The First Rule Of Survival by Paul Mendelson

Mngomezulu, demanding updates for his boss.’
    ‘I can’t even pronounce the little fuck’s name.’
    ‘You’re a dinosaur,Vaughn.’
    ‘At least I don’t have to practise it in the mirror every morning.’
    Du Toit sticks his finger in de Vries’ chest. ‘You’re damn lucky – I do.’
    ‘I hope you told him where to stick his updates.’
    ‘I told him that if Thulani wants in, he’s in as the boss. His call. Doubt we’ll hear anything more from him directly. He’d rather watch us crash and burn.’
    ‘Men like Mngomezulu,’ de Vries mispronounces it quite dramatically, ‘whatever colour they are, I don’t trust them. You wear a suit buttoned top to bottom, pointy little shoes, you’re not planning on running anywhere, are you? Chasing down scum on a dirt track. You ever look at his collar? White as a fucking baby’s bottom. I doubt that man has ever sweated in his life.’
    ‘I’m surprised, Vaughn,’ du Toit says, ‘at your eye for the sartorial. To look at you sometimes, you wouldn’t think it.’
    ‘These are work clothes.’
    ‘Forget Mngomezulu.’ Du Toit pronounces his name perfectly. ‘It’s Wertner and Thulani we have to watch.’
    ‘They have to make a move sometime,’ de Vries says. ‘Kicking us when we’re down must seem like the right thing for them to do.’
    ‘Colonel Wertner hinted at information regarding actions of yours outside our jurisdiction. Do I know about this?’
    ‘Nothing to know. Wertner’s fishing. I may operate at the perimeters of the law, but always within it. You know that.’
    Du Toit smiles. Neither man knows that, believes that, for a moment. The new South Africa sometimes needs the old South Africa’s policing. Du Toit puts down his coffee mug, brushes crumbs from his dark, brass-buttoned jacket, sighs.
    De Vries gets up slowly.
    Du Toit says, ‘Find that car,Vaughn. Find it today.’
    2007
    De Vries walks wet, damp-dog smelling, from an outdoor parking space in town, amidst rain thick and dark as fog, to SAPS city building, up in the elevators to the top-floor corridor, towards du Toit’s office. He is dog-tired, and he knows what will be said: the official seal on his failure.
    ‘I have sanctioned two officers to pursue the abductions,’ du Toit tells him, without meeting his eye, ‘until progress is made, or I deem it time to conclude the continuing inquiry. Trevor Henderson is off the radar. I can only imagine what the man is going through. I sent word for him to take indefinite leave, but I’ve heard nothing.’
    ‘I was told his wife returned to the UK with their other child. No one has heard from him for weeks.’
    ‘I take it,’ du Toit says, ‘that no new evidence – indeed, any evidence at all – has been discovered in the last forty-eight hours?’ De Vries shakes his head. ‘I understand how you feel,Vaughn. This is on my head too but, blunt as it is to say it, life goes on. And we must be available and responsive to police it.’
    He looks across his desk to de Vries.
    ‘Vaughn?’ du Toit says, his voice almost imploring. De Vries looks up. ‘There will always be cases like this. You must know that.’
    ‘I am aware of that, yes, sir.’
    ‘Nobody could have tried any harder. I reviewed all the files at the weekend and you covered every possible corner. Now, listen to me. There may be a media reaction to the announcement of the scaling down, but we’ll just have to bear it. You look half dead. Take a week off,Vaughn. That’s an order. I need you back fit and working well.’
    De Vries nods silently. Then asks: ‘Have you spoken with the parents yet?’
    ‘No, but that is something
I
must do. You’re off Lawson, Eames and Henderson as from this minute. Go home, go on holiday. Do something to get your body rested and your mind focused anew.’
    ‘I’d sooner speak to the relatives, sir.’
    ‘I’ve already made my decision. You, me, the department – we will all live through this experience. We will move on.