“So now what?” Jade asked, back at the station.
“I don’t know.” Debra shook her head. “How does a sick man leave his bed, disappear for two weeks, and show up dead in a different town?”
“Maybe the medicines he was on confused him somehow,” Jade offered.
“And no-one saw him walking down the road? No. I think that neighbour was right; he got into someone’s car.”
“But whose? And why?” Jade asked.
She turned, and there was Constable Owen.
“Jade …” he said. “I mean, Detective Khan, this just came in. I thought you’d want to see it.”
“Thanks, Constable Owen.” She took the paper from him, but he still lingered. “Anything else?”
“No … I … no … just … I …”
Jade stared at him until he went back to the customer centre at the front of the station.
“Shame! Like a little puppy looking for love from his mistress,” Debra said.
“I told him it was a mistake. I don’t understand. What he doesn’t get?”
“He’s still hopeful.”
“He shouldn’t be.” Jade looked down at the paper he’d given her. “So one of our victim’s cards was used. A credit card, over at the mall. Guy tried to buy a pair of jeans. Security has him at the shop.”
“Let’s go,” Debra said.
On the way to the mall Jade suddenly felt sick. “Debs can you pull over a minute.” She stepped out and vomited in the grass at the side of the road, and then got back in the car.
Debra looked at her as she climbed in. “You okay?”
“I’m fine. Got takeaway last night; might be that.”
“You’ve got to start eating better. You’re not a youngster anymore.”
“I’m only thirty-five,” Jade said, offended.
“Yeah, thirty-five, not twenty-five. You can’t be out drinking every night and eating greasy takeaway and think it won’t have any effect, that you’ll just sleep it off and wake up brand new. That won’t be happening anymore.”
“Okay, thanks for making me feel even shittier than I did.” Jade lit a cigarette and looked out the window.
“I’m just speaking to you as a friend, an older friend who’s been through it,” Debra said.
“Yeah, okay. Let’s leave it.”
At the mall, they found the guy they wanted, handcuffed to a table in the breakroom of the store.
“Hello, I’m Detective Botha and this is my partner, Detective Khan,” Debra said.
The young man glared at them, but said nothing. They sat down opposite him.
“So, okay, you want to play it like a tough guy then?” Jade said. “You got caught using a stolen credit card. That’s bad. You’re going to be prosecuted and by the looks of you I suspect this will not be your first time. So you know how that’s going to go. But what you don’t know is that the credit card you stole was from a man who’s been murdered, and you’re the number one suspect. Do you get how that changes everything significantly, Mr Man?”
“I didn’t murder no one!”
“He speaks,” Debra said. “Maybe you didn’t, but what we need to know is how you got the credit card.”
“Listen, I found that wallet.”
“Sure you did,” Jade said. She rolled her eyes and twirled the pen she was holding, waiting for some honest words from this guy.
“I’m telling you. I was over in Vale. I got a woman there. Her brother needed some help with … something. That’s where I found the wallet. It had a couple cards, about R200, that’s all. I took what I needed and threw it.”
“So this ‘help’ you were giving? What was that about?” Debra asked.
“No … nothing. It’s just a warehouse that side, in Vale. It’s got some lightness in the security department. I only drove the car. I’m not involved in that job at all. I’m sitting in the car, smoking, waiting for my woman’s brother. That’s when I see the wallet, just lying there. I pick it up. Like who would just leave it there? I didn’t murder no-one.”
Jade pulled him to his feet. “We’re going for a ride.”
***
Tell us what you think: Today HIV and AIDS is less in the news, and ARVs are available to infected people. So have South Africans become slacker about protecting themselves, like Constable Owen and Jade?