Deadline Read online

  DEADLINE

  ZAHEERA WALKER

  Copyright © 2016 Zaheera Walker

  First edition 2016

  Second edition 2017

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording or any information storage or retrieval system without permission from the copyright holder.

  The Author has made every effort to trace and acknowledge sources/resources/ individuals. In the event that any images/information have been incorrectly attributed or credited, the Author will be pleased to rectify these omissions at the earliest opportunity.

  1st Edition ISBN 978-0-620-70446-5

  2nd Edition ISBN eISBN 978-0-620-70447-2

  Edited by Vanessa Finaughty

  Cover designed by Southern Stiles Designs

  DEDICATION

  To Mikhail: you’re amazing...

  Thank you for breathing life into Deadline.

  Born 11 June 1958; called to rest on 29 April 2012.

  “If our love was a story book, we would meet on the very first page…. The last chapter would be about how thankful I am for the life we’ve made.” Goodbye Love...

  DEDICATION

  PREFACE

  CHAPTER ONE

  CHAPTER TWO

  CHAPTER THREE

  CHAPTER FOUR

  CHAPTER FIVE

  CHAPTER SIX

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  CHAPTER NINE

  CHAPTER TEN

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

  CHAPTER THIRTY

  CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

  CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

  CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

  CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT

  CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE

  CHAPTER FORTY

  CHAPTER FORTY-ONE

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  ALSO BY ZAHEERA WALKER

  PREFACE

  Deadline is set in Durban, South Africa. It tells the story of Feriyal Adam, an emerging journalist who has her sights set on the coveted prize, but... the universe has other plans for her – she loses her job, her mother succumbs to cancer and life has no meaning until the desirable Shane Black resurfaces.

  Feriyal takes on a dangerous assignment to prove her mettle. Determined, stubborn and foolhardy, she breaks rules to get what she wants until the moment when she stares death in the face. Held against her will by a notorious serial killer, she realises she might be living on borrowed time. He has lured women to their deaths and chances are he is set on doing it again....

  CHAPTER ONE

  June 1997

  The Durban weather was azure and gold. The world was young and alive with possibilities, and so was Feriyal Adam, a trainee reporter on the mainstream Daily Voice newspaper.

  Her six-month in-service training was nearing its end. She was going to be next in line for a permanent post. Life for the young woman was changing and the future looked promising.

  ***

  Growing up in the working class Phoenix community was a rocky journey. She lived in a tiny two-bedroom flat with Ma, her wrinkled andgrey-haired mother. Feriyal never met her father. He was murdered while buying bread for the family. She was six months old when he was lowered into the ground.

  Ma raised her alone and sheltered them with the money she received from her social grant; a few hundred rands from the government each month. She used it to pay the rent, buy groceries and send her only child to school. It was meant to improve their standard of living, but the proof was yet to be seen. Sometimes she bought Feriyal something special. Only sometimes. Life was a tough teacher.

  ***

  “Ma! It’s 6:30am. Have to go now or I’ll miss the bus. You can kiss me twice in the evening, okay. Salaams.” She shut the door as her mother’s voice floated from the bedroom.

  “Bye Feri. Enjoy your day, my child. Two kisses coming up later.” The weary woman spent most of her time in bed. These past few days were draining her, but she brushed it off.

  A 64-seater bus roared to her shelter. It looked tired, just like the passengers. The fake leather seats were torn, the music was turned up too loud and the smell of grease perfumed the interior. She plonked herself on the first available seat as the bus choked its way back into mainstream traffic. Forty-five minutes from home to work. From Phoenix to Greyville. She glanced at the blanket of sugarcane fields. Cars and motorbikes weaved from lane to lane. The scene played out like a movie on the big screen.

  ***

  Feriyal cradled a cup of steaming coffee in her hands and looked back at the briefcase on her desk. It was a Busby. Expensive black leather.

  Oh Ma, you spoil me too much. It must have cost you a fortune.

  When I get my letter of employment – soon, I hope – I will spoil you too.

  She gulped the last drop from her mug and grabbed her briefcase. It was time to make her way to the courthouse. It was a big day. Six men were standing trial for a cash-intransit heist matter.

  CHAPTER TWO

  The trial dragged on for three months. Each time, Feriyal secured the front page lead, painting the picture of what transpired in court.

  Six men and two women had gathered weekly at a house in Greenwood Park to plan one of the biggest robberies of the SBV cash depot in Pinetown. She reported how one of the accused, an SBV employee, told his policemen accomplices it would be a ‘piece of pie’ to ambush the depot after the last armoured vehicle entered to offload R25 million. The court heard how the accused overpowered the SBV security guards while they alighted from the vehicle, and how one guard was killed execution style when he fired shots at the accused. Details of how the money was packed in the boot of a getaway car were also heard in court. The robbery was meticulous except for two details – the getaway car was fitted with a tracker that led police to one of the accused’s house, and the accused were not schooled in how to spend the loot, because they all went on a spending spree.

  Feriyal scribbled in her notepad; she recorded on her Dictaphone and double-checked the court documents. Her story had to be accurate.

  This was the biggest cash robbery in South Africa and Feriyal was in her element – she covered it all.

  ***

  After what seemed like an eternity, the media started packing every available space at the High Court. It was the day for the sentencing.

  Feriyal was first in line, but her thoughts were elsewhere. Her editor, Aneel Simha, sent her a text message early that morning.

  Morning. We need to chat. It’s very important. Wait for me in the office.

  Aneel.

  What could be so important that it couldn’t wait? She had the court matter under control. It was a long day, but, for Judge Bryne Magid, it was a clear-cut matter. Feriyal wanted to file her story before she reached the office. She opened a new page on her laptop and started punching on the keyboard.

  Judge hands down stiff sentence for SBV robbers. Feriyal Adam

  Armed robberies are far too prev
alent in this country and whenpolicemen are involved it is unbelievably reckless, Judge Bryne Magid said as he handed down a stiff sentence to the six men in the Durban High Court yesterday. The men were sentenced to an average of 25 years for robbery and murder, while the three women were ordered to undergo house arrest for money laundering.

  Magid said the security guard was doing an honest day’s work and out of pure greed he was killed in the line of duty. He said Clive Moodley (39), Allan Naidoo (43), Sundesh Maharaj (37), Jay Govender (34), Krish Mahadevan (36) and Ashraf Khan (47) showed no mercy for human life as they forced their way into the depot and helped themselves to the cash. While Vani Naidoo, Kogie Pillay and Rekha Singh were not active in the full robbery, they are just as guilty.

  The six men were expected to receive R4 million each and the balance of the money was to be shared with the women.

  Only R5 million was recovered in the roof of a house in Greenwood Park and Magid ordered that the accused’s assets be frozen and later sold to recover some of the outstanding money.

  Feriyal skimmed through her story. Everything had to be perfect. She did a spellcheck and filed her copy for the day.

  She glanced at the wall clock. Just enough time to buff and polish before the meeting. I have a feeling it’s gonna be good news. And it’s about time, she thought.

  ***

  Her chair creaked as she dropped onto it. A load off her feet was justwhat she needed. Now for that meeting and then time to celebrate.

  Feriyal was confident; she was going places.

  Rubber soles crunched on the tiles outside. Musk cologne irritated her nose. He was here!

  “Hi Feriyal. Thanks for waiting. I know it’s been a long day at court, but this shouldn’t take long. Come.” He led the way to the balcony. “Let’schat outside.”

  She skipped after him. He’s going to tell me I’m on his permanent staff now. I’ll be able to give Ma some good news at last!

  “I received a letter from Human Resources yesterday. About your contract. Your six months in-service ends in a few weeks. You are aware of that, right?”

  “Oh yes. I’ve been counting the days.” She clasped her hands and tried to meet his gaze. “Guess you called me here today to tell me I’m no longer a trainee reporter. Yes?”

  “That’s correct, Feriyal. There’s no easy way to say this, so I’m just going to give it to you straight. Your services are no longer required!”

  Aneel hung his head in shame. He was the one who had told her she was first in line to get permanent employment if she proved herself in the field.

  “What?” Like a news bulletin, the words were loud and clear. The calm before the storm. It took her a few moments to process the statement. She gasped for breath when it sank in. Her thoughts were muddled.Her world collapsed. Without warning. But why? She didn’t understand. Didn’t see it coming.

  CHAPTER THREE

  Time ticked on. It waited for nobody. Aneel and Feriyal worked like yin and yang. He had always told her she would be on the top of his list when it came to career growth. There were also times when he spat fire at her.

  She glimpsed out the window. Darkness was enshrouding the bustling city. Commuters were gathering to board their taxi home. Discarded shopping bags danced in the breeze. Crumpled cooldrink cans decorated the tarred kerbs. It was a collage of chaos. Plumes of braai smoke filtered towards the heavens. With a flick of her finger, she swiped away the first tear. Her gaze caught the needles on her watch. It was running the treadmill. Run.

  Run. Run. Tick. Tick. Tick.

  Aneel cleared his throat. He swept his fat fingers through wispy hair. Fidgeted. Was he searching for the right words? A prolific newshound like him always knew what to say. Now he struggled to find the words.

  “Your…” He turned to look at the taxi rank. “Contract is coming to an end. Really sorry to break it to you this way.

  I cannot offer you a permanent position at this time.” He just blurted it out. Without feeling. What happened to the promises? A promotion. Excellent fringe benefits. Security. He made her work on public holidays. Sundays too.

  There was no overtime, but the promise of a good package. When the time was right, she would be first in line to secure the position. Blank promises.

  “But…”

  “I’m sorry, Feriyal. There’s nothing I can do!” He dropped his gaze and paced away from her.

  Feriyal would remember those words forever. How they made her feel. The way her knees wobbled. She would remember. Seldom did one forget such life-altering statements. That dreadful evening in June 1997 when her world stood still. The desire to brush it off as a prank was great. Aneel had a dry sense of humour.

  “This is a bloody joke, right?” There was no response. Then it hit her. She knew. She comforted her coffee with trembling hands. Her gaze was fixed. His eyes darted around. “Is this the news you wanted to share, Mr Aneel Simha?” For the first time, she addressed him by his full name.

  She was crushed and he knew it.

  He broke his silence. “I’m afraid it’s out of my hands. There isn’tmuch I can do for you.”

  Her pale cheeks flushed red; her eyes glistened like oil on water. She bit her chapped lips. “Why are you doing this? You promised to help me. To crack this field. I believed you. Dammit.” Her voice sputtered. Tears splashed into her drink. Her petite figure crumbled. This can’t be true. No, it can’t. It just can’t. She waited for a slither of hope. She felt herself falling. Falling like a leaf. Discarded from the family tree.

  Unwanted.

  She supported herself against the metal rail. Feriyal did not want to give him the pleasure of witnessing her weakness. Didn’t want him to know she was gutted. Extinguished. Like water on flames. “Now you stand here telling me I am worth nothing. Answer me, damn you!”

  Deafening silence. The hands of time stood still.

  Chain smokers filtered out to join them. The newspaper was put tobed. It was now time to feed their frustrations. “Well done, guys; top SBV story on the front page. You’re definitely going places. You gonna make a great team,” someone shouted. However, Aneel and Feriyal were no longer a team.

  Puffs of greyish smoke billowed in the air. Some talked. Others listened.

  Aneel saw his moment and seized it to drive the stake deeper.

  “A new intern is joining us in a week or two. You’ll hand your assignments to her. All of them.” His beady eyes penetrated her core. “She’ll shadow you in court. Show her the ropes. Help her build reliable contacts. Hold her hand if you must.” He pranced around like a mafia boss. Hands on his hips. The ones hidden by layers of fat. Built up over the years. “Your last working day is a month from today.”

  He didn’t ask Feriyal to assist the intern. He instructed her. Aneel the editor. A seasoned newsman who had big guns in the police force right under his thumb. He made people. Then he broke them. Piece by piece.

  Yet Feriyal still wanted to believe there was good in him.

  The smokers were dumbstruck. None could believe the scene that played out before them. It came without warning. Their mouths dropped open as he walked away. Her soft sobs punctuated the air. What could they do? What could they say? Yes. Feriyal’s contract stated she would work at the Daily Voice to gain experience for a year. That time was coming to a close, but she had potential. Star quality.

  That was the end of her dream. Aneel was the one who changed it into a nightmare. Crushed it. Like ice in a bucket.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  The intern arrived two weeks later. Aneel paraded her around the newsroom. He raised his voice louder than usual when he passed Feriyal’s desk. “Everyone.” He strained to see if Feriyal was listening. “We have a new staff member. The young Miss Buhle Khumalo. Please make her feel at home. She is going to be with us for a long time. Maybe forever.”

  Some smiled at the frightened young lady; others simply waved. Feriyal approached her and shook hands. “Welcome. So good to have fresh talent.”


  ***

  The newsroom quietened down after the 10am deadline. Staff members were planning their diaries for the next day, reading the newspaper and checking emails.

  A hysterical woman called the news desk. Buhle answered. A toddler had been knocked down in Essenwood Road. He was trying to stop his runaway ball. His mother turned away for a split second to answer her cell phone. A split second. That was all it took.

  Buhle had to attend the scene, interview witnesses and take a couple of photographs. Panic drained the radiance from her face. Where does one start? She was not a licensed driver either. What was she going to do? To disappoint on day one was not a good idea.

  Feriyal offered to assist. She was prepared to help the one taking the place she had hoped to fill one day. They booked a car; a white Toyota Corolla. Then they headed out to the accident scene, breaking the speed limit. Anything for a story. Anything within legal means as far as she could help it. The mother was nowhere to be seen. Bystanders said the child was airlifted to a hospital in Umhlanga.

  “Call the woman. The one who gave you the scoop. She might know more than she told you on the phone.”

  “Sorry.” Buhle bit her nails. “Didn’t take her number. I was thrilled about my first story. I got carried away. I’m sorry.” She bawled her eyes out. Her first day and she messed up. “Please don’t tell Aneel. He’ll lose faith in me.”

  Feriyal patted the distraught intern’s back. “Come now. It’s gonna be fine. We all started off making mistakes. You’ll get it right. Give me a moment to think.” She flicked through her contacts book. “Let’s call the police and paramedics first. I’ll call a favour from one of my good buddies and I’m sure we’ll have something to work with.”

  The toddler was traced to the Netcare Umhlanga Hospital. His mother was willing to speak to them. She wanted to tell readers how foolish she was. The moment she took her watchful gaze off her son. The reporters put foot to metal and sped to the hospital. They interviewed the mother and watched the beeping heart monitor hooked up to the serious, but stable toddler. A photograph to tell the story.