his story on camera. She hadn’t warned him about that, but she would present it as part of her demands when she saw him. If there was some kind of conspiracy at play, as Oscar had hinted, then it might be something she could weave into her documentary. She could promise to pixelate Oscar’s face, and even alter his voice in order to convince him to let her press record on her camera. If he was adamant that he would not be filmed then she had a small GoPro camera rigged up in her bag, to film him in secret, through a tiny hole. That was not strictly ethical, but she would be far from the first documentary maker or cameraperson to use that trick.

Sara was not trained as a field guide, but she had picked up a good deal from the experienced trackers and rangers she had worked with on Stayhome Safari. While walking in the bush at night was extremely hazardous, she was working on the theory that lions and other predators would avoid humans where possible during daylight hours. In the back of her mind, though, was the memory of Doc admonishing Geoff, telling him how even experienced rangers didn’t walk in Big Five country without a rifle. She quickened her step.

Her biggest fear was encountering a cranky old solitary male buffalo, or perhaps an elephant bull in musth. Elephants in season could get irritable and aggressive, but she was sure she would smell the pungent excretions the bulls produced at that time from some distance away. The more she thought about the possible risks, the more she started to worry herself.

Then Sara heard a noise again. She stopped.

Standing in the middle of the rough dirt road she cocked her head and opened her mouth – a trick she had learned to improve her hearing. She heard the sound of a twig breaking, behind her. Sara turned. She saw nothing. Perhaps it had been her imagination.

Above the background hum of cicadas she heard a cape dove coo: work harder, work harder. From the direction of the Antares camp came the growl of an engine – the afternoon game drive going out. Although she would be in trouble, she half wished she would see the green bulk of the Land Rover trundling down the track.

Sara started walking again, ears attuned to the slightest sound. She heard something swishing, like legs brushing grass. Again, she stopped, and once more, the noise did too.

She licked her lips. ‘Hello?’

There was no answer, and no noise. Somewhere a baboon cried wah-hoo, its two-part alarm call. That could mean leopard, or lion, or even a snake. Now she was scaring herself half to death.

Sara set off once more, walking as fast as she could with her bulky equipment and avoiding the urge to break into a full-blown run. From the bush behind and to her right, through the screen of khaki and muted greens, she heard the sound of someone keeping pace with her. Maybe it was a baboon, shadowing her, hoping she might be carrying food? They stole continually from the kitchen and dining area, faster than the staff could set out sugar and condiments or clear away dirty plates.

No. This was bigger. She looked over her shoulder as she strode and her heart pounded as she saw the dark flash of something moving between the trees, almost parallel with her.

‘Who’s there?’ she called.

Sara came to a bend in the road and prayed the safety of the anti-poaching camp would be in sight. She glanced back, but saw nothing and, thankfully, heard nothing. Perhaps she had imagined it all.

When she looked to her front once more, she almost collided with a man in a green uniform. He had an LM5 assault rifle gripped in two hands and he pointed the barrel at her.

Heart pounding, Sara put her hands up, palms facing him. ‘Don’t shoot!’

The man craned his neck slightly, as if to look past her. ‘I waited for you, in the bush, then followed you, to make sure you were alone, as you promised.’

She stared at him and recognised his voice first, then his face. ‘You’re Oscar. We only met once. At Khaya Ngala.’

He nodded. ‘Yes, with . . .’

Sara saw that he couldn’t say Graham’s name, and though he kept his eyes on her, his frown told her he wanted to hang his head in shame. ‘You’re not going to kill me, are you, Oscar?’

He shook his head, then took a breath, squaring himself up a little. ‘Not if you stick to your part of the bargain. What’s in the bags? Do you have a gun?’

‘A gun? No, not at all. It’s my . . . work things.’

‘You are a camera operator; I remember from Khaya Ngala.’ He opened his mouth wide as it dawned on him. ‘You are not going to film me.’

‘Oscar, listen to me. Can I put my hands down?’ He nodded and lowered his rifle a little. ‘Oscar, we need to get your story on video, as it is evidence. The police will do the same if you talk to them. You need to tell me what happened, how this all came about. Am I right in thinking that you did not act alone?’

He glanced at the ground, then quickly back up at her, as if he was worried she was going to make a move to overpower him. ‘I can’t say.’

‘Why not, Oscar? Are you a poacher?’

He drilled her with his eyes. ‘No.’

‘All right, all right. Are you scared?’

‘I am an anti-poaching ranger. I have faced down men with AK-47s. I am not scared of a . . .’ He caught himself. ‘I am not scared.’

‘Let’s go somewhere we can talk,’ Sara said, hoping he would lower the rifle completely.

Oscar shook his head. ‘I don’t want to be seen with you in the anti-poaching camp. People are asking enough questions as it is, after the death of . . . of Graham.’

‘Where can we talk?’

He looked around them. ‘Here, in the bush. Come with me.’ He looked over his shoulder as he set off. ‘No filming.’

‘OK.’ With Oscar’s back to her, Sara reached into her camera bag and pressed the record button on her hidden camera. She took her iPhone from her pocket, selected the voice memo app, and started recording with that as well.

Sara followed Oscar deeper into the bush, away from the track that led to the anti-poaching camp. She felt a little nervous, wondering if he might not be the innocent he pretended to be, and if he was taking her to some remote place to kill her. She wished, now, that she had told Doc what she was doing.

They came to a bend in a dry river. Sara told herself that if she had to make a run for it she could at least find her way back to camp. There would be little chance, however, of outrunning the rifle in Oscar’s hands, or Oscar himself. Like the late Graham he looked to be superbly fit from his life of patrolling in the outdoors.

Oscar stopped under an impressively large jackalberry tree, whose long, black-barked branches hung over the riverbed. He set his rifle down – an encouraging gesture – and sat on a thick, exposed tree root. Sara took her cue from him and sat down cross-legged on the ground, discreetly pointing the tiny opening in her camera bag towards Oscar.

‘Can we talk now?’ she said.

He drew a deep breath, but nodded.

‘What was the plan with the pangolin?’ Sara asked.

He looked up at the tree, or the sky, closed his eyes, then lowered his face again. He opened his lids and stared at her. ‘The pangolin was never going to be harmed.’

‘Then why take it?’

Oscar shrugged. ‘I do not know, exactly.’

This was confusing. ‘Oscar, tell me from the start how you got involved in this, and what happened.’

‘All I was going to tell you was the make of the bakkie that the person who shot Graham was driving. It was a white Toyota HiLux. There, I have told you.’

It was one of the most common makes and colours of vehicles in South Africa. But Oscar was still sitting there, on his tree root, giving no signal that he was ready to move, or was about to storm off.

‘You can tell the police that,’ he continued, when Sara kept her silence.

After a few moments longer she framed her question. ‘Why did you do it? Money?’

He looked taken aback. ‘Who said anything about money?’

Sara spread her hands wide. ‘Times are tough, Oscar, and I know you would only take money if you were sure that an animal was not going to be harmed. What was this, some sort of prank? A practical joke?’

He licked his lips. ‘I wondered if that was the case.’

‘How did it happen? How did he . . . she . . . contact you?’

‘He,’ Oscar said. ‘It was a man. I received a call on my phone, last Wednesday. It was from a blocked number. He said: “I will give you 10,000 rand if you take a pangolin from the bush, hide it somewhere for two days, then return it to a different location in the wild.”’

Sara blinked. It was a bizarre request. ‘What did you think?’

‘Like you say, at first I thought it was a joke. I told the person to stop being silly, and to go away. He told me to check my bank account. I told him he must wait, and then I used the banking app and found that someone had just deposited 1,000 rand. The man said there would be another four once I sent him a picture from my phone of the pangolin, and then the rest, another 5,000, once I sent a picture of the pangolin without its tracking device, in a new location.’

‘What’s that about a tracking device?’

‘The man knew about the research program,’ Oscar said. ‘He wanted me to take a specific pangolin, not just any one I came across. He told me I must carefully remove the tracker when I found one of the monitored pangolins, and leave it in the bush where the animal was. He assured me, again, that the animal was not to be harmed, and I must just take care of it for a couple of days.’

‘Did you ask the man why?’

Oscar nodded. ‘He said it was none of my business. He just needed someone who could find the pangolin and make it disappear for a couple of days – he said it was the one that had been tagged and whose burrow was on the edge of the Zebra Vlei.’

‘So, he knew the reserve, and the location of the tagged pangolins,’ Sara said.

‘Yes.’

‘And so you took the money.’ She did her best not to make the comment sound accusatory, but Oscar bridled.

‘I have a sick child with special needs. My wife and I cannot afford medical aid and the public hospital is . . . well, you have probably seen them.’

She nodded. ‘I’m not here to judge you, Oscar, only to help you.’

‘I thought that this was someone playing games with someone else, hiding one of the animals being researched. I told myself I was not committing a crime, just moving an animal from one part of the reserve to another.’ He hung his head.

‘Why did you decide to tell Graham?’

Oscar shook his head. ‘I wish I hadn’t.’

‘Yes, but why?’

He looked up at her again, and she could see that his eyes were red-rimmed. ‘Because I knew, inside,’ he tapped his heart, ‘that this was wrong. I called Graham and told him what had happened. He was at that party in Hoedspruit.’

She nodded. ‘I was there.’

‘He told me to meet him, by the side of the road, just outside of town. I collected the pangolin – I had been keeping it safe near here, in a box in the bush – but when I was on my way, the man who had told me to take the pangolin called me again.’ He screwed his eyes shut.

‘What did he say to you?’

‘He told me that there had been a change of plans, that I must bring the pangolin to him, also in Hoedspruit. I told this man to fokof. I told him he could have his money back, and that my colleague and I would find him and arrest him.’ Oscar put his head in his hands. ‘I did the wrong thing.’

Sara sighed. ‘I think you did the right thing.’

‘Yes, but it cost Graham his life. I met with Graham and gave him the pangolin and told him what had happened. He had been drinking, but he told me he would take the pangolin and return it to the wild. He would cover for me, and together we would make a plan to try and catch the guy who set me up. I waved goodbye to Graham and he drove off. I sat there by the side of the road, just outside of town, past the entrance to Khaya Ngala, thinking about what I had done wrong. I decided that I needed to tell the police everything – I would go to my brother, the detective. Just one car drove past me that night, a white HiLux, driving very fast, with no lights on – I couldn’t see its registration. No one drove towards me – it was late. I decided I must catch Graham and tell him my new decision so I drove as fast as I could to go to where I knew he was staying, at the wildlife college. It had only been maybe ten minutes since I saw Graham, and not much less than that since the white bakkie drove past. One more car, a small blue one, driven by a lady, went past me. I found Graham further along the road. He had pulled over with a flat tyre and the lady in the blue car was talking on her phone. She tried to wave me down, but as I drove past, I could see Graham lying on the ground and I knew he was dead. I drove as fast as I could, to try and catch up to the HiLux. If I had, I would have killed that man.’

Sara sat in stunned silence, imagining the scene and trying to formulate another question.

‘I drove to the college,’ Oscar continued, ‘but there was no white HiLux there, and I drove fast along the R40 for a while, towards Bushbuckridge, but I could not find the vehicle. By the time I headed back to Hoedspruit the police were with Graham. I think you might have been there as well. I remember a lady with short blonde hair.’

She nodded. ‘Yes, that was me. Oh, Oscar . . .’

‘I should have stopped, but I panicked. I could see my brother, his police car, but he had his back to me as I drove past. My shame burned me and I was too scared to stop and tell him what had happened.’

Sara was trying to piece together all of the information Oscar had just given her when she heard the crack of a gunshot.

Oscar was on his feet immediately, his rifle in his hands.

Sara also stood up. ‘Where was that?’

Oscar held up a hand for her to be quiet and cocked his head. ‘Close,’ he said eventually, ‘maybe only three hundred metres or so. To the southeast.’

‘Oscar, Oscar, Oscar come in for Dawie,’ a voice said on the radio. Sara knew that Dawie Coetzee was another anti-poaching ranger on the reserve.

‘Copy, Dawie,’ Oscar said. ‘Did you just hear that gunshot?’

‘Affirmative, Oscar. I’m with the guys checking the fence line. Sounded like it was closer to camp. Are you there, now?’

Oscar looked at Sara, the guilt plain on his face. ‘Um, just on a foot patrol, checking some spoor close to camp.’

‘Spoor?’ Dawie said. ‘Could be tracks of whoever’s firing. I’ll come now-now in the vehicle and pick you up at camp.’

‘Negative,’ Oscar said. ‘We might lose him. I’ll head southeast, towards Zebra Vlei. That’s where I think it was. You can meet me in the open on the vlei.’

‘Oscar, go back to the camp, boet,’ Dawie said.

‘No, I must go, now. See you there.’ Oscar put away his radio and cocked his rifle. He looked to Sara.

‘Must’, he had said. He was being reckless, heedless of his own safety. Sara saw then that Oscar was trying to atone for what he had done, for the mistakes he had made. It was noble, and proof that he was a good guy, but this was also a chance for Sara to get some potentially award-winning video footage.

‘I need to leave,’ he said to her. ‘Please don’t tell the police or anyone else what I’ve told you. Just tell them that the killer drove a white HiLux bakkie.’

She shook her head. ‘It’s not enough, Oscar, and I think you know that. Maybe I can ask some questions, try to find out who would want to hide one of the research program’s pangolins and why. You can help me; we can investigate together.’

He hesitated. ‘I don’t know. I am not sure if I can trust you, or if it would be wise for you to ask questions. This man could kill again, to protect whatever it is he is doing. I could not put you at risk.’

‘I’m a big girl, Oscar. I was in the army. I’ve been to war.’

He looked her up and down. ‘You are strong,’ he tapped his heart, ‘in here as well. I can see that. But you must let me deal with this on my own.’

‘I already know too much about your involvement in this . . . incident.’ She’d almost said ‘crime’ but did not want to jeopardise the fragile bond she had formed with him. All the same, she wanted him to know that she now held something over him.

He raised his rifle slightly. ‘I could kill you, here. People would think it was a poacher who did it, that you were asking too many questions, that you were somewhere on the reserve where you should not have been.’

She jutted her chin out. ‘That’s all true, except for one thing.’

‘What is that?’

‘You won’t kill me. You’re one of the good guys, Oscar.’

He gave her a sad smile. ‘And now I must go.’

‘I’m coming with you.’

Oscar shook his head. ‘No, you are not.’

They both turned their heads at the sound of an engine revving hard. Looking down into the dry riverbed they saw Margaux’s Land Rover, with Doc Rado and the students and guests from the pangolin tour on board.

Oscar stepped out of the shade of the jackalberry tree and waved to the vehicle. Margaux spotted them, pulled up under the tree and got out. She stood, hands on hips, and looked up. ‘Sara, come down here immediately, please!’

Oscar turned and sprinted off into the bush, in the direction from which the gunshot had sounded.

Chapter 18

Doc sat on the right-hand side of the back row of seats of the Land Rover with her arms folded tight across her body, staring straight ahead as Sara climbed into the seat on the far left.

Ian, Geoff and Zola were in the centre row and Pär, Eva and Sue were in the row behind Margaux. Moses was in the front passenger seat again, having told them all that his back was playing up and he needed a more comfortable seat.

Doc waited until Margaux was ploughing through the soft river sand again, the engine screaming, before she leaned across the empty seat. ‘That was incredibly stupid of you.’

Sara started to glare back at her, but then bit her lip. She gave a small nod.

‘I’ll talk to you later, in private.’ Doc looked away again.

Doc had too much on her mind, including the situation unfolding in the reserve, to get stuck into Sara now. When Margaux turned the Land Rover onto a road that crossed the riverbed, and climbed up out of the dry watercourse, the softer, relieved grumble of the engine allowed her to catch snippets of what Margaux was saying into her radio, and the replies coming back.

Doc’s Xitsonga, the language spoken by Margaux and the majority of the Shangaan staff on the reserve, was not great, but she knew enough to understand that the anti-poaching rangers were out in force, following a gunshot.

When they had all heard the crack of the bullet, Doc had quickly theorised that it was someone doing some target practice, even though she knew it had not come from the direction of the firing range the reserve’s guides and rangers used for practice, and that shooting during the hours of game drives was banned.

‘It’s fine,’ Margaux had said to her in Xitsonga. ‘Nowhere near where I’ll be driving.’

They had set off again and the absence of any further gunfire put paid to any questions from the guests. Doc knew that Geoff was fluent in Xitsonga and she could see he was leaning forward in his seat to keep an ear on what was happening as well.

Doc had no desire to put her students or guests at any risk, but she was happy to let Margaux make the call to continue the game drive. Besides, if Margaux had called off their outing, Doc was sure Eva would have objected. She doubted an army of poachers could have prevented Eva from seeing Geoff’s pangolin in the wild.

When they came closer to the study area, Geoff began assembling his tracking equipment and Margaux stopped on a rise in a relatively clear area. Geoff put on his headphones, switched on the VHF tracker and stood up on his seat. As he turned the antenna and listened, Pär and Ian snapped pictures of him at work.

‘Got him,’ Geoff said after a few moments. ‘Signal’s strong. And he’s moving.’

Doc exhaled. At least something was going right on this bloody trip. Geoff pointed in the direction of the signal and Margaux nodded. When he was seated again, Margaux drove off.

Geoff looked over his shoulder. ‘He must be close to his burrow, maybe just coming out for the night.’

‘Perfect,’ Doc said.

Ian turned and smiled at her. ‘This is exciting.’

His enthusiasm was infectious. ‘You know, it is,’ Doc said.

Sara unzipped her camera bag on the seat between her and Doc. As Sara was reaching for something in the bag she knocked over her tripod, which had been standing, folded, between them, and it fell against Doc’s knee. Doc grabbed the tripod, and as she returned it to its position she saw that Sara was actually switching off a small GoPro camera, which fitted into the camera bag. Sara quickly shut the bag and Doc saw that her cheeks had turned bright red.

Doc shot her a ‘what the fuck?’ look and Sara seemed to get the message, as she scrunched back into her seat. Margaux drove on, stopping only to let a breeding herd of elephants cross the road. Normally they would have paused the drive to enjoy the sighting, but Eva was having none of it.

‘Carry on, Margaux,’ she ordered, as though she was in charge, as the last juvenile in the group stomped across the road. The teenaged animal shook his head and gave a high-pitched trumpet blast as if to assert his anger that the humans had intruded on his day and that they hadn’t even stopped to photograph him.

Margaux did as she was commanded and Geoff indicated where she should leave the road. Everyone on board was quiet as Margaux weaved around mature trees and a termite mound. She leaned out of the vehicle, picking up the tracks of Geoff’s research vehicle which had carved a rough path to the pangolin’s burrow on previous visits.

‘Stop please, Margaux.’ Geoff stood in his seat again and listened in. ‘We can get out here, I think.’

Margaux also stood and looked around them. ‘OK, it looks clear.’ She unzipped the green canvas gun bag resting on the dashboard and took out her .375 rifle. Margaux climbed out, followed by the others, and loaded the weapon. ‘Everyone, please follow me in single file. Just remember the golden rule: if something happens, whatever you do, don’t run.’

Eva bustled her way as far forward as possible, just behind Geoff, who was second in line behind Margaux.

Doc hung back. ‘Walk with me, at the rear,’ she said to Sara, who was shouldering her bag and tripod. Sara just nodded.

They moved slowly but purposefully, with Margaux stopping occasionally to listen and scan the bush around them, and Geoff pausing to concentrate on the transmitter signal and give Margaux slight corrections in their course.

Geoff came to a halt and the guests bunched up behind him. ‘It’s really close now,’ he said quietly.

Margaux pointed. ‘There!’

Doc and Sara moved forward and then Doc saw the pangolin. It never got old. As jaded and depressed as she sometimes felt, especially in the weeks and months following Jurie’s death, the sight of one of these odd little creatures waddling about the bush in its natural environment, oblivious of man’s evil and greed, was always amazing.

Sara tried to make her way closer, but Doc put a hand on her shoulder.

‘I need to get this vision, Doc,’ she said.

‘No.’ Sara looked her in the eye, but couldn’t hold her stare. ‘Come with me.’

Margaux turned and motioned for Doc to come forward, but Doc shook her head, then nodded towards Sara, and Margaux seemed to understand. ‘Come closer, everyone, but don’t get in his way,’ Margaux said to the guests.

Doc lowered her voice, but didn’t soften it. ‘Come with me, Sara. We need to talk.’

She led Sara away from the others, back twenty metres in the direction from which they had just come, to the shade of a tall leadwood tree. She turned to face the blonde woman. ‘What the fuck was that all about?’

Sara glanced over her shoulder, clearly wanting to be with the others, and filming. Then she shot Doc a defiant look. ‘I’m an adult and a documentary maker. I go where I choose and film what I want.’

‘No. You are on this reserve as a guest, by the good graces of me – I got you your fucking freebie in that nice camp, Sara – and you are bound, like everyone else here, to follow the rules, which are laid down for your safety. Margaux’s your guide and she explained them to you. She would have lost her job if anything had happened to you on your little walk. Just try to imagine the impact on the camp’s reputation if an award-winning filmmaker had been killed by a lion or buffalo or whatever.’

‘Well, nothing happened to me.’

Doc aimed a finger at Sara’s chest. ‘That’s not the point, and you know it. Don’t you care for anyone other than yourself?’

Sara scoffed. ‘You’re a fine one to talk. You’re so wrapped up in your grief that you can’t see what’s going on in the world around you. We need to find out who killed Jurie – the police have been useless – and work out who is trying to bring you down and why.’

‘What do you mean “bring me down”? And what the hell were you doing out in the bush with Oscar in any case?’

Sara put her hands on her hips. ‘Look. My work comes first, but if there’s one thing that I care more about than filmmaking it’s the environment, and the people who protect it. The truth is, I got an anonymous call from someone who said they had information about Graham’s killer – what kind of car he was driving.’

‘What? Why didn’t you come straight to me? We need to go to Warrant Officer Mdluli with this.’

Sara held up a hand. ‘No, wait. Listen to me. My source needs to stay anonymous, at least for now, but I’m working on him . . . them, I mean.’

Sara then told Doc an incredible story, about a mysterious stranger who wanted Sue’s research pangolin kidnapped from the bush for a couple of days – but not harmed – and how her ‘source’, as Sara continued to call him, had taken a payment for what he seemed to think was a prank, and had then had second thoughts.

‘My source is sure that Graham was killed by the same man who was driving a white Toyota bakkie.’

‘Sheesh,’ said Doc, ‘like every second man in South Africa.’

‘I know, right?’ Sara said. ‘We need a registration plate, which my source couldn’t get because it was dark and the bakkie was travelling fast and with no lights. Maybe we can get access to the perimeter fence security cameras from the Timbavati reserve? My source . . . well, let’s just say, they might be able to access such stuff.’

‘I’m going to throttle Oscar, right after I’ve finished with you, Sara. What the hell was he thinking?’

Sara shrugged. ‘He thought what he was doing was harmless, and he was offered a good deal of money. I mean, whoever it was that I talked to.’

Doc closed her eyes for two seconds and took a deep breath to compose herself. ‘Did you hear the gunshot back there?’

‘I did,’ Sara said. ‘Oscar – who I happened to bump into when I went for a stroll in the bush –’

It was Doc’s turn to raise her hand and give the ‘stop’ sign. ‘Save it. What happened?’

‘I’m not sure,’ Sara said. ‘We heard the shot and Dawie radioed in. He told Oscar to wait for him, and that he would come with a vehicle to collect him, but Oscar ran off into the bush solo, like Rambo. I would have gone with him to film the contact –’

Doc slapped her own forehead. ‘Please don’t tell me that.’

‘– but you showed up. I think Oscar had something to prove.’

‘That he isn’t a poacher?’

‘You said it, not me,’ Sara said. ‘So, what do we do now?’

‘Now? I have to drive with a bunch of tourists and students via the Kruger Park to Zimbabwe and then on to Namibia to look at pangolins. I can’t stay here and play amateur sleuth with you and your so-called source, Sara.’

Sara shook her head. ‘I don’t want you to. I’m still coming with you.’

‘You’re not going to stay here?’

‘As much as you’d probably like to be rid of me right now, Doc, I think you need me with you on this road trip.’

‘Why’s that?’ Doc asked, exasperated.

‘Because I think that whoever was behind all this – Jurie’s death, the kidnapping of the pangolin, and Graham’s murder – is following you.’

Doc shivered. As tempted as she might otherwise have been to tell Sara to stop looking for conspiracy theories, she had a feeling the blonde filmmaker was right.

*

Ian had taken his fill of photos of the pangolin and was now content to just walk along behind it.

Margaux, ever watchful, was ahead and off to the left, giving them a protective screen in case there were any elephants, lions, or other dangerous creatures ahead. Geoff had given his talk and even Eva, who had cried at one point after actually seeing a pangolin in the wild for the first time, was quiet and reflective.

It was a lovely moment and Ian was pleased when Doc Rado rejoined their group. Sara was with her and she set about making up for lost time, having not done any filming at all so far.

Sara strode past them and caught up with Margaux. ‘Excuse me, Margaux, do you think it would be all right if I moved just a little further ahead so I can set up at ground level and film the pangolin coming towards us?’

‘Sure.’ Margaux gave a too-sweet smile. ‘Thank you very much for asking, Sara. Come with me and we’ll push ahead. I’ll make sure it’s all clear and keep an eye on you.’

‘Thank you, Margaux.’

Ouch. Ian could tell, from the reception Sara had received when they had picked her up in the bush, that all was not well in paradise. Sara had clearly overstepped some boundary, perhaps by walking off into the bush by herself to rendezvous with the ranger who Ian had caught a fleeting glimpse of. He wondered what was going on behind the scenes.

Doc’s smile was tight. ‘How is everything? Did you enjoy seeing your first pangolin, Ian?’

‘I did. To tell you the truth, I didn’t even know what one looked like until I went to that fundraiser in Australia. But the video and the pictures they showed couldn’t do justice to what I’ve just seen here. To see it just wandering about, looking for ants with not a care in the world makes you wonder how anyone could or would want to kill one.’

‘I know.’ Doc walked alongside him.

Away from Sara, who had forged on ahead with Margaux, Doc seemed to be slowly relaxing, though Ian noticed her hands were bunched in fists at her sides.

‘Are you OK, Doc?’ he asked.

Her shoulders sagged a little and her fake smile softened into a frown. ‘Could be better, but thank you for asking. You’re considerate.’

‘Not everyone I’ve done business with over the years might have said that, and certainly not Katrina, but maybe I’m learning. Maybe it’s . . .’ he spread his arms wide, ‘this place.’

‘Africa can have a profound effect on people,’ she said.

They walked on in silence, content to hang back from the others. Directly ahead of them were Moses and Zola, who Ian noticed were walking side by side and talking quietly to each other.

Doc seemed to be staring at Moses’s back. Once more her mouth drew tight.

‘What was Sara up to?’ Ian asked quietly.

Doc exhaled audibly. ‘Sara is a force of nature. She does as she pleases, and it’s almost impossible to tell her what to do, even when her own safety is at stake.’

He nodded. ‘I worked as a journalist for a few years after I finished school. I knew photographers like her. They’re driven.’

‘Yes.’

Doc looked into his eyes and Ian had the distinct feeling that she wanted to tell him something more, perhaps about what Sara had been doing out in the bush.

He broke the silence. There was something he had been wanting to tell her; perhaps if he shared his thoughts, then Doc would as well. ‘I’ve been thinking.’

‘Dangerous, for a man.’

He laughed, and she smiled at her own joke. Her face lit up in that moment and he caught a glimpse of a different person, perhaps the woman she had been sometime in the past, before her police partner died.

‘I’d like to help out, with your research, your conservation work.’

‘That’s very kind of you, Ian. I think the best way you can do that is by supporting the charity that you paid the auction money to.’

He shook his head. ‘No, I don’t want to go to fundraisers or send money via PayPal. I’d like to work with people here in South Africa, maybe elsewhere on the continent. I’m not a scientist, but I can help you spread the word, through the press and social media.’

She stopped and looked at him, as if seeing him for the first time. ‘Have you been bitten by the bug already?’

He had paused as well. ‘What bug?’

‘The Africa bug. Be careful, it’s dangerous. This place will change your life, and not always for the better, Ian.’

He shrugged. Ahead of them the others were all fixated on the pangolin, but for Ian it was like he was discovering a parallel universe. He took in the muted greens and browns of the trees and bushes around him. On the one hand some looked familiar, like acacias in Australia, but other plants seemed totally foreign to him. He heard a tapping noise and looked up to see a woodpecker with a bright red cap of feathers attacking a tree. A yellow-billed hornbill, like the one he’d seen on his first game drive, swooped overhead.

‘I think you’re right,’ he said.

She stared at him.

He grinned. ‘What?’

‘I would love to be you right now.’

He laughed. ‘A middle-aged man?’

‘No, I mean, I’d love to be seeing all this,’ she waved her right hand around her, ‘the bush, the animals, the birds, for the first time, through the eyes of an innocent tourist.’

‘You mean I don’t know what it’s really like?’ he said, feeling mildly rebuked.

‘Oh, no, sorry, that’s not what I meant.’ Doc reached out a hand and rested it on his forearm. He felt the light but delicious scratch of a painted red nail as she drew her fingers away. ‘I mean you’re right, it is beautiful here, wondrous, uplifting. I miss feeling that. I want to be the person seeing this and appreciating it for the first time. I want to be the ten-year-old half-Indian girl who came to the Kruger Park for the first time in her life and then cried when she had to go home to Durban.’

‘Aw, really?’ he said.

She nodded. ‘Yes, really. When I got home, I went to the library and borrowed as many books as I could about wildlife – mammals, reptiles, birds, everything.’

‘I bet you were very studious,’ he said, as they resumed walking.

‘Oh yes, a total nerd. And you?’

‘I liked reading, and writing.’

‘Is that why you became a journalist?’ she asked.

‘Yes.’ It seemed such a long time ago. ‘I wasn’t a very good one – I wasn’t a foot-in-the-door type of guy or investigative reporter, but I loved writing, especially features. What I really wanted to do was write a novel.’

‘Why didn’t you?’ She made the question sound like it was as simple as going to a library and borrowing a book.

‘Time, money. I was too busy working and, later, building a company. I had a couple of false starts, typing away before work, or in the evenings, but I never got far. As well as never having enough time, I could never really settle on a place to set a book. I never felt . . . inspired.’

‘Maybe you can write about Africa one day.’

He looked around him and took a deep breath, trying to imprint his surroundings on his consciousness using all his senses. ‘Maybe I will. I’ve got time now, at least.’

‘What sort of book would you write?’

He felt foolish, opening up about his dream. ‘Don’t laugh, but I like thrillers. I’d probably write one of those.’

Doc stopped again, and he did the same. ‘Why would I laugh?’

‘You’re an academic, a professor. I didn’t think you’d be into anything frivolous.’

Doc lowered her voice and put a hand to the side of her mouth. ‘Don’t tell anyone, but I’m human. I like reading romance novels – the trashier and steamier the better. My mother doesn’t even know.’

‘Ha! I love it.’

‘Please, if you ever meet my mother, don’t tell her. She’s a medical doctor and she wanted me to be one as well. She would kill me if she found out.’

He laughed out loud, which caused Moses Khumalo to shoot him a disapproving look over his shoulder. Sorry, Ian mouthed to Doc. ‘I seem to have upset the other professor,’ he whispered.

‘That’s not hard to do. Now you know my guilty secret, what’s yours?’

Ian glanced from side to side, theatrically. ‘Elvis Presley movies.’

‘No way.’

‘Way.’

‘Now, my mother would love you. Elvis is her crush.’

‘I remember my mum crying when he died and I had to comfort her,’ Ian said.

Doc’s smile didn’t last long. She looked deep in thought as they walked on.

‘Ian?’

He glanced at her. ‘Yes?’

She kept her voice low. ‘The ranger Sara went to see – his name is Oscar Mdluli; he’s actually the detective’s brother – was involved in taking the pangolin Sue was studying.’

‘I see.’ Ian took a breath. ‘An anti-poaching ranger might care enough about wildlife and the work you were doing to carefully remove a transmitter from a pangolin and also not kill the animal. Is that how it turned up alive in Graham’s car?’

‘Not much gets past you. I don’t know why I’m telling you this – I don’t want to involve you in this mess.’

‘Doc, I’m fifty-four years old. I’ve spent my life talking on behalf of other people, writing media releases about everything from particle board flooring – don’t ask – to pharmaceuticals, and defending companies who have polluted rivers, sacked their workforce, or been caught out doing something illegal or immoral. In short, as I mentioned before, it feels like I’ve never really done anything worthwhile at all in my work. Let me help if I can, even if you just want to bounce some ideas around. Did this Oscar plan on selling the pangolin to a middleman?’

Doc shook her head. ‘No. Bizarrely, Oscar told Sara that he was being paid to take the pangolin – kidnap it, if you like – and hide it somewhere for a couple of days before releasing it in a new location. But he got cold feet and called his friend, Graham Foster, the guy who was killed. Whoever was paying Oscar knew all about our research programs.’

Ian let out a low whistle. ‘Losing a pangolin would have made a good media story.’

Doc looked at him. ‘You’re thinking like a journalist, or a PR man, not a poacher.’

‘Is that a bad thing?’

She gave him a small smile. ‘No. It’s good. Go on.’

‘Your opponent,’ he gestured to Moses, ahead of them, with a flick of his head, ‘has probably already had one try at discrediting you in the media – assuming it was him who leaked to the journalist who called you. For you, the senior academic who saves pangolins, to have one taken from under your nose, would not have been good optics.’

Doc said nothing for a few moments. ‘But whoever was behind this might have stumbled across Graham coming to help Oscar, and then murdered Graham to cover up their involvement. Could Moses be guilty of something like that?’

Ian shrugged. He didn’t know the guy well enough to answer that question.

They caught up with the group, which had paused because Margaux had stopped. Margaux put a finger to her lips as Doc and Ian arrived, and Ian saw that the others were all looking over the top of the pangolin, which Geoff had corralled and was now standing over.

Margaux pointed for Ian’s benefit. He squinted and stared into the trees beyond the pangolin, but it wasn’t until he saw the swish of the hairy tip of a tail that he realised there was a huge elephant no more than forty metres in front of them.

The big bull was feeding and moving slowly in their direction, seemingly unaware of or unfazed by them. Margaux motioned for them all to turn and start moving slowly back towards the vehicle. Geoff carried the pangolin, which had rolled itself into a protective ball.

‘Do you want to carry him for a bit, Ian?’ Geoff said. ‘He’s heavy.’

Ian noted that Eva looked miffed, but he took the scaly bundle and felt its warmth against his body. He swallowed hard; emotions he didn’t know he had were bubbling up.

Doc took out her phone and took a picture of Ian, who was beaming.

‘Will there be any romance in your book?’ Doc asked as they set off again.

‘Definitely.’

Chapter 19

Doc returned to the dining table, put her phone in her pocket and tapped her wineglass with her fork. The conversation subsided.

They were dining under the stars in the Antares boma, a circular enclosure with a floor of sand and a blazing fire in the centre. Margaux had served fillet steak, chicken and sizzling boerewors from the braai.

At Doc’s request, Sara had kept quiet about what she had learned from Oscar. Doc wanted to talk to Oscar herself before going to the police, or convincing Oscar to turn himself in, but he and the other anti-poaching rangers were still out, combing the reserve in search of the poacher or poachers who had fired the shot earlier.

The last Doc had heard, via Margaux who was in radio contact with Dawie, the head of anti-poaching, was that it seemed no rhinos had been harmed. Dawie said there had been a female white rhino and her calf in the area where Oscar and Sara heard the shot, and a big bull who had been trailing the female, but all three animals had been sighted by rangers and were fine.

A hyena called its chilling two-part whoop from somewhere nearby, stilling the last of the talking.

‘Thank you,’ Doc called out to the darkness, which elicited a few laughs. ‘Tomorrow we leave early for a long drive through the Kruger National Park, and we’ll stay the night at Punda Maria Rest Camp in the far north of the park. Any questions?’

‘Will we be issued flak jackets and guns?’ Pär asked.

Doc looked around the table. Eva, Sue, Geoff, Zola and Moses laughed at the joke, but Ian looked down at his plate then glanced up to meet her eye. Sara sat with her arms folded, deep in thought.

‘Your safety is our priority, Pär,’ Doc said with a polite smile. ‘Please have your bags packed and be ready to leave by 6.30 am, everyone. We’ll have packed breakfasts to go, and we’ll stop for lunch in the Kruger Park. I’m going to adjourn to the fire now for a nightcap.’

Doc pushed her chair back and picked up her wine. Ian, who was sitting next to Pär and Eva, excused himself and trailed Doc to the fire. Mercifully, the rest of the group lingered at the dining table.

‘That little joke wasn’t in the best taste,’ Ian said softly as he sat down next to her in a green canvas and timber director’s chair.

Doc nodded. ‘I wouldn’t be carrying on with the tour if I thought anyone was at risk, but I am feeling like tragedy and mayhem is following me, Ian.’

‘That stuff we were talking about, earlier, on the walk,’ Ian began.

‘Yes?’

‘What are you going to do about it? About Oscar, the ranger?’

‘When he gets in from his patrol I want to talk to him, tonight, before we leave. The police – especially his brother – will be all over him soon. I want to see if there is something more he can tell me about who his paymaster was. Maybe I can get him to recall the guy’s voice, and somehow work out if it was someone I know.’

‘Let me go with you,’ Ian said. ‘The guy’s under pressure; he might do something rash.’

Doc reached out a hand and patted his knee. ‘Thank you, but I can’t put you at risk.’

He looked down at her hand, and she removed it. She wondered for a moment if she had bruised his male ego.

‘What about that young police detective, the one who’ll be travelling with us?’ Ian asked. ‘You could call him and get him to be your backup.’

Again, Doc was silent while she thought. She still felt there was something not quite right about Jason Chow’s spur-of-the-moment decision to accompany Sue on the trip. Sure, they clearly had some sort of connection, though Doc did not know how strong it was, but for the detective to take leave and announce he was going to follow them around southern Africa in his own vehicle was odd.

‘Don’t you trust him?’ Ian asked.

‘I’m not going to lapse into racial stereotypes, if that’s what you’re getting at, suggesting he might be involved in pangolin or even rhino poaching because he’s of Asian descent.’

Ian shook his head. ‘I’m not suggesting that at all, just that I think it’s a bit strange for a police detective to be tailing a tour around Africa, just because he’s got the hots for an attractive young PhD student.’

Doc narrowed her eyes and looked at him. He was handsome and now he was reading her mind.

‘That thought had crossed my mind. And sorry, I didn’t mean to imply you were a racist,’ she said.

‘Thank you. And I’m not. But I do like police dramas on TV so I’m naturally suspicious.’

‘You should write a crime novel,’ she said.

‘Maybe I will. With some steamy romance, of course.’

She smiled. There was so much on her mind that it was good to just sit and enjoy the company of another person, if only briefly. Also, had he just flirted with her? An owl called from a tree close to the boma.

‘What was that?’ he asked, looking out into the night.

‘A wood owl. Such a beautiful call.’ She held up a finger, waiting until it made its lyrical, five-part call again. ‘Hear it? Who, who, who are you?’

‘Good question, I guess,’ Ian said. He seemed about to say something more when Sara appeared behind them.

‘Doc?’ she said.

They both turned. ‘Hi,’ Doc said.

‘Can I have a word?’

‘Sure,’ Doc said.

‘Um, in private?’ Sara said. ‘It’s about that matter we were discussing earlier.’

‘You can talk in front of Ian,’ Doc said.

Sara looked taken aback. ‘You told him?’

‘Not exactly. He guessed most of it and I told him the rest.’

Sara’s mouth turned down at the corners and she put her hands on her hips. ‘I think we need to go talk to my source now. The anti-poaching guys just got back. I went to reception to see if there was any news, and I saw a bakkie loaded with rangers drive past, headed for their camp.’

Doc put down her wineglass and stood. Seeing Ian also about to rise she said firmly, ‘We’ll be fine, Ian. I’ll see you later.’

Ian nodded, and Doc left with Sara.

‘Why did you tell him?’ Sara hissed when they were out of earshot.

‘I don’t know. I trust him.’

Sara shook her head. ‘I’m still not sure about even taking you to see Oscar, but as you were close to Graham I suppose you have the right.’

‘Oscar knew about my brief fling with Graham,’ Doc said, ‘so he knows me.’

‘We can use that, though, the personal connection.’

Doc was sure Sara was right, but it sounded harsh, calculating. She liked Sara – she was a strong, independent woman, but Doc guessed that a person also had to be hard-nosed to be a documentary maker or reporter. Ian had said that he didn’t like that part of his job when he was a journalist.

Doc and Sara left the boma and walked through the indoor dining area and bar to get to reception. Doc wanted to find Margaux and have her drive them to the anti-poaching camp. Walking there after dark, in Big Five country, would be suicidal.

They were in luck; Margaux was standing in reception talking to Dawie, the head of anti-poaching, when they arrived.

‘Margaux,’ Doc said, ‘please can you drive us to the –’

Margaux turned to them and her face was pale. ‘I have some terrible news.’

‘What is it?’ Sara asked.

‘It’s Oscar . . .’

‘No,’ said Doc, her stomach dropping.

Dawie was standing there, looking away from them. His broad shoulders started to heave and he brought his hand up to cover his eyes.

‘He’s dead,’ Margaux said.

*

‘Oscar went off by himself, in the direction he’d heard the shot coming from when Sara was with him,’ Doc said to Ian, as they sat, once more, by the fire, just the two of them. The rest of their group had gone to their rooms, all of them, except for Sara and Margaux, oblivious of what had happened to Oscar.

‘That must have been very brave of him,’ Ian said. They both nursed scotches with ice.

‘Or stupid.’ Doc sipped hers. ‘But yes, he was a brave man. Sara thought he was trying to atone for his part in kidnapping the pangolin.’ Doc had filled Ian in on all that Oscar had told Sara, having now seen Sara’s covert video of the interview with Oscar for herself.

‘Where’s Sara now?’ Ian asked.

‘She went to her room. She’s dubbing a copy of the video. It might break his family’s hearts to know that he got involved in illegally taking a pangolin, even if no harm was intended to the animal, but that act led to Graham’s death, and maybe even to his own. Sara’s going to send the video to Oscar’s brother, Warrant Officer Mdluli.’

‘Is it possible Oscar was just randomly killed by a poacher?’ Ian asked.

Somewhere far off a lion called. It sounded more sorrowful than menacing. There was a chill in the night air.

‘There was no warning radio call from Oscar, no gunfight. Dawie and his men were moving to intercept him when they heard just a single shot. It’s possible Oscar was sneaking up on a poacher, or just bumped into him and the man got a fright and fired, but that’s unusual. If a ranger sees a poacher he or she calls it in immediately, and if a poacher sees a ranger first then their inclination is to run. Also, Dawie said Oscar was shot in the back of the head.’

‘Oh, no.’ Ian closed his eyes briefly.

‘It sounds more like an execution, or an ambush, maybe. The police investigation might turn up more information, but Dawie has seen a few gunshot victims – he said it looked like Oscar had been shot from close range.’ Doc shook her head sadly. ‘I wouldn’t blame you if you wanted to get on a plane and fly back to Australia right now.’

He looked into her eyes. ‘Are you kidding? No. I still want to help, now more than ever. You can’t stick around to help with the investigation, though, can you?’

‘No.’ Doc nodded in the direction of the guest tents. ‘I’ve got you lot and the students to look after, and I genuinely want to use this trip to build bridges between other pangolin rescue and research groups. Besides, there’s not much we can do here, other than making sure Thomas Mdluli sees his brother’s videoed confession.’

‘OK,’ Ian said.

Doc looked at her watch. ‘It’s getting late. I think we should probably turn in,’ she said.

Ian finished his drink. ‘Ready when you are.’

They both stood and Doc led the way. The impact of Oscar’s death was sinking in with every step she took. By the time they reached her room it was all she could do to put one foot in front of the other.

Doc paused at her door and looked at Ian. She was trying to hold in her emotions but her lower lip was trembling. ‘Goodnight, Ian, I’ll . . .’

When she saw the kind, sympathetic look on his face she lost it and the tears rolled down her cheeks faster than she could angrily wipe them away. Ian came to her and put his arms around her. Doc buried her face in his shirt.

‘Do you want to come in for a moment?’ she said.

‘If you’re sure.’

She nodded into his chest and Ian opened the door for her. She wanted to tell him that she would be fine, but that would have been a lie. She was unravelling and she craved the presence of another human being to sit with her and help her stave off the despair that felt like drowning.

Ian entered and steered her to a lounge chair. He knelt by her when she was seated. ‘Can I get you something? Water?’

She looked into his eyes. ‘Please just hold me.’

For some time, she was not aware how long, he held her, kneeling beside her as she emptied herself of tears and some of her sorrow. When she was done, she sniffed and he fetched her a box of tissues. Doc blew her nose and they both stood.

‘I should get going,’ he said.

He was good and kind, and strong and handsome, and Doc couldn’t bear the thought of being alone, or of him leaving.

She came to him again and he put his arms around her. There was nothing at all in his body language or demeanour that suggested he would do anything other than just hold her, like that, for as long as she needed. She tilted her face up to his.

‘I don’t think I can be alone right now, tonight. I’m sorry.’

He smiled. ‘Don’t be. I’m here for as long as you want, or need.’

‘You’re so bloody good.’

‘No, I’m not, but I feel good when I’m around you.’

‘Me, as well,’ she said.

Doc stood on her toes. Right then, in that moment, she craved connection, the safe harbour of another person. She kissed Ian on the lips. For a moment she panicked, thinking he did not want her, but then he opened his mouth to let her in, and kissed her back with an intensity that matched her own hunger.

Ian broke the kiss. ‘You’re sure?’

Doc nodded and kissed him again. His hands moved down her back, to her bottom, drawing her closer to him. She could feel, from his body, that his need matched her own. She reached between them, fumbling for her shirt buttons, and the one at the top of his khaki trousers.

Ian stepped back to shrug off his polo shirt and Doc showed off her lacy blue bra. Ian lowered his head to her and freed one of her breasts. Doc gasped as he drew the nipple into his mouth; she unzipped him, wrapped her hand around him and closed her eyes to allow her senses to overflow with his presence. She smelled his aftershave and revelled in his groans.

They undressed each other and moved to her bed.

‘Shit,’ Ian said.

Doc found her small daypack, which passed for a handbag, and fished around in the clutter inside until she found the foil-wrapped packet. She grinned. ‘I thought I might never need this.’

Ian tore open the packet with his teeth and rolled it on. Doc felt a moment of guilt tinged with regret as she remembered she’d only bought the condoms because she’d wondered if she and Jurie would have sex. The lust in Ian’s eyes brought her back to the present as he drew her down onto the crisp white sheets and began kissing the length of her body.

She opened herself to him and wrapped her fingers in his hair as he explored her with his lips and tongue. It had been so long that her orgasm came rushing up like a freak wave, but Ian stopped, right on the brink. Doc was ravenous, more than ready. She rolled Ian over and climbed on top of him, straddling and sliding onto him. He gazed up at her, hands cupping her breasts, a nipple between each thumb and forefinger as she shuddered on top of him, let out a cry and slumped against his chest.

Doc was still pulsing against him as Ian rolled the pair of them over and started moving above her. He paused to kiss her and she closed her eyes. She wrapped her legs around him and when she opened her eyes again she saw the pure lust in his. He was as consumed by her as she was with him and he grunted as their bodies slapped together.

‘Yes,’ she breathed.

She needed this, the raw, animalistic coupling as much as his tender looks and kisses. She drew the skin of his neck between her teeth and he responded in kind, driving harder into her.

Doc felt Ian’s body stiffen, the muscles in his back as hard as steel cables under her fingers, then he relaxed and melded with her.

*

They both woke early, just before dawn, then kissed and made love again, softly, slowly.

When they were done Doc lay with her head on Ian’s chest. He brushed a strand of damp hair away from her eyes.

‘Just when I thought it couldn’t get any better,’ he said. ‘The second time, last night, was amazing, but this was . . .’

She turned her head to see his smile. ‘Lovely. Yes. Ian . . .’

‘Yes?’

‘I don’t want you to think I’m the kind of woman who jumps into bed with just anyone.’

‘I don’t.’

She wanted to explain to him, as much for her own sake as his. ‘Jurie, my partner in the police sting operations, and I had worked together for three years before, well, before we became close.’

‘You don’t have to explain yourself to me, Doc. I think you’re wonderful.’

She stroked his chest. ‘I told you that you were too bloody good. Jurie was married.’

‘I try not to judge people, Doc.’

‘Thank you. He told his wife he wanted a divorce. They hadn’t been getting on for a long time, but he told her, only a few weeks before he was killed, just before we . . .’

She sniffed and wiped a tear from her eye and he held her tighter.

‘I don’t know what this is, between us. Maybe it’s just some kind of reaction to all the death and trauma.’ She felt his body tense, just a little, and searched his eyes. ‘I’m sorry, Ian. That came out all wrong.’

He smiled again. ‘It’s fine. It’s OK that you’re trying to process it. But I have to be honest, I felt something the moment I saw you.’

She nuzzled into him and felt her cheeks burn. ‘So did I.’

He kissed her hair.

‘I wish we could stay here for the day, or the week,’ she said.

‘Same,’ he said. ‘Doc . . .’

Doc looked at him again, worried she had still somehow offended him. ‘Yes?’

‘Maybe this wasn’t just some kind of survivor sex, or whatever they call it when people need to be close after something bad happens. Maybe it’s more.’

Doc didn’t know what to say to that, but Ian saved her from having to answer. He kissed her again.

Chapter 20

The mood in the vehicle was glum as Margaux drove them from Antares to the Kruger National Park. They had left the camp’s open game-viewing vehicle behind and were in Margaux’s tan-coloured, modified, extra-long enclosed Toyota Land Cruiser.

Doc was beginning to wonder if she should have changed her mind and cancelled the whole trip.

They had risen with the sun and driven out of the Balule Nature Reserve to the Phalaborwa Gate entry to the Kruger Park. The early start had put a dampener on any conversation. However, once Margaux had organised their entry permits and passed through the gate, they moved at a more sedate speed and there was time for all of them to try to process what had happened. Doc, Ian and Sara had jointly decided over early-morning coffee that it would be better for them to tell everyone what had happened to Oscar, rather than have them hear about it on the radio or by other means.

Margaux scanned the open plains of dry golden grass, and peered through dense thickets of mopane trees looking for game, probably in a bid to lift everyone’s spirits.

‘Did Oscar have a family?’ Eva asked, breaking the silence of the drive.

‘Yes,’ said Doc, ‘a wife and a child, a son with serious medical problems.’

‘I hope he didn’t use that as an excuse to become a poacher,’ Eva said.

Doc thought the woman cold. The students had picked up on what had happened to Oscar by breakfast time and Warrant Officer Mdluli, distraught at the death of his brother, had arrived before dawn and had already begun interviewing people, including Sara, who had met him and shown him the video she had recorded with Oscar.

‘He wasn’t a poacher,’ Sara piped up from the back of the Land Cruiser. ‘He never intended for any harm to come to the pangolin.’

‘Sure,’ Sue said, ‘but he broke the law by kidnapping my pangolin and hiding it. Although the pangolin wasn’t “mine”, of course. No one’s allowed to just go and grab an endangered animal from the bush and do anything with it.’

‘How does that work, then,’ Pär asked, ‘with the likes of you and Geoff doing your research and fitting the animals with transmitters and such?’

Pär had a knack of defusing tense situations, perhaps as a result of a life spent with his wife, by injecting sensible commentary or, as in this case, asking an intelligent question.

‘There’s a good deal of red tape involved,’ Doc said. ‘When we set up research projects for Geoff and Sue and other students working on their master’s theses relating to certain animals we need to apply to the Department of Forestry, Fisheries and the Environment for a TOPS permit – TOPS stands for “Threatened or Protected Species”. We need to outline the research and its purpose, and prove that we’re not going to harm the subject species in any way or subject it to undue stress.’

Eva folded her arms across her chest. ‘Well, I’d say kidnapping a pangolin and putting it in a box counts as undue stress.’

Doc gritted her teeth, then tried to play peacemaker. ‘I agree, Eva, and what Oscar did was clearly against the law and unethical, but it doesn’t necessarily put him in the same category as a poacher.’

Ian had taken the seat next to Doc and every now and then she felt the brush of his thigh against hers. She was sure it was deliberate and she had to stop herself from grinning, or reaching out and taking his hand. Doc looked over her shoulder at Sara. ‘I haven’t had a chance to ask. How was Thomas Mdluli? Did he say anything?’

‘He was badly shaken,’ Sara said, ‘as you would expect, but he was doing his best to be professional. He interviewed me for quite a while. He said the police would get records of Oscar’s phone calls to see if they could trace the man who had called him, and that he would look into the bank transfer of money to Oscar’s account.’

‘Let’s hope he turns up some leads,’ Ian said.

Doc thought of Oscar and Thomas Mdluli, and how they would never see each other again. Graham, as arrogant and full of himself as he was, often referred to Oscar as ‘bro’ or ‘bru’, or ‘boet’. They all meant the same thing and Doc had sensed there was a real connection between the men.

And now they were both dead.

It was chilly this time of morning. Doc rummaged under her seat and pulled out one of the blankets Margaux kept on board. She spread it over her knees and put her cold hands under it to warm them up.

Ian felt her movement and when he saw what she was doing he discreetly slipped his hand under the blanket and took hers. He gave it a squeeze.

Doc was warmed by the gesture, but in the same instant had a terrible thought. What if I’ve put Ian at risk by being close to him? She eased her hand away from his and he got the message, probably assuming she did not want the rest of the group to know anything had happened between them. That was partly true.

Ian leaned closer to her as they drove on. ‘Are you OK?’

Doc nodded. ‘Fine.’ She smiled reassuringly at him.

Margaux left the tar road and cut north via gravel roads. They stopped for a rest break at the Mooiplaas Picnic Site, where a dainty bushbuck cautiously nibbled at the vegetation on the edge of the cleared area as they used the restrooms.

Ian took Doc aside while they waited for the others. ‘Are you sure everything is OK?’

A grey go-away bird made its eponymous call from a tree above them. ‘I’m fine, Ian,’ she whispered, more forcefully than she wished. ‘Sorry. I mean, I’ve got a lot on my mind, and not just “us”.’

‘I understand. I don’t mean to pry or push.’

‘Also,’ she said, ‘I’m not sure I’m ready to try to explain to everyone else what’s happened between us.’

He nodded. ‘OK, I get that. We can keep it quiet. I don’t want to upset the group dynamic. But, I’d still like to kiss you. Now.’

She smiled. ‘Me too. Maybe later.’

‘That’ll do me,’ he said.

Eva emerged from the ladies’ room. ‘Margaux, do you think you can find us a leopard?’

Margaux waited until the last of them had climbed back on board the Land Cruiser. ‘I’ll do my best.’

*

They did not see a leopard, but just north of the turnoff to Mopani Rest Camp Margaux slowed as they approached a traffic jam.

Ahead of them fifteen to twenty cars and safari vehicles were moving in a slow conga line, blocking both sides of the road. Margaux hung back.

‘Well, this is a disaster,’ Eva pronounced.

‘What are they following?’ Ian asked.

‘I could hazard a guess. Probably painted dogs on the move.’ Margaux stopped the car.

‘Don’t you want to catch up?’ Eva asked.

‘Dear,’ Pär interjected, ‘let Margaux do her job.’

Eva frowned and put her hands in her lap.

‘There,’ Sue called out from the back. ‘Through the trees, coming this way.’

An impala shot past them, all four hooves off the ground like it was an arrow being fired out of a giant bow. Close on its heels were three dogs, the mottled browns, tans and blacks of their coats a blur.

Ian swivelled. ‘My side!’ Another dog shot past him, moving to the right of the impala in a flanking movement. Doc saw yet another on the far side of the track the impala had taken, meaning the outriding dogs were trying to funnel it into the jaws, literally, of the three dogs in the killer group in the centre.

Margaux had made a good decision to hang back until they knew exactly what was happening. Ahead of them the mobile traffic jam had deteriorated into static chaos as drivers desperately jockeyed with each other to change direction midstream. Margaux, meanwhile, had already executed a speedy turn and was now in pursuit of the fast-running dogs, a long way ahead of the nearest car. She gave the pack room to move, because, as Doc suspected, there were more dogs catching up to join in the hunt. Sue, Geoff and Zola all spotted additional dogs as Margaux accelerated down the road, but kept under the Kruger speed limit.

They scanned the bush, but it was Margaux who worked out where the dogs were and what was happening, by switching off her engine. As they coasted along in neutral Doc heard the high-pitched yelps of the dogs and the bleating of their prey.

‘There!’ Margaux pointed to the right as she rolled to a halt.

‘My goodness,’ Ian said as they took in the gory spectacle that was unfolding before their eyes.

‘Painted dogs are the most successful predators in Africa,’ Doc said, ‘and the most efficient at dispatching their prey.’

The chase had ended just seconds before they pulled up, and the impala was being torn limb from limb, ripped apart by the five dogs that were already involved in the feeding frenzy. Others yelped and nipped at the edges, vying for scraps. A dog trotted away from the scrum with the impala’s face in its mouth. Blood was still flying as the dogs worried at bits of meat.

‘It’s incredible,’ Zola said. ‘I’ve never seen that for real.’

‘It seems so cruel,’ Eva said, and this was from a woman who had been to Africa several times and had probably seen other kills.

‘In their way, they’re “kinder”, if you want to put it that way, than most other predators,’ Doc said. ‘That impala just died from shock and massive blood loss, almost immediately. By contrast, a leopard suffocates its prey, slowly, and lions can take an hour or more to finish off a big buffalo.’

‘I see what you mean, now,’ Pär said.

The first of the cars that had originally been following the dogs showed up, but the impala had disappeared and the dogs were dispersing. ‘I think we should keep moving,’ Margaux said.

‘I agree,’ said Doc.

Margaux turned the Land Cruiser around again, heading back in the correct direction, and weaved her way through the oncoming phalanx of cars and safari vehicles who were too late to see the spectacle.

Ian looked at Doc as they broke free. ‘I don’t know how to feel. That was one of the most horrific things I’ve ever seen, but at the same time it was exciting – amazing.’

‘That’s normal,’ Doc said.

‘I’ve had some guests,’ Margaux said from the front, ‘who told me that all they wanted to see was a kill, and when we got to one they couldn’t stomach it and we had to drive off. One lady was crying when she saw a wildebeest killed by lions. She felt sorry for it, but I had to explain to her that the lions and their cubs needed to survive as well.’

A white bakkie pulled up next to them and the tinted passenger-side window rolled down electronically.

‘Howzit.’ Jason Chow waved from the driver’s seat. ‘You guys all good? I just caught some glimpses of wild dogs amid all that traffic. I guess you all saw them.’

‘We did, thanks, Jason,’ Margaux said.

‘Hi, Jason,’ Sue called.

He waved to her and blew her a kiss. ‘Howzit, babe.’

‘Listen to you,’ she waved a finger, but was grinning, ‘I’m not your “babe”. Well, not yet, that is.’

‘Jason,’ Margaux said, ‘we’re heading to Punda Maria, with a stop at Shingwedzi Rest Camp on the way.’

‘I hear you,’ Jason said. ‘I’ll be on your tail.’

‘Jason,’ Sue added, leaning forward in her seat to better see him, ‘is there any news about Oscar, or Graham?’

Jason’s smile dropped away. ‘No, nothing really, sorry. I talked to Thomas Mdluli this morning – he’s devastated about his brother, as you can imagine, but they have very few leads, at least that he’s talking about. He did say it seems Graham’s killer was driving a white Toyota HiLux bakkie, but,’ he reached an arm out and tapped the side of his vehicle, ‘so is half of South Africa. They’re hoping to get some CCTV coverage.’

‘OK, we can talk about this later, maybe,’ Doc said.

Margaux nodded and started the engine.

*

They rolled through the gates of Shingwedzi camp later that morning and Margaux stopped in the car park.

As they alighted from the Land Cruiser, Moses set off in the direction of the men’s bathrooms, next to reception. Doc pointed out a shop, to their right. ‘You can walk between reception and the shop to get to the river. There’s a restaurant there as well. Let’s meet back at the vehicle in half an hour.’

‘I’m starving,’ said Geoff.

‘Me as well,’ Sue said. Jason walked down the steps into the viewing area. He and Sue hugged and kissed.

‘Let’s go eat,’ Jason said.

‘Would you like to join Eva and me for brunch?’ Pär asked Doc.

‘Thanks, but I’m going for a walk to stretch my legs, Pär,’ Doc said. ‘I’m not overly hungry.’

‘I might join you,’ Ian said.

Pär and Eva set off in the direction of the restaurant. Doc headed to their left, away from reception, and Ian caught up with her.

‘I was hoping you might say something like that,’ he said.

‘Same here. There’s a path that follows the river along here, to a day visitors’ picnic site. At least we can have a little privacy and we’ll still get a good view of the river.’

‘It’s you I want to see.’

She grinned. ‘I feel like a teenager on a school trip, sneaking off. But I can’t find much to laugh about.’

Ian fell into step beside Doc. On impulse, he brushed his hand against hers and she took it. He raised her hand to his lips and kissed it.

‘Now I really feel like a kid.’ She looked over her shoulder, probably to check none of the group could see them. The pathway they were following meandered between mature trees that lined the river. The watercourse itself was mostly sand at this time of year, though there were intermittent pools. Half a dozen waterbuck were drinking at one, and a big old bull elephant ambled down the slope opposite them, heading for another.

‘I have a confession to make,’ Doc said.

He had a moment of panic. He hadn’t actually asked her if she had been seeing anyone since her crime-fighting partner, Jurie, had died, and wondered if that was what she was going to announce.

‘Don’t look so worried,’ she said, seeing the look in his face. ‘It’s about where we’re heading, in Zimbabwe, to the pangolin conservation place. The guy who runs it, David Smith, is an old friend of mine.’

‘So?’ Ian asked. When he looked at her, he saw her cheeks begin to colour. ‘Oh, you mean a “good” friend?’

‘You could say that. We dated for a while, when we were both at varsity doing our undergrad degrees. It didn’t last. His family was on a farm in Zimbabwe, and David was only in South Africa for the study terms. In the holidays he had to go home and help out on the farm. I visited him once, but I couldn’t see myself moving from South Africa to Zimbabwe and David had his heart set on returning to Zim after graduation. We split up, as friends, when we realised, I think, that whatever we had together wasn’t strong enough for either one of us to give up something for.’

‘I’m not sure why you needed to confess, but it doesn’t sound like a big deal to me.’

She punched him playfully on the arm with her free hand. ‘I just don’t want you thinking that I’ve slept with half the men in sub-Saharan Africa.’

‘It doesn’t matter to me, Doc. We all have our history, and some baggage. It’s natural. I’m fine with it.’

They walked on in silence, and stopped for a few minutes to watch the old elephant drink. They carried on and came to the day visitors’ site. An elderly couple had laid out a tablecloth and cutlery and the man was cooking bacon and eggs on a wok-shaped gas barbecue, which Doc told Ian was called a skottel. The couple said good morning to them and for Ian, coming from a big, sometimes impersonal city such as Sydney, it was a refreshing gesture.

‘I’m not sure I’m fine with my own baggage,’ Doc said, at last.

‘What do you mean?’

‘I might be crazy, Ian, but I’ve got this terrible feeling that someone is targeting me, not only by trying to ruin my reputation, but by killing people who have been close to me.’

Ian realised what she was saying, but said nothing. Was it crazy?

She looked straight ahead as they walked, as if not wanting to meet his eye, and she let go of his hand. ‘It’s why no one can know about us, Ian. At least not until I’ve worked out what’s going on here.’

‘You think I’m in danger?’ he asked.

Doc stopped at the furthest corner of the camp overlooking the river. There was a park bench placed at the prime spot and she sat down. Ian lowered himself next to her and picked up her hand out of her lap.

Doc looked over her shoulder again.

‘Don’t,’ he said. ‘I don’t care if someone finds out about us. But you have my word I won’t pay a skywriter to write “I love you, Denise” overhead.’

‘Love?’

Chapter 21

From Shingwedzi they drove north through the Kruger Park, arriving at Punda Maria camp in the early afternoon.

‘The highlight for me was seeing that cheetah,’ Ian said as they climbed down out of the truck near the safari tents where they would be staying for the night.

‘That was amazing,’ Doc agreed, ‘watching him stalk that impala.’

‘The chase was incredible.’ Ian remembered the cheetah, all four paws in the air at one time with each bound, its body stretched as straight and slender as a sprinting greyhound, the puffs of dust like mini explosions whenever it touched the ground. Margaux had explained afterwards that unlike other cats, a cheetah’s claws did not retract, meaning they could use them like racing spikes to gain purchase in the soil and propel themselves even faster. ‘I was almost sorry when the impala got away.’

‘You should be sorry,’ Doc said. ‘Unlike those painted dogs we saw, cheetahs are one of the least successful predators. Even if they do catch something, like that impala, there’s a high risk that another predator will come and steal its kill from it.’ Doc looked around to see if any of the others were nearby, listening, but they were alone, at last. ‘I feel like that cheetah – that whoever’s causing all this grief is just out of my reach and I can’t quite get my claws into them. If I did . . .’

He shared her frustration, and was intrigued and a little worried at her conspiracy theory that the deaths of Jurie, Graham and Oscar might all be linked to her.

‘What do you want to do about dinner?’ Ian asked her. There was a group booking for them in the camp’s small restaurant and some of the others had dumped their bags in their tents and were already headed there. Ian had lingered, as he suspected Doc had, so that they could meet up in private again.

‘Skip it?’

He raised an eyebrow theatrically.

Doc laughed. ‘I didn’t mean that – at least not right now. There’s a hide and a floodlit waterhole down at the campground. Do you want to get a couple of drinks and go down there?’

He smiled. ‘I’d love to.’

They slipped past the dining room without the others noticing and went to the camp’s shop, just past the small reception booth. Once inside, Ian asked Doc what she wanted. She was happy with a beer so he grabbed four and Doc took a packet of biltong and a bag of chips from the shelves. Ian paid and Doc led the way, back outside and down the steep hill they’d driven up to reach their permanent safari tents.

At the bottom of the hill they turned right at the petrol station and headed into the campground. Here and there the gathering darkness was illuminated by lanterns, LED lights and braai fires, which flickered, sending glowing embers skyward. Ian caught the slightly greasy yet mouth-watering smell of boerewors sizzling over the coals, and the scent of elephants on the wind. Ian heard a hyena call and revelled, privately, in the knowledge he could identify these formerly alien sounds and smells more easily now. This place was growing on him, despite the danger that lurked everywhere.

Or maybe because of it.

‘This way,’ Doc said, shining a small torch ahead of her. ‘I use this to check for snakes – they’re more active at night, and you don’t want to stand on a puff adder.’

‘Are they deadly?’

‘They can be, but they account for more bites than any other snakes. Whereas most snakes will get out of your way, puffies are ambush predators – they basically just lie in the grass quietly and wait for something, or someone, to stand on them. Their venom is necrotic – it will eat your flesh away.’

‘Charming.’

She gave a small laugh, then turned down a dirt road between tents, off-road caravans and four-by-four vehicles with pop-up and fold-open roof tents set up for the night. Ian felt his stomach rumbling and Doc instinctively fished the biltong out of the paper bag she had carried from the store. Ian thanked her, tore open the packet and munched on a stick of dried kudu meat. He was quickly acquiring an addiction to this stuff.

He thought about the deaths of the two rangers, Graham and Oscar, and of Doc’s lover, Jurie. Even as a soon-to-be-former PR man, his mind naturally turned to the media’s role in criminal investigations. Journalists were always looking for patterns – one killing was a tragedy, but three could be a serial killer, or a murky conspiracy.

‘Sorry for asking, but was there much media interest in Jurie’s death?’

‘No problem,’ she said. ‘Initially, yes, and I was appealing for witnesses in the press, asking if anyone had dash-cam footage from the time and place where the shooter who killed Jurie had been based, but the police and my university told me to rein it in.’

‘Did you?’ Ian couldn’t imagine anyone actually controlling Doc Rado.

She shook her head. ‘Not at first, but then Frank Galloway, who was heading up the investigation, told me he had a lead that the task force was following up and that they needed time and space to work. He told me to ease off on my comments in the media so that the intense focus on the case would wane. He said they didn’t want to spook the suspect they were investigating and that the best thing I could do was to be quiet. Meanwhile, some “anonymous source” from the university was saying that my allegedly unofficial involvement in an unauthorised police operation had cost lives and tarnished the good name of the university.’

‘Moses Khumalo?’ Ian guessed.

‘I can’t prove it, but that’s my best guess.’

‘Talk about kicking a woman when she’s down.’ He clenched his fists.

Doc held up a hand. ‘Cool it, Ian. I don’t need a man, no matter how cute he is, picking a fight with the school bully to defend my honour.’

‘You think I’m cute?’

She waved off his line, but smiled. ‘Anyway, the lead turned out to be a dead end, apparently, and by then the press had moved on with stories of mass murders and a criminal con man faking his own death inside a prison to cover his escape. Jurie faded from the news and I was left bereft.’

His heart ached at her frank admission. He desperately wanted to do something to help her. ‘We need to find a way to put pressure on the police to reopen the case, to maybe see the same pattern that you do, between Jurie’s death and the recent murders. We could use the media to highlight that the killings remain unsolved, while pangolins continue to disappear from the wild.’

Doc pursed her lips. ‘I like the sound of that, but won’t that maybe drive the killer underground – make them more cautious?’

‘Isn’t that what you want, for the killing to stop?’ He looked at her.

She bit her lower lip as she walked. ‘Yes, but I want to catch this bastard.’

He shook his head. In his country, Australia, catching murderers was the work of the police. He was a long way from home.

‘Ian, I don’t want you involved in this.’

‘I think I already am.’

‘If the killer’s targeting me,’ she said, ‘and knew that we were . . . close, then you might be at risk. I can’t have that on my conscience.’

‘What are you saying?’ A large wooden structure, like a long hut on stilts, came into view ahead of them, at the edge of the camp along the fence, overlooking a floodlit waterhole.

Doc stopped. ‘I’m sorry, but maybe we should cool it, or rethink this . . . whatever this is.’

Ian felt his chest constrict. He was standing next to an incredibly beautiful, intelligent woman he was developing strong feelings for and with whom he’d now had sex. They were under a star-studded sky with the promise of almost incomprehensible beauty at every turn – even waiting for them now at the waterhole. But danger was everywhere. He felt a heady mix of emotions – fear, excitement, joy, maybe even the promise of love.

He reached out and took her hands in his, biltong packet and torch and all. He looked into her eyes. ‘The last thing I want to do is “cool it”.’

Doc sighed. ‘I feel the same way, Ian, but I’ve lost one man I truly loved and one who I had feelings for. Maybe when this is all over . . .’

‘Then let’s see what we can do to finish it. I’m here, Doc, and I’m going nowhere. I’d rather be close to you, so we can be in this together, whatever it is.’

She gave him a sad smile in the darkness, but stood on her toes to kiss him, on the mouth, briefly. ‘Let’s go see some elephants.’

They could hear the elephants splashing and siphoning up great trunkfuls of water as they approached the waterhole. There was the sound of people chatting, chip packets rustling and beer cans popping from the wooden hide above, so they chose to stay on ground level, at the fence, watching the herd of eight giant animals no more than twenty metres from where they stood.

Ian let the sights, smells and sounds wash over him while he thought about Doc. He took her hand and she squeezed his back. After a while he turned to look at her, and found she was staring up at him. They kissed again, more passionately this time, in the darkness.

*

The next morning they left early, driving through the far north of the park.

Doc knew Ian had wanted to go to her tent the previous evening, or for her to come to his, but she had told him she was serious about wanting to pause their fast-developing connection. Of course, he’d been a gentleman and told her he understood, but the truth was that she had wanted to share a bed with him. In the end her overthinking, academic brain had won out over her heart and body, because she genuinely did not want any harm to come to him. She was still conflicted, but switched into tour-guide mode to try and force such emotional thoughts out of her mind.

‘This part of Kruger that we’ll be driving through today is actually owned and operated by the Makulele people,’ Doc told the group as they drove. ‘They were forcibly removed from their homelands here in the late 1960s so that the national park could be expanded. They were housed in army tents for a while and, later, when they were told to move on and find their own accommodation, they were given a bill for the tents.’

‘That’s terrible,’ Eva said.

‘It was,’ Doc agreed. ‘They were later awarded control of this part of the reserve and it has some of the most stunning scenery in Kruger – amazing fever tree forests, and the Levuvhu River, which is a birding paradise.’

They stopped on a bridge over the river and, as if to prove Doc right, they spotted pied kingfishers dive-bombing for fish, and a majestic, snowy-headed fish eagle perched in a tree just near the bridge.

They left the park via the Pafuri Gate. ‘These are the homelands of the Venda people,’ Doc told Ian, who was sitting next to her. They drove through villages with modest mudbrick homes and past farmers’ fields on the flat lands bordering the Limpopo River. Giant baobab trees dotted the landscape on the road into Musina, where they pulled into a Spur restaurant on the outskirts of town.

Doc went in first and found them a table. Once they were all seated, a waitress took their orders for breakfast. Doc looked around. Bizarrely, the Wild West–themed décor of faux Native American totems was comfortingly familiar to any South African.

The clientele were a mix of well-off African families and burly farmers in two-tone shirts with their well-fed wives and children. While they waited for their food, Doc described the next leg of their tour.

‘We’ve stopped here for breakfast because you’ll probably need to fortify yourselves before we tackle Beitbridge, one of southern Africa’s most notorious border crossings.’

‘Notorious?’ Pär said. ‘Dangerous?’

‘No, not at all, though we may be mobbed by enterprising “fixers” offering to ease our way through customs, immigration and the other red tape. Think of it more as barely organised chaos. Once we’re through – and that could take an hour or three hours – we’re going to head for Lake Kyle recreation park, near Masvingo, and spend the night there. Tomorrow we’ll visit a new pangolin conservation and rehabilitation centre just outside Harare. We’ll meet the people who run it, see some pangolins, and spend the night there.’

‘It sounds very interesting, Denise,’ Moses said.

Jason Chow and Sue Oliver walked in and found their way to the table. Sue had been riding with Jason since they left Punda Maria.

‘Sorry we’re late,’ Sue said. ‘Jason had to stop for fuel.’ Sue sat down beside Ian.

‘No problem at all,’ Doc said. ‘You two can travel at your own pace. Just make sure you let me know if you’re going to head off on any side trips, so I can at least keep track of you, please, Sue.’

‘Yes, Mom.’

Jason laughed, but Doc just shook her head. Sue could look after herself, though Doc was beginning to regret bringing her on the donor-funded tour. She should have been socialising with Ian, Eva and Pär, and answering questions about pangolins and her research, not swanning about with her new boyfriend. If Doc ever got talked into a tour like this again – which was unlikely – she would bring just one student with her.

As the waitress brought their breakfasts, Doc glanced at her other students. Zola was on her phone. Geoff was the quietest of the group by far, and now Doc wondered if he would have fared any better on the tour, solo, than Sue. At least Sue could be bubbly and chatty when required, but Geoff was often quiet and brooding. He willingly shared information about his studies and about pangolins, but he was never going to be the life of the party – he would make a good researcher, but he clearly preferred academia to his former life as a safari guide.

Which was strange.

Geoff had been a senior guide at Julianne Clyde-Smith’s Khaya Ngala Game Lodge in the Sabi Sand Game Reserve. Julianne, Doc knew, was no-nonsense, and only employed the best of the best. She would not be satisfied with a nerdy shrinking violet for a guide.

Geoff shot Doc a shy smile when he noticed she was looking at him. Then he returned his gaze to his bacon and eggs. Doc blushed a little, realising she’d been caught staring, and busied herself with her omelette while she thought a little more about Geoff. He had told her that he wanted to do more to conserve wildlife than just raise awareness by driving rich tourists to leopard sightings. But he was also handsome and polite and well-spoken.

Was he being unusually quiet during this tour? Was there something on his mind?

Doc tried to catalogue her earlier memories of Geoff, socially and in the university and research environment. He was hardworking, studious and serious, but she would not have thought him shy or boring. He’d been keeping a low profile since his run-in with the lions and elephants.

Did he know something she didn’t? When Doc raised her head again, she saw that Geoff now had his eyes firmly on her from the other end of the table. He waited just a second too long before looking away.

What are you thinking?

They finished their breakfast and Margaux settled the bill before they all walked out into the morning sunshine and the sticky Limpopo province heat.

‘Thanks, Margaux. You’re doing a great job,’ Doc said as she fell into step alongside the guide.

‘Pleasure. Are you OK, Doc? You’ve been rather quiet.’

‘Fine, thanks. Just a lot on my mind.’

‘There’s nothing you can do for Oscar or Graham now,’ Margaux said. ‘It’s in the hands of the police.’

Doc nodded. ‘Sure.’

They boarded the Land Cruiser and Margaux backtracked down the N1 to the Musina bypass. They drove across a bridge supported by statues of giant hands, then covered the ten kilometres to the border.

‘Strap in, everyone,’ Margaux called from the front, ‘this is going to be the ride of your life.’

The Beitbridge border post had undergone a major transformation since Doc had last crossed into Zimbabwe several years earlier. Gone were the grubby, falling-down 1960s-style government offices, and in their place was a sensitively designed confection of stone, glass and polished concrete, with manicured lawns outside. Margaux came to a boom gate where from her glass tower a smiling female ZimBorders employee printed and handed her a piece of paper with a QR code. The automatic boom snapped open and Margaux parked outside the attractive new arrivals and departures hall. They all got out.

‘Good morning, madam,’ said the lead scout for a platoon of touts. The alpha males surrounded Margaux, while the slower fixers tried to pick off stragglers in Doc’s group.

‘Where are you from, sir?’ a young man in a white shirt and black trousers said to Ian. The man’s bogus ID card swung from an old FIFA World Cup lanyard around his neck.

‘Australia,’ Ian said.

‘Ah, kangaroo!’

Doc took Ian by the forearm. ‘Keep moving,’ she said to him, then turned on the tout with a firm, ‘No, thank you.’

‘Skippy the bush kangaroo, let me help you,’ the young man called in their wake.

‘Smile and wave,’ Doc said.

Margaux led them all into the hall and told the group to queue for immigration while she paid a road toll, then a Zimbabwe Revenue Authority charge for bringing the vehicle into the country. Doc waited with Ian, who needed to buy a visa because he was Australian – South Africans were free – and helped Eva and Pär fill out paperwork to enter the country.

Jason, Sue and Geoff looked after themselves, as did Moses and Zola, who moved as a couple. Doc watched Jason as he excused himself from the other two, then went outside with a young Zimbabwean man. Through the window, Doc could see them talking, and although Jason had his back to Doc, it looked to her like he was giving the other man money. In exchange, something was pressed into Jason’s palm.

‘Quicker than expected,’ Margaux announced after she finished at the Customs counter, ‘but we still need to get the vehicle inspected, and have the police check our paperwork.’

They filed back outside and Doc watched as Jason finished whatever it was that he was doing and went to his bakkie. He drove to the police checkpoint, where four bored-looking officers in plain clothes sat behind a trestle table in a covered outdoor area, checking their phones. Jason showed them something, perhaps his police ID, because they became more animated and all shook his hand. Soon he had his paperwork. He gave them a wave, got in his vehicle and drove to the final checkpoint.

‘Jason’s going to scout ahead,’ Sue said to Doc.

‘He seemed to get through a lot quicker than us.’ Doc could see that Margaux was now in a queue behind four other people, waiting for the police check, and that of the four officers on duty, only one appeared to be working – the others were still studying the screens of their phones.

‘I think being a police officer helps, plus he said he was going to pay a guy to help him speed things up and get through the border fast,’ Sue said.

That, Doc thought, was probably what Jason was up to with the man outside, although she hadn’t noticed Jason in the company of the man or any other locals while they’d all been completing the formalities inside.

The group climbed into the Land Cruiser, but Doc took Sue to one side.

‘Sue . . .’

‘Yes?’

Doc frowned. ‘I just want you to know that I’m fine with Jason tagging along, but I’m still expecting you to play a role in the tour, educating our guests and being available to answer questions.’

Sue put her hands on her hips. ‘That would have been a lot easier if someone hadn’t kidnapped my pangolin.’

Doc wanted to say that it was not her fault that Sue’s study specimen had gone missing, but she also didn’t want to make a scene. ‘You’re getting a free trip through Zimbabwe and Namibia, Sue.’

‘Apparently not.’ Her eyes blazed. ‘It sounds like I’m supposed to sing for my supper or perform like a trained chimp.’

Sue was taking this all the wrong way. Plus, she was spoiled and entitled, like so many students Doc dealt with these days. Did she really want to run a whole university full of Sues? ‘You’re bright, Sue, and you’re outgoing and confident. I’m really counting on you to help me with the group. Of all the students you’re the best at building relationships and communicating with people.’

‘Oh.’ Sue’s body language relaxed. The compliment at her peers’ expense had disarmed her, just as Doc had hoped it would.

‘Yes. So, by all means see Jason when you can and enjoy the trip. All I’m asking for is a little help.’

Sue nodded. ‘OK.’

‘Good. Let’s get in the Cruiser. I don’t want to be abandoned at Beitbridge border post.’

Doc climbed into the tour vehicle, and while Ian shifted over on his seat to make room for her, she moved to the back of the vehicle to sit next to Geoff, who was reading a textbook.

‘Maybe you can share what you’re reading with the others, later,’ she said quietly to him.

‘Yes, Prof.’

‘Are you OK?’

He shrugged. ‘Still in shock, a bit, over Graham and Oscar. I knew them when I worked at Khaya Ngala. They were good guys.’

Doc nodded. ‘They were.’

‘Are you OK?’ he asked her.

Doc kept her voice low. ‘Not especially, but thank you for asking.’

Margaux finished the last of her checks and with a ‘Yay!’ she drove them through the final boom gate, and into Zimbabwe.

‘I thought you might want to sit next to Ian?’ Geoff whispered.

‘Why would you think that?’

Geoff just shrugged and opened his textbook again. Doc looked at the back of Ian’s head. Was it that obvious that something was going on between them? She did not think Geoff was a guy who would be particularly attuned to the languages of love, so maybe she was wasting her time trying to hide what had happened between her and the Australian.

Moses had taken up his customary position in the front passenger seat, with Zola sitting dutifully behind him. Unasked, Zola passed him a bottle of water from the cooler box in the back of the vehicle. As he took it, Moses looked over his shoulder at Ian, who was across the narrow aisle from Zola. ‘I never asked, Ian, but are you married?’

‘Divorced,’ Ian said.

‘Oh.’

Doc thought Moses sounded almost disappointed. Maybe she was being paranoid, but she imagined that Moses knew she had slept with Ian, and was calculating a way to embarrass her, or have the university board find out that she was sleeping with a married man – again. Or maybe he was just making small talk.

‘And you, Moses?’ Ian asked, as Margaux braked and swerved to miss a pothole.

‘Yes, happily so. I have a lovely wife and three children, two boys and a girl. One of my sons is in his final year of medicine.’

‘You must be very proud,’ Ian said.

Moses nodded. ‘Yes, of all of them.’

Doc narrowed her eyes. He was a hypocrite. Doc’s radar was up and she was now sure there was something going on between Moses and Zola. The young woman was always within arm’s reach of the older professor. Plus, it was bizarre that Zola had said she had a ‘friend’ coming on the tour and it happened to be Moses. It was true that two could play at the reputation game, but Doc would not stoop to spreading rumours about Moses. She was, however, concerned for Zola.

*

Margaux drove on through the Zimbabwean Lowveld. They passed giant baobab trees and young boys in second-hand clothes herding scrawny goats. A donkey cart made out of the chopped-down rear of an old bakkie slewed off the road to let them pass. A man in the back was whipping the two mangy-looking donkeys and Doc cringed.

Life was still tough here. Thin women sat behind small pyramids of oranges, the dregs of a Limpopo citrus farm, their eyes pleading with passing motorists to stop and buy something. Even the land looked poor, the reddish soil parched, the mopane trees desiccated. A yellow-billed kite swooped onto the road ahead of them to peck at the stinking remains of a dead dog.

At the Lion and Elephant Hotel they stopped for cold drinks and chicken pies. The single-storey whitewashed complex of restaurant, bar and accommodation in thatch-roofed rondavels was a throwback to the 1960s.

‘This place reminds me of an Australian country pub,’ Ian said. He had come to her, again, after they all got out of the vehicle, and together they investigated the quiet bar and the grounds. A gardener in threadbare overalls and old tennis shoes with gaping holes in the toes dragged a hose about, watering the manicured lawn. ‘Shame we’re the only clientele.’

‘This country was once a tourism mecca, and it was booming in the eighties and nineties, after the war ended here and Zimbabwe became an independent country. Then it all fell apart after Robert Mugabe did everything he could to stay in power and ruin the economy.’

Ian looked down at the polished stone floor, the heavy old furniture. ‘It’s like a time capsule.’

‘Zimbabwe will come good again,’ Doc said, ‘one day. The people are hardworking, and the land here once fed a good deal of Africa.’

‘You’re an optimist?’

She smiled. ‘Sometimes.’

‘In the car,’ he said, ‘were you deliberately putting distance between us?’

‘Maybe,’ she said with a sigh. ‘I just don’t want anything to happen to you.’

He looked over to where the others were sitting at old-fashioned outdoor patio tables, being served. ‘You think one of them might be behind all this?’ Ian came a little closer to her. ‘Moses?’

It sounded crazy, even in her own mind, that one academic might instigate a murder – or two – to bring down a rival. She felt foolish. ‘I just don’t know.’

‘Doc . . .’

She walked away from him.

Chapter 22

They stopped for the night at Lake Mutirikwi Recreation Park, still known to many locals by its pre-independence name, Lake Kyle. It was not far from the Great Zimbabwe ruins. Margaux took those who were interested in seeing the historical site for a tour – which was everyone except for Doc and Moses, who had both been before, and Zola, who claimed she had a headache. Sue and Jason went as well, in Jason’s bakkie.

Doc settled herself into her room in the Zimbabwe Parks and Wildlife Service chalet in which she was staying. She lay on her lumpy bed in the clean but tired room and tried to read a book. She couldn’t concentrate.

Outside the light was fading, but the reflection that danced on the broad expanse of the lake was a moment of beauty.

Checking her watch, Doc saw it was half past five. She thought Margaux and the others would have been back by now – she couldn’t remember, but imagined the Great Zimbabwe site closed at five o’clock. They needed to get the evening meal started – they had packed food for a braai.

Doc went out and began to lay a fire in the braai stand. She foraged for small sticks in the grounds around the chalets, then added the larger pieces of wood. Hot water for the chalet came from a donkey boiler, an old but efficient external water heater consisting of a drum heated by fire. Next to the fireplace was a rusted spade and Doc borrowed it and a load of glowing red coals to get her fire started. She stood back a pace and nodded in satisfaction as the flame caught. The smell of woodsmoke in the clean, cool evening air reminded her of her father, and the nights they’d spent in the Kruger Park when she was a little girl.

She checked her watch. Six, and still no sign of the group. Darkness fell like a heavy theatre curtain and when she went back to her chalet and flicked on the switch just inside the front door, there was no light.

Like all South Africans she was used to power cuts – or load shedding as the government euphemistically termed it. She had a torch in her bag. She decided she would fetch it, and her book, and try to read by firelight.

As she walked through to her room she felt a draught, which was odd as she hadn’t left any windows open. Living much of her life in the bush, she was vigilant about keeping dwellings closed up, because of monkeys and baboons. She froze in the doorway of her room – the window above her bed was wide open.

She saw her daypack on her bed, where she had left it, but when she went to look for her torch she saw the zip was undone. Doc had left the bag closed. When she reached inside she found the torch and switched it on, but then she saw that her money purse was gone.

‘Shit.’

Her heart raced. She had put her larger backpack in the wardrobe. When she opened the door she had a moment’s relief as she found that it appeared to be untouched. She undid the flap on top, unzipped it and rummaged right to the very bottom. Her Glock pistol was still there. She pulled it out and slipped it into the waistband of her jeans, in the small of her back. Carrying a weapon here, like this, in Zimbabwe, was illegal, but since Jurie’s shooting she had taken her pistol with her everywhere she went.

Doc shone the torch around her room and, at the same time, patted her pockets. With a sick feeling she realised she had left her phone on the bedside table and it was also gone. The curtain fluttered in the breeze through the open window. She looked outside, but could see nothing, no one.

Doc went out again and strode across to Moses’s chalet. She rapped on the door, but there was no answer. ‘Moses? Moses, are you in there?’

When there was no reply she went to the chalet where the three students were staying and knocked there, calling for Zola. Again, there was no answer. Doc ran from the students’ chalet and along the road to where Margaux had checked in.

‘Hello?’ she called. ‘Hello?’

The reception office was closed. Doc looked around and headed towards a cluster of houses that looked like staff accommodation. She smelled woodsmoke, but as with her accommodation, there was no electricity.

A man in a green uniform stepped out of a darkened house.

‘Good evening, how are you?’ he said.

‘Terrible. I’ve been robbed.’

The man’s eyes widened. ‘I am the warden here. Go back to your chalet, now. They may be going through your things again.’

‘Really?’’

He nodded, then ducked back into his house. When he emerged a moment later, he was carrying an AK-47 rifle. ‘Come, let us go now.’

Doc followed the man down the track back via reception to the chalets. When they arrived, Doc saw Jason Chow’s bakkie. Sue emerged from her chalet.

‘Hi, Doc,’ Sue said. ‘You missed an interesting tour.’

Doc ignored her, and led the warden inside.

‘Is everything OK?’ Sue called after them.

Doc shook her head. ‘I’ve been robbed.’

‘Oh my word, no!’

‘Yes. Check your room, Sue. Make sure you haven’t been hit as well.’

Doc followed the warden towards her room. He had his AK up, as if ready for a shootout, but Doc doubted that was likely in a country as safe as Zimbabwe. Despite its often-turbulent politics, Zimbabwe had a reputation for having very little violent crime.

Then Doc heard the hum of a generator somewhere in the distance, probably the staff area, and the lights came back on.

The warden kicked open her bedroom door. ‘All clear. I will check outside for tracks. Please make a list of everything that is gone, then we will call the police.’

‘All right.’ Doc double-checked her large pack and confirmed everything was untouched, except for where she had disturbed her clothes while retrieving her pistol. She had a moment’s panic when she realised her laptop computer had been charging on the dressing table, but when she turned around she saw it was still there. The laptop had been in plain sight, like her phone, but for some reason the thief had left it. In her panic, Doc had forgotten it was there, but when she stood with her back to the window, giving herself the same view of the room as the thief would have had when he entered, the first thing she noticed was the computer. Why had he left it?

Doc heard footsteps in the corridor outside, and Jason appeared in the doorway.

‘Professor, are you all right?’ he said.

‘Fine, thanks.’ Doc nodded to the computer. ‘What do you make of that?’

‘Your laptop? Is this how you left it?’

Doc nodded. ‘I went outside to light the braai and left everything as it was.’ She pointed to her daypack. ‘He came in through the window and found my wallet in my bag, and took my phone, but left the laptop. Why?’

Jason shrugged. ‘The phone and wallet he could stash in his pockets, but maybe walking around with a laptop would instantly make someone suspicious.’

‘Hmm.’ She supposed Jason was right, but it felt odd.

Doc emptied her daypack, methodically placing the contents on her bed as Jason watched. She leaned forward and her T-shirt must have ridden up.

‘Doc,’ Jason whispered, ‘you know it’s illegal for you to carry a gun in Zimbabwe?’

She pulled her shirt down. ‘You didn’t see that.’

‘OK, but don’t let any of the local cops or national parks people see it. You know there are rhino in this reserve?’

‘Yes,’ she said.

‘So, a national parks ranger here could, under the letter of the law, shoot you on sight if he saw you had a gun.’

Doc hadn’t actually thought of that, but made a mental note to be extra careful. ‘Thanks for that piece of enlightenment.’

‘Anything else missing from your daypack?’

She surveyed the contents. ‘No. Even my camera’s still here.’ She held up the compact Sony digital. ‘This is worth a lot of money, and it’s small, but he left it behind. It was in the very top compartment of my pack.’

Jason just shrugged. ‘Sometimes there’s no rhyme or reason to what a thief takes, and it could be that he was here, still looking, when you walked back into the chalet and he made a run for it.’

‘Madam?’

Doc looked over to the window and saw the park warden standing outside, his arm outstretched.

‘My purse!’

He smiled and handed it to her, through the window. ‘I found it about ten metres into the bush.’

Doc opened the leather wallet. ‘My ID’s here, thank goodness, and my credit cards. I had a few hundred rand in cash and about a hundred US dollars. They’re gone, but it could have been worse.’

‘I will continue looking,’ the warden said.

‘Thank you so much,’ Doc said.

‘Doc?’ Zola called from the front door. ‘May we come in? We’ve got some good news.’

‘Sure,’ she said. Zola walked in with Moses.

‘What seems to be the trouble here?’ Moses said.

‘Doc was robbed,’ Jason said. ‘We’re just taking an inventory of what’s missing, and what’s been found.’

Zola reached into the pocket of her pants. ‘Well we can help, we found your phone!’

Doc was taken aback. Zola came to her and handed over the iPhone. Doc swiped the screen and, sure enough, it was hers, with a picture of Jurie cradling a pangolin on her home screen. ‘Amazing.’

‘Dr Khumalo and I were taking a walk in the bush and he found it, just now, lying on the ground,’ Zola said.

Doc narrowed her eyes. ‘Really?’

‘Sorry, I checked the screen and opened it,’ Zola said. ‘Doc, you’re way too trusting, you should use a passcode or a fingerprint security lock.’

‘I know. So, you both just found it on the ground?’

‘That’s right, Denise,’ Moses said. ‘We thought you must have gone for a walk on the same trail and dropped it.’

Doc turned to Jason. ‘This must be the most incompetent thief in the history of crime. First, he ignores my camera and the laptop, the most valuable thing in the room, then he steals my wallet and phone and, what . . . the phone falls out of his pocket?’

Jason shrugged. ‘Criminal geniuses are a myth from movies and crime novels. Most of them are pretty stupid, and nearly all of them get caught.’ He nodded to the phone. ‘Shame Zola and the professor have been handling it. The local cops could have got some prints off the phone.’

‘Sorry,’ Zola said. ‘We had no idea it had been stolen.’

Doc studied their faces. Her paranoia was ratcheting up by the minute. Had Moses broken into her room to spy on her? Was she going crazy?

Doc heard the growl of the Land Cruiser’s engine outside her chalet. She felt claustrophobic with Jason, Zola and Moses all around her. She strode out, almost bumping into Sue, who was coming through the front door.

‘Is there anything I can do to help?’ Sue asked.

‘Not right now.’ Doc went out into the cool night air.

Ian got out of the Land Cruiser and came straight to her. ‘What’s wrong?’

She took hold of his forearm and led him away, into the darkness beyond the light cast by the fire and the chalets. She didn’t care who saw them now; she just needed to talk to someone she could trust. Doc quickly explained what had happened.

‘And you say Moses and Zola were out for a walk in the bush?’

‘Yes,’ she said.

‘And Jason and Sue?’

Doc searched her memory. ‘They came back early – maybe an hour ago.’

‘We had a flat tyre,’ Ian said.

‘Sorry,’ Doc brushed a strand of hair out of her eyes, ‘I didn’t even think to ask why you were so late, though I was wondering.’

‘It’s fine,’ Ian said. ‘Margaux and I got it changed pretty quickly, but Jason and Sue had already left long before that.’

‘How much longer?’ Doc asked.

Ian rubbed his chin. ‘Quite a while. I reckon two hours or more before us?’

‘Hmmm. That means they should have been back long before I saw them. Perhaps they went on a side trip, or,’ Doc made air quotes, ‘for “a walk in the woods”.’

‘Maybe. Are you thinking that someone from our group robbed you? And if so, why?’

Doc turned to look back to the light. The others were congregating around the fire and Jason was handing out drinks from a cooler box.

‘Probably not, but this run of bad luck never seems to end. So much about the robbery doesn’t make sense. It’s more like it was done to unsettle me, to make me more paranoid than I already am. And if that was the thief’s intent, then they succeeded.’

‘Interesting that Zola and Moses were spending time together away from everyone else,’ Ian said.

‘If my suspicions about Zola and Moses are right, then Zola has a wealthy blesser.’

‘A blesser?’ Ian asked.

‘Oh, that’s a South African term for what you would probably call a sugar daddy.’

‘I see. I was wondering about those two,’ Ian said. ‘What was on your phone?’

She held out her hands. ‘My life. And it wasn’t locked at all. Plenty of personal stuff. Which reminds me, there’s something I’ve been wanting to tell you, Ian.’

He raised his eyebrows. ‘What’s that?’

Doc sat down on a granite boulder, and Ian found one close by. ‘There’s this guy –’

Ian held up a hand. ‘You don’t need to tell me if you don’t want to. But if you’re involved with someone else, I’ll try and understand.’

She shook her head. ‘No, let me finish. It’s not like that at all. I was on a dating app for a while, but never had much luck with it. Then, you know that old saying, “It never rains, but it pours”?’

‘Sure.’

‘About a year ago, I got a message from a guy via the app and he seemed really nice, but it was also around the time that Jurie, the police detective I told you about, started opening up about the problems in his marriage, and it was becoming increasingly clear that we had feelings for each other. I mean, I’d always really liked Jurie, as a friend, and I thought he was handsome, but because he was married I told myself he was off limits. When he told me the truth about his marriage, that it wasn’t all roses, and then he moved out of home, I started to allow myself to think that maybe he and I could have a future.’

‘And the online guy?’

‘I put him on hold. I told him I was exploring something with someone else, but I was happy to chat with him as a friend. He told me he was cool with that, and was in no hurry to meet in person. I half wondered if he was married as well, and just looking for some fun on the side, or a distraction. He went quiet, in any case, and over the months Jurie kept pouring his heart out to me, and I found myself falling for him.’

‘I see.’

‘And Jurie and I, well, we finally became really close, just a short while before he was killed, and just after he had told his wife that he wanted a divorce. And then . . .’

Ian came to her, sat on the same rock close to her and put his arm around her. ‘I’m so sorry, Doc. I feel for you.’

She nodded and sniffed back the tears. ‘I didn’t hear from the online guy for a few weeks, but when I did, he told me he had read about Jurie’s death in the newspapers and how sorry he was. He was kind, and didn’t pressure me at all. It was like having an anonymous friend – I still don’t know his real name – who I could just pour my heart out to by typing words on a screen. I found it easier than even being with my real-life friends. They all wanted to know the same things, and they all found it so hard to express their feelings, or to care for me.’

‘I understand,’ Ian said.

She looked into his eyes and wondered if he really did, because she didn’t.

‘Does he have a name, or a pseudonym, this anonymous guy?’

‘Ralph.’

‘What do you know about him?’

‘He says he’s thirty-nine, and an advocate – a lawyer – but you know, people sometimes lie on these apps and websites and things. He’s white, says he’s not married, but was hesitant to rush into something too quickly. Like I say, I’m not one hundred per cent sure he’s telling the truth, but even if he is married, he’s been kind to me, and mostly proper.’

‘Mostly?’

Doc gave a little smile. ‘He was getting quite flirtatious, before things got serious between Jurie and me, but I called things off with him once Jurie and I knew we were in love.’

‘I see,’ Ian said.

‘Lately . . . well, he was back to being more suggestive in his messages and I guess that I was almost ready to welcome that again. But then Graham was killed and I started to freak out – you know, thinking that any man close to me would be in danger.’

‘How did Ralph take that news, about Jurie, when you and he fell in love?’

‘He said he was happy for me.’

‘Did you believe him?’

‘Yes, I did. Our chats became purely platonic, but it was a very short time between when I knew my true feelings for Jurie and his death. I didn’t chat with Ralph for a couple of weeks after that and, like I said, when I did, he was very supportive.’ Doc shivered. It was cold away from the fire, but it also felt like there was something else in the air, something more malevolent. Ian was quiet.

‘Can you hold me, please, just for a moment,’ she said.

He put his arm around her again and hugged her close. She had been worried that when she revealed more of her past, more about the men in her life, he might push her away. At the same time she was warning him off and telling him they needed to keep their distance.

‘You must think I’m crazy, giving out all these mixed messages,’ she said.

He shook his head. ‘No. I think you’re human. This Ralph . . .’

‘Yes?’ She laid her head on his shoulder.

‘Do you think that maybe he might have had some agenda? I mean, more than just wanting to get to know a beautiful woman?’

‘Like he’s some kind of stalker?’

‘Maybe,’ Ian said, ‘but I was thinking more about your undercover work, busting the pangolin smuggling trade.’

Doc thought about that. ‘I never hid my identity from him – he knew who I was, and in general terms about the work I did. I told him I sometimes advised the police in combating poaching.’

‘Before or after you met online?’ Ian asked. ‘I mean, were you on the dating app under your own name?’

She shook her head. ‘No, I used a pseudonym, but I revealed my identity to him early on. I remember being a little disappointed – quite angry, for a while – that he didn’t reciprocate. But I got over it, because he was good to talk to, and I wanted to give him some space. So, no, I don’t think he befriended me initially because he knew who I was, and wanted to target me.’

Ian rubbed his chin, as he did when he was thinking. She was learning a little more about him each day. ‘He could have been a criminal, targeting women randomly and then looking for an angle to work.’

She shuddered in his embrace. ‘I guess that’s possible.’

What did we talk about? She tried to remember.

‘He never asked you for money?’

She glanced at Ian.

‘Sorry.’ He smiled at her look.

‘We would talk about his work, legal cases he had been involved in, though he never mentioned names, and he was interested in wildlife and conservation, so he asked a lot about pangolins. He seemed quite knowledgeable about them himself. But we would also talk about rhinos, elephants and other fauna.’

‘What else?’

She tried to think. ‘TV shows, films, books – we would make recommendations to each other.’

‘Did he know where you would be this past week – Hoedspruit, the tour, that kind of thing?’

She nodded. ‘Yes. I jokingly suggested that he come on the tour, and he messaged me when I was at a surprise party the students threw for me, just before you arrived.’ Doc leaned away from Ian, as if giving him a longer look. ‘Are you Ralph?’

He laughed. ‘Sorry, no.’

‘There was never anything creepy about him, Ian, nothing that raised any red flags.’

Ian looked sceptical. ‘Except him hiding his identity from you, even after you told him who you were.’

‘Yes, there is that,’ she conceded. She thought some more. ‘I never gave Ralph, or anyone else I knew, the specifics of any undercover operations I was involved in; no times or places.’

‘Were any of your students ever involved in a bust?’

‘Only the last one when Jurie was killed. The students were there – they shouldn’t have been – but I posted them as lookouts. I broke my own rules.’

‘Was Jason there as well?’

Doc shook her head. ‘He was busy processing the arrests from the first sting earlier that day. But,’ she thought for a moment, ‘I do remember he showed up soon after Jurie was shot. I vaguely remember him and Sue hugging. I hadn’t realised they were an item before that.’

Ian seemed to turn things over in his mind for a moment. ‘Why did you break your rules that day?’

She replayed the day in her mind – the successful bust, the breakfast in the Mugg & Bean restaurant, the disastrous meeting where everything that could go wrong had gone wrong. She couldn’t find the right words. Pride? An inflated sense of her own immortality?

‘I’m sorry, Doc.’

She looked over at Ian and saw from his look that he had mistaken her silence for anger or sadness, that he had inferred that he had done something wrong. ‘No, it’s OK, Ian. I’m just thinking. I did make a bad call that day, but I’m trying to analyse why, and if there might be some connection to Ralph.’

‘OK.’

He said nothing while she thought about the many online chats, some of them – most, maybe – when she was having a glass of wine after a long day in the field or lecturing or supervising her students. Sometimes she was coming down from the high of busting a pangolin poacher, and at others she was close to tears, or actually crying over the death of an animal they had failed to save.

If only I could catch a buyer, Ralph, she had said to him once.

‘There was one incident I remember well,’ Doc said to Ian. ‘Jurie and I busted a poacher and retrieved a pangolin, a female, and it was barely alive – this was shortly before Jurie and I confessed how we felt about each other. I’d stopped flirting with Ralph; I told him I was falling for someone in real life and that he and I should rather just be friends. Despite the best efforts of a veterinarian the pangolin died. It was pregnant.’

‘Oh no,’ Ian said.

The tears rolled down her cheeks and she wiped them away with her hand and took a deep breath. ‘I was so fucking angry that day, after that happened. I went home that night and cried and drank. When Ralph messaged me I was drunk and furious.’

‘I can imagine.’

‘I unloaded on him, telling him how frustrated I was, because as much as Jurie and I and the others did, it was just a drop in the ocean. And that little unborn baby . . . I was at my lowest.’

‘Think of all those that you have saved.’

She nodded. ‘I know, I know. I tried to tell myself that, but I was ready to kill someone that night. I’m not proud of it. I told Ralph that my biggest frustration was that while we got good at catching poachers and rescuing pangolins we were never able to penetrate the organised crime side of the trade – we had never been able to catch a buyer. I remember what Ralph said to me.’ She put a hand to her head.

‘What was it?’ Ian asked.

She pulled away from his embrace and locked eyes with him. ‘He messaged me: What would you do to catch a buyer? And I said to him, Anything. I told him I’d break my own rules, I’d risk my life, I’d even break the law and go deep undercover without getting permission from anyone, and if I could catch the people responsible, the end users, God help me, I would put a bullet in their brain.’

Ian took a deep breath and she wondered if she had scared him off for good this time. She watched his reactions. He closed his eyes for a second, digesting her words, and when he opened them he said: ‘I understand.’

‘Like I told you, I was drunk, and I was in an emotional state. Today, here, now, even after Jurie’s death, I can tell you that I feel the opposite, that I wouldn’t break the rules or do anything illegal, even if I came face to face with Jurie’s killer. I would want that person to face the law, to be prosecuted in court, and to suffer in prison. But, in that vulnerable moment, I laid myself bare to Ralph and told him I would do absolutely anything to take down a buyer.’

‘And what do you think he did with that knowledge?’ Ian asked.

‘There you two are!’

They looked around to see Jason Chow emerge from the darkness, pointing a torch at them.

Chapter 23

Jason had been looking for them to invite them to join the rest for drinks, while Geoff and Sue pitched in and helped Margaux cook the braai for dinner. Ian had wanted to spend more time alone with Doc, but she went to her chalet straight after dinner, telling him she would see him in the morning.

At night in the dark Ian had lain in bed, unable to sleep at first, listening to the hoot of owls and the hum of cicadas outside. He wondered if Doc’s theory of someone targeting her held up. The news about her online ‘friend’ Ralph had unsettled him as well.

In the morning they drove north through Zimbabwe, to the capital, Harare. The landscape had been dramatic, studded with granite hills, which Doc said were called koppies, and while the land looked green and fertile, the farming looked to be subsistence at best. Doc explained to the group that a good deal of the land had been commercial farms, but these had been taken from white farmers during the later years of former President Robert Mugabe’s rule and distributed to his cronies.

‘In the end, more poor people, such as farm workers, lost their jobs than those who benefitted from the farm invasions, and the economy collapsed,’ Doc said. ‘Things are slowly changing, with some white farmers or their children returning and leasing land off the new owners. The country’s only just hanging on, by a thread.’

Harare was a seething, chaotic city where traffic meandered about on roads where the lane markings had long since disappeared. A blanket of woodsmoke and vehicle exhaust shrouded everything and everyone in a blue-grey haze. Like the rest of the country Ian had seen so far, many of the buildings looked old and in need of paint and refurbishment, but the streets were busy with people going about their business. As they waited to cross an intersection where the traffic lights were out, Ian saw a roadside cobbler mending shoes on the pavement and through his open window he smelled corn on the cob sizzling over hot coals in a tin braai. Rickety minibuses tooted their horns to attract passengers and more than once Margaux had to stand on the brakes or accelerate fast to avoid a fender bender. It seemed to Ian that no one begged, but everyone was hustling. There were pockets of prosperity – new malls behind high fences, and car dealerships selling luxury vehicles.

Clear of the town they took a potholed road that led through a suburb of large houses behind tall brick walls. Further on, Ian spied market gardens and even some sheep in a yard. Finally Margaux pulled up at a black metal security gate and honked. A guard rolled the gate open and leaned into the driver’s-side window with a clipboard. After filling in her details, the guard spoke into a handheld radio, then waved them in. He stood to attention and saluted as Margaux drove through. Jason was close behind in his bakkie.

They pulled up outside a sprawling whitewashed farmhouse with a green-painted roof. A tall thin man with an unkempt mop of greying hair and wire-rimmed glasses came out of the house to greet them, followed by two Jack Russells. The man wore short denim shorts and a khaki bush shirt.

‘Hello, everyone, I’m David Smith,’ he said as they all got out of the car.

He shook hands with everyone and, finally, hugged Doc and gave her a kiss on the cheek. Doc looked uncomfortable, Ian thought, but he knew why. If she had phoned or emailed ahead to warn David of her theory that the men close to her were possibly being targeted, he hadn’t got the memo.

‘How’s the most beautiful zoologist in the world?’ he asked her, for all to hear.

‘David!’ Doc said. ‘Enough of that. We’ve come to see pangolins, not listen to cheesy pick-up lines.’

David put both hands over his heart. ‘You can’t blame me for trying.’

Ian stole a look at the faces of everyone in the group, to see if he could pick up on any reaction to David’s public display of affection. Apart from some smiles, and Eva’s customary frown, there was nothing out of the ordinary that he could detect. The group followed David as he ushered them around the back.

‘You’ll be spending the night with us in our volunteers’ rondavels,’ David said, gesturing to a row of brick and thatch round huts painted orange and ringed with colourful geometric motifs for decoration. ‘They’re fairly basic, but we have generator power at night, and there’s wi-fi.’

‘I’ll oversee the distribution of the luggage,’ Margaux said to Doc.

‘Thanks, Margaux,’ Doc said.

David turned to Doc. ‘Doc, you’re welcome to stay in my guest bedroom tonight.’

‘No, thanks, David. I’ll take a rondavel. It’s better for me to be with the group. We had an incident at Lake Kyle last night.’

‘Really? What happened?’ David asked.

‘I was robbed, by a very amateur thief. I got nearly everything back – I just lost some cash.’

‘That’s Zimbabwe for you,’ he said. ‘People are terribly poor, but kind at heart. I remember a guy broke into my Land Rover once in Hwange National Park. I was still smoking in those days, when I could afford it. He lifted a carton of ciggies from the truck but left me one packet, propped open on the gatepost, with one cigarette sticking out of it so that when I woke up I could at least get my morning fix.’ He laughed.

Ian wished he could laugh off the events of the previous evening, but Doc’s self-professed paranoia was starting to rub off on him. He hadn’t bid money at a charity auction to come on an amateur sleuth’s tour of Africa, but that was how it was shaping up. Unease aside, and the shock of being in the vicinity of two murders, he was finding that every day brought a new level of excitement and intrigue. This was nothing at all like his previous life and he was beginning to get an inkling of how Doc had been drawn into the world of undercover policing and anti-poaching operations.

Doc walked ahead of the group, next to David and his dogs, and Ian found he was slightly jealous of the other man. They weren’t touching, but Ian could almost sense an invisible bond of intimacy between them. Doc laughed at something David had just said, loud enough for only her to hear. The fact that Ian couldn’t be next to her, or with her last night, made him want to be with her even more.

The question was: did she feel the same way about him? And for his part, was this just a holiday romance? Could there be any sort of a future for them, when he was a semiretired PR consultant living in Sydney, and she an academic who split her time between Pretoria and the wilds of Africa? Maybe she wasn’t distancing herself from him because of some perceived threat to him, but because she’d woken up and smelled the reality of their lives.

‘What’s on your mind?’ Sue came up beside him.

‘Oh, nothing. The business last night, maybe.’

‘You and Doc seemed to be having a long deep and meaningful last night, before the braai. Are you OK? Is she OK?’

‘She’s shaken up, of course, with what happened to the guys at Hoedspruit,’ he said, ‘and now this robbery. She’s going through a hell of a run of bad luck.’

‘Yes, and maybe her private life’s been shaken up as well.’

‘By what? Who?’

Ian turned to look at Sue. She was smiling. ‘You, mister. I can see the way she looks at you.’

Sue had been flirtatious with him at Antares. But now she seemed more interested in him and Doc. Or had he misread Sue’s signals? Was she just very outgoing with everyone? She and Jason definitely seemed to be an item.

‘We’re just friends,’ Ian said.

‘Like Jason and I are friends.’

‘I don’t understand.’

Sue nudged him with her elbow. ‘It’s simple.’ She lowered her voice. ‘We’re into each other, but we don’t want to, like, live with each other. I don’t particularly want to be a cop’s wife, and anyway, I spend long periods away from Pretoria, out in the bush. We have this arrangement, where we, um, Netflix and chill together. Do you have that term in Australia?’

‘We do.’ As Ian understood it, the term meant two people hanging out with the prospect of casual sex.

‘You do?’

‘Yes.’

She grinned. ‘And do you?’ she whispered.

‘Do I watch Netflix? Yes.’

‘And do you chill?’

He smiled. ‘Not with people who are already chilling with someone else.’

‘Aw, come on, Ian.’

‘Why all this interest in me and Doc, Sue?’

She shrugged. ‘I didn’t notice the way she looked at you until Jason said something to me. He’s super observant. I guess it has something to do with him being a detective. He asked me if I thought there was something going on between you and Doc. After that, I watched the way you two normally seemed to sit together, at meals and on game drives.’

‘It’s nothing.’ Ian’s mind was turning. ‘You three students normally hang out together, and Moses and Zola seem to be good friends . . .’

Sue snorted.

‘What?’

‘Nothing,’ Sue said. ‘Go on.’

‘And Eva and Pär are a couple, so I usually end up next to Doc. That’s all.’

Sue nodded. ‘You didn’t know Doc before you came to Africa, did you? Like, had you emailed or messaged her before the tour?’

He narrowed his eyes. ‘No, why?’

‘Oh, nothing,’ Sue fanned the air, ‘just something Jason asked. Like I said, he’s got an enquiring mind and he’s always asking questions about this and that.’

‘Do you think things could become serious between you and Jason?’ Ian asked.

Sue took a step back. ‘Um, probably not, but I like his company. I’m just not ready to settle down. I want to experience as much of life as I can before I get married, if I ever get married. I’ve got a career and a whole life ahead of me. And if I want to ask a handsome, single guy about his TV viewing habits, then why should I let anything, or anyone, stop me?’

Ian blushed.

Sue lowered her voice. ‘Maybe I can come around to your hut some time and watch a movie or something?’

‘Come on, you two,’ Doc called from ahead, ‘we’ve got something amazing to look at.’

Sue giggled and strode away from him.

*

David led them past the farmhouse’s watered lawns where the garden transitioned into bush. He had left his Jack Russells back at his home.

‘I’ll show you where we keep the pangolins later, but one of our volunteers, Taku, is out in the field with a new arrival right now.’

‘How exciting,’ Doc said for the benefit of Pär and Eva, who already had their cameras out and at the ready, like soldiers on patrol, itching for a target.

The three students lagged behind and right at the back were Ian and Sue. Ian’s cheeks were red when they caught up and Doc had the feeling that it wasn’t from overexertion on the very short walk from the Land Cruiser. Sue was grinning at something. Doc felt annoyed.

‘What we’ve learned,’ David said in a running commentary as they walked, ‘is that pangolins are very fussy little eaters. Doc’s past research projects have been invaluable in helping us to compile information about the animals’ eating habits. Ah, there’s Taku now.’

Dave pointed ahead to where a young African woman was walking through the bush, keeping a close eye on the ground. She stopped to introduce herself as Taku Mbudzi, a zoology student from the University of Zimbabwe, and indicated the pangolin she was walking with, a male named Courage.

‘He was nearly dead when he came to us,’ Taku said, her eyes on the pangolin wandering just ahead of them, ‘but he showed amazing courage and hung on to life, which is how he got his name.’

‘About the pangolin’s diet,’ Doc continued after everyone had said hello and shaken hands, ‘we found that some pangolins we were trying to rehabilitate in South Africa would forage about for food, looking for ants, but sometimes, even when they found a nice big colony, they wouldn’t eat. Others, like the one Geoff has been studying will eat several different types of ants in a day. We worked out that pangolins from Zimbabwe, which account for many of the ones we seize in South Africa and which we subsequently tried to release, would only eat a particular type of ants, found in their home country.’

‘That’s right,’ David said. ‘We worked with Doc and her students and we ended up exporting termites from Zimbabwe to South Africa for the pangolins to eat.’

‘Amazing,’ Ian said.

Doc noticed that Ian seemed to be paying more attention to David and her than Eva and Pär, who were busy taking pictures. Pär was on his belly on the ground again, ahead of Courage, snapping pictures as the pangolin came towards him. Taku had moved aside and was talking to Sue, Zola and Geoff. Moses was lagging about ten metres behind them, checking his phone.

‘David,’ Pär said, standing and brushing dirt from his clothes, ‘can we get a picture of you with the pangolin?’

‘Sure,’ David said. ‘Excuse me, Doc.’

‘No problem.’ She took Ian aside. ‘What were you and Sue talking about?’

Ian glanced away from her, to where the students were laughing about something, then back at Doc. ‘Nothing much.’

She put her hands on her hips. ‘Really?’

Ian swatted at some tiny flies hovering around his eyes. ‘She wanted to know if you and I were an item.’

Doc touched her forehead in exasperation. ‘Oh no. Has it been that obvious?’

‘Not to her,’ Ian said. ‘Apparently Jason noticed something and had his suspicions.’

‘Jason?’

‘Yes. Where is he?’

‘Gone shopping for something, apparently,’ Doc said.

‘Doc?’ David called. ‘Pär and Eva have some more questions about how you and I work together, across borders, though I think that might be a discussion for us over a bottle of red wine.’

‘I’m happy to answer that now.’ She left Ian, annoyed that Jason and Sue had been snooping, and also feeling like there was something Ian hadn’t told her. He had not been able to meet her eye at first, and he looked distinctly uncomfortable.

When she finished explaining her working knowledge of the different termite species of southern Africa to Eva, with some assistance from Geoff who came to her rescue, Doc turned around and saw that Ian had gone.

‘Where’s Ian?’ she asked Zola, who was now standing with Moses.

‘Oh, Margaux came just now and said that our rooms are ready when we are. Ian said he was feeling tired and wanted to go for a nap,’ Zola said.

‘And Sue?’

Zola shrugged. ‘I’m not sure.’

Doc was torn. She had a duty to stay with Eva and Pär and the students, but it was impossible to look after everyone if they were all going to wander off and do their own things during a visit to a facility. She sighed.

‘Everything all right, Denise?’ Moses asked in a sickly sweet, deep drawl.

‘Fine.’ She went back to David.

‘I think we should leave Taku and Courage to their business,’ David said. ‘We don’t want to stress the little fellow too much. I think he’s already seeing spots thanks to Pär’s camera flash.’

‘Good thinking,’ Doc said, relieved. ‘I’ll scoot back and make sure the rooms are all fine.’

‘No problem,’ David replied. ‘Doc?’

‘Yes?’

‘I know you’ve got your hands full, but do you think you might have time for a drink with me before dinner this evening, just the two of us? After all, we are supposed to be talking about formalising our links and sharing information.’

‘I’ve got tourists and students to babysit, Dave.’

‘So, is that a yes, to drinks with me before dinner?’ David said hopefully.

She put a hand on his forearm. ‘I’ll think about it.’

*

Ian lay on his back, shirtless in the midday warmth, on one of the two single beds in his rondavel. He was over his jetlag, but the days had been long. Watching animals was more tiring than it sounded.

He stared at the dry golden grass of the thatch roof above him, and caught a faint whiff of creosote from the black-painted rafter poles. He thought about Doc. She was one of the most beautiful and intelligent women he had ever met, but she was clearly troubled.

The idea that she might be being targeted by a rival academic who was prepared to kill to secure the top spot at a university, or that a criminal gang was setting out to destroy her life for payback, or that some mystery stalker was so obsessed with her that he might murder any man she’d ever had feelings for, would have been too bizarre to contemplate in a country like Australia, but on the African continent it all sounded oddly plausible.

And what of David Smith? He seemed like a good guy – charming and knowledgeable, if a little old-fashioned in the way he addressed women in public. Did Doc still harbour some feelings for David?

Ian saw movement above and for a moment wondered if it might be a snake, but it was a gecko, hanging upside down as it scurried along a beam chasing bugs.

Was he, Ian, feeling jealous? He remembered the moment of resentment he’d felt when David seemed to be flirting with Doc. Was that healthy? He had only just met her, and while they had slept together, they were not a couple – not yet, anyway. She had said she wanted to take it easy. And if their feelings for each other did develop, how would they sustain a relationship between two countries? He hadn’t come to Africa to find love, or to solve a murder mystery, but he found himself flirting around the edges of both.

It was crazy. It was Africa.

There was a metallic squeal and he looked across the room to see his doorhandle turning. His heart lurched. ‘Doc?’ he whispered.

‘No, me.’ Sue Oliver glanced furtively over her shoulder then slipped in and closed the door.

‘Sue . . .’

She put a finger to her lips and tiptoed theatrically across the polished concrete floor to where he was starting to sit up. ‘Don’t get up.’

She put a hand on his chest and it felt like her skin might burn him. With her other hand she started to undo the top two buttons of her bush shirt.

‘No, Sue.’

She grinned at him as her shirt fell open, revealing a lacy red bra. ‘No as in no, or no as in yes, don’t stop?’

‘No means no, Sue.’

She glanced down at his shorts. ‘Someone is saying yes.’

He couldn’t do anything about that. She was standing in front of him, now undoing the top button of her shorts. She undid the zip and let them fall to the floor. ‘Like what you see?’ She reached both hands behind her torso.

‘Sue. I think you should go.’

‘Then you’ll have to dress me, or tell me I’ve been a bad girl.’

‘Sue . . .’

‘Spank me?’

Shit. Doc wanted to cool things; Sue was well into her twenties and not some impressionable teenager. He was single, on holiday. He thought of Doc. No, he told himself. ‘What about Jason?’

She undid the clasp of her bra, took it off and tossed it aside. Sue put a finger to her cheek, dimpling it. ‘Hmm . . . I could ask him if he wants to join us, but I pictured you more as an MFF kind of guy, rather than an MMF threesome.’

‘That’s not what I meant, and you know it.’ He felt like he was pinned to the bed.

She stood there, hands on hips, looking down at him. ‘Don’t you think I’m attractive, Ian?’

‘No. I mean, yes. You are, but that’s not the point.’

She pointed at his crotch. ‘No, that is.’ Sue knelt down on the floor next to his bed. ‘I won’t touch you if you really don’t want me to.’

She lowered her head over his torso and stared into his eyes. ‘I want you,’ she whispered. ‘And I always get what I want.’

‘Sue, no.’

She reached for his pants and before he could grab her wrist she slid her hand under his waistband. Involuntarily, he arched his back and she used the reflex movement to slide his pants down.

Sue raised her head. ‘Going commando? Not as proper as you seem on the outside.’

Ian reached for her arm and tried to sit up. ‘I think I need to take a shower,’ he said. ‘I’m all sweaty.’

She took a long, deep breath through her nose and lowered her face to his midsection. ‘You smell good to me.’

‘Sue, stop, please.’ Enough was enough, he decided. Her advances were all very flattering, but this would only make an already complicated situation untenable. Ian put his hands in her hair and gently but firmly tried to remove himself from her.

There was a rap on the door. ‘Knock-knock,’ Doc called. ‘Can I come in?’

Ian’s heart lurched. ‘Aargh!’ He still had his fingers entwined in Sue’s hair, but hadn’t forced her away from him for fear of hurting her. ‘No!’

‘Ian,’ Doc called from outside. ‘Are you all right?’

Doc threw open the door and stormed in. She stood there, seemingly unable to move for a few seconds, one hand over her mouth. Ian now forcibly moved Sue off him.

Doc turned and ran out of the rondavel.

Chapter 24

How could I have been so stupid? Doc went to her hut and slammed the door behind her.

Almost immediately there was a knock at her door.

‘Go away!’

‘Professor Rado? Denise? Are you all right? I saw you running. You looked in distress,’ Moses Khumalo said from the other side of the door.

She felt even more of a fool. And what was that note in Moses’s voice? Was he gloating? Had he glimpsed something through Ian’s open door? ‘I’m fine.’

‘Are you sure, Prof?’ It was Zola calling now. She must have been with Moses, his little shadow.

‘Yes, I’m sure. Just go away, please!’ She heard footsteps retreating. Doc wanted to roll herself into a ball like a pangolin and grow scaly armour to keep away the world and all the evil and betrayal and greed and deceit in it. She had fallen for a married man, lost the one true love of her life, and she had allowed herself to believe that she might have found a good man once more, in Ian. And then she had pushed him away, and look what had happened next.

She mulled over everything they had discussed in the short time they had known each other. She had wanted to preserve the illusion that she cared nothing for Ian, in order to keep him safe, and five minutes later he had his dick in the mouth of one of her students.

Sue. She was a brilliant student, smarter than the others, but Doc had known she’d be trouble right from the start. And what did her being caught with Ian mean for Sue’s relationship with Jason Chow?

Doc needed time to think. She wanted to run away from this tour and be done with all of them, but that was not possible. How could she even face Ian again, after what she’d just seen? Sue could be forward, pushy, in most aspects of her academic and personal life, but it was clear from what Doc had seen that Ian had been a willing participant.

She sat down on her bed. She wanted to cry, but instead she got up and went to the sink in the rondavel’s small bathroom. Splashing water on her face, she wiped her eyes before a tear could appear. Doc took a deep breath. She had told Ian to stay away from her, and he had. The fact that he’d immediately sought solace in the arms of a twenty-something was his business. Doc had entertained the idea that maybe she and Ian could reconnect after the tour, after she had worked out who exactly was trying to harm her and her work – if, in fact, there was someone and this was not all some unfortunate string of coincidences. But Ian had taken her too literally. She had completely misread him.

Doc tried not to blame Ian, but the image of him and Sue kept forcing its way back into her brain.

‘Shit.’

Now she was angry at him. Didn’t he realise what she had really felt for him, and that all she wanted was for them to pause whatever was between them for a little while? Maybe she was better off without him, without anyone in her life. That way, if someone was out to hurt her, or destroy her, then they would have to do it head on, with her alone, and not by attacking those she was close to.

She looked at herself in the mirror. Her eyes were red but her gaze was strong. Her mouth was set firm and she gripped the handbasin tightly, not from fear of falling over or wilting like some fragile flower, or to still the rage that was growing inside her. She channelled everything she was feeling – the anger, the hurt, the loss, the fear – into one emotion, one driving force that would meld all these torrents inside her into a river of steel.

‘I am going to fucking get you,’ she said to her reflection.

*

Ian stood under the shower and turned the hot water on full. He let the mercifully strong pressure pummel his face.

‘You stupid, stupid bastard,’ he said into the spray.

He soaped and cleaned himself, got out, and vigorously dried his body. The towel was scratchy and smelled faintly of bleach and Sunlight soap. It brought back a dim memory of his grandmother’s house in Australia. He wasn’t so much angry at Sue but at his own behaviour.

He could have stopped her sooner, and frogmarched Sue out of his rondavel long before he’d actually done so in the wake of Doc leaving. He was middle-aged, more than old enough to be Sue’s father, and maybe he’d been flattered by her advances, at Antares and just now. She was a young woman who liked sex, that much was clear, and it was not as though he was unfamiliar with people looking for casual hook-ups. He’d had a few of his own over the years, and he had also prided himself in the past, when he’d held positions of authority, on recognising the warning signs in young employees who’d had crushes on him, and on knowing how to identify and deal with any inappropriate feelings he might have had towards junior staff.

For those reasons he mentally kicked himself once again as he ran a brush through his hair. He dressed in clean shorts and shirt, and put on his sandals. Ian drew a deep breath as he opened the door and went out into the warm afternoon.

A gardener was watering flowers outside one of the rondavels and he looked up as Ian passed. ‘How are you?’ the man asked.

‘Fine,’ Ian lied. But he wouldn’t be, until he’d spoken to Doc.

He walked between the clutch of rondavels to Doc’s dwelling. There was no one else visible and he guessed the other members of the tour were sleeping or reading, or working on their academic projects.

He stopped, paused a moment to compose himself, and knocked on her door. There was no answer.

‘Doc?’ he tried. ‘Denise?’ There was only silence. He looked over his shoulder, hoping that no one had heard what had gone on earlier, and that no one was spying on him through their curtain. In the car park, he noticed that Jason Chow’s white HiLux, with its distinctive blue and white South African number plate, was now present. It hadn’t been there earlier, so Jason had obviously arrived after the business between him and Sue. Was he with her now? Their group had taken over all of the roundhouses, so Ian assumed that if Jason was staying the night he would be sleeping in Sue’s chalet. Would that be weird for her? Would she tell Jason what had happened between Ian and her? Were they laughing at him even now?

Ian wondered if Doc was just lying low, avoiding him, but as bad as she might be feeling right now, she did not strike him as the type of person who would hide from a confrontation. Perhaps she had gone for a walk.

Ian looked around again and decided to head for the research camp’s dining and common area. Maybe Doc was there. With David Smith.

A rush of jealousy, even resentment, boiled up inside him. Ian had been the innocent party in the incident between him and Sue, and he just wanted a chance to explain to Doc exactly what happened. What if what she had seen had driven her into David’s arms? That would be a monumental disaster. Ian quickened his step. He didn’t know where David lived, but guessed he was in the big old farmhouse that also served as the lounge and dining area.

As he passed the rondavel closest to the large building, however, he heard noises.

There was a squeak, like rusty bed springs, and a sound like a woman moaning. Ian had seen Sue checking into the rondavel at the far end of the complex, the furthest from the dining area, and he had a recollection that Dr Khumalo had asked to be closest to the facilities. It seemed Moses always had to get his own way when it came to accommodation choices or the best seat in a vehicle.

Ian slowed down.

‘Yes!’ a voice called out from inside. It sounded like a woman.

Ian shook his head. It sounded like someone was having sex in the hut. Was it Khumalo and Zola? He didn’t want to be a voyeur, but it was hard to ignore the screech that followed. He was almost at the common area when he heard a male voice, raised, speaking an African language. Ian couldn’t understand what was being said, but he was now sure it was Dr Khumalo, and the woman who answered, in the same language, was definitely Zola. It sounded like a fight.

It was none of Ian’s business, but when he heard a short, sharp crack, like the sound of flesh hitting flesh, he stopped in his tracks.

‘No!’ Zola yelled from inside.

Ian ran a hand through his hair. For the first time since he’d arrived in Africa he wished he was somewhere else. He didn’t know whether to knock on Khumalo’s door and ask what was going on, or to mind his own business. He’d once had a girlfriend who liked to be spanked, and while this could have been some kind of sex game going on between the professor and the student, he’d detected a note of panic in Zola’s cry. He had turned and started heading for the rondavel when the door flew open.

Zola ran out. She wore shorts, but was barefoot. She carried her sneakers in one hand and clutched her half-open blouse in front of her.

‘Zola, are you OK?’ Ian asked.

She glanced over her shoulder. ‘Fine. It’s nothing.’

The door of the rondavel slammed closed.

Ian stood there a moment and watched as Zola ran into another hut and closed the door behind her.

Ian looked up at the sky. ‘What have I got myself into?’

He carried on towards the common area, deciding that a cup of coffee might help settle him down. Just as he was walking up the steps to the dining area, which was an open space under a thatch roof supported by timber poles, Doc appeared from the far side of Khumalo’s rondavel.

She looked at him but said nothing. Ian paused on the steps.

‘Hi,’ he said.

Doc came towards him, then squeezed past him and walked up into the dining area. She went to an electric urn on a table and spooned instant coffee into a mug.

Ian joined her. ‘I had the same idea.’

‘What, to fuck one of my students, like Khumalo just did?’ Her voice was cold. She added boiling water and stirred her coffee.

‘No,’ Ian took a cup, ‘to get a coffee.’

Doc sighed. ‘Look, you do what you want. I’ve got bigger problems to deal with.’

‘Nothing happened between Sue and me,’ he said.

Doc scoffed. ‘From where I was standing it was a different picture.’

‘I was trying to stop her.’

‘Trying very hard.’

‘Doc . . .’

She held up her hands to him. ‘Save it. You’re single, you can do whatever you want – especially as I told you I wanted to cool it between us for now, because I was worried for you.’

He shook his head. ‘I think you’re scared to commit, Denise. I understand it, but I was happy to leave things as they were, and to continue getting to know you. I’ve got no interest in Sue at all.’

‘Yet you didn’t say no to a head job.’

‘I tried. And by the way, nothing happened.’

‘Forget it. I’m more worried about Zola than I am about you and Sue, Ian.’

He nodded. ‘Did you hear what I heard?’

She frowned.

‘Where were you? Were you spying on them?’ he asked.

‘I went out for a walk, to clear my head. You might understand why.’

He ignored the barb. He knew she hadn’t been in her rondavel. ‘You must have been on the other side of Khumalo’s bungalow from where I was.’

She said nothing.

‘I heard a noise like a slap. Did you hear that as well?’ he pressed.

Doc exhaled and relaxed her stiff posture a little. ‘I guessed there was something between them,’ she said, ‘and because Zola’s no longer an undergrad, and he’s not her actual lecturer or supervisor, he’s not technically breaching the university’s code of conduct. But it doesn’t feel right to me. He’s got a reputation for bedding students.’

‘So their relationship’s consensual?’ Ian said.

Doc shrugged. ‘As much as it can be when an older, married professor is sleeping with a student. I doubt it’s love.’

‘The blesser thing you mentioned?’ Ian said. ‘Moses as the sugar daddy?’

‘Maybe,’ Doc said, ‘but that doesn’t give him the right to hurt her.’

‘Of course not,’ Ian said.

‘I’m going to talk to Zola,’ Doc said, ‘but first I have a meeting, about pangolin research and cross-border policing and conservation issues.’

As if on cue, David Smith walked into the dining area from the kitchen. He had a bottle of white wine and two glasses with him.

‘Howzit, my girl,’ he said to Doc, beaming.

‘Dave, this is a business talk.’

He held the bottle up. ‘One or two won’t hurt.’

‘I think I’ll get going.’ Ian turned and walked back down the stairs.

Ian felt foolish all over again, for having allowed the situation with Sue to progress as far as it had, and then for trying to apologise to Doc only to find that she was going to see another of her former lovers.

He didn’t know Zola very well at all, but she had seemed distressed, and if Doc was too busy to talk to her now, then he would. He walked across the grass to her hut and knocked on the door.

‘Go away,’ she said from inside.

‘Zola, it’s Ian.’

‘Oh.’ He heard footsteps and then the door opened a crack. She wiped her eye. ‘Sorry; I’m not feeling very well at the moment. Do you need something?’

‘I just wanted to see if you were OK.’

‘Why wouldn’t I be?’

‘I, um, saw you just now, walking back here, and I heard what sounded like someone in distress.’

The door closed in his face and Ian hoped he hadn’t offended her too much. Then the door opened again and Ian could see she was undoing a security latch.

‘Sorry,’ she said. ‘You can come in for a minute if you like.’

Ian entered and after a quick scan of the surroundings outside, Zola closed the door. She moved some of her clothes and a daypack from the one chair in the room. ‘Sorry,’ she picked up a skirt off the floor, ‘the place is a mess.’

‘It’s fine,’ he said.

Zola sat on the bed and her shoulders slumped. She looked up at him and he could tell she had been crying. ‘I’m actually fine. I just didn’t want to make a scene outside, so you can go when you’re ready.’

He wasn’t sure what to say, so he decided to just come right out with it. ‘Did he hit you, Zola?’

She looked down at her hands, which were folded in her lap. ‘You don’t understand,’ she said softly.

‘I understand that there are some things a good man just does not do.’

Zola lifted her head. ‘I can’t live without him.’

Ian leaned forward, his elbows on his knees, to bridge the gap between them while not invading her space. ‘You’re young, Zola. You can find another man, a partner, a good person.’

She shook her head. ‘No, you don’t understand. I can’t live, as in, I can’t afford my rent, food, my car, my life, without him.’

He sat back.

‘I’ve shocked you,’ she said.

‘No,’ he said. ‘I just thought you meant that you love him.’

‘God, no,’ she said. ‘I don’t love Moses, I just need him right now. Wages in this country are so low, and I really want to finish my studies, but I can’t afford to support myself on what I would make working part-time. Moses knows this; I’m not his first. It’s a mutually beneficial arrangement.’

Ian looked into her eyes. ‘Not if he hits you.’

‘You don’t understand . . .’ She held his stare for a few brave seconds, then looked down at her feet. ‘And he doesn’t hit me.’

‘Doc’s worried about you,’ he said, changing tack.

‘She should be more concerned about Moses.’

‘What do you mean?’

Zola looked up at him, and in her eyes he saw a flash of fear, or regret at what she’d just said. Ian said nothing, hoping that Zola would elaborate. Doc – and Ian – had their suspicions that Moses was waging a campaign against her, but this could be proof.

Zola began wringing her hands, and she dropped her eyes again. She said in a quiet voice: ‘Doc’s been asking questions about Moses and his brother, Joe – they call him Big Joe – who has a construction business that does work for the university. I overheard Moses talking on the phone about it – Doc thinks Moses was involved in some corrupt deal to give a major project at the university to his brother and inflate the price. The university paid tens of millions of rand for a new wing, but I heard Doc telling someone that a builder she had talked to estimated the university was overcharged something like twenty million rand. When Moses and Joe were talking, I heard Big Joe say some terrible things.’

Ian waited. Zola glanced out the window, as if to check if someone was listening. She looked him in the eyes. ‘Moses would never kill anyone.’

Ian was taken aback. ‘Why do you say that?’

Zola bit her lower lip. ‘Moses’s brother said over the phone that he could find a way to take care of Doc, that he knew someone who could get rid of what they called their “problem” permanently.’

‘What did Moses say to that?’ Ian asked.

‘Um, something like, “don’t say such things”, and “especially not over the phone”. I then heard Big Joe say “I’m not stupid enough to hurt her – but maybe get to her via someone she loves”. That kind of thing.’

Shit. Ian thought hard. ‘Have you met Moses’s brother?’

‘Once,’ Zola said. ‘At a nightclub. Moses and I were . . . well we bumped into each other in the same club.’

He said nothing. She was trying to protect her modesty even though she probably knew that Ian knew that she and Moses had just been having sex before their fight. ‘Go on,’ he said.

‘Big Joe is not a nice man. He is very wealthy. He’s what we call a “tender-preneur” here, making money out of building and other contracts. He’s a big shot in the ruling ANC party – the African National Congress – but from what I’ve heard from others he’s just a gangster. He had two women with him the night I met him, and they were all drunk, and then, well, when Moses went to the bathroom, Big Joe propositioned me. I told him, no, thank you, and he called me some terrible names.’

‘Yes, not nice at all,’ Ian said. ‘Did Big Joe say anything about Doc in the club, when you met him?’

Zola shook her head, then took a tissue out of her pocket and dabbed at her eyes and blew her nose. ‘No. But . . .’

Again, she chewed her lower lip. ‘When Moses was back with us his brother was smiling and polite, and I wanted to leave, but Moses told me I must stay, have a drink and enjoy myself. The brother started asking me about my studies, about pangolins. He was very interested in how much they were worth in the Asian market, and asked me what I knew about the illegal trade. Moses was saying how Doc was recklessly involved in sting operations, and allowing the university to be criticised for professors acting like vigilantes. His brother kept turning the conversation to money and he asked me things like how many police were involved in undercover operations, how Doc made contact with the poachers, that sort of thing.’

‘And what did you tell him, Zola?’

She locked eyes with him. ‘Nothing. I was not going to give away Doc’s secrets, and his questions and the way he asked them made me think that Big Joe was very interested in the pangolin trade.’

‘Have you told Doc any of this?’

Zola shook her head. ‘No. I was embarrassed about having to explain what I was doing in a club with Moses. I . . . he . . .’

He could see the confusion and mixed emotions in her pretty face. He had a paternal urge to reach out to her, or give her a hug, but he knew that would be inappropriate. ‘You don’t need to explain anything to me, Zola. It’s OK. I’m just worried for Doc, and trying to work out what’s been going on.’

‘I don’t want to talk about what happened with Moses and me, just now, in his rondavel.’

‘OK.’

‘But,’ she wrapped the tissue between her fingers before she continued, ‘I’m from a poor family. I receive a bursary, but it only goes so far. I don’t know about Australia but we struggle to get by here and sometimes students like me, we need some . . . assistance.’

He could guess at the arrangement, and Doc had already speculated on it.

Zola held up a hand. ‘I know, or can guess what you might be thinking, but I am not stupid, Ian, or gullible, and nor am I a sex worker.’

‘I never would have thought that.’

‘I am aware of my rights as a woman, to make my own choices, and while some arrangements might not be ideal, I know when something is not right, and I am strong enough to be able to walk away, if that is my decision.’

‘Of course. But you can understand if Doc – and, hell, even me – is worried for you?’

‘I can, and I appreciate that, Ian, but while I might be younger than you and Doc, I am not a child. I respect Professor Rado immensely, but I would appreciate it now if you and she stayed out of my private life.’

Ian nodded. ‘I’m sorry.’

Zola reached out a hand and touched his forearm. ‘You’ve no need to be, but I can look after myself. I think Moses wants the top job at the university – he is very ambitious – but I don’t think he wants to hurt Doc, or anyone else. I wouldn’t be with him if I thought he was capable of violence, but . . .’

‘Yes?’ Ian prompted.

‘But I felt like I needed to tell someone about Big Joe. And, please, Ian, if you pass this on to Professor Rado, I don’t want my name associated with it.’

‘I understand.’

Zola stood. ‘Thank you for your concern, but I think I’d like some time by myself now.’

Ian stood and let himself out of her room.

Outside, in the afternoon light, he felt unsettled. He had messed up with Doc, by letting Sue go as far as she did, but he felt an anger growing inside him that someone – maybe Moses Khumalo’s brother – might be deliberately targeting Doc, and he wanted that someone to be brought to justice.

Margaux’s Land Cruiser pulled into the car park near the rondavels and she and Sara got out. Sara hauled her camera out of the vehicle and walked over to him. Margaux waved to Ian and headed to her rondavel.

‘I’ve just been out getting some more pangolin footage with one of the local volunteers,’ Sara announced, looking pleased with herself.

‘Great.’

‘Why the long face?’ Sara asked. ‘Don’t tell me someone else has been murdered.’

‘Haha,’ Ian said.

‘Sorry, bad joke. Black humour was something I got used to in the army. Seriously, what’s on your mind?’

Ian sensed that aside from Doc herself, Sara was the only one he could confide his theory in, so he decided to come out with it. ‘I think the killing of Doc’s police partner, and of Graham and Oscar, and the plot to kidnap a pangolin are all linked, and I’ve got a strong suspicion that Moses Khumalo, or maybe his brother, a guy called Big Joe, are involved,’ Ian said. He explained to Sara about the brother’s big construction contract for the university, and the implied threat to Doc’s safety.

‘Who told you all this?’ Sara asked.

‘Come to my room and we’ll talk,’ Ian said. Sara nodded and he led her to his rondavel, opened the door, and let her in. Sara set her gear down on the floor. Ian sat on the bed and Sara took the seat by the dressing table.

‘I can’t say where I got my information,’ Ian said.

Sara nodded. ‘Zola.’ She held up a hand. ‘Don’t worry, I know about protecting sources – I had that argument with Doc. You don’t need to say anything, but it’s obvious there’s something going on between Moses and Zola. Is this business really worth killing over?’

‘By my rough calculations, Moses’s brother, Big Joe, could have made more than a million US dollars on top of what the building project was really worth, if my information is correct.’

Sara whistled. ‘That is worth killing for.’

‘Also, Big Joe seems to have an unhealthy interest in the pangolin trade.’

‘Hmm.’ Sara put a finger to her lips and seemed to be thinking. ‘One of the theories about the sting operation in which Jurie van Rensburg was killed was that whoever did it wanted to take out Jurie – or Doc – and the Chinese buyer, John Chen, who went to the meet. Chen had been the subject of a failed hit, so the theory was that the killer wanted to take out two, or maybe three birds with one ambush.’

Ian nodded. ‘Big Joe sounds like a bad guy, and he boasted of “knowing someone” who could get rid of Doc – kill her, Sara.’

‘Ian, I know it sounds dramatic, but I’m sorry to say that this is business as usual here in South Africa. And it’s not even unheard of for senior university staff to be the victims of hit men.’

Ian shook his head. He was still finding all of this hard to believe, even though the more he learned, such as Zola’s new information, the more it all seemed to fit Doc’s theory of a conspiracy. ‘So much for the hallowed halls of academia.’

Sara nodded. ‘Yeah, forget that shit. A university’s like any big company or government body – it’s about power and money.’

Ian thought it through. ‘Yes. And a direct hit on Doc would have been too obvious, since people knew that she had been asking questions about Moses and Big Joe. If it was just her who had been killed then she would have been more of a focus for the police investigation. Big Joe also allegedly said something about getting to Doc by doing something to someone she loved.’

‘Exactly.’ Sara reached for her camera bag and unzipped it as she continued. ‘As it was, the cops were looking into the pangolin buyer and who might have wanted to kill him, and I guess they saw Jurie’s death as more or less an unfortunate example of the risks police officers face here in South Africa every day. Killing Doc would have been like assassinating a high-profile politician or celebrity which, in her own way, she is, in the context of the university and its internal power struggle. Doc’s a candidate to be the next vice chancellor of the university. Either Moses or his brother, or both of them, have their reasons for pressuring her to drop out of the race.’

Ian nodded. ‘And what if she has a change of heart, and decides to pursue the vice chancellor’s position?’

Sara gave him a glum look.

Chapter 25

After one too many drinks over dinner, Doc pushed her chair back from David’s kitchen table. ‘I think I should go and have a nightcap with my students and guests and brief them about tomorrow.’

The corners of David’s mouth turned down as he stood. ‘I was hoping you might stay a little longer for coffee, dessert . . .’

She saw the grin returning and she laughed. ‘You’re incorrigible, David. Goodnight.’

Doc paused on David’s stoep by his open front door and took a deep breath. She could hear voices, and the tinkling of cutlery on crockery from the lapa, the open-sided, thatch-roofed dining area. Somewhere in the dark a bush baby, a greater galago, shrieked.

She straightened her shoulders and walked down the path from David’s house to the main part of the camp, and through to the dining area. The first thing she noticed was that Ian was the only one missing from the long dining table. Even Jason Chow was there.

‘Hi, Doc,’ Geoff said. ‘I’m afraid we’ve got some bad news about Ian.’

‘What is it?’ She tried to keep her face deadpan.

‘A car, a private taxi, arrived earlier this evening at the gate while I was outside doing a workout. The security guy let him in and I asked the driver who he was looking for. The guy said he had a booking to collect Ian’s luggage and take it to the airport.’

‘Oh.’ She didn’t know what else to say.

‘I asked the guy where Ian was and the driver said he had spoken to Ian, who said he was in Harare, and had decided to fly back to Australia.’

‘Australia?’

‘That’s what the guy said. He also said that if anyone should ask what was going on that he should just say “sorry on behalf of Ian”. Sue and I went to Ian’s room and got his things together and gave them to the guy.’

Doc shot Sue a look, but she was staring down at her dinner plate. Doc glanced at Jason, but he seemed to be as bewildered as any of the others. It was clear Sue had not told Jason what had happened between her and Ian. Perhaps their relationship wasn’t as open as Sue had told Ian it was. And why hadn’t Ian come back to pack his own bag? She didn’t take him for a coward.

Doc was flummoxed. A mix of emotions brewed up inside her and she had to grasp the back of her dining chair to steady herself as she sat down.

‘Are you OK, Doc?’ Geoff asked.

‘Yes, yes. Fine. It’s just . . . a bit of a surprise.’ She looked at Sue again. ‘I wonder what could have made him decide to leave.’

Eva dabbed her lips with a serviette. ‘He seemed fine to me earlier on in the day. Although he did seem a bit miffed about not getting his usual seat in the bus next to you, Doc.’

Doc blushed. Had it all been that obvious to everyone? Eva was being catty, but she was also very perceptive.

‘I’m not sure that pangolins were the only thing on his mind,’ Pär said, ‘but I shall miss him.’

Doc didn’t know how to feel. On the one hand she felt foolish and angry that she had driven away a man who clearly had feelings for her, but on the other she was relieved – if he flew home to Australia then at least he would be safe. And then there was that business with Sue, which still made her clench her fists by her sides as she looked again at the student.

Doc cleared her throat. ‘Well, I’m sorry to hear that. Did anyone actually see Ian leave?’

Sue gave a little nod. ‘I did,’ she said in a soft voice.

‘Did he say anything?’ Doc asked, now doubly annoyed that it had taken so long for Sue to speak up.

She shook her head. ‘No. I asked him where he was going – he was at the gate with his daypack – and he just told me he needed to go for a walk to clear his head.’

Doc drilled Sue with her stare. ‘I wonder why.’

Sue looked down again.

‘This is all very weird,’ Sara said from the end of the table. ‘What would make him want to leave all of a sudden like this? I spoke to him before he left and he didn’t mention anything about wanting to go back to Australia. And why leave without his luggage and then send someone to fetch it?’

Doc kept her gaze on Sue. ‘I have no idea at all.’

‘What’s the plan for tomorrow, chief?’ Pär said, his tone light and bright.

Doc forced her thoughts back to the tour. ‘We’re driving to Mana Pools National Park, about four hundred kilometres from here, and we’ll stay in a camp there. Jason won’t have time to go to Mana Pools as he has to drive from here across the country to Victoria Falls, where we’ll fly after we’re finished in the national park. As you would have read in your itinerary, David and his team have released some pangolins into the bush at Mana Pools and we’re going to see how they’re getting on. While we’re in the air and seeing the Falls, Margaux will also drive the tour vehicle to Victoria Falls and meet us there. We’ll have two nights in the Falls, then we’ll drive with Margaux through Botswana and into Namibia. Any questions?’

Doc’s businesslike tone discouraged anyone from asking anything. She looked around the table and noted that Sue was still downcast. It served her right. Doc put her hands on the table and stood. ‘Right. I’m having an early night. I’m sorry about Ian, but I hope the rest of us enjoy what’s left of the tour.’

Doc couldn’t wait to get out of the dining area. She walked down the stairs towards her rondavel but paused to look up at the night sky. Clouds scudded across the face of the full, golden moon. There should not have been rain at this time of year, but she knew the weather in Harare was changeable. She felt the chill of night more keenly here, as the city was higher than the areas they had passed through already.

It was more than the weather. She felt like a cold hand was wrapped around her heart. Ian was gone – perhaps driven away by her – but something wasn’t right.

Chapter 26

Ian woke to the torment of the worst headache of his life, and a world of darkness. He tried to kick out with his feet and wiggle his hands and arms, but his body refused to respond.

‘Help!’ His scream reverberated back at him from what felt and smelled like a scratchy hessian hood, which he sucked back into his mouth as he tried to draw a new breath. His heart was thumping. Was he paralysed? He passed back into oblivion.

When he awoke again – he had no idea how long he’d been out for either the first or second time – he found he could feel his limbs. His face was still hooded, but he could make out a faint light through the coarse weave. He tried to lift his right hand and felt the bite of rope on his wrist; his left was also tied, as were his ankles. He was on a mattress. He forced himself to lie still.

There was a creak, like the sound of a door on rusty hinges.

‘He is awake. I heard movement,’ a deep male voice said.

There were footsteps slapping on a floor, perhaps two people. ‘Look how he pretends to be unconscious, still.’

Ian held his breath, but exhaled in a gasp when the blow came, a short, sharp jab to the side of his chest.

‘See, I told you.’ The man with the deep voice laughed.

Ian winced as he took another breath. ‘What do you want?’

‘You,’ the man said. Another chuckled this time.

Ian tried to sound brave. ‘Well, you’ve got me, so what next. A ransom?’

‘Are you a rich man, Mr Laidlaw?’

By whose standards? ‘Not really.’

‘No current wife, no parents, no children?’

Current wife? No children. They had information on him, but, presumably, that was natural. But why him? He was no Bill Gates. There was only one thing, or, rather, one person, he could think of. Doc. But how to play this?

‘We just need you to lie here nice and quietly,’ the main man said. His offsider seemed content to stay silent. ‘If you call for help again, I can gag you, but I don’t think that will be so nice with a hood on as well. OK?’

Ian nodded.

‘That’s the way.’

‘Do you have to keep me tied to the bed? What about if I need . . . to go.’

The second fiddle, as Ian now thought of him, laughed at that.

‘I’m going to untie you now,’ Deep Voice said. ‘But don’t try to escape. There are burglar bars on the window and there’s a sliding security gate on the other side of the wooden door. We’re watching you, with a camera, as well. Just stay silent, like I said, and behave yourself, and you’ll get out of here alive.’

‘When?’

‘Stupid questions like that will make me have to gag you.’

Ian said nothing.

He lay still and heard footsteps, one person, then a door open and close. Ian snatched his hand away at the feel of the other man’s touch.

‘Stay still. Like I said, I’m going to untie you, but if you act stupid I’ll shoot you full of Special K again.’

Ian tried to calm himself as the man undid the knots on his wrists and ankles.

‘Now stay still until you hear the door close behind me. Don’t remove the hood until I am gone.’

‘Or?’

‘Or I’ll shoot you.’

Ian heard a sound he knew from a thousand crime shows and movies, a pistol being cocked. He waited until he heard Deep Voice leave, and the door close behind him. True to the man’s words, Ian then heard the grating and slamming of what sounded like a sliding steel security barrier on the other side.

He sat up, reached for his neck, found a drawstring and unfastened the hood. He took it off, blinking as he took in his surroundings. There was a single window, with fitted steel burglar bars and a cracked glass pane. It looked like a sheet of something thin and semitranslucent had been hung or nailed over the outside, so he couldn’t see out.

Ian stood and felt his legs go weak. He clutched the metal bedhead to steady himself and took a deep breath. ‘Special K’, the man had said, and the term had rung a bell. His brain was woolly, but he was sure it was a drug that he’d heard of. He forced himself to concentrate, searching his memory, and used the mental task to try and calm himself.

‘Ketamine,’ he whispered. It was some kind of tranquilliser – for animals, he recalled – and was also used recreationally. Why anyone would want to feel semiconscious and paralysed, he couldn’t imagine.

Ian went to the window and stood by it. He tilted his head, listening. There was a bird calling, and it sounded familiar. A dove, maybe. Next he heard the brief whine of a starter motor and an engine coming to life. The vehicle idled a few moments then drove off. Did that leave him with only one captor, or was there a squad of them lounging about outside? He heard no voices.

Ian ran a hand through his hair and winced as his fingers brushed over the egg-sized lump on the back of his head. He remembered someone hitting him. He looked around him.

His prison was a room in a house, the size of a small single bedroom. There was the metal-framed bed and a pine side table whose top was scarred with cigarette burns and drink stains. There was no chair, but a galvanised metal bucket was under the table. He guessed that was for him to use to go to the toilet. His watch was gone.

Ian looked up. The ceiling was made of plasterboard or, as it seemed to be an old dwelling, maybe asbestos. There was an access hole and cover, so he dragged the bed over until it was under the manhole, reached up and pushed against it. ‘Damn.’ The cover was nailed shut, but he guessed he could punch through it, or the ceiling.

He sat on the bed. Why had they taken him?

There was a bang on the door. Ian stood up and went to it.

‘Don’t try to touch the fucking roof again,’ Deep Voice said from the other side. ‘I told you we’re watching you.’

Ian sat. Obviously, they hadn’t been bluffing about the camera. He looked up and scanned the ceiling. Sure enough, he noticed a small hole in one corner, above where the moulded cornice met the plaster or asbestos sheeting. The thought of them watching his every move sent a chill down his spine.

He put his elbows on his knees and his head in his hands.

*

Sometime later, maybe an hour – Ian couldn’t judge the time – Deep Voice unlocked the door and entered again.

He was neither tall nor short, but he was wide in the shoulders and his black skivvy top clung to well-defined muscles. Likewise, his quads bulged in his legs. Glimpses of white skin showed at his wrists, above his black leather gloves, and although he wore a ski mask, Ian could see that the man had blue eyes. It was hard to gauge his age.

He had a pistol in one hand, and a laptop computer in the other. He raised the firearm so it was pointing at Ian’s head and handed the computer to him. ‘Take it.’

Ian took the laptop and looked up at him. ‘What do you want me to do with this?’

‘Open it. Go to the web browser and log into your online bank account in Australia. You’re going to show me the balance.’

Ian thought fast. ‘I don’t know the password.’

‘OK, fine, Ian, no problem.’

The man’s tone was measured and Ian thought he had got away with the lie. The man reached into the pocket of his cargo pants and pulled out a metal cylinder, about fifteen centimetres long.

‘You know what this is?’

Ian shook his head.

‘It’s a suppressor. On TV and in the movies they call them silencers.’ He screwed it onto the end of the barrel of his pistol. ‘Unlike in the films, it doesn’t actually kill all the noise. Listen.’

Deep Voice lowered the tip of the barrel and squeezed the trigger. Ian started at the bang that filled the bedroom, and felt the rush of air pass his leg as a hole appeared in the wooden floorboard right next to his foot. A few centimetres to the left and the bullet would have taken his little toe off. He felt his insides churn. Deep Voice put the suppressor against Ian’s temple and it was almost hot enough to burn him.

‘Without money, you’re useless to me. Goodbye.’

Ian held up his hands and the man stepped away, but kept the pistol pointed at him. ‘I’ve just remembered my password.’

Deep Voice laughed. ‘Good man.’

Ian logged in, his fingers shaking. What the hell, it was only money.

Deep Voice moved so he could see over Ian’s shoulder. ‘Ninety-seven thousand Australian dollars.’ He reached into his pocket again and took out a piece of paper with numbers written on it. ‘Transfer it all to this account. Now.’

‘I’ve got a daily limit. I can only send you ten thousand.’

‘I’m not stupid, Ian. Of course you have a limit. Change it. I’ve got your phone here, so when it sends a PIN I’ll read it out to you and you can stop fucking wasting my time, and start sending me some money.’

Deep Voice jabbed his temple again with the pistol.

‘All right, all right.’ Ian did as the man asked. ‘Then will you let me go?’

‘Sorry, no. My employers have got another use for you.’

Employers? Ian filed the small piece of information away. What use other than money could he be to someone in Africa?

‘We know,’ Deep Voice continued, ‘that you’re worth a lot more than 97 K, boet, so you’re going to make a little video to send to someone who cares about you.’

‘Who?’

‘The lady professor, Rado, the pangolin lady. For now she just thinks you ran away from your little tour, and we’ll keep it that way for the two working days it will take for your money to move from Australia to the other bank account. Then she’ll get a video with you telling her to organise another one million dollars for us, and advising her to keep her pretty face out of the news media, away from the cops, and out of public life.’

‘Doc . . . Professor Rado –’ Ian began.

‘Has a big mouth, and she’s worked with the cops,’ Deep Voice said, ‘which is why you have to make it clear to her that she has to keep those pretty lips of hers closed, if she cares anything at all about you.’

Ian’s mind raced. They – Deep Voice’s employers – were targeting Doc just as much as they were aiming to empty his bank balance. And, they had inside information; they knew he and Doc had become close. Doc hadn’t been paranoid at all – someone was out to get her, by targeting people who were or had been close to her.

It had to be Moses Khumalo, who wanted the top job at the university, and his brother, Big Joe, who would likely be the target of a high-level tender corruption investigation if Doc became the vice chancellor.

‘Stop thinking and keep typing, Ian.’ Deep Voice gestured to the computer screen with his pistol. ‘The money isn’t going to transfer itself.’

*

The Sniper closed and locked the door on Ian Laidlaw, then slid home a bolt and padlocked it.

He went through to the lounge room of the old house on the outskirts of Harare. The house was on a maize farm which had been taken from its white owners and allowed to go to ruin, reinvigorated at some point by a returning farmer, then once more abandoned. The current owner, a major in the Zimbabwean Army, had been happy to take cash for a month’s rental.

The Sniper took out the burner phone he had bought before leaving South Africa, opened the Telegram encrypted messaging app and sent a message.

Laidlaw has transferred the first $50,000, his new daily limit. He will do the rest tomorrow. I have told him that when we do the video for the lady professor he must make it clear to her that she is to keep quiet if she wants Laidlaw to live.

The reply came a minute later. Good. We need her to be afraid. The finalisation of candidates for the top job will be next week. We need to keep Laidlaw on ice and Rado scared and preoccupied until then.

Understood. The Sniper smiled.

The three dots on the screen flickered as the sender composed a reply. It came through. Good job, Ralph.

Chapter 27

The bull elephant walked through the camp in Mana Pools National Park, no more than five metres from where Doc was sitting on a director’s chair, and ambled towards the Zambezi River.

In her peripheral vision Doc saw Eva and Pär standing on the wooden deck in front of their safari tent; Pär was taking a picture of Doc through his telephoto lens as the elephant passed her.

The giant creature rose up on his hind legs, like some circus animal performing on command, but this was a natural act. His trunk extended vertically, like a great, grey submarine periscope, and he delicately plucked an apple ring acacia seed pod from a high branch.

Sara was filming. Zola and Moses were still in the male professor’s tent. Hopefully they were packing; Doc didn’t want to think what else they might be up to. It was as if they’d dropped almost all pretence of not being a couple of some sort. Just thinking about other people possibly being intimate – no matter how one-sided or improper their relationship might be – brought Ian back into her thoughts.

As for Zola and Moses, if Zola had wanted to make a complaint about Moses or escape him when they were at David Smith’s sanctuary in Harare, it now seemed as though all had been forgiven. Moses had been uncharacteristically friendly towards Doc these last two days.

Sara had relayed Ian’s conversation with Zola to Doc after Ian had left. Doc had not fronted Zola, out of respect for her feelings and the difficult situation she was in, but she was inclined to agree with Zola’s summation that Moses, for all his faults, was not the kind of man to hire a hit man to rub out his academic competition. Big Joe Khumalo, however, might be a different proposition altogether.

Doc’s phone dinged. She was connected to the camp’s satellite wi-fi, which was slow but good enough to send and receive WhatsApp messages. She checked her watch. It would be time for her to round up her charges in ten minutes so they could catch their charter flight from Mana Pools to Victoria Falls. At least there would be some room on the flight, with Ian and Geoff no longer with the flying group.

Doc checked her messages. ‘Speak of the devil,’ she said to herself. The message was from Geoff.

Hi Prof. I’m in hospital! Good news is that it’s not malaria.

That was some measure of good news, though it had to be something bad if he had been admitted to hospital in Harare. Geoff had come down with a fever a few hours after Ian had left, and sweated through the night. He had seemed disorientated and delusional when Doc had gone to see him the morning of their departure for Mana Pools. He had called her ‘Mom’, for a start.

Staring down the wrath of Eva, who’d made it clear she’d had more than enough disruptions on this trip, Doc had gratefully agreed with David’s suggestion that he take Geoff to the doctor and that they should carry on.

‘If he comes right, I’ll drive him up to Mana to meet up with you, Doc,’ David had said. ‘I don’t need much of an excuse to visit the valley.’

The Zambezi Valley was, Doc reflected, even more beautiful than she remembered from her last trip, and they’d had a productive two days seeing three pangolins that had been released into Mana Pools National Park by researchers from the University of Zimbabwe. Now, a hippo honked nearby and morning sun glittered on the wide expanse of river. Hazy green hills rose across the water on the Zambian side.

Doc wished that Ian was here with her to share the natural beauty. A procession of crested guineafowl chatted as they bustled past her, their distinctive heads giving her the impression of little ladies with elaborate black beehive hairdos. They had seen painted dogs late yesterday afternoon on their way to sundowners at Long Pool. Hyenas had patrolled the camp from early evening and they’d heard lions calling every night. Ian would have loved it.

Her phone dinged again and the rest of Geoff’s message came through. Just a bad case of food poisoning, but I’m on a drip. Won’t make it to Mana. That much was blindingly obvious; Doc wondered if Geoff might still be delirious. David says I can get a bus to Victoria Falls from Harare tomorrow, if I’m OK.

Geoff was one less millennial to worry about. Sue had made something of an effort to entertain Pär and Eva with her knowledge of pangolins on their walks in Mana Pools, and Doc wondered if she was trying to atone for what had gone on with Ian – whatever that was – or if she was just happy to be of some use because her other distraction, Jason Chow, was somewhere on the road to Victoria Falls.

‘Time to go, Denise.’

Doc swivelled her head and saw Patrick Sibanda, who had been their guide during their stay at the camp. He was ready to drive them to the airstrip in his Land Rover game viewer.

‘Thanks, Patrick; I’ll round them up.’ She put her hands on the arms of the chair and forced herself up and back into action.

Zola came out of Moses’s tent, carrying her backpack in one hand and Moses’s wheelie bag in the other.

‘Don’t drag it through the dust,’ Moses said to her, ‘the dirt will clog the wheels.’

Doc held her tongue. Moses might have been treating her civilly, but he was still acting like a pig towards poor Zola. Whether or not she had made up with him, or if she was still a consenting, willing participant in their relationship, there was no excuse for him treating her like a slave.

Patrick helped them all stow their bags and packs in the back row of seats on the Land Rover. As they were leaving camp, Doc’s phone dinged again. She took it out of her pocket, moved her sunglasses to the top of her head and looked at the screen. There was a message from a caller she did not know, a South African number. Whoever it was had sent a video, but Doc noticed that the wi-fi icon at the top of her phone had gone blank now that they had moved beyond the reach of the camp’s internet coverage. The video had stopped downloading, so she couldn’t view it.

The message would have to wait. In any case, Doc told herself, it was probably spam.

*

‘Thank you.’ Doc took a glass of sauvignon blanc with ice in it from the waitress on board the cruise boat on the Zambezi River, upstream from Victoria Falls. ‘I can’t tell you how much I need this.’

‘My pleasure.’ The waitress smiled, then handed drinks to the others, who were all seated around a rectangular table on the edge of the lower deck of the open-sided, two-storey vessel.

‘If you look to your right,’ said their captain, a short man in a jaunty nautical peaked cap, ‘you can see what looks like a fire. That is actually the spray from the Victoria Falls, and gives them their traditional name, Mosi-oa-Tunya, “the smoke that thunders”.’

People took pictures and, on cue, a rainbow appeared over the spray. It was beautiful. Doc bit her lower lip, then took a sip of wine; she hoped the alcohol might lighten her mood.

‘Look, there’s a hippo,’ Eva said.

A dozen or more other guests on the dinner cruise got up from their tables and made their way to the starboard side, where Eva was pointing. Judging by their excitement, Doc guessed that some of them were just starting their African adventure at Victoria Falls in Zimbabwe. Sue, who had seen plenty of hippos, was more interested in her phone screen. Moses got up and joined the throng at the deck rail. Zola looked out over the wide river, in the other direction. Doc felt for her.

With everyone occupied, Doc also stood. She walked to the rear of the vessel and took a seat at the bar. Setting down her drink, she gave the barman a smile, then took out her own phone.

The trip had been hectic, and Doc found that without Geoff, who at least tried to help manage the group, and their guide Margaux, who was on her way to Victoria Falls by road, she had to work twice as hard to keep everyone on schedule and happy. She sighed. The light plane from Mana Pools to Victoria Falls had been delayed bringing its incoming passengers from Harare, so they’d sat in Patrick’s Land Rover in the shade of a tree for an hour while they waited to board.

By the time they had touched down at Victoria Falls International Airport, with its garish whitewashed imitation of Great Zimbabwe’s ruins for a control tower, and then boarded the waiting bus to their accommodation, there had barely been time to drop off their bags before they had to get on yet another shuttle to be taken to the evening dinner cruise.

It was only now that Doc could check her phone messages. She took another sip of wine, braced for an influx of junk mail and irrelevant chitchat, and tapped the screen. She saw the message that had come from the strange number, but now the video had downloaded.

The opening seconds were of a man with a hessian bag on his head. A hand removed it and she saw Ian. His black and silver hair was a mess. ‘Fuck!’ she said in a strangled voice.

‘Madam?’ said the barman.

‘Sorry.’ She waved a hand, stood and moved to the railing for more privacy. She opened the video, then turned down the volume and held the phone close to her so she could watch and listen without anyone else on the cruise hearing. Doc swallowed hard, to stop herself from being sick. Her heart was pounding and she gripped the railing with her free hand.

‘Denise, I’ve been kidnapped,’ Ian said, staring at the screen. By the way the frame jumped it looked like his captive was holding a phone. ‘I have no idea who they are, but they wanted money and they know . . . well, they know about you and they seem to think we are close, or friends, or whatever. They forced me to give them my online banking details, but they want more. They – the one man here . . .’

A disembodied hand appeared again and this time it was holding a pistol, now pointed between Ian’s eyes. ‘Script,’ was all the man with the gun said.

‘Yes, sorry,’ Ian continued. ‘They say they want you to contact my accountant. He’s a man named Martin Dickey, in Sydney. Martin knows my lawyer, Cassie Duffy, and they are to liquidate my shares and organise for one million dollars to be paid to an account – you’ll get the details soon. They will know what to do in a case like this, Denise.’

The man filming jiggled his pistol. ‘Script.’ His voice sounded muffled, like he was wearing a scarf or a balaclava.

‘You’re not to try calling this number, Doc . . . Denise. They say the phone will be switched off, except when they want to call you. Two more things, Denise. They say you are not to tell the media, or anyone else about this, and you are especially not to put yourself in any situation where a journalist might want to interview you, until this is all settled. They say they will hold me for at least a week. I’m sure you know what that means and . . .’

The video ended. Doc steadied herself against the railing then made her way slowly back to the bar stool.

‘Madam,’ the barman said, ‘are you fine? Would you like a bottle of water?’

‘Um . . .’ Doc blinked at him. ‘Yes, please.’ She took the bottle of water from him, unscrewed the cap and downed half of it in one long gulp.

‘Doc?’ Sara had been at the railing filming some hippos, but she came to Doc. ‘You look like you’ve seen a ghost.’

Doc just turned her face up to the young Norwegian, her mouth half opened.

‘What is it?’ Sara pulled a bar stool closer to Doc and sat down.

Doc handed over her phone and pressed play on the video.

Sara looked at the screen, eyes wide. ‘Ian? Where is he? Has someone kidnapped him?’

‘I . . .’ Doc blinked. ‘I don’t know what to say. I’m not supposed to tell anyone, except his accountant and his lawyer.’

Sara sighed. ‘I heard. Well, you have told me, and I’m the best person.’

Sara would say that. Doc closed her eyes and tried to block out the chattering tourists, the captain’s monologue and the honking of the hippos in the Zambezi River. Why had the video been aimed at and sent to her? At least she knew now she hadn’t been crazy or paranoid – someone really was trying to get to her. She had been right to be worried, keeping Ian at a distance, but even that hadn’t helped him.

‘Someone’s trying to get to you, through him,’ Sara said, reading Doc’s thoughts.

‘Yes.’ She opened her eyes.

‘That message is as much about keeping you out of the limelight and away from the public eye as it is about getting money to free Ian. Why?’

Doc nodded to herself. ‘Ian hints at it himself at the end of his message. The board of the university is due to meet next week, to decide on the shortlist for interviews for the vice chancellor’s position. The board leaks like a sieve, and the list is bound to be made public. I’ve been told that I have to formally advise the board by the end of this week if I’m going to apply for the position.’

Sara cast a glance at Moses’s broad back. ‘He doesn’t want you to run, and nor does his corrupt brother.’

Doc clenched her teeth and tried to control a growing sense of rage, which was replacing the shock of seeing Ian held captive. She stared at Moses, who then turned away from the railing, the wildlife show now temporarily over, and noticed her looking at him. He raised his nose in the air. Zola touched him on the forearm, said something to him, then walked away. She headed towards Doc and Sara, but then walked past them to the steps that led to the bathrooms on the next deck.

The boat had gone around an island and they were now heading along the Zambian side of the river, which formed the border between that country and Zimbabwe.

Doc got up; she ignored Sara’s querying look and went down the stairs. When Zola was finished in the bathroom, Doc was waiting for her.

‘Prof?’ Zola saw something in the look Doc gave her.

‘Tell me about Moses, how he’s been acting these last couple of days.’

‘What do you mean?’ Zola asked.

Doc ran a hand through her hair. ‘I don’t know. Has he seemed different? Has he been calling anyone unusual?’

‘Why are you asking me all this, Professor?’ Zola asked.

Doc took a deep breath, unsure how much to share. ‘I can’t tell you, Zola, but what I can say is that I think that either Moses or his brother might be behind the deaths of Jurie, Graham and Oscar.’

Zola put a hand to her mouth. ‘Serious?’

Doc nodded.

Zola lowered her hand and chewed her lip. ‘In Mana Pools, and just before, when we were at David’s pangolin sanctuary, Moses was on his phone a lot more than usual. He’s old-fashioned, and doesn’t like social media, so it’s not like he usually uses his phone for chatting, or sits around scrolling for hours, but he was engrossed the past few days. I asked him if everything was OK.’

‘And what did he say?’

Zola shrugged. ‘He said everything was fine. It was “work stuff”, he said, but he was, like, quite rude and offhand about it.’

Doc mulled that over. It could be that Moses had been garnering support among the other members of the faculty, and even some board members, for his push for the top job. The fact was that if Doc pulled out, or did not indicate her interest, he would be the most likely candidate to become vice chancellor.

‘Tell me about his brother, this Big Joe guy,’ Doc said.

Zola looked down.

‘It’s all right, Zola,’ Doc said. ‘I know you’ve told some of the others some things about Moses’s brother. I wish you’d come to me, but, please, rest assured that I won’t say or do anything to get you in trouble.’

Zola raised her face and blinked a couple of times. It looked like she might cry. ‘I’m scared of him,’ she whispered.

Doc nodded. ‘I can understand that. Is he coercing you in some way?’

Zola shook her head. ‘No. But I think he’d do anything to protect his business empire, and the others probably told you – he’s interested in pangolins. And he doesn’t like you, Professor Rado.’

‘Yes. I can understand why.’ The anger was growing inside her. If she did go for the top job at the university and was appointed, one of the first things she would do was call for an investigation into the awarding of the tender for the new wing. If that rebounded on Moses, then so be it.

‘Dr Khumalo was up at night, as well, on his phone,’ Zola said.

‘And that’s unusual?’

‘Yes, very,’ Zola said.

The young woman seemed to have dropped any pretence that she and Moses were not an item – they were clearly sleeping in the same room.

‘Professor . . . Doc,’ Zola said, intruding on her thoughts.

‘Yes?’

‘I don’t want to have to explain my relationship with Dr Khumalo to you . . .’

‘And nor should you have to, unless you want my help. Are you being coerced? Has he threatened you, or done anything bad to you, Zola?’

She shook her head. ‘No.’

Other than treating her like a slave. Doc held her tongue.

‘But I don’t trust that Moses – Dr Khumalo – has the strength to control his brother,’ Zola continued. ‘I’m scared about what Big Joe might do. To you. To me. To our pangolins.’

Doc thought Moses a particularly forthright and forceful man, traits which could be strengths or weaknesses, so the thought that his brother might be even more overbearing was worrying.

‘Could Joe be pressuring Moses to give him information – about us and the people on our tour, and about our pangolins, Zola?’

She bit her lip again. ‘Yes, I think that would be the sort of thing he might do. He seems cunning, and likes to think he knows everything about everyone.’

Doc had a thought. ‘Zola, when you and Moses were walking in the park at Lake Kyle, who found my phone? You or Moses?’

‘He did.’

‘Really?’ Doc said. ‘Tell me what happened.’

‘We . . . He wanted to go outdoors. To . . .’

Doc closed her eyes for a second. ‘OK. I understand. You don’t need to go into detail.’

‘We were . . . alone . . . away from the chalets, and at one point, where we stopped, he looked down and saw your phone. I hadn’t noticed it, which was odd, as it still wasn’t completely dark and I remember being surprised that I didn’t see it first, as he needs glasses and wasn’t wearing them at that time. He can be quite vain.’

Doc tried to picture the scene. ‘So, one minute there’s no phone, and the next, he exclaims that he’s found a phone.’

‘Yes. Odd, right?’

Not unless Moses had staged a burglary, stolen her phone, then scrolled through it looking for relevant personal details and messages that might give him or his brother some insight into her life. Had he then taken the phone on his sordid stroll in the bush, removed it from his pocket and dropped it on the trail while he and Zola were doing whatever it was they were doing?

Zola’s eyes were wide. ‘You think he was the one who broke into your chalet?’

‘Could he have? Were you together all the time?’

Zola seemed to think for a moment. ‘Of course, we had separate chalets . . .’

‘Of course.’

‘But I remember I wanted to do some reading, some research, for half an hour, and he said he was going to take a nap. That would have been just before we went for . . . for our stroll.’

Plenty of time for him to sneak into her chalet. Doc felt her anger rise, but she knew there would be no way to prove her theory. By his own admission, Moses had picked the phone up on the trail, so that accounted for his fingerprints being on it.

‘Shit,’ Doc said.

‘What are you going to do?’ Zola asked.

‘I don’t know.’ She had to let Zola go back up to the deck, or Moses would come looking for her.

‘I want to help,’ Zola said. She leaned in closer to her and lowered her voice. ‘I can check his phone sometime, when he’s asleep, or distracted.’

‘Zola, I can’t ask you to put yourself at risk.’

She shook her head. ‘No. I want to. Even if it’s just to prove that he’s not a criminal, or not conspiring to hurt you, or, worse, have people killed. I need to know the truth. And if Big Joe is up to something, he may have confided in Moses.’

Doc put her hand out and touched Zola’s forearm. ‘I can’t ask you to do something like that, but if you do, please be careful, Zola.’

She nodded. ‘I will. I must go.’

Chapter 28

‘Good man, we’ve got to keep your strength up,’ Deep Voice said as he picked up Ian’s plate, cutlery and the tin mug. ‘This scoff mightn’t be what a rich Australian like you would normally order at a fancy restaurant, but pap ’n’ sauce will keep you going.’

Ian didn’t care that the food wasn’t to his liking, but the starchy white substance – which he guessed was the ‘pap’ – had filled him and the rich meaty gravy had warmed him. There was no light at all coming in through the obscured window, and it was cold – well into the night.

‘Hello?’ a man’s voice called from outside.

Deep Voice froze and, like Ian, turned his face to the window. ‘Shit.’

His captor was rattled. There was an unexpected noise from outside.

‘Kanjani?’ the same person called from outside. Ian heard the thud of running feet and then the clomp of footsteps coming up stairs.

Deep Voice moved to the door to Ian’s room, balancing the tray with the dirty dishes in one hand as he opened it. The man outside was now banging on the front door of the house. Deep Voice flicked off the light.

‘Don’t you fokken dare switch this light on until I come back to you,’ he said to Ian.

‘Hello, hello, hello!’ the man bellowed from outside, and continued pounding on the door.

Deep Voice left the room and closed the door, but something clattered to the floor as he did so. From outside the door Ian heard the sound of the tray being half dropped, half set down, and the sound of the bolts and padlock being applied. Ian moved towards the door and knelt down in the darkness. As his fingers moved over the floorboards, searching in case Deep Voice had actually dropped something, he put his ear close to the door.

‘Hello?’ the stranger called once more, but now his footsteps were echoing through the house. ‘There was a light on. I know there’s someone here; please, you have to help me. I’m sorry it is so late, but I need assistance.’

‘Get out of my house,’ Deep Voice said. ‘It’s midnight already.’

Ian stayed still so he could hear the conversation. At least he had an idea of the time.

‘Hello, boss, sorry,’ the visitor said. ‘Please, you have to help. I was in a bus. It crashed, just by your front gate on the road. There’s no one else around. There are four people hurt. There is a woman, she is pregnant, she is bleeding badly, and there is her other child, a little boy, his leg is broken.’

‘Fok,’ Deep Voice said.

‘Please, sir. I see your two vehicles. You have to take us to the clinic now-now.’

There had been two men there when Ian first regained consciousness, he recalled, and it sounded like Deep Voice and his accomplice both had vehicles. But where was the other man now?

‘Call an ambulance.’

‘There is no signal, sir. There must be something wrong with the phone tower. Please, you have to help us. The pregnant woman – she is losing too much blood.’

‘Shit.’

‘Maybe there is someone else here who can help us?’

‘No,’ Deep Voice said. ‘I’m alone.’

‘Please, sir . . .’

‘All right. Let’s go.’ Deep Voice had lowered his voice, as if worried that Ian might hear him.

There was the sound of footsteps, then car doors slamming and an engine coming to life. Deep Voice floored the accelerator and revved high in each gear. He was clearly in a rush, and not just because of the injured people. When the sound of the vehicle faded, Ian switched on the light.

On the floor, by the door, was the spoon Ian had used to eat a bowl of tinned fruit Deep Voice had served with the pap and sauce. Ian snatched it up, fearful this might all be some sort of cruel ruse, and slipped the spoon into the back pocket of his trousers.

He tested the door, heaving against it with his shoulder. He was under no illusion that bursting through a door was as easy as it appeared on TV, and he had heard Deep Voice sliding home one, if not two, bolts on the other side. As he moved away from the door, a floorboard creaked. He shifted his stance, putting all his weight on his right foot. He felt the floorboard give a little.

Ian dropped to one knee and took a closer look at the floorboards. They were old. His eye was drawn to the hole where Deep Voice had fired his pistol, narrowly missing Ian’s toe. The bullet had gone exactly between two planks. Ian took out the spoon, reversed it and put the handle into the hole. He pushed down on it, using one of the planks as a fulcrum, and the other board creaked and started to move. Ian paused, head up, listening for any sound that might indicate, again, that this was a setup, but he heard nothing but cicadas outside in the night.

Ian went back to work. He took off one of his shoes and placed it under the spoon handle to give him more leverage. Then, with a loud crack, the floorboard he was working on came away from the joist it was nailed to. Ian stood, feet astride the loosened plank, and got his fingers under it. He heaved and started to stand, then nearly lost his balance as the board snapped in two.

Looking down, he could see that the supporting beam was honeycombed with termite damage, and so, too, was the plank in his hand. He jammed the spoon handle under the plank next to the newly created hole, and, with more room to work, the plank came away from the joist easily.

He worked as fast as he could, removing the second floorboard, then a third, a fourth and a fifth. He put his face down to the newly created aperture and felt a cool breeze. The house, or at least this part of it, was on raised foundations. When he’d removed one more length of rotten timber, he was able to drop down into the black void.

The earth under his fingers was cool and damp and it smelled musty. It was too dark to see his hand in front of his face, but he had descended facing the window in his room. He felt a faint breath of cool air from that direction. As soon as he started to crawl, his face and shoulders were enshrouded with spider web. Did Zimbabwe have venomous spiders? Fortunately, he’d never been an arachnophobe. Ian crawled on, ignoring a sharp pain in his palm when he put his hand down on an old nail or a splinter. He could feel the breeze in his face getting cooler and stronger. He moved as fast as he could, grazing his back on the timber supports above, but carrying on.

Eventually his path was blocked by timber latticework, but it, too, was rotten with ant damage, and when he pushed and punched at it, the decorative surround came free. Ian leopard-crawled out through a garden bed overgrown with weeds, ripping his shirt and scratching himself on some kind of spiky plant. He didn’t care. He was free.

Ian hauled himself to his feet and looked around. He saw his prison properly now, a farmhouse in need of repair. The tin roof was rusted and sagging in places and the rest of the garden was a jungle. The room he had been in looked like an add-on, part of an enclosed timber deck that ran around the old house. Parked out the front was a red Volkswagen hatchback car. He ran to it, grateful to be able to move his legs. The car was a Golf. Like the roof, it sported patches of rust and he guessed it might be twenty or more years old. He tried the driver’s-side door and felt a moment of elation as it opened. Of course, it was too much to expect to find keys in the ignition.

Ian doubled back to the house and ran up the stairs and through the front door – in his haste, Deep Voice had not locked it.

He went in, found a light switch and looked around. It looked like all the furniture and fittings had been removed – his illumination came from a bare bulb swinging on a cord. Deep Voice’s lair comprised a fold-out table, a metal-framed director’s chair and a roll-out black foam camping mat with a military-green sleeping bag on it. There was a camouflage pack at the foot of the Spartan sleeping setup. Had Deep Voice been a soldier?

On the table was a set of keys on a ring with a Volkswagen badge on a leather tag, and a piece of paper with some numbers written on it. The sheet was weighted down with a Samsung smartphone.

Ian tapped on the phone screen and while it came to life, there was, as the visiting man had said, no signal. He put the phone and the piece of paper in his pocket. Also on the table was a cardboard box. Ian picked it up; it was the packaging for a Hughes portable satellite modem. He looked around the room, which must have once been the lounge room, and in the dilapidated kitchen and two neighbouring bedrooms. There was no sign of the device. Maybe Deep Voice kept it secreted in his vehicle.

Finally, Ian went to the kitchen. A camping fridge sat on the floor, humming. Ian opened the lid. He took out a plastic shopping bag containing three oranges, two cans of Coca-Cola and a packet of chocolate. Taking it with him, Ian ran out into the night.

He opened the door of the Golf and climbed in, slinging his bag onto the passenger seat, where he also saw a tattered road atlas of Zimbabwe – that would help him. He inserted the key into the ignition and turned it. The starter motor whined a little, but the engine caught.

‘Yes!’

Ian rammed the car into first gear and took off. The tail of the little car swung as he took a bend in the dirt road in third, his speed already passing sixty kilometres per hour as he went up through the gears. The vehicle lurched in and out of a dip and Ian felt his heart pounding as he came to a tar road and braked.

He looked to his right. In the distance he could see orange hazard lights flashing. That must have been where the accident was, so he turned left. He kept his headlights turned off and accelerated hard into the night.

As he rounded a bend, now out of sight of anyone who might be watching from the crash scene, he switched on his headlights. A cow loomed in front of him and he braked and swerved. The car felt like it was going up onto its two driver’s-side wheels. For a terrifying moment he thought he was going to roll.

Take your foot off the brake and the accelerator, he told himself. He missed the cow and let the vehicle slow and settle itself. Shaken, he planted his right foot again. Ian turned the headlights to high beam and scanned the road ahead for any sign that might tell him where he was. There were no streetlights.

He passed a cluster of mudbrick circular huts with thatch roofs. Pale lights, maybe paraffin lanterns, cast a weak glow through the windows. He would not risk stopping so soon. The small engine whined as he raced along the road. He swerved to miss a pothole, which would have been big enough to destroy the Golf’s suspension if he’d gone into it.

How much time did he have? He pulled Deep Voice’s phone from his pocket and tapped the screen. There was signal here – four bars’ worth. ‘Yes.’

Ian kept his eyes on the road as he tried to work out who he could call. It was dark here in Zimbabwe; the phone’s clock said 12.32 am. He was tired, but forced himself to calculate the time in Australia. It would be just after eight-thirty in the morning. He’d have to think of someone whose number he could remember off the top of his head.

He punched in the number for his ex, Katrina. The phone beeped in his ear and when he checked the screen it said Call Failed.

‘Shit.’ Deep Voice had been using a portable satellite modem, which meant he probably didn’t need or want mobile phone data. Also, using the mobile network might have meant the criminal’s phone could be tracked.

Ian drove on, hoping he would see the lights of a twenty-four-hour fuel station, or a police station, somewhere he could report what had happened and hopefully get access to a phone that worked, to call for help. There was nothing.

He rubbed a hand down his face, trying to wipe away his fatigue. Ian blinked and then noticed a flicker of light. It was in his rear-view mirror.

There were headlights behind him. He accelerated and the other vehicle started to recede from sight. He looked up again a short time later and saw the lights again; he guessed the other car was about three hundred metres behind him, matching his speed.

Ian licked his lips. He could stop and flag down the other driver to ask for help. He felt a shiver. Maybe it was Deep Voice, following him. Ian took his foot off the accelerator. The speed bled away and the headlights loomed larger in his rear-view mirror.

He had dropped from 100 kilometres per hour down to 70. The road was straight, visibility was fine, and there was no other traffic. The person behind him should have overtaken him.

Instead, the following vehicle slowed, keeping the same distance behind him.

Ian drove on through the night, fear and paranoia more than overcoming his tiredness.

A few times, he thought the vehicle following him had stopped or turned off, because there were periods when there were no headlights in his rear-view mirror, but when he slowed down to check, the lights returned.

If it was Deep Voice, what was he doing? Toying with him? Perhaps Deep Voice didn’t want to risk running him off the road. Ian shook his head; no, Deep Voice had a gun, he could just pull up alongside him and point the gun at him. Then what would Ian do – try and ram him and run him off the road? He didn’t know if he was skilled or brave enough to try something like that.

Ian wondered if Doc had received his video message, and if she had been able to track down his accountant and lawyer. Cassie had also handled all his company work, and had been taken on by the new owners, Goldberg PR, to look after their Australian affairs after Ian sold to them. One of the things that had surprised Ian when the new owners took over was that all of their senior staff were covered by kidnap and ransom insurance. He remembered thinking it a waste of money for a country like Australia, but Goldberg was a multinational, and its policies applied to all of its operations. Ian had sat through a virtual crisis management exercise once, in which Goldberg’s K & R agency, Limited Risk, based in London, was included, as the scenario concerned a wealthy fictitious client who had been kidnapped. Limited Risk’s personnel were ex–law enforcement and military, many of them ex–special forces. Ian wondered if a team was en route from London to Africa already.

Ian picked up Deep Voice’s phone while he drove. In Australia he would not have dared check a phone while driving, but here in Zimbabwe it didn’t seem like the normal rules applied.

There was only one app on the screen: Telegram. It was a messaging service that Ian had heard of, but never used. Deep Voice had deactivated the need for a passcode or facial or fingerprint security on his phone and, likewise, when Ian tapped on Telegram, the app opened straight away. Ian guessed that lack of security and other apps was because this was a burner phone the man had bought for this one job, after which he would jettison in. He looked back at the road and saw a pothole looming in his headlights. He swerved.

He risked a quick glance at the phone screen again, and saw references to the ‘lady professor’, and ‘Rado’ and the need to keep her afraid. He was right – his kidnapping was as much about Doc as it was him and his bank account.

‘Bloody hell,’ Ian said when he saw a familiar name in one of the messages. It was addressed to ‘Ralph’. He recalled that Ralph was the name of Doc’s mysterious online admirer, who she had been in touch with before and since Jurie’s death.

Off to Ian’s right, the sky was beginning to turn pink. He shook his head to stay awake and focused.

Ian had driven through the night and wanted to stop and look carefully through all the messages on the phone belonging to the man he now knew as Ralph. However, the mysterious headlights continued to appear and disappear in his mirror. On straight stretches where the road was in good repair he checked the road atlas he had found in the car. The first small town he had passed through was called Banket, and when he’d seen a sign giving him the distance to Chinhoyi, he worked out that he was travelling northwest. If he stayed on this road it would take him, eventually, to Mana Pools National Park, where Doc and the others had gone. Ian tried to calculate where they would be now, but he’d been guilty of not paying enough attention to the itinerary. Although he had been travelling for some time the fuel tank showed just under half-full; the little car’s fuel economy was good, so he had no immediate need to stop for petrol. He resolved to try and find a police station in either Chinhoyi, which looked on the map to be a large town, or further along, once day broke.

Ahead of him he saw lights and eased his foot off the accelerator. He checked behind him, but saw nothing.

In the pre-dawn, a figure dressed in an overcoat was rolling what looked like an empty oil drum into the centre of the road. Off to the right was a mudbrick hut with a light on inside. As Ian came closer he saw another man, armed with a rifle slung over his shoulder. Both men had on peaked caps and the man in the coat was now propping a sign in front of the drum. The sign said Police.

Ian took a deep breath and almost cried.

As he braked and came to the two men, who he could now confirm were dressed in a blue uniform, the man in the overcoat waved with his hand, indicating that he should continue.

Instead, Ian stopped.

The officer in the overcoat yawned and put a hand over his mouth. ‘You may proceed,’ he said to Ian.

‘No.’

The other officer, the one with the rifle, ambled over to them. ‘Good morning, how are you?’

‘Fine. My name is –’

‘How are you, sir?’ said the man in the coat.

Ian ran a hand through his hair. ‘Fine. I am fine, OK? I need to report a crime. I was –’

‘I am Constable Moyo,’ the man with the rifle said, then indicated the other officer. ‘And this is my colleague, Constable Musena. Can I see your driver’s licence first?’

Ian took a breath to calm himself and looked over his shoulder. ‘I don’t have a driver’s licence on me.’

‘It is an offence in Zimbabwe to drive without one’s licence,’ Constable Moyo said.

‘Yes, I’m sure. Sorry, but I was kidnapped and the man –’

Constable Musena stepped closer to the open window and peered inside the Golf. ‘Are you the owner of this vehicle?’

‘No. Please, listen –’

‘Do you have the registration papers, and a letter of permission from the owner to be driving this vehicle?’ Moyo said.

Ian wanted to scream. He was tired, bruised and scared. ‘You just need to listen to me!’

‘You do not need to use such a tone of voice,’ Musena said. ‘Please get out of the car.’

Ian gripped the steering wheel with both hands, so hard it felt like it might snap. His head sagged between his arms.

‘Get out of the vehicle,’ Moyo echoed.

Ian looked up. ‘I’ll just keep going. How far is the nearest town, with a police station?’

Moyo unslung his rifle. ‘Get out of the car.’

Once more a gun was pointed at him. Ian sighed, opened the door, and got out. ‘I was kidnapped!’

‘By whom?’ Musena asked.

‘How the hell should I know!’

‘Calm yourself,’ Moyo said. ‘And lower your voice. Now tell us, where did you get this car?’

‘I took it.’

‘From whom?’ Musena asked.

‘From the kidnapper.’

Moyo raised his eyebrows. ‘Without his permission.’

‘Yes, without his bloody permission. I was held in a house, somewhere between here and Harare, wherever the hell here is!’

‘Sir, your voice . . .’

Ian closed his eyes and clenched his fists by his side. ‘I need to get to a town, to a phone, right away. Can you please drive me?’

‘We are on duty here.’ Musena gestured around to an overgrown field and the hut. ‘This is our base. But we have no vehicle. We are supplied once a day and uplifted when we are due to be replaced.’

‘When is the next vehicle coming?’ Ian asked.

‘Tomorrow.’

He felt tears pricking the corners of his eyes. How can this be happening?

Ian made to get back into the car. ‘Thank you for your help, officers, but I will continue on to the nearest town.’

Musena stepped in, blocking his way, then reached into the Volkswagen and pulled the keys from the ignition. ‘You will stay here while we make enquiries. And you may be charged, with driving without a licence, and car theft, if your story does not check out.’

‘No!’

Moyo held his rifle half up, as if Ian was a madman and he needed to be on guard in case Ian attacked him. ‘Calm down, Mr . . .’

‘Laidlaw. My name is Ian Laidlaw and I am an Australian citizen. You must have a phone. I need to call the Australian High Commission.’

‘We shall see . . .’ Musena tailed off, because, like Ian and Moyo, he had turned at the sound of an approaching car engine.

Ian saw the headlights coming up the road, from the same direction he had been travelling. ‘It’s him,’ Ian hissed. ‘The kidnapper!’

Musena and Moyo looked at each other, then at Ian. Musena pointed to the side of the road. ‘You, Mr . . . what-what-what. Go sit under that tree. Shamwari,’ he said to Moyo, ‘take up position, this man may be telling the truth.’

Ian needed no further encouragement. He went over to the thorny tree Musena had indicated, walked behind it and crouched down. Moyo raised his rifle to his shoulder and took aim at the approaching car.

Ian peered through the leaves. A white Toyota HiLux was coming towards them. He clasped his hands together to stop them from shaking. ‘The driver,’ Ian hissed to Moyo, ‘he is armed and dangerous. He may be responsible for the murders of two or three men in South Africa.’

Moyo glanced at him. ‘Serious?’

Ian nodded.

As the truck came closer and the road curved slowly, the Toyota was at a more oblique angle, and Ian saw that it was towing a speedboat. His mind raced. Had Deep Voice – Ralph – been planning on moving him to a body of water, such as Lake Kyle, where Doc’s group had stayed, or Lake Kariba or the Zambezi River, where they had headed? Had Ralph been unable to catch him because the little Golf was quicker than a pick-up towing a big boat? Ian could now see two large outboard motors on the back of the craft.

Moyo stood as the vehicle came closer, but didn’t bother looking to Ian as he spoke. ‘I do not think this is your murderer or kidnapper.’

As Musena went to join his colleague, who had flagged down the HiLux, Ian crept through the bush, moving parallel to the parked vehicle. He could see, as Moyo had just noticed, that the vehicle was a double cab. In the front were a man and a woman, and in the back were two children, a boy and a girl, with a Jack Russell between them. The dog barked and the children laughed.

‘Howzit, China,’ the driver of the HiLux said to Musena. ‘You guys look like you’re ready for action, hey?’

‘We are looking for an alleged kidnapper,’ Musena said.

The driver threw up his hands. ‘Guilty, as charged.’ He looked to the back seat. ‘Would you like to take these two troublemakers away from me?’

Musena laughed and Ian swore under his breath. Had he really been paranoid about a family and their boat?

The other policeman, Moyo, was standing at the front passenger window, chatting to the woman. Soon, the policemen would come looking for him, and now they would be even less inclined to believe his story. Ian darted from the roadside to the rear of the speedboat. He raised his head above the transom – the police and the family on board were still distracted.

Ian climbed up between the outboard motors, hauled himself into the boat and lay down inside it. He felt a clunk as the driver of the HiLux engaged gear and accelerated away. Ian stayed low, fearing that the family might catch a glimpse of him, or that the police might get in the Golf and come after him.

He’d been on an adrenaline rollercoaster since being abducted and now he felt exhausted to the point of collapse. Ian lay back, closed his eyes and fell asleep.

*

The man who called himself Ralph had pulled up at the police roadblock to find the little Golf parked on the roadside, and no sign of Ian Laidlaw.

The officers had been thorough, asking him if he had ever seen the Volkswagen before, or the man who had been driving it, whom they described.

Laidlaw was resourceful; he must have hitched a lift, possibly with the family with the boat, who Ralph had allowed to pass him earlier. He’d done his research and knew, from talking to some locals, the location of all the likely police roadblocks between Harare and Mana Pools.

The officers had made a cursory search of his HiLux, but even the most thorough investigation would have had trouble finding the hidden storage box he had welded between the chassis cross members under the vehicle, where he kept his weapons hidden.

The man had waved to the two Zimbabwe Republic Police officers once they were done with him. He wasn’t worried. He would catch up with the fleeing Australian soon enough.

As he drove, he reflected on the killings – those of the last few days and the many more in the course of his service. A few, like the police detective and the rangers, he regretted, but all were for a cause.

He touched her picture in his left breast pocket; he was the only one who truly cared for her. She was worth killing for. Worth dying for.

Chapter 29

Ian opened his eyes and was blinded by the morning sun until a man blocked out the light and held a knife out, pointed at Ian’s throat.

‘Don’t move, China,’ the man said.

Ian slowly held up his hands and blinked up at the man. ‘I won’t.’

‘What are you, some kind of hobo?’ The man was broad-chested, with big pectoral muscles. He wore a green lightweight safari shirt and had sunglasses hanging around his neck from a rubber keeper. He had a broad-brimmed hat on.

‘Hobo?’ Ian said. It had been a long time since he’d heard anyone use that word, which was now considered offensive in Australia. ‘No. I’m not a homeless person, I’m an Australian, a tourist. My name is Ian Laidlaw. I was kidnapped. Please . . .’

‘Kidnapped?’

Ian explained, as quickly as he could, what had happened to him, and how he had stowed away on the family’s boat.

‘Hmm . . . I do remember the cops at the roadblock this morning saying something about some kidnappers. I’m Brian, and my wife and kids are in the bakkie. I just stopped for a piss and I got a hell of a shock seeing you in my boat.’

‘Sorry. Please,’ Ian said, ‘I don’t know if you can help me, but I need to get to . . .’ he closed his eyes to remember the itinerary, ‘. . . yes, to Victoria Falls. Where is that from here?’

‘Eish,’ the man said, ‘maybe five or six hundred kilometres from here.’

‘Can I fly?’

‘I don’t know. How much money have you got? It won’t be cheap.’

‘I’m afraid I don’t have any money or credit cards – nothing. Just the kidnapper’s phone.’

‘Well, don’t look at me, China. This is Zimbabwe. I don’t have any money.’

‘Can I please borrow your phone, to make a call?’

Brian took his phone out of his pocket and checked it. ‘No signal. Won’t be until we get to Kariba. That’s maybe an hour from here. You can stay in the boat until then, Mr Ian Laidlaw, and I can maybe let you make one call from my phone once we get to Kariba where there’s signal, but then I’m going fishing.’

‘Thank you.’ Ian took Brian’s hand and gripped it tight in a handshake. ‘Thank you so much.’

*

At Kariba Airport Brian’s wife, Angela, took their children into the small terminal, a mostly single-storey building that looked like it dated from the 1960s. It had a squat glass control room sprouting from the roof. Brian stayed outside, by the vehicle, with Ian. Clearly the family didn’t trust him completely.

‘Time for the prisoner to make his one phone call. Remember, I’ve got fuck-all credit on the phone.’

Ian nodded. At Ian’s urging, Brian had googled the Duffy and Partners law firm in Potts Point, Sydney. He’d found Cassie’s mobile phone number. Ian called and held his breath.

‘Cassie Duffy speaking.’

‘Cassie, it’s Ian Laidlaw. Call me back on this number. Please, it’s very important.’

He ended the call and a few seconds later, the phone rang.

‘Ian, my goodness. Are you all right? Are you safe?’

Again, he told his story, and this time he was so overcome with relief that he felt tears starting to well in his eyes. He swallowed his emotions. Ian looked skyward and realised how much hotter it was here. Somewhere down the road was Lake Kariba, which stretched more than three hundred kilometres westward towards Victoria Falls, his next destination.

While they were talking, Angela came to them from the terminal.

‘No flights to Victoria Falls or Harare for two days,’ she said.

Ian looked to Brian. ‘Is there some other way to get to Victoria Falls?’

Brian thought for a moment. ‘The Kariba Ferry’s running – it was out of business for years, but you might be lucky.’

Ian relayed the news to Cassie, who said she would get her assistant to check sailings. ‘Can I call you back, Ian?’

He was reluctant to give up the connection to the outside world. ‘Hold on, I’ll check.’ Ian had told Brian that he had the kidnapper’s phone. Angela weighed in that Cassie could call back on that. Ian didn’t know the number of the phone, but Angela took it from him and went to settings and found it.

‘It’s a South African number,’ Angela announced, ‘so, sorry, we can’t even give you any airtime. But your friend in Australia can call you.’

They tried that and a few minutes later Cassie called him on the stolen phone. Ian put her on speaker.

‘Ian, my assistant managed to find the ferry company. They’ve got a sailing this morning at 10 am. That must be soon, your time, right?’

‘Twenty minutes,’ Brian said. ‘I know where the ferry sails from – Andora Harbour. If we go now, we can make it.’

‘Go now,’ Cassie said. ‘I’ll contact Denise Rado for you and tell her you’re on your way towards Victoria Falls. Martin Dickey and I had a Teams call with Denise this morning after she got your video message. At least you’ll be safe on the ferry, I imagine. The ferry will let you off at a place I can’t even pronounce – begins with an “M”. I’ll ask Denise to meet you there, and then we can get you on a flight back to Australia via Johannesburg.’

‘OK. Thanks Cassie.’ Again, he was reluctant to leave, but Brian tapped his watch.

*

Ian stayed in the boat while Brian drove, something which would have been illegal in Australia. All the same, it was a moment of pure joy for him, to be able to rest and feel the breeze on his face.

Lake Kariba was an inland sea that stretched, glittering, as far as he could see. They took a winding road which followed the water’s edge around bays dotted with hotels, lodges and people’s houses. The latter ranged from large villas which, like the airport terminal, looked like they’d been built in the mid–twentieth century, to modest shacks made of corrugated iron.

They passed a herd of elephants near the turnoff to a place called Charara Harbour, and as they made their way through the more densely populated areas Ian saw herds of four or five zebra at a time grazing on grass along the roadside and among houses and shops.

Brian navigated his way through a busy part of town. A woman looked up from doing the washing in a tub in front of her shack; two men drinking from brown beer bottles in front of a roadside bar stared at him as he motored past. A trio of children, two boys and a little girl, shouted, laughed and ran after the boat when Ian waved to them. There was the smell of woodsmoke in the air and a deep bass sound thumping out from an old stereo or ghetto blaster somewhere. Ian savoured the simple fact of just being alive.

The driveway down to where the Kariba Ferry departed from was steep and winding, and Brian didn’t want to take his boat down and then have to turn around, so he stopped at the entry gate to the harbour.

‘This is as far as I can take you, Ian. Good luck.’

‘Thank you again.’ Ian shook Brian’s hand.

Angela came to him and handed Ian a plastic shopping bag. ‘You’re a mess, Ian. I’ve found you one of Brian’s old fishing shirts, and a pair of shorts for you. They’re clean.’

Ian gave Angela a hug. He was touched by the couple’s generosity. He took their number and entered it into the kidnapper’s phone; he would send them a gift or some money as soon as he was able. Ian waved goodbye to the family, then looked at his watch. It was 9.55 am and the day was already hot and humid. He jogged down the concrete driveway.

‘No need to rush, sir,’ said a man in blue overalls, walking up the hill. ‘We are still waiting for another vehicle.’

Ian slowed to a walk as he reached a terrace in the hillside from which he took in a brief view the harbour.

There were two Kariba Ferry vessels, and the first one Ian saw was barely afloat. The rusting near-wreck of the Sea Horse looked like it had been torpedoed. The boat and its twin, the Sealion, resembled military landing craft with a long, low cabin above where the vehicles were stowed, and a small, box-like structure with windows stuck on top, where the captain sat. He felt his earlier bright mood begin to dim at the sight of the ageing ferries. He wondered if they would even make it the length of the lake.

The Sealion was moored with her front ramp down. As Ian approached, he saw that two cars were already on board, beneath the accommodation deck. Ian went to a thin man with grey hair, dressed in shorts and an open-neck shirt. The man was smoking.

‘Hello, I’m Ian Laidlaw,’ he said.

The man checked his watch. ‘I’m Clive. We’ve been waiting for you. But not to worry, we’re also waiting on one more vehicle. If they don’t pitch in the next ten minutes we’ll go without them.’

There were people on the upper deck, an older couple sitting on director’s chairs at a circular table, and another man and a woman, younger, wearing safari clothes, who leaned on the railing looking down at him. Ian wondered what they made of him, unshaven and in his filthy clothes, carrying his plastic shopping bag. Although he’d slept in the back of the boat, he was still tired.

Ian walked up the ramp, nodding to two deckhands, then up a set of metal stairs to the deck. The other passengers greeted him with nods. The young man reached out a hand.

‘I’m Sven, I’m from Sweden,’ he said. He gestured to his female partner, who had long dark hair. ‘And this is Maria.’

‘Hi, I’m Ian,’ he said. ‘I’m Australian.’

Sven blinked. ‘I thought you were a local. You look like you’ve got a story to tell.’

Or maybe write, one day. ‘I have.’

Ian went into the enclosed deck. It was an open-plan space, with four rows of metal-framed chairs, two of which had already been converted into beds with green canvas mattresses. Windows lined each side of the space, allowing a welcome breeze to flow through. An open serving hatch along the rear bulkhead allowed Ian to see and smell a meal being prepared, and trestle tables covered in tablecloths had been set up in readiness for lunch. A chef in white waved to him and Ian’s stomach rumbled.

He felt his mood start to lift. It would, he had learned, take about twenty-four hours to reach their destination, Mlibizi, near the western end of the lake. He went to an urn on the tables and helped himself to a cup of instant coffee and some biscuits. He took his mug out onto the deck and started to smile, until he saw a vehicle driving down the access road towards the ferry.

It was a white Toyota HiLux with a man behind the wheel.

Chapter 30

Doc threw open the door of her room at the 528, the name of the bed and breakfast where they were staying in Reynard Road, and strode along the black and white chequerboard tile floor to the wooden staircase.

The building was an old house that had been remodelled and extended upward, and the rooms were on two floors, with a bar and viewing deck on the top floor. Doc took the stairs quickly, went to Sara’s room and knocked.

‘Doc?’ Sara opened the door and finished buttoning her blue sleeveless shirt. ‘You look happy.’

‘Ian’s lawyer just rang me. Ian’s escaped. He’s free!’

Sara held out her arms and they hugged each other for a few moments. ‘Where is he?’ Sara asked.

‘He’s on a ferry, travelling from Kariba to Mlibizi. I checked online – it’s about 250 kilometres from here. We can make it in three hours. He should arrive there around ten-thirty tomorrow morning.’

‘That’s great news, Doc. Now we just need to work out who took him.’

Doc nodded. ‘That should be a job for the police. Speaking of which, has anyone seen Jason?’

‘Not that I know of,’ Sara said. ‘I went for a run this morning and I’ve just been for a swim. I saw Sue. She was looking concerned – and she doesn’t strike me as the sort of woman who gets concerned about much at all.’

‘I hear you,’ Doc said. There was still no word from Geoff, either, but he had said he would get himself on a long-distance bus from Harare to Victoria Falls. Doc didn’t want to be paranoid, but she couldn’t help but wonder if there was some link between both Geoff and Jason being absent around the same time Ian was kidnapped. She was seeing conspiracies everywhere at the moment.

‘Where’s everyone else this morning?’ Sara asked.

Doc had been up early, since her call with Ian’s lawyer, Cassie, in Australia. She checked her watch. It was midday. ‘Margaux took Zola, Moses, Pär and Eva to view Victoria Falls. They’re going to the Lookout Café for lunch afterwards.’

‘Has Zola come up with anything from Moses’s phone?’ Sara asked.

‘Not yet. I checked with her this morning, when I could get a moment alone with her after breakfast. She said Moses usually takes a nap in the afternoon, so she’ll try when they get back from lunch today, or later tonight.’

‘OK,’ Sara said, ‘what’s our plan?’

Sometimes, Doc had resented Sara’s assumption that she would be involved in everything Doc did, because she was making a film about her, but right now she was grateful to have the plucky Norwegian on hand. While Ian was now free, Doc wanted to know who was behind the kidnapping, and to do that she needed to draw this tour to a close. Her priority now was Ian’s safety and wellbeing, not playing tour guide.

‘I’m going to send Pär and Eva on with Margaux,’ she said to Sara. ‘She can take them into Namibia, but I doubt Ian will want to carry on sightseeing. He’s going to have to talk to the police, and after what he’s been through, I wouldn’t blame him if he got on the first plane back to Sydney.’

‘And I assume you and I will go and collect him from Mlibizi when the ferry docks tomorrow?’ Sara asked.

Doc nodded. ‘Yes. I’ll tell Margaux we need to borrow her Land Cruiser. She can stay here and keep an eye on the others. We were due to leave here for Botswana and Namibia tomorrow morning in any case, so once we pick Ian up and bring him back here to Victoria Falls, Margaux will only be a couple of hours behind schedule. I’ll tell the others that we’ve gone shopping for additional supplies for the trip.’

‘What about Moses?’ Sara asked.

‘That might depend on what Zola finds out, if anything, this afternoon or tonight.’

‘So, for now, we just have to wait?’

Doc nodded. ‘Exactly.’

*

Ian had borrowed some soap from Sven the Swedish tourist and had scrubbed himself clean in the small shower cubicle located on one side of the rear of the ferry deck. He’d then changed into the clean clothes Angela had given him and made his way through the accommodation and out onto the front observation deck.

The man who had driven onto the ferry just before sailing was sitting on one of the fold-out sleeper chairs in the far corner of the enclosed area, reading a paperback. Ian watched him while pretending to enjoy the view. Ian sized the man up – his build seemed to match that of the deep-voiced man who had abducted him.

It was late afternoon and the sun had entered a hazy, smoky band of grey above the water. The light turned the lake’s surface the colour of shiny molten lead. On the shore to their left was a reserve called Bumi Hills, and Ian could make out elephants, as well as waterbuck, impala and some zebra. A few days ago he would have been in raptures. Now, he was just scared.

He glanced at the man again. He was white, probably mid-thirties, and had sandy hair cut short. He looked fit and muscled, and wore khaki cargo pants and a grey polo shirt. His onboard luggage – Ian guessed most of his gear was in his Toyota HiLux below deck – was in a camouflage daypack and Ian was reminded again of the military-looking bedding he had seen in the kidnapper’s house.

The man kept to himself.

Sven came over and leaned on the railing near where Ian was sitting. ‘Did you see the kudu?’

Ian squinted at the land. ‘Oh, yes. Say, have you spoken to that guy inside? The one who boarded late?’

Sven shrugged. ‘Briefly. He didn’t seem to want to talk much and when I tried to start a conversation, he told me he was tired, and was going to rest.’

Ian nodded. He’d seen the man sleeping after their lunch of cold meats and salad.

‘Did you get his name?’

‘Ralph,’ Sven said.

Ian shivered. He’d wondered if he was being paranoid, but now he had to place his hands on the table in front of him to stop them from shaking. How would Ralph have known that he would head to the Kariba Ferry?

‘Are you OK, Ian?’ Sven asked. ‘You’ve been through a terrible time.’

Ian had told Sven his whole crazy story, and even as he’d done so he had worried that Sven maybe thought he was delusional. His phone beeped.

Ian took the phone from his pocket and checked the screen. ‘Yes!’

‘Good news?’ Sven asked.

‘It is.’ It was an SMS from Doc. She had typed: It’s me, Doc. SO pleased you are OK! Sara and I will meet you in Mlibizi. I’m sending you some airtime from my South African phone, so we can talk. XX.

Again, he felt a rush of relief, and grinned at the kisses she had sent him. The phone beeped again and Ian could see it was the promised credit. ‘Excuse me, please, Sven.’

‘Sure.’

A formation of waterbirds – cormorants, he thought – flew low in front of the boat, their wings almost skimming the glassy surface of the lake. Diesel engines throbbed behind him and Ian felt their vibration through the steel floor beneath his feet. He moved to the far starboard corner of the open foredeck to be in both the quietest part of the ferry and the furthest from the mysterious Ralph. He dialled the number Doc had messaged from.

*

‘Ian!’ Doc was sitting on an outdoor lounge suite under a canvas patio umbrella on the wooden deck on the second floor of 528. In the distance the smoke-like mist of Victoria Falls rose above the Zambezi River.

Sara came running out from the self-service bar, carrying two bottles of water, and sat down beside Doc so she could hear the conversation.

‘Doc . . .’

‘Are you OK?’

‘Fine, I think. But I’ve got so much to tell you, and I might be being paranoid, but I’m pretty sure one of the guys who kidnapped me – at one stage there were two of them – is on this ferry with me.’

Doc sucked in a breath. ‘Ian, you have to be careful. Tell the captain, or someone.’

‘Listen to me, Doc. This man, the man who I think took me, who followed me – his name is Ralph.’

Doc felt her heart lurch.

‘Doc?’ Ian said. ‘Are you still there? The signal’s not good, and it comes and goes.’

‘Yes, yes, I’m here, Ian.’

‘There’s one message on this phone, where the guy calling the shots addresses the owner of the phone as Ralph, telling him he’s done a good job. It might have been a slip on the sender’s part, using the name, but I remembered what you told me, about your online friend.’

Doc closed her eyes and felt the anger, hurt and embarrassment of betrayal, of being nearly seduced and used by another. Had Ralph been a plant from the very start, someone who had managed to target her, and had bled her of information and fed it back to someone?

‘Doc, I think the other guy, Ralph’s handler, is Moses. There’s too much talk in the messages about targeting you, and unsettling you, for it to be anyone else.’

Doc could have named plenty of poachers she had put behind bars who would have wanted to hurt her, but they would have used a bullet rather than intimidation or targeting people she loved.

Like Ian.

The realisation hit her, almost as hard as the news of the deception.

‘Sara and I will see you at Mlibizi when you land tomorrow.’

‘Doc, I . . .’

‘Yes? What, Ian?’

The line went dead.

*

Moonlight glittered on Lake Kariba as the ferry chugged on through the night. Ian was sitting at a table with Sven and Maria on the front deck. He put a hand over his mouth and yawned.

‘Bedtime,’ Maria said. She looked inside the sleeping area, now mostly dark with all but one of the interior lights turned off. ‘It looks like the guy’s asleep.’

As well as telling them the story of his kidnapping, Ian had told Sven and Maria that he thought the late-arrival passenger was Ralph. Ian looked towards Ralph, who was in his camouflage sleeping bag. Ian was one hundred per cent certain it was the same military bag he’d seen in the house. Ralph hadn’t said a word to him, nor to anyone else that they had noticed, apart from his brief greeting to Sven.

‘We can take it in turns to sleep tonight,’ Sven said.

Ian felt bad for his new companions. ‘I’m probably just being paranoid. You must think I’m crazy.’

‘This is Africa,’ Sven said. ‘One thing I’ve learned on this holiday already is that crazy shit happens here every day.’

Ian couldn’t argue with that. ‘All right. I’m going to bed. See you in the morning.’ He got up and went inside, past the made-up sleeper chairs and out to the men’s bathroom. After he used the toilet he washed his hands and face and rinsed his mouth out. Ian looked at his haggard face in the mirror. It would be good to see Doc tomorrow, though he wished he was in better shape.

Ian opened the door and stepped into the narrow gangway leading back to the cabin, but his way was blocked.

Ralph stood there, staring into his eyes. It was him.

A shot of adrenaline coursed through Ian’s veins. Ralph reached behind his back.

Ian glanced over his shoulder; he could run that way, up the stairs to the rear deck, where he’d heard the crew eating earlier. The bridge was above the sleeping area. But could he get to the captain before Ralph stabbed him, or used whatever other weapon he was reaching for? Sven and Maria were still out on the front deck.

Ian opened his mouth to scream just as Ralph pulled a toothbrush and toothpaste from the rear pocket of his trousers.

Ralph smiled at him. ‘Excuse me,’ he said in a deep voice.

Ian held his breath as Ralph sidled past, almost close enough for him to touch his former captor, who went into the tiny bathroom.

Ian rushed through the cabin, past Maria and Sven, who were getting into their beds.

‘Are you OK?’ Sven asked.

‘Yes. No. I don’t know.’

Ian went outside and pulled Ralph’s phone from his pocket. The uncertainty and fear were eating him up from the inside. He turned on the phone and saw that he once again had signal, although the battery was getting low. He’d been going to wait until he saw Doc and they could involve the police, before they tried to trace who had been giving Ralph his orders.

‘Fuck it,’ Ian said.

He opened the Telegram messaging app and found the contact details for whoever had been communicating with Ralph. The number began with +27, which Ian now knew was the country code for South Africa. He took a breath and dialled the number.

It rang once, then went straight to voicemail. Ian held the phone close and put his other hand over his left ear to block out the thrum of the diesel engines.

‘You’ve called Dr Moses Khumalo. Please leave a message.’

*

Zola could feel her heart pounding as she pressed Moses’s phone close to her bare breast and flicked the ringer to silent. She sat naked and shivering on the toilet in the en suite bathroom of the professor’s room at 528.

‘Zola?’ His voice was gravelly with sleep.

‘I’m just in the bathroom.’

‘All right.’ His yawn sounded like a male lion calling in the night for a mate, or a fight.

She flushed, even though she hadn’t used the toilet, then turned out the light before she opened the door and went back into the bedroom. He was on his side, looking away from her, so she quickly slipped his phone back into his open bag, from where she’d taken it. Moses had forgone his afternoon nap after their visit to the Falls, choosing instead to use her, as he sometimes did in his office, when she was between lectures at university.

Moses rolled onto his back. ‘What time is it? Something woke me. It sounded like an alarm.’

‘It’s late.’ She slid between the starched white sheets and reached out a hand to stroke his forehead. ‘You must have been dreaming.’

He smiled. ‘Of you.’

She kissed him on the lips. ‘Go back to sleep.’

‘No, I’m awake now. Feel.’

He took her slender wrist in his hand and moved it to his midriff. Zola closed her eyes, not in rapture, but in fear.

Moses reached out and put his other hand around her neck.

A tear squeezed out from between her closed lids as he moved on top of her.

Chapter 31

Doc had slept for a couple of hours, but was awake and dressed when she heard a knock on her door at 6.30 am.

‘Zola. Come in.’ Doc peeked out into the corridor as the student walked in. Zola wore a simple but pretty flowered sundress and sandals. No one else had seen her enter.

Zola was wringing her hands. ‘I was only just able to sneak out. Moses is asleep, but he’ll go for his breakfast at seven-thirty.’

‘I need to leave by then. I’m collecting Ian from Mlibizi at ten-thirty.’

Zola nodded. ‘So it’s true – Ian did not go back to Australia?’

‘No,’ Doc said. ‘How do you know that?’

‘I had a look at Moses’s phone, in the bathroom, in the middle of the night. Doc, there was so much to read. It looked like he was messaging someone called Ralph about taking someone, like a kidnapping, and Moses and the other guy kept talking about “the Australian”, and how they wanted to put pressure on you by getting their victim to make a video recording. What happened to Ian? Was he hurt?’

‘He was kidnapped, and they roughed him up. It was two guys, but Ian managed to escape and he took the kidnapper’s phone.’

Zola put a hand to her mouth. ‘Someone rang Moses’s phone while I was checking it. Moses woke up – he nearly caught me. It was the same number that Moses had been messaging.’

Doc nodded. ‘That must have been Ian, trying to work out who was controlling the kidnapper.’

‘My goodness,’ Zola said. ‘It was Moses. I know he is not a nice person, but I didn’t think he would sink to something like kidnapping. There’s more, Doc.’

Doc started to gather her things in preparation for going to collect Ian. She had her daypack and her purse, with US dollars in it now that she had been able to visit an ATM in Victoria Falls and replace the cash that had been stolen from her. Ian had no clothes or toiletries and they would have to get him sorted. ‘Like what?’

‘Moses has also been messaging his brother, Big Joe, giving him updates on “the Australian” and so forth, and telling him how he was able to get you to shut up – those were his words.’

Doc stopped her organising and just stood still for a moment. The enormity of what had gone on was just sinking in. She needed to talk to the police, but who, and where, and in which country? Jason Chow would have been a good start, if he ever showed up, and Doc was still not sure she could completely trust him.

And what to do about Moses? Should she confront him? ‘Was there any indication in the messages you saw on Moses’s phone that he knew Ian had escaped?’

Zola shook her head. ‘No. There was just one last message to Ralph asking for an update.’

Doc went to the Nespresso machine and popped a capsule in. ‘Do you want coffee?’

‘I’m fine,’ Zola said.

Doc decided not to accuse Moses of anything just yet. If he didn’t know that Ian was free then he was unlikely to do anything rash – or violent. She smiled inwardly as she imagined the look on Moses’s face if she and Ian did confront him, with Ralph’s phone. Her mood became more sombre when she thought about the timeline of her online relationship with Ralph, and the details she had shared with him. She’d thought she had been careful not to give him too much sensitive information about her work, but maybe she had. Ralph had come into her world about the same time Moses had made it clear he wanted the top job in the university, and Doc’s name had been bandied about. And the mysterious and dangerous Ralph was still on the loose.

‘There’s still more,’ Zola said.

‘Go on.’

‘Big Joe’s coming to Victoria Falls. Today.’

‘What?’

Zola nodded. ‘I’m afraid so. I’m scared of him, Doc. Moses has told him that he’s been in touch with the vice chancellor of a university in Zimbabwe – he didn’t say which one – who wants to do some major construction work at his campus and he’s prepared to talk to Joe about a tender. I think the inference is that they’d do what people alleged happened at our university, that bribes will change hands and the price will be inflated and the government will end up footing the bill. Moses has told Big Joe that a go-between will meet him on the side of the road ten kilometres from Victoria Falls, between the town and the airport.’

Doc slapped her forehead. Where was a police task team when you needed one?

‘Zola, you need to get out of the country.’

‘But –’

Doc held up a hand. ‘You’ve done good work, but I can’t bear the thought of anything happening to you if Moses finds out what we now know, or if his pig of a brother sees you and gets wind that you’ve been passing on information about him. I’ve also got Sue and Pär and Eva to think about.’

‘I want to stay, to help you, Doc.’

Doc reached out and put both her hands on Zola’s shoulders to comfort her as she thought about logistics. ‘I’m sorry to say this, but you might even need police protection. I know good people in Pretoria and Joburg who can protect you, but I’m powerless here in Zimbabwe. I’ll get Margaux to talk to the owner here, Meredith. She can organise a transfer for you and the others to Kasane, just across the border in Botswana. You can wait there, and when I get back with Ian, Margaux can take her Land Cruiser and come and fetch you.’

‘Doc . . .’

Again, she held up her hand in a stop sign. ‘No. We need you somewhere safe until you can be interviewed by the police. I’ll deal with Moses.’ Doc’s coffee was ready and she drank some of it, grateful for the caffeine hit. ‘We need Moses’s phone. It’s got all the evidence of his complicity in Ian’s kidnapping.’

Zola looked down at the tiled floor. Her shoulders began to shrug.

‘What is it? Are you all right, Zola? I need you to stay strong for me.’

Zola tilted her head up and Doc saw that she had started to cry. ‘There’s some references on the phone to other things, about Graham and Oscar, and about . . .’

Doc held her breath. It was clear Zola didn’t want to say more and Doc didn’t want to ask the question. Doc’s lower lip started to tremble. She forced herself to say it: ‘Jurie?’

Zola squeezed her eyes shut. ‘Not by name, but there were messages between Moses and Big Joe about taking a pangolin, to embarrass you, and then having to “get rid of the rangers” when Oscar got cold feet and reported his part in the theft of the animal to Graham. Moses said something like: “This will be even harder to cover up than when Ralph accidentally killed the policeman”.’

Doc felt her own sorrow well up again, but forced herself to stay calm. ‘So this Ralph, who stalked me, was working for both brothers.’

‘Stalked?’ Zola asked.

‘Long story. But it fits.’ The pieces were slowly falling into place, but like a jigsaw puzzle there were some that you were sure would fit, but didn’t. And there were still questions. For example, Ian had said there were two kidnappers, and he had taken a car that presumably belonged to one of them. ‘One more thing you can do for me.’

Zola wiped her eyes with the back of her hand. ‘Anything.’

‘You need to take Moses’s phone with you when you go, and keep it safe. From what I can gather there’s enough evidence on the phone Ian has to implicate Moses in the kidnapping, but it sounds like his messages to his brother tie him to three murders, not to mention their tender-fixing racket. Can you do that?’

‘I can.’ Zola sniffed and squared her shoulders. ‘I will.’

*

The black Range Rover with tinted windows pulled up outside the departures hall at Johannesburg’s OR Tambo International Airport.

Sipho Mnisi got out of the driver’s side and looked left and right, taking in the well-dressed passengers unloading their luggage, the porters in their reflective vests waiting for business, a driver smiling as he accepted a tip. The Highveld morning air had a chill in it and a hint of exhaust fumes and smoke. Sipho walked around to the other side of the vehicle and opened the rear passenger door for his employer.

It was partly in deference to Big Joe’s standing – and his deadly reputation – that Sipho acted like a chauffeur, but also in acknowledgement of Sipho’s training as a bodyguard. Sipho wouldn’t open the door until he knew his employer was safe from immediate threat. Plenty of people wanted Big Joe dead.

‘Thank you, Sipho,’ Joe said as Sipho closed the door then went to the rear of the vehicle and opened the tailgate.

Big Joe was travelling light, just a small overnight wheelie bag.

‘I still think I should be going with you, boss,’ Sipho said.

Big Joe laughed. ‘Just so you can spend time with those fine Zimbabwean women.’

Sipho’s smile was tight and polite. ‘Since the Chinese guy was taken down at Emperor’s a few months ago, the threat level against you has escalated, boss.’

Big Joe took the bag from him. ‘I appreciate your concern, but I’m going to Victoria Falls, not Cyrildene. No one even has a gun in Zimbabwe.’

Cyrildene was home to many of Johannesburg’s Chinese residents. Sipho patted the nine-millimetre pistol in the shoulder holster under his suit jacket. ‘That’s the problem, boss. I can’t even go and protect you.’

Joe clapped his bodyguard on the arm. ‘I appreciate your concern. Enjoy a day off and I’ll see you tomorrow when I land.’

‘Safe travels, boss.’ Sipho watched the broad back, snug in the tailored blue blazer, disappear into the terminal. He shook his head as he opened the driver’s door of the Range Rover. This was not good.

Chapter 32

Ian stood at the bow of the Sealion and willed the old tub to go faster as they turned to port. He yawned; though he’d lain on his fold-out bed he’d had precious little sleep. The vessel rounded a point. Ahead he could see a concrete slipway.

A hippo honked somewhere nearby and the captain started to open the front ramp of the ferry as he steered to face the shore. The crew were moving around him, taking positions and getting ready to offload, and on land men were uncoiling ropes in preparation for the boat’s arrival. A kingfisher dived and splashed into the lake, chasing its prey.

Ian looked over his shoulder – his pursuer was in the cabin. Ian held a hand up to his brow and scanned the shore. He saw Doc and she waved to him. He felt a mix of relief and fear. Standing next to Doc was a man in the blue uniform of the Zimbabwe Republic Police, which Ian now readily recognised, and Sara the filmmaker was on the officer’s other side.

Ralph walked past him, giving Ian a fright, but the man then climbed over the safety railing at the front of the ferry and walked down the stairs to the car storage area. This seemed to be done with the complicity of the crew, because no one challenged him as he got into his Toyota HiLux. As the last vehicle on, he would be the first vehicle off.

Sven came and stood next to Ian. ‘Your mysterious friend won’t get far,’ he said. ‘I spoke to the captain and he said all vehicles have to stop at the top of the hill, above the landing ramp, and pay a national parks fee and fill in a register book before they can leave.’

‘Good,’ Ian said. That might be a chance for the policeman with Doc to question Ralph and maybe check his papers. At least they might be able to get his full name by checking the register.

The captain slowed the engines and the ferry coasted up to the slipway. Ian couldn’t wait to disembark and, now that he could see Doc again, hold her.

The ramp came down and metal screeched on concrete. Ralph started his engine and revved it. Doc, Sara and the police officer started walking down the concrete road but the policeman motioned with a hand for the two women to stay where they were. On a signal from a crewman, Ralph moved slowly onto, then off the ramp, and the officer strode out to meet him, his hand up.

Ralph accelerated. His tyres squealed and the HiLux shot forward. The police officer was forced to jump out of the way, and slapped the bodywork of the Toyota as it passed him. Doc and Sara also stepped back as Ralph roared up the steep hill.

‘That might be a sign of guilt,’ Sven said. ‘But he’ll have to stop at the boom gate at the top.’

Ian shook hands with Sven and gave Maria a quick hug. ‘Thank you.’ He climbed over the safety railing, as Ralph had, and ran down the stairs and across the ramp. A crewman shouted at him to stop – Ian guessed he should have waited for the other two vehicles to leave the ferry first – but he had to get to Doc.

He dropped his shopping bag of dirty clothes and crushed Doc in a hug. He wanted to kiss her, but Sara was standing next to him, patting him on the back.

‘I’m so glad you’re safe,’ Sara said, ‘though how I’m going to work all this into my documentary, I don’t know.’

Doc shook her head at Sara, and eased herself away from him. ‘That was Ralph, I take it?’

He nodded. The three of them ran up the hill. When they reached the top, they found a wooden boom gate lying snapped in two on the road and a man in national parks’ uniform scratching his head. The policeman, who had been following them up the hill, spoke to the park ranger in their shared language.

‘That man,’ the policeman said in English, pointing to where the vehicle had now disappeared, ‘has committed several crimes just now.’

‘You don’t know the half of it, mate,’ Ian said. ‘Can you go after him?’

‘Ah,’ the policeman rubbed his jaw, ‘regrettably I have no vehicle.’

‘You can ride with us,’ Doc said.

‘Unfortunately, I cannot leave my post. I will try and call my colleagues at Dete Crossing, to see if they can apprehend this man.’

Doc shook her head resignedly. ‘Come on, let’s get going,’ she said to Ian and Sara.

The national parks ranger, shaken and angered by Ralph’s escape, was adamant that Doc had to pay her park entry fees and sign the register before he let them leave.

Ian was impatient. Every minute that ticked by, as a receipt book was laboriously filled in, then stamped, and their money counted and recounted, put Ralph further out of their reach.

‘Don’t worry,’ Doc said, ‘we’re not really equipped to try and stop him anyway, but we’ve got a whole lot more evidence on him.’

‘And on Moses Khumalo,’ Ian announced. ‘I called the number of the man who’s been giving Ralph the kidnapper his orders, and it’s Moses.’

Doc gave him a smile. ‘I know, but as you’d say, Ian, “You don’t know the half of it, mate”. I’ll fill you in on the drive to Victoria Falls.’

*

Jason Chow stood in the arrivals area of Victoria Falls International Airport and looked up at the information board. Flight AZ494, the Airlink flight from Johannesburg, had just landed. He checked his watch. It was 1.12 pm; the flight was eight minutes early.

Jason put on his Ray-Ban sunglasses and went out into the sunshine. The troupe of Ndebele singers in traditional dress stood up, surprised by his unexpected appearance, but then sat down again when they realised he was not a luggage-toting tourist.

Jason went to his HiLux, got in and switched on the engine and air conditioner. He had parked close to the terminal so he could watch for the arriving passengers. As a South African, Big Joe Khumalo would be spared the ordeal of queueing for a Zimbabwean visa, so he should appear soon.

There was a rap on the passenger-side window and Jason snapped his head around.

‘Shit,’ Jason said under his breath, then pressed the button to lower the window.

‘Jason! It’s me, Geoff Hoddy.’

‘Yes, hello, Geoff. What are you doing here?’

‘I could ask you the same question, boet. I thought you’d be in Vic Falls long ago. Did you do some sightseeing on the way?’

‘Um . . . I got delayed. Car trouble.’

Geoff patted the roof. ‘In one of these babies – no ways, man. I got sick – food poisoning. Doc thought it might be malaria, so I had to go to the hospital in Harare for a test. I spent the night on a drip, but I’m bummed because I missed the trip to Mana Pools. I was going to get a bus, but I spoke to my parents and conned them into paying for a flight so I can catch up with the rest of the tour. How about you? What are you doing here?’

‘I just, er, stopped for a break, to get something to eat. There’s nothing on the road here.’

‘Cool. Well, this is lekker. I thought I was going to have to catch a cab or hitchhike to Vic Falls, but since we’re both going to the same place, I can ride with you.’

Geoff opened the passenger door before Jason could think up a plausible reason for him not to. Jason cursed his bad luck. But on second thoughts, it might be advantageous for him to spend some time with Geoff. His apparent absence from the tour on medical grounds was interesting, especially as he didn’t look at all ill to Jason. ‘Sure, climb in. I just, um, have to use the bathroom again. Might be something I ate.’

‘I hear you. I know that problem.’

Jason got out and went back into the terminal. Within a few minutes Big Joe emerged from customs and went to the Europcar desk. Jason lingered on the far side of a stuffed lion, rampant on a plinth, but Joseph Khumalo was engrossed in his rental car paperwork. When Joe was done, Jason waited another minute, then walked outside. He saw Joe ahead, with a car hire employee in tow. Joe did a quick walk around a small white SUV, then got in.

Jason went to his own car and slid behind the wheel.

‘All good?’ Geoff said.

‘Fine.’ Jason pulled out of the car park and took up a position about two hundred metres behind Big Joe. There was only one road into Victoria Falls, so he didn’t need to stay too close to the other car.

Jason gripped the steering wheel with his left hand and used his right to adjust the Glock pistol on his right hip, under his T-shirt.

Showtime, he thought to himself.

*

The Sniper who was going by the name of Ralph lay in the grass across the road and one hundred metres from the concrete ten-kilometre peg planted in the side of the road to Victoria Falls.

His work was almost done. Out of habit, he patted his left breast pocket, where he kept her picture.

His own vehicle was parked deep in the bush and he had emptied a jerry can of petrol into the interior and over the roof, in preparation for his departure. He’d bought the vehicle, privately, in South Africa using a stolen ID – the target of the theft looked enough like Ralph that he could pass for the other guy when he’d shown his ID to the seller and paid for the new vehicle licence. He had sourced his guns from Johannesburg’s thriving illegal firearms market.

When he was done, there would be nothing to indicate that Peter James Bennett, former private in the British Army’s 1st Battalion, the Parachute Regiment, or ex Corporal Bennett of the South African National Defence Force’s 1 Parachute Battalion, had ever been in Zimbabwe, or had ever existed.

He checked his watch, then looked through the telescopic sight. He’d made it with time to spare. The fact that the woman had met the Australian off the ferry, and was on her way to this rendezvous as well, would not alter his plan. As they said in the army, no plan survived the first contact with the enemy, and his plan had been constantly changing and evolving.

A white SUV came into view. He shrugged his shoulders to relax himself and focused on his breathing.

The vehicle stopped.

A man got out. Target confirmed – one Khumalo, Joseph. Racketeer, rapist, one-time drug importer, corrupt businessman, and aspirational pangolin kingpin.

Big Joe looked around, either scanning for foes out of habit, or wondering if he was early or late for his rendezvous with the corrupt university official.

Joe stood by his car, turned his back to the road and unzipped his trousers. The sniper drew a breath, exhaled half of it, let the crosshairs rest over the back of Joe’s bald head, then squeezed the trigger.

The target hit the ground and the Sniper jumped to his feet. He left his rifle where it was in the grass and was halfway across the road, drawing the pistol from his belt, when another Toyota HiLux, the same model as his own, appeared through the shimmering heat haze coming off the tarmac.

The Sniper held the pistol by his side, hoping the other driver hadn’t seen it, and then ran to close the gap between him and Big Joe. As he reached the front of Joe’s rental car he saw all he needed to – Joe was dead. The Sniper waited, hoping the other four-by-four would pass.

The HiLux driver accelerated – the Sniper heard the change in the engine note – and for a moment he thought he’d be safe, but the driver then veered to the left and pulled over. When the other man got out of the car, he was drawing a gun.

The Sniper raised his own weapon and fired a double tap, two quick shots at the man, who he knew to be a police detective, Jason Chow.

Chow ducked and the Sniper, who had been blooded in combat, did not run away or take cover. Instead, he walked towards the other vehicle, firing as he went. Bullet after bullet punched holes in the Toyota’s windscreen and radiator as the man inside cowered for his life.

The Sniper darted back to Joe’s SUV and glanced inside. As a career criminal Big Joe clearly didn’t trust his fellow man – he had removed his keys from the ignition when he’d got out to urinate. The Sniper moved to the other side of the SUV to try and get the keys out of Joe’s pocket.

A bullet punched a hole in Joe’s SUV. So Jason Chow was still alive but firing from cover, and he couldn’t see the Sniper crouching next to Joe. Then came the sound of another vehicle approaching.

It was the tan-coloured stretch Land Cruiser that Denise Rado and her band of tourists and students had been using – the Sniper had noticed it and the professor as he’d sped away from the Mlibizi slipway.

Denise was behind the wheel and she pulled up next to Chow’s bullet-ravaged car and got out. Chow popped his head up and fired two shots towards the Sniper. ‘Stay in your car, Doc, pull back!’ Chow called at the same time.

A blonde-haired woman who had also been at Mlibizi, Sara Skjold, the Sniper thought, was out of the vehicle already and running for the cover of some trees on the side of the road, carrying a video camera with her. The Sniper ignored her.

The Sniper stood and took deliberate aim amid the confusion. He fired and this time Chow reeled backwards, hit by a bullet. The other man in the HiLux – the Sniper now identified him positively as Hoddy, Geoff – got out, ran around the back of the Toyota and bent down.

When Hoddy stood again, the Sniper could see that he now had Chow’s pistol. Denise Rado was half out of her Land Cruiser, trying to assess the situation. It looked like she was also reaching for something. The Sniper knew that she had carried a gun with her since van Rensburg’s death.

*

‘Doc, Sara, no, get back in the car,’ Geoff yelled.

Doc could see that Geoff had picked up Jason’s gun. She pulled her own Glock and was racking it. Sara was filming everything, but Doc didn’t have time to try to rein her in – an impossible task at the best of times. Doc could see a man standing by a white SUV. Another man was lying motionless next to the vehicle.

‘Geoff, get down!’ She waved at him, but Geoff turned and faced the other armed man, putting himself between the shooter and Doc.

‘Ralph,’ Doc called, ‘please don’t shoot. We can talk . . .’

The man said nothing, then fired again. Geoff fell to the ground.

Doc ducked behind the open door of Margaux’s Land Cruiser. When she peered over the lower edge of the window she saw that Ralph was still standing there, in the open, pointing a gun at her.

He paused, for just a second, then turned and ran across the road.

Doc got out and fired two snapshots at him. He was running, and at this range she knew she had little chance of hitting him. Doc went back to check on Geoff and Jason and saw that Sara, who had been a medic in Afghanistan, had put down her camera, grabbed the first aid kit from the touring vehicle and was already treating Jason.

The Land Cruiser’s engine roared to life and Doc spun around. ‘Ian! No!’

*

Ian rammed the big four-by-four into gear and accelerated down the road and off to the other side.

Ian was ready to duck beneath the dashboard if Ralph started firing at him, but instead Ralph sprinted into the bush.

Ian left the tar road, then bounced across the grass verge and into the tree line. He wrestled the steering wheel and had to slow to navigate his way around the trunks of mature trees. Saplings and bushes were crushed under his wheels and snapped against the big bullbar at the front of the powerful vehicle as he ploughed on. Branches whipped the windows at either side.

Ahead of him he caught glimpses of Ralph, running through the bush faster than Ian could drive. Ian began to fear that he would lose Ralph in the forest, when his front wheels slammed into a dip. It took Ian a second to realise he had just blundered onto a sandy access road that snaked between the trees.

Ian hauled the wheel over to the right and the Cruiser settled into twin wheel ruts. The sand was soft and he had to gear down and accelerate to churn his way forward, but then he was able to increase his speed. Ian reached over his shoulder with one hand and put on his seatbelt.

A hundred yards on he could see the white-painted flank of another vehicle, parked broadside to Ian’s direction of approach, in a clearing. Ralph appeared and threw open the driver’s door of his HiLux, a vehicle Ian now knew all too well.

‘You’re not going to get away now, you bastard.’

Ian accelerated and aimed the bullbar of Margaux’s Cruiser straight at the driver’s-side door, and at Ralph. He prayed that when he hit, the airbag would save him. Right now, he didn’t care what happened to Ralph.

The HiLux loomed large in Ian’s windscreen and he braced his arms against the steering wheel, readying for the impact. Then Ian saw Ralph raise his right hand, and as he made out the shape of a pistol, Ian’s only thought was that Ralph couldn’t miss him from this range.

Ian leaned to his left, trying to duck beneath the dashboard, but checked his movement and eased his foot off the accelerator as he saw that Ralph was not pointing his gun at him. Instead Ralph lifted his other hand and a small flame from a cigarette lighter flared inside the cab of the other vehicle.

Ian put on the brakes and the Land Cruiser churned to a stop in the sand. He lowered his head as the other vehicle exploded in a ball of flame.

Chapter 33

Four days later Doc and Ian walked into Arwyp Medical Centre, a private hospital at Kempton Park, near Johannesburg’s airport. They held hands until they got inside.

They had spent two nights together at an expensive hotel in Sandton, which Ian had paid for after they had flown back to South Africa from Victoria Falls. He’d said they had both deserved some luxury.

Doc went to the reception desk and a woman in a blue uniform looked up at her. ‘Can I help?’

‘We’re here to visit two of your patients – Jason Chow and Geoff Hoddy.’

The woman tapped on a computer keyboard and checked the screen. ‘Ward 9. Both of them.’

They walked on, following signs and passing busy nurses, doctors and orderlies.

Frank Galloway, from the Hawks, had interviewed both Doc and Ian once they returned, and shortly afterwards, Moses Khumalo had been arrested and formally charged with kidnapping and corruption charges relating to the university tender. Frank had told Doc that conspiracy to murder charges might follow. The case was based on evidence taken from his phone, which Zola had given to the police when she returned to South Africa. It turned out that Frank had assigned Jason to follow Doc’s tour, undercover; an anonymous informant had been feeding the Hawks more information about Moses’s alleged complicity with his brother in the university building tender, and the case against him had been reopened. Frank had put Big Joe Khumalo under surveillance and had advised Jason of Big Joe’s departure from Johannesburg for Victoria Falls. Moses was strenuously denying all the charges against him, which Doc thought was to be expected.

The tour had been called off; Pär and Eva had flown home to Sweden from Victoria Falls via Johannesburg and Sue and Zola had been driven home by Margaux.

Ian and Doc walked down the corridor, Ian’s new shoes squeaking on the polished linoleum floors. He looked handsome and well-rested in chinos and a blue polo shirt, and Doc had loved just lazing about with him in the hotel, in between their meetings with Frank and other police.

But something nagged at her.

‘Still thinking?’ Ian said.

Doc nodded. ‘I keep turning it over in my mind. Moses is a smart guy. Maybe he was just so arrogant that he didn’t think anyone would ever check his phone.’

‘A cop friend of mine once told me there’s no such thing as a criminal mastermind. They all make mistakes, no matter how intelligent they are, and that’s how most of them are caught. It’s like Ralph, dropping the spoon that allowed me to escape from the farmhouse in Zimbabwe, and how he almost pointed to the rotten floorboards by shooting a hole in one of them.’

Jason had said the same thing, about criminal geniuses being a fiction, but Ian’s other observation was a lightbulb moment.

Doc looked up at Ian and their eyes met.

Ian nodded a few times. ‘You’re thinking what I’m thinking?’

‘Yes,’ Doc said. ‘It was almost like it was too easy. Why did he follow you all the way to Kariba and then sit with you on the ferry and do nothing? He could have grabbed you anywhere on that road at night, through Zimbabwe. It’s almost like he was shepherding you, rather than chasing you.’

‘I’ve been thinking about that too,’ Ian said.

As they came to Ward 9, Sara and Sue walked out and met them in the corridor.

‘We’re just leaving,’ Sara said. ‘The boys are both alive and well, although I’ve got the mother of all editing jobs ahead of me, trying to work out how to fit all that fantastic shootout stuff from Victoria Falls into a documentary about pangolins.’

That was Sara to a tee, Doc thought. Gunfights and the killing of a crime boss were just scenes on a storyboard to her. Doc smiled and nodded. ‘We’ll try and fill in the blanks for your film sometime soon.’

‘Doc,’ Sue said. ‘Um, can I please have a moment with you? Alone?’

Ian nodded and walked into the ward. Sara said her goodbyes and left.

‘Doc – Professor Rado.’ Sue wrung her hands. ‘I just wanted to apologise.’ She lowered her voice. ‘For what happened with Ian.’

Doc tried to force the image of what she’d seen in Ian’s rondavel in Harare from her mind. ‘It’s all right.’

‘No. Please. Ian really was a gentleman, and he really didn’t want to do anything. In fact, before you walked in on us I was starting to get a bit mad at him. I misread all the signals. I thought that you were keen on him at first, but then you seemed to distance yourself from him. Jason had been acting very hot and cold with me once the tour got under way, but I now know that his mind was on his undercover work. Jason’s a good guy and I shouldn’t have treated him as casually as I did. I’ve told him I’d like to see more of him, like, on a more committed basis.’

‘I’m happy for you,’ Doc said.

‘I can see now that you and Ian have feelings for each other, and I wish you the best.’

‘Thank you.’

Sue’s phone dinged and she checked it. ‘Saved by the bell. My Uber is waiting for me outside. My mom’s waiting to see me – she’s been worried sick about me since she read in the papers about Graham and Oscar.’

‘Of course,’ Doc said.

‘Bye.’ Sue started to walk along the corridor then stopped and turned back to face Doc again. ‘I really am sorry. For everything.’

Doc nodded and went into the ward. Jason and Geoff were the only two patients there. Jason was sitting in an armchair, reading a car magazine, and Geoff was lying in the bed next to him, chatting to Ian. Jason started to get up as she entered, but put a hand to his side and winced.

‘Take it easy there, mate,’ Ian said.

Doc went over to him. ‘How are you, Jason?’

‘Lekker.’ He grimaced. ‘I’ll survive. The wound was a through-and-through, didn’t hit anything vital. Geoff is in worse shape.’

‘Thanks, bru.’ Geoff tried to smile. ‘Very reassuring.’ He was connected to an IV drip and monitors, which beeped in the background.

Doc went to him, put a hand on his and gave it a quick squeeze. He smiled up at her. ‘Are you all right, Geoff, really?’

‘The doctors say I’ll be fine. I was out of it on drugs the last couple of days. Sara’s first aid saved me. She’s been to visit me a few times.’

‘More like twice a day, every day,’ Jason chimed in. ‘I think she’s sweet on him.’

‘Knock it off,’ Geoff said. ‘Sara said I had what they call in the army a sucking chest wound.’

‘Sounds nasty,’ Ian said.

‘It is, trust me,’ Geoff said. ‘I’m pleased you came to see us, Doc.’

She raised her eyebrows. ‘Really.’

‘Um, yes.’ Geoff looked to Ian and Jason. ‘Guys, I wonder – could you do me a favour and give me a couple of minutes alone with Doc?’

Ian glanced at Doc and she saw the concern in his eyes. ‘It’s OK, Ian. It just seems like everyone wants a private chat with me today.’

‘OK,’ Ian said.

Jason stood up, slowly. ‘I could use a coffee, and a walk, if you want to join me, Ian.’

The two men left them and Doc sat in the chair Jason had been in, next to Geoff. ‘What is it?’

Geoff closed his eyes for a second, then opened them. ‘I’ve been too drugged up to have a long discussion with the police, but there’s something I wanted to tell you, before I tell them – and I do know that I have to tell them at some time.’

Doc looked to the door of the ward. Ian and Jason were gone, but Geoff was on his back and connected to a tangle of wires. He was no physical threat to her.

‘I don’t know where to begin . . .’

Doc licked her lips. ‘Try.’

‘You know how you called out “Ralph” to the guy who was shooting at us?’

‘Yes?’

‘Why did you use that name?’

Doc looked out the window, over the industrial and residential suburb outside. Geoff obviously had something important to say, which related to the whole saga, so she felt she could at least be honest with him. ‘I met a guy online, on a dating site, whose name was Ralph, and we . . .’

Geoff raised a hand, and even that small effort seemed to cause him some discomfort. ‘It’s OK, Doc. I know what you’re going to say.’

‘What? How?’

‘About Ralph,’ Geoff said.

‘How would you know?’ Doc felt the downy hair on the back of her neck rise.

He looked up into her eyes. ‘I’m Ralph.’

*

Ian had hired a car and a driver for their time in Johannesburg and the Mercedes sedan cruised almost silently away from Kempton Park, on the eastern side of Johannesburg, on the R21, N1 and N14, towards Krugersdorp, in the west.

Doc had discussed her theory with Ian, after she had told him what Geoff had revealed. Geoff had been so embarrassed he had cried as he lay there, wounded, in his hospital bed. Doc had felt anger, even revulsion at first that Geoff had basically been catfishing her, but that had turned to pity, and even a kind of understanding, as Geoff had sobbed. He had been – perhaps still was – infatuated with her, and he had poured his heart out.

Once she was over the initial shock, Doc’s mind processed this vital new piece of information. Geoff had been attracted to her, but he had never intended to hurt her or any other man she had been involved with.

‘Facebook,’ Ian had said as they sat in his car in the hospital car park, considering the new piece of the puzzle.

‘What do you mean?’ Doc had asked.

‘Whenever I was going to hire a new staff member, I would first check their Facebook account before I hired them. Later it was Instagram, but either way, you can tell a lot about a person from what they post.’

‘Isn’t that like stalking?’ Doc asked him.

‘Yes. But you learn a lot.’

Doc had gone online and used her phone to check a couple of profiles.

And there she had found it, the piece of the puzzle that would never have looked like it would fit in its proper place. It was a birthday message from one woman to another.

Happy Birthday, my darling daughter. I love you and hope you’re well out there in the bush.

Doc had clicked on the woman’s profile. Her name was Penny, and she was white and lived in Krugersdorp, Johannesburg. On her profile were pictures of her cat and her dog, and her children, when they were small. A boy who was older, and a girl who was younger.

Oddly, there were no pictures of the girl beyond the age of about ten or eleven, but there were images of her son. He had grown into a solid, fit-looking man, and he had served in both the British and South African military.

Doc had sent Penny a message on Facebook as Ian’s driver set off on their journey. She told Penny who she was, that she was concerned about Penny’s daughter and wanted to know how she was after what had happened on the tour, without bothering her.

She’s fine, Penny had replied. She talks about you often. She really admires you.

Doc had asked Penny for her address, then lied, saying that she needed to courier some important university paperwork to Penny’s daughter.

No problem. Penny had given her address, in an estate called Villa Conesa, in the West Rand, not far from the Silverstar Casino and the Cradlestone Mall. Doc knew the area, and directed the driver there.

This part of Johannesburg had boomed in recent years, with new housing developments pushing out into what had been small farms to the west of the city. The driver stopped at the entry gate and told the security guard they were going to number 273. Doc gave her name and the guard called the house.

Once through the gate they turned right and drove one hundred metres until they stopped outside a two-storey house whose plastered brickwork was painted Tuscan brown. As Doc and Ian got out, a grey-haired woman, short and thin, came out of the house.

‘Professor Rado, this is a surprise,’ Penny said.

‘I was in the neighbourhood, so thought I’d stop by. Please, call me Denise,’ Doc said.

‘You’re actually in luck,’ Penny said. ‘She’s just come home from the mall. She’s off to England tonight. Been saving hard and all of a sudden she’s decided to up and leave me.’

‘Mom, who is it?’ a voice called from upstairs.

‘A surprise guest, come to see you,’ Penny called.

Zola took the first three stairs then put her hand over her mouth when she saw Doc. Her eyes were wide and she gripped the bannister hard as she stood there, frozen.

‘Zola?’ Penny said.

She cleared her throat. ‘Um . . . maybe go make some tea, mom, please?’

The family pictures on the wall told some of the story. Zola filled in the rest once she clumped down the stairs and took Ian and Doc outside to the stoep, where they sat around an outdoor dining table.

‘My birth mother was Penny’s domestic,’ Zola said. ‘She got pregnant at a young age, and the guy wouldn’t marry her. My mom was an illegal immigrant, from Zimbabwe, and her parents had died of HIV. When I was three years old she died in a taxi accident, on her way to work. Penny and her husband, Will, only had one child, Peter, and Penny couldn’t have any more. They adopted me. My full name is Zola Nkosi-Bennett, although I don’t use my English surname usually.

‘My adopted dad died a few years ago, of cancer, and my mom only has a small pension from the UK to live on. She and my father moved to South Africa in the 1980s – he worked in the mines. Mom couldn’t afford my university fees, so I ended up in, well, you know, the arrangement with Moses. He is a pig, but his brother was worse.’

Doc and Ian let Zola do the talking and when her mother brought tea, Zola asked her if she could have time alone with her guests. Penny went back inside.

Zola sniffed. ‘Big Joe told me that if I didn’t help him get into the pangolin trade, he would kill me. He said that if I went to the police, he would find out, because he had someone on the inside.

‘Big Joe didn’t want to just buy one pangolin, he wanted a piece of an operation, import and export. He said he had contacts in China who would pay for animals and so he wanted to become a player. He told me that he wanted me to find him a buyer that he could do business with; I told him that from what I knew, that you, Doc, had never been able to find or catch a buyer.’

Doc looked to Ian. ‘That’s true.’

‘Joe kept up the pressure on me. He was relentless. He made excuses to meet with Moses so that he could keep hassling me, and touching me, and threatening me. One time, he picked me up on my way home from university. He raped me in the back of his Range Rover while his henchman, a guy called Sipho, was driving. Joe thought that was fun.’

Doc put a hand to her eyes. She resisted the urge to ask Zola to explain why and how Jurie had been killed.

‘After the sting where you shot the guy,’ Zola said, ‘and we were all sitting with you in the Mugg & Bean, I messaged Big Joe and told him that I knew of a buyer who had just bought a pangolin.’

‘You lied to him,’ Doc said.

Zola nodded. ‘I knew that you and Jurie had a live pangolin with you, and that there would be delays in you getting it to the rehab place, because you’d shot the guy, and there would be extra paperwork so the other officers, like Jason, would be busy.’

‘So you, what, set me up to meet this Big Joe?’

Zola was wringing her hands in her lap. ‘Yes. I had a second phone, one I’d bought especially for this, and I pretended to be the buyer, about to leave for Asia, and with plenty of money to throw around.’

‘You wanted to entrap me? I was talking to you all along via those WhatsApp messages while we sat there eating, with the other students right next to you?’

Zola nodded and bit her lower lip. ‘I was messaging Big Joe at the same time, pretending to be the other buyer – you – and the idea as far as he was concerned was that you were going to just rendezvous in the car park at Emperor’s Palace and have a business meeting about a merger or, knowing Joe, him getting enough intelligence to put you out of business and take over.’

‘So who was John Chen?’

‘Chen was Joe’s potential business partner in the pangolin trade. I thought that Joe would come to meet you, with the intention of buying the pangolin, and then onsell it to Chen at a mark-up, or work with him to set up a supply chain back to Asia, but Joe got cold feet and told Chen to go to the meeting with you instead of him. Chen agreed, probably because he thought he could cut Joe out of the deal.’

‘No honour among thieves,’ Doc said.

‘None. My brother, Peter, was watching the buy.’

Doc glanced at a picture on the wall; it was the man who had set his vehicle on fire. She shuddered at the memory. Ian had told her he had braked hard, stopping the Land Cruiser just short of the burning HiLux, and just as he was getting out to try to help, Peter, who was engulfed in flames, had drawn his pistol not to shoot Ian, but to give himself a faster death.

‘He was in the military,’ Doc said.

Zola bit her lower lip. ‘Yes. Peter and I . . . it’s complicated. We grew up as brother and sister, but, obviously, we knew, and everyone at school knew, we weren’t actually related. He loved me. I went to an Afrikaans school – even though we grew up speaking English, it was the best school in the area. Many of the kids there would bully me, and Peter, who was much older than me, was always getting into fights, defending his little sister. When we got older Peter’s feelings for me . . . well, they grew.’

Zola looked down at her hands.

‘Go on,’ Doc said.

‘He went to England.’ Zola glanced inside. ‘Mom encouraged him to go, as he got older, partly to keep us apart. She would get angry if Peter was getting too close to me, touching me, even when we were just playing. He joined the army and went to Afghanistan. I think he had some problems, emotionally, mentally, to start with, but that place destroyed him. He was a sniper. He killed so many people, and when he came back to South Africa he couldn’t settle down. I told him, honestly, there was no future for us other than being like brother and sister, and he seemed to accept that. But he drifted back into the army, maybe to avoid having to see me all the time.’

‘I see,’ Doc said.

Zola looked into her eyes. ‘He used to say, often, that he would die for me. When Big Joe started pressuring me, I had no other choice. I turned to Peter for help.’

Doc made fists of her hands and laid them on the table to steady herself. She knew Jurie would have helped Zola, if only she had asked. ‘What happened to Jurie?’

Zola sagged in her chair. ‘Peter set himself up to shoot Big Joe. It was his idea, but I did nothing to stop him. It was the only way I could see to get away from Joe, and he was a terrible person, Doc.’

Doc steadied her breathing. ‘Tell me.’

‘Peter was watching the sting go down. He told me later that even though he didn’t know who Chen was, he saw Chen start to pull a gun on you and he shot him, instinctively. When he realised Chen was only wounded he fired again, but unfortunately Jurie moved into the line of fire.’

Doc put a hand to her mouth. ‘Unfortunately?’ She had guessed at the chain of events by now, but hearing it still shocked her. ‘Zola . . .’

‘I am so sorry, Doc. It was all I could do not to break down in front of you, but I couldn’t tell you what I had done. I was worried for my brother, and for me. It was terrible, I know.’

Doc felt her grief turn to cold fury, but she held it in. ‘Yes. Go on.’

Zola took a deep breath. ‘When Big Joe found out the meeting was a sting, and that Chen had been killed, he said he was going to kill me. He accused me of setting a trap for him, but I swore I hadn’t. I told him that Jason had let us know that there had been a hit out on Chen, which Joe admitted he did know about. I lied to him and said that Jason had told me the police knew that a rival gang had been following him.’

‘And he believed you when you said you weren’t part of the setup?’

‘I . . .’

‘What, Zola? What can possibly be worse than what you’ve told me already?’

She blinked and wiped her eyes. ‘I convinced him that . . . that I liked him.’

Doc closed her eyes in a mix of revulsion and pity. ‘Go on. What about Graham and Oscar?’

‘I persuaded Oscar to help me. I’d met him while doing my research in the field.’

Doc folded her arms across her chest. ‘I won’t ask you how you persuaded him.’

Zola glared at her, defiance blazing in her eyes. ‘I admit I have done some terrible things, but you cannot judge me if you cannot imagine what my life has been like, and what men have expected – demanded – of me. What they have taken from me, as if I was not even a human being. Peter’s love for me might not have been socially acceptable, but he never hurt me, or forced me to do anything.’

Doc acknowledged her point with a small nod.

Zola exhaled. ‘I convinced Oscar that I would only need the pangolin for a short while. I told him part of the truth, that I wanted to use the animal as part of a sting operation of my own. I told him it was unauthorised and being done outside of the law, that I wanted to make a name for myself, and that was why I was prepared to pay him.’

‘And what was the actual plan?’ Doc asked.

‘I told Big Joe that I would find him a pangolin, and deliver it to him. He was very cautious, saying that he would not meet me until I was able to send him a video of me with a pangolin, in an urban location, so that he knew I wasn’t just sending him some imagery from an animal I might have been researching in the bush. He wanted proof I had stolen it. He was then going to give me a time and place to meet. My brother Peter gave me an Apple AirTag, one of those little tracking devices people put on their luggage and stuff so they don’t lose it, and he has a friend who is a helicopter pilot at Hoedspruit. The plan was that when I had the pangolin and got word of where Big Joe wanted to meet me, then Peter and his friend would take off, and Peter would monitor my location with his iPhone. We thought that for all his paranoia, Big Joe would not be expecting us to have an eye in the air and then we’d surprise him from above. Peter would . . .’

‘I see.’ Doc had to admit, the plan was well thought-out. She imagined Peter would have been dropped off close by in the bush, then assassinated Big Joe with his sniper’s rifle.

‘When it came to getting the pangolin,’ Zola continued, ‘I couldn’t be in the part of the reserve where Sue’s pangolin was without an escort or authorisation, and my brother would not have been able to find it on his own. Oscar, by contrast, had a legitimate excuse to be anywhere on the reserve at any time of day or night. I organised for him to kidnap it, and then he was going to meet my brother on the R40, outside of Hoedspruit, on the night of your surprise party.’

‘But Oscar got cold feet.’

‘Yes, that much of what he told Sara in his interview was true. I don’t know why he didn’t tell Sara about my involvement – perhaps he wanted to spare me.’

Zola hung her head for a moment then glanced up. Her eyes were red and she continued to wring her hands in her lap. ‘I don’t know. My brother and I didn’t know about Oscar’s change of heart, or that he had handed the pangolin over to Graham, but when my brother drove to the rendezvous point, Graham was waiting for him. Graham pulled a gun on Peter when he stopped on the side of the road next to Graham’s vehicle. Unfortunately, my brother was already aware that something was wrong, because Graham’s anti-poaching vehicle was parked where Oscar’s car should have been waiting. My brother . . . he was in the war, in Afghanistan, and with the South Africans in the Central African Republic. It was self-defence when he fired – Graham fired and missed, but Peter didn’t.’

‘Why didn’t your brother take the pangolin, after he’d staged the scene to make it look like Graham was killed while changing a flat tyre?’ Ian asked.

‘Another vehicle was coming, and Peter knew that our plan would be in disarray because of Graham’s death. He thought it would be better to leave the pangolin, to make it look like Graham was a poacher, and for us to try another way to get to Big Joe.’

‘And Oscar?’ Doc asked.

Zola hung her head. ‘I was sure it would all come out, after Graham’s death, that Oscar would tell his brother the police detective what I had done. I was amazed that he hadn’t, although I was ready to take my punishment. My brother wasn’t ready. He SMSed Oscar – he had his number already – and he offered to pay Oscar more money for his silence. They arranged to meet by the fence of the game reserve – Peter would fire a single gunshot and Oscar would come to the fence to receive his payment . . .’

‘And your brother killed him,’ Doc said.

Zola was crying when she looked up. ‘My brother told me Oscar was going to kill him.’

‘Self-defence. Again?’ Doc did nothing to hide her disbelief. ‘But with Oscar dead, and the police unaware of your involvement, you and your psychopathic brother were almost in the clear. Why kidnap Ian?’

‘I told my brother that the killing had to end, and that we needed a way to get to Big Joe, to stop him once and for all.’

‘You were going to frame him for the killings, or at least some of them.’

Zola glared at her. ‘He was guilty of so many crimes, and so was Moses. My brother came up with the idea of luring Big Joe into Zimbabwe, where he wouldn’t be surrounded by his usual bodyguards. We decided to set up Moses as well, although I did not think Moses would ever be convicted of murder.’

Doc shook her head. ‘Your brother was some kind of crazed vigilante, and he killed the man I was going to marry and kidnapped the one I love.’

Ian gave Doc a sideways look and Doc suddenly realised what she had just said. She needed to stay on track. ‘You were using Moses’s phone to send messages to Big Joe and your brother, Peter, all this time, without Moses knowing?’

‘I set up Telegram in his apps, and didn’t load the icon on his home screen, so he never even realised it was running in the background. He’s a Luddite when it comes to phone technology.’ Zola put her elbows on the table and leaned forward. ‘What I told Ian was true. Big Joe did suggest to Moses that killing you would be the best way for any investigation of the university tender to go away and for Moses to gain the top job at the university. Moses didn’t support that, but Joe was a law unto himself, Doc. I’ll confess that I thought the kidnapping and implicating Moses was a way of ensuring you became vice chancellor, and then you could uncover the truth about him and his brother.’

‘So you’re saying you saved my life? Your actions caused the deaths of too many good men, Zola.’

‘Yes, and I will be sorry for that for the rest of my life. But my brother knew that he had done the wrong thing and he paid the ultimate price for it. He killed Big Joe, then killed himself to cover up the evidence of who he was, and of my involvement.’

‘And he nearly killed Geoff and Jason in the process,’ Doc shot back. ‘It was you who stole my phone, wasn’t it?’

Zola nodded. ‘Yes. That’s how I found out about your “Ralph”. We made it look like Peter was Ralph, like Moses had employed him to go undercover and find out personal information about you, to aid his campaign to be vice chancellor.’

‘And Ian? You kidnapped him to set up Moses?’ Doc said.

‘Yes. We never intended to harm Ian.’ She looked at him. ‘Peter employed a Zimbabwean guy he had served with in Afghanistan to be the other half of the kidnapping team. You escaping was part of the plan, Ian, so you’d find the burner phone implicating Moses in the kidnapping. Peter was waiting down the road with the lights flashing on his bakkie to make it look like an accident scene. We weren’t sure exactly where you would head to, but once you were on the ferry we knew Doc would take you to Victoria Falls. We made Big Joe’s rendezvous point close to there.’

Doc put her head in her hands.

‘I know this can’t atone for Jurie’s death, Doc,’ Zola said. ‘But trust me, Peter agonised over that, and the deaths of Graham and Oscar. I didn’t know that Peter would set fire to himself in his truck and die that way, but I’m not really surprised. He was a tortured soul.’

There was a knock at the sliding door and Penny opened it.

‘Sorry to bother. More tea, anyone?’

Zola looked around. ‘We’re fine, thanks, Mom.’ Penny closed the door.

‘She doesn’t know yet, about Peter, does she?’ Doc asked.

Zola shook her head. ‘Peter had been living rough for some time. He only came back into my life when I tracked him down, through one of his old army friends, to tell him I was in trouble.’ She looked to Ian. ‘I have your money. As you no doubt know, your bank was able to reverse the second payment. I was going to send the first payment back to you, anonymously, once I got to England and earned the airfare back.’

Doc looked to Ian. ‘What do we do now?’

Ian shrugged. ‘I wasn’t exactly thrilled about being kidnapped, but I can see now that Peter never meant to hurt me – apart from punching me a couple of times. It seems he was following me to actually make sure I made it to you.’

They sat in silence for a few moments and then Doc stood up and walked from the stoep into the house, where she strode to the front door.

‘Professor, are you leaving us already?’ Penny called from the kitchen. Doc ignored her and went out to the car.

Ian followed a couple of minutes later and came to her. ‘Zola just told me she’ll go to the police. She wants to talk to Jason, first. She had been sending the Hawks information anonymously about Moses and Joe, so maybe she can cut some kind of a deal with them.’

Doc looked at the sky, wondering if Jurie was up there, looking down at her, or if Graham and Oscar were teasing each other like they used to do. So many lives had been lost, and for what?

‘Zola was raped, Doc. I heard on the radio that violence against women and children is a terrible problem, here in South Africa – hell, everywhere in the world. I’m not going to press charges on the kidnapping, and when she sends me my money back I’m going to split it between pangolins and a refuge for victims of gender-based violence. Maybe there’s more I can do, in the future. I can afford it and women like Zola need options, like a safe place to go when they’re being threatened.’

Doc glanced at him. ‘The crime situation here doesn’t excuse vigilantism or murder, not even of someone like Big Joe.’

‘I know that, Doc,’ he said. ‘But Zola was trapped.’

Doc looked into his eyes. He was forgiving, and good, and handsome. She didn’t know what to do about Zola and if she was honest with herself she didn’t really care what Zola did or didn’t do next. Peter, the man who had killed Jurie, was dead, and Zola would have to live with the consequences of her actions.

‘What will you do now? Go back to Australia?’ Doc asked.

He smiled. ‘Well, I paid to go on a safari holiday and I only got halfway through it. I was hoping I might find a pretty woman to guide me around the rest of this crazy part of the world, before she takes on some high-powered job at a university. Know anyone who’d fit the bill?’

Doc grinned as Ian took her in his arms. ‘I do.’

Acknowledgements

I’ve touched on the plight of pangolins in a couple of my other novels, but it was a request from a reader and pangolin researcher, Lauren Tink, at a Pages & Wine book event in Johannesburg that led me to writing something focused on these amazing creatures.

Lauren, in turn, introduced me to Professor Ray Jansen from Tshwane University of Technology in South Africa, and I am extremely grateful to both of them for helping me with my research and for reading and checking the finished manuscript.

If you think the idea of the fictitious academic Denise Rado taking part in the gun-toting sting operations, posing as a pangolin buyer and getting involved in shootouts is too crazy to be true, think again. Ray and his colleagues from the South African Police Service and nature conservation authorities have been living that life for many years.

In a tragic, but poignant reminder of the fact that people involved in wildlife conservation literally put their lives on the line to protect endangered species in Africa, one of Ray’s colleagues was ambushed and killed by a criminal or criminals during the writing of this book. Although I always dedicate my books to my wife, Nicola, I would like to make special mention here of all those who serve in the protection of our environment, and those who have paid the ultimate price for doing so.

While Ray and his team have been able to save hundreds of pangolins, it’s estimated that about 20,000 of the anteaters are killed and trafficked out of Africa every year to feed the illegal market for their scales and flesh.

Shy and quite small creatures, pangolins are hard to spot and are considered the Holy Grail of game viewing. In twenty-nine years of travelling and living in southern Africa, and spending a good deal of that time on safari in the bush, I have yet to see one in the wild. So, I was also extremely grateful to Ray for introducing me to the equally inspiring Emma de Jager from Umoya Khulula Wildlife Centre, who gave me the chance to see these creatures in the flesh.

Although not open to the general public, I was fortunate enough to be allowed to visit Umoya Khulula, at its undisclosed location in the South African Lowveld, and was able to see pangolins rescued from the illegal trade being rehabilitated and readied for release back into the wild.

Thanks, also, to my friends Melanie and Ian Owtram for putting me up at their lovely lodge, Antares Bush Camp, in the Grietjie Private Nature Reserve, which is part of the Balule Nature Reserve on the edge of the Kruger National Park. This intimate lodge is a photographer’s dream with possibly the best game-viewing hide in all of southern Africa. While lions, elephants and an array of other animals are seen around Antares, to the best of my knowledge there is no pangolin release program taking part on the Grietjie reserve – that is fiction. If you ever visit Victoria Falls in Zimbabwe I can highly recommend the 528 Victoria Falls bed and breakfast, owned and managed by my friends Meredith and Paul Fischer.

If the surname of Geoff Hoddy’s character seems familiar to you, that’s because the real-life Geoff Hoddy and his wife, Kim, have paid money to the Painted Dog Conservation Inc. charity in Australia for themselves and other members of their family to be characters in several of my novels. Along with the actual Denise Rado, they are phenomenal supporters of African Painted Dogs, and I thank than them all for their generosity.

Thanks, too, go to the following people who paid money to various charities to have their names used as characters in The Protector: Sara Skjold and Sue Oliver (Painted Dog Conservation Inc.); Pär Öthander, whose wife, Eva, is not like the Eva in this book (Insimbi Legacy Projects); Jurie van Rensburg (Wildlife and Environment Society of South Africa); Ian Laidlaw (Friends of Soibada, Timor-Leste); the owners of the Aerotel Hotel, Hoedspruit (Nourish Eco Village); and David Smith (South African National Parks Honorary Rangers).

Thanks also to my authority on all things Afrikaans and South African, Annelien Oberholzer; my regular firearms expert, Fritz Rabe; and my unpaid team of editors and first-readers: wife, Nicola, mother, Kathy, and mother-in-law, Sheila.

Thank you, as always to my publishing family at Pan Macmillan Australia and South Africa, Alex Lloyd, Danielle Walker, Andrea Nattrass and Terry Morris.

And last, but most certainly not least, if you’ve made it this far, then thank you – you’re the one that counts the most in this business.

www.tonypark.net

Tony Park was born in 1964 and grew up in the western suburbs of Sydney. He has worked as a newspaper reporter, a press secretary, a PR consultant and a freelance writer. He also served 34 years in the Australian Army Reserve, including six months as a public affairs officer in Afghanistan in 2002. He and his wife, Nicola, divide their time between Australia and southern Africa. He is the author of twenty-one other novels about Africa and several biographies.

www.tonypark.net

Also by Tony Park

Far Horizon

Zambezi

African Sky

Safari

Silent Predator

Ivory

The Delta

African Dawn

Dark Heart

The Prey

The Hunter

An Empty Coast

Red Earth

The Cull

Captive

Scent of Fear

Ghosts of the Past

Last Survivor

Blood Trail

The Pride

Vendetta

Part of the Pride, with Kevin Richardson

War Dogs, with Shane Bryant

The Grey Man, with John Curtis

Courage Under Fire, with Daniel Keighran VC

No One Left Behind, with Keith Payne VC

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throughout Australia and their connections to lands, waters and communities.

We pay our respect to Elders past and present and extend that respect to all

Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander peoples today. We honour more than sixty

thousand years of storytelling, art and culture.

This is a work of fiction. Characters, institutions and organisations mentioned in this novel are either the product of the author’s imagination or, if real, used fictitiously without any intent to describe actual conduct.

First published 2024 in Macmillan by Pan Macmillan Australia Pty Ltd

1 Market Street, Sydney, New South Wales, Australia, 2000

Copyright © Tony Park 2024

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EPUB format: 9781761562822

Cartographic art by Laurie Whiddon, Map Illustrations

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