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any medical complications, let it go. I’ll tell my men to give some of these kids a talking-to, and they’ll get the word out.”
    â€œA gang of kids that’s attacking old ladies isn’t going to be scared off by that,” Neuman said. “And if they’re hanging out in the area, someone must have seen them.”
    â€œDon’t count on it,” Sanogo retorted. “People demand greater security, they demonstrate against crime and drugs, but the last time we blitzed the township, they threw stones at us. Mothers protect their sons, what can we do? People tell themselves that poverty and unemployment are the cause of all their ills, and crime a way of surviving like any other. The Casspirs 9 have left an indelible mark on everyone’s mind,” he said fatalistically. “And most people are afraid of reprisals. Even when there have been murders in broad daylight, no one has ever seen anything.”
    â€œCouldn’t you at least have a look on your computer?” Neuman asked, pointing to the cube on top of the desk.
    The captain didn’t move an inch. “Are you asking me to start an investigation into an attack that, legally at least, didn’t even happen?”
    â€œNo, I’m asking you to tell me if Simon Mceli is associated with any known delinquents, or if he’s part of a gang,” Neuman replied.
    â€œAt the age of ten?”
    â€œAll these gangs have their little minions to help them. Don’t tell me you didn’t know that.”
    The tone of the conversation, friendly until then, had suddenly cooled. Sanogo shook his head as if warming his spinal cord. “It won’t get you anywhere,” he said.
    Neuman looked at him with his snakelike eyes. “Do it for me.”
    Sanogo gave a pained grin, and swiveled around to face his computer with all the speed of a barge. “You’re not actually going to investigate this? Khayelitsha isn’t within your jurisdiction.”
    â€œI’d just like to set my mother’s mind at rest.”
    Sanogo nodded, heavy-lidded. After a while, lists of names began appearing on the screen. Simon Mceli wasn’t on any of them.
    â€œWe don’t have any records on your boy,” he said, sitting back in his chair. “We close about twenty per cent of our cases. With statistics like that, if he’s part of a gang, you’ve probably got a better chance of finding him in a mass grave.”
    â€œI’m interested in him alive. Are there any new gangs in the township?”
    â€œWell . . . The younger brothers often take the place of the older ones. There’s no shortage of black sheep.”
    â€œTalking of which,” Neuman said, “I had a word this morning with two guys on the gymnasium site.
Tsotsis
, not much more than twenty, speaking Dashiki.”
    â€œThe Nigerian Mafia, maybe,” the captain suggested. “They control the main drug networks.”
    â€œOne of them had a Beretta similar to a police gun.”
    â€œNo shortage of weapons, either.” Walter clicked on an icon to shut down his computer, and stood up. “Listen, I can’t start an investigation into a street robbery when I have twelve rapes, one homicide, and dozens of assaults reported last night alone. But tell your mother not to worry. Usually, anyone who attacks an old lady doesn’t have long to live.”
    Â 
    The annex of the Red Cross Hospital had been created as part of a large-scale program intended to slow down the endemic spread of AIDS. Miriam had been working in the dispensary for a year. It was her first job, but she felt as though she had spent her whole life relieving other people’s distress.
    Her mother had contracted the virus in the most common way possible—her lover at the time beat her and accused her of cheating on him whenever she asked him to wear a condom. Her sisters, terrified by the disease, had run away, but Miriam had