Free 7 Days by Deon Meyer Page A

with a thunderous clap, the glass directly in front of him exploded.
    His whole body jerked in fright, a glass shard stung his forehead. Shouts from inside, the tinkle of glass raining down and shattering on the concrete. His instinct was to duck, to move to the wall, away from the door. His hand reached for the service pistol on his hip.
    With his back to the wall, the pistol in his hand, on his haunches, head turned to the door, he wanted to shout to those inside to find out what was going on. He felt the warm trickle of blood running down his forehead. Then something jerked at his ankle, with so much violence that he fell over onto his left side.
    He looked down in astonishment at his lower leg. He saw his blue police boot in tatters, the blood seeping through it and slowly spreading in a growing pool on the concrete.
    He looked across the parking lot. There was no one.
    He looked at the street outside. There was nothing.
    Only then did he feel the incredible pain.

11
    With the file open in front of her Mbali tapped her finger on the emails and said, ‘I don’t get this guy. Am I missing something, is it the culture gap?’
    ‘No,’ said Griessel. ‘I don’t understand him either. Last night I thought … it’s like he’s trying to sound like a crazy. I think … if you read the emails, he comes across a lot like a wacko. But then he actually goes and shoots someone … I’ve never seen that before. If you look at that one email, he said:
You have two weeks to catch the killer
. He was planning back then. He was preparing. He’s … different. And he’s not … your everyday crazy.’
    She nodded in agreement. ‘You think he knew Sloet?’
    That was a good question, one that he had wondered about last night. He shook his head slowly. ‘I don’t know. Maybe. If he was part of her life, he must have known that it could lead us to him, eventually. So I have my doubts.’
    ‘Unless he
is
crazy.’
    ‘Yes.’
    ‘No candidates,’ said Mbali, a statement.
    ‘No.’
    ‘No communists?’
    ‘I don’t think he means a real communist. It’s a …’ His English let him down.
    ‘A metaphor?’
    He wasn’t sure what that meant. She saw that. ‘Like he’s using a figure of speech. Maybe he means black people?’
    ‘Something like that. As if he doesn’t want to sound like a racist.’
    ‘But he doesn’t mind sounding like a religious nut.’
    ‘Yes.’
    ‘So, any black suspects?’
    ‘Maybe a coloured guy. The caretaker …’
    Mbali closed the file in front of her, pushed it into her handbag. ‘I’m going to send the emails to Ilse Brody at Investigative Psychology … but what else, Benny? What am I missing? Where would
you
look?’
    ‘There’s not much to look at …’
    From the expectation on her face he could see she was hoping for more. He thought it over, then asked, ‘Nobody heard the shot? Not even the constable?’
    ‘Nobody.’
    ‘Then it’s probably a long-range weapon. A rifle, probably a scope. And a silencer. I’ll look at silencers, they’re scarce, I don’t think you can buy them from a shop … Do you know Giel de Villiers? From the armoury?’
    ‘No.’
    ‘He’s the one I go to if I have questions about weapons. He’s very quiet, but he knows everything. That’s what I would do. Talk to Giel.’ Realising it was Sunday, Griessel added, ‘He lives out in Bothasig. He’ll probably be in the book.’
    ‘Thank you, Benny.’ She got up and picked up her handbag. ‘Why do you think they gave me the case?’
    That caught him off guard. ‘How do you mean?’
    ‘I’m new at CATS, I only got back on Friday. I was still unpacking …’
    ‘You know how it is, everybody’s got too much work …’
    He wanted to add that she was a good methodical investigator, but with a look of suspicion she said, ‘Doesn’t make sense.’ Then her cellphone started to ring, and she had to scrabble in her big handbag to find it before she could answer.
    The conversation