Thirteen Hours Read Online Free PDF Page B

standing. They were running, towards her.
    Despair dragged at her. One solution would be to stop, so
that it could all be over, the inevitable could happen. She couldn't keep this
up, her strength was gone. For a second that option seemed irresistible, the
perfect way out, and it slowed her down. But in her mind she replayed the scene
with Erin in the night, and the adrenaline gushed and she carried on, weeping
as she ran.
     
    The ambulance men were lifting the body over the wall on a
stretcher as Griessel arrived with the coffee. The spectators crowded closer,
up to the yellow crime scene tape that now cordoned off the pavement. Griessel
had long ceased to wonder about humanity's macabre fascination with death. He
passed one of the polystyrene cups to his colleague.
    'Thanks, Benny.'
    The aroma of coffee reminded Griessel that he hadn't had
breakfast yet. Perhaps he could get back to the flat for a quick bowl of Weet-Bix
before the photos arrived, it was only a kilometre away. He could check whether
Carla had written to him. Because last night...
    No, he wasn't going to think about last night.
    Vusi said something in Xhosa that he couldn't understand,
some exclamation of surprise. He followed the detective's gaze and saw three of
the Metro policemen climbing the wall. Oerson, the one Griessel had argued with
earlier, was carrying a blue rucksack. They marched up, full of bravado.
    'uNkulunkulu, Vusi said .
    'Jesus,' said Benny Griessel.
    'We found it,' said the self-satisfied Field Marshal and held
out the rucksack to Vusi. The Xhosa man just shook his head and pulled his
rubber gloves from his pocket.
    'What?' said Oerson.
    'Next time,' said Griessel in a reasonable voice, 'it would
be better if you let us know you found it. Then we would bring in the forensic
guys and cordon off the area before anyone touched it.'
    'It was lying in a fucking doorway in Bloem Street. A
thousand people could have touched it already. There's not much in it anyway.'
    'You opened it?' asked Vusi, reaching for the bag. The two
straps were cut, just as the pathologist had predicted.
    'There might have been a bomb inside,' said Oerson
defensively.
    'Did you handle these items?' asked Vusi, taking out a
make-up bag. He crouched down to put the contents on the tarred path.
    'No,' said Oerson, but Griessel could tell he was lying.
    Vusi took a Steers serviette out of the backpack. Next, a
small wooden carving of a hippopotamus in dark wood, a white plastic spoon and
a Petzl headlamp. 'That's all?'
    'That's all,' said Oerson.
    'Do me a favour, please?'
    They didn't respond.
    'Would you go back and see if there is anything else?
Something that might have been thrown away. Anything. What I need most is some form
of identification. A passport, a driver's licence, anything ...'
    Oerson was not keen. 'We can't help you all day.'
    'I know,' said Vusi, quietly and patiently. 'But if you could
just do that for me, please.'
    'OK. I'll get some more people,' said Oerson. He turned away
and went back over the wall.
    Vusi's fingers explored the few small pockets on the sides of
the backpack. The first one was empty. He pulled out something from the bottom
of the second - a green cardboard card with a black and yellow logo: Hodson's Bay Company. In smaller type: Bicycles, fitness, backpacking, camping, climbing gear,
and technical clothing for all ages and abilities. There was an address:
360 Brown Street, Levee Plaza, West Lafayette, IN 47906. There were two
telephone numbers as well. The Xhosa man studied it and then passed it to
Griessel. 'I think the IN stands for Indiana.'
    'West Lafayette,' said Griessel dubiously.
    'Probably a small place,' said Vusi. 'I've never heard of
it.'
    'Fax them a photo, Vusi. They might be able to identify her.'
    'Great idea.'
    Griessel's cell phone rang shrilly in his pocket. He took it
out and answered.
    'Griessel.'
    'Benny, it's Mavis. An Inspector Fransman Dekker called. He
said to tell you he has a murder at Forty-seven