7 Days by Deon Meyer Read Free Book Online Page B

first. All the footwork is done already.’
    ‘It doesn’t matter. Let’s just catch the one who did this.’
    Griessel noted Nxesi’s earnest expression. ‘Thanks, Tommy.’ He pointed at the top floor. ‘There was a wine glass, beside her computer. But no bottle …’
    Nxesi opened a door of the free-standing kitchen counter, and pointed. ‘The wine was here, Forensics took the bottle. Red wine, opened, the bottle was about half full.’
    Sloet must have poured the wine, put the bottle away. ‘She was tidy.’
    ‘You should see the cupboards. It’s like a shop.’
    ‘Where is the drawer with the knives?’
    Nxesi showed him a set of drawers. ‘The cutlery is on top, the utensils in the third one,’ he said.
    Griessel pulled open the top drawer. Silver cutlery, forks, knives, spoons, teaspoons. Nothing that could remotely match the measurements of the murder weapon.
    ‘There are three kitchen knives in the other one,’ Nxesi said. ‘But nothing that comes close.’
    Benny opened the third drawer. It wasn’t very full. A couple of serving and salad spoons, a modest collection of cooking utensils. And three knives with black handles, different sizes, the longest was a butcher’s knife, but the dimensions were still too modest to have been the murder weapon.
    ‘Even if there was a bigger one in that set, it would still be too narrow,’ said Nxesi. ‘I searched the flat, Captain. If she had a dagger or an assegai … No trace. I don’t know …’
    Griessel closed the drawer, walked over to the fridge, opened it. There wasn’t much in there. Two containers of expensive flavoured yoghurt, and one of feta cheese. Two kinds of yellow cheese, each sealed in its own plastic cover, a two-litre bottle of orange juice, one third empty. A bottle of white wine, unopened, a container of margarine, a Tupperware tub with what looked like beetroot salad in it.
    He opened the freezer compartment. A tub of ice cream, a few bags of frozen vegetables, a single bag of chicken thighs.
    He closed the door again.
    Upstairs he first looked into the spare bedroom, the one with the sealed cartons. The boxes were neatly stacked on the single bed, in line with the corners. Two rolled-up Persian carpets were pushed up against the empty white bookshelf, so you could walk to the bed easily.
    Griessel went over to the bed and inspected the boxes. They were still sealed with the broad sticky tape that removals companies used.
    Nxesi followed him as he went out, then down the short passage to the master bedroom. At the end of the passage, just before the bedroom door on the left, was a large window with a view over the city.
    The bedroom was big. Built-in cupboards against a long wall. Sloet’s desk opposite, between the two large windows, the cream-coloured curtains closed, just as they were in the photos. Against the door stood the wide, minimalistic double bed, left of that the entrance to the bathroom. On the floor was a big oriental carpet, also cream-coloured, with delicate brown patterning.
    ‘The light was on,’ Griessel said.
    ‘It was.’
    The desk top was clear now, the computer and files removed. He drew a breath to ask about the laptop, but his cellphone rang. He pulled it out of his shirt pocket. ALEXA, the screen read.
    ‘Hello.’
    ‘Benny, I can’t do it.’ There was utter terror in her voice.
    He walked out into the passage before asking her, ‘What do you mean?’
    ‘I can’t do the concert, Benny. I
can’t
.’

8
    ‘Alexa, no, don’t worry about it, I’ll soon be …’
    ‘It’s going to destroy me, Benny.’
    He didn’t know what to say to her, suddenly aware of his inability to find the right words, the right approach. ‘It won’t,’ was the best he could do. ‘You are Xandra Barnard.’
    ‘I am nothing, Benny.’ The tears were close in her voice.
    ‘I … Alexa, just give me an hour. Have you had any coffee yet?’
    ‘No,’ she said in a small voice.
    ‘Go and make yourself some