The First Rule Of Survival Read Online Free Page A

throat.
    ‘Robert Eames, usually called Bobby, eight years, eight months, disappeared from Main Road between Mowbray and Observatory yesterday afternoon, Friday ninth between 1545 and 1615 hours. He was on his way from school to meet his father, who owns the used-car dealership opposite the Shell garage just past Groote Schuur Hospital. His dad called us at 1830 yesterday, having checked with his wife and friends that Bobby had not gone anywhere else.’
    Du Toit looks bleak. ‘My God. One a day. I can’t believe this.’
    ‘We’ve had officers on the street all this afternoon,’ de Vries says. ‘As you know, I took them off leave for Family Day. Again nothing. We assume the suspect is in a car. The boy gets in, the car drives away. So far, there are no known connections between the boys, or their friends. Early days still. Why do they get into the car with this guy? Why does nobody see anything?’ He tilts his head, like a nervous tic.
    Du Toit urges: ‘Somebody saw. Maybe they don’t even know it. We have to find them.’
    ‘And then, sir, this afternoon, as you know, Toby Henderson goes missing following our own SAPS Family Day.’
    ‘Where’s Trevor Henderson now?’
    ‘God knows.’ De Vries holds his head. ‘Must be going out of his mind. Last I heard, he was still talking with Toby’s friends, trying to see if anyone knows anything. Jesus, for this to happen in broad daylight, at the police’s own event, for Christ’s sake.’
    Du Toit nods again, this time remains mute. A silent acknowledgement: Toby Henderson, son of SAPS Inspector Trevor Henderson, is today missing, surely now abducted. They imagine how the scene must have unfolded. A perfect late-summer’s afternoon. The cricket club sports ground, an idyllic occasion: the match in play, officers, wives and families, girlfriends, all at tables around the pitch, a running buffet up at the pavilion, braais smoking, filling the air with sweet meat-scented smoke, a cake-stall under bunting. Around the corner, a playground for the kids, a golf speed-gun for the guys, measuring the longest drive in the force. Between cricket sessions, the divisional jazz band playing on the pavilion balcony.
    When, thinks de Vries, was the critical moment? In the midst of the afternoon, when the game was in full flow, the party beginning to swing as the effects of long, cold beers on a hot, dry afternoon begin to take hold. One moment when everything is as it should be . . . the next, when you become aware of a low whine of hysteria beginning to disturb the calm – and then that second when everything breaks down. The match stops, the players’ formation disintegrates. Policemen congregate, begin to splay out through the crowds, imparting the news, satiating the increasing need to know. And then mothers calling children, older siblings running towards the play area, desperate to claim their own.
    A child is missing.
    ‘Everyone cooperating?’
    ‘As you’d expect, sir. None of the men are going home. Uniformed guys are passing through all neighbouring streets to the cricket club, with Toby Henderson’s picture, and Steven Lawson’s and Bobby Eames’ too. I worked through last night and I’ll do it again if we have even the slightest chance of finding Toby – not to mention the other boys.’
    ‘And you’ll instruct Trevor, how?’
    ‘I’m not going to be the officer calling him off the team, sir.’ The ‘sir’ emphasizing who is of higher rank, who makes decisions. ‘If this were my son, nothing on earth would keep me from being right in the middle of the action.’
    Du Toit approves.
    ‘Keep an eye on him. We don’t want to compromise a prosecution, or the safety of the other abducted boys. You happy I handle the press, leave you alone?’
    ‘Absolutely.’
    ‘But expect a call, Vaughn. They’re going to want to talk to you too.’
    He looks out towards the now-dark city. ‘You think we can issue a warning of some kind?’
    De Vries snorts.