A flash of levity, then the reality. Just the mention of Anton’s name was enough to bring her up sharp. ‘I’ve got a plan,’ Lindi said.

Two-Boy was on the night shift. He looked at the electronic clock on the wall. It was that no man’s land in the relentless 24/7 working cycle, too late to be a part of the previous day but too early to herald the new morning. He often volunteered for this shift, which others were only too willing to relinquish. It was one way to deal with his insomnia. He felt the call-alert buzzer in his hip pocket. It was the other phone. He walked out of the open-plan Data Management and Technical Resources room at SABC and took the stairs down two floors. As he headed to the terrace outside the empty staff canteen he pulled out the phone and checked the screen. He didn’t recognise the number. There was no voicemail.

He was seized with indecision, wondering whether to call back or not. He hadn’t spoken to any of the others recently. The last conversation he’d had was with François a couple of days after they’d met at Hillbrow. François had said he thought the security people were on to them. He’d said that Sharmi seemed to have disappeared. He’d checked with mutual friends and not a whisper from her. He’d driven past her place in Melville a couple of times and her car was never there.

‘She always parks that Beetle of hers in the same place, outside the bottle store,’ he’d said. ‘It’s not there any more. It’s fucking spooky.’

Two-Boy had checked with a couple of the reporters in the newsroom. As far as they knew, the only person the police were looking for was ‘that do-gooder’ in Mpumalanga. They’d heard that his digs in Malelane had been raided and the police were keeping an eye on anyone he was known to be close to, friends, workmates – there was even a stake-out at his mother’s house.