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Chapter 1

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<--PREVIOUS... entrance gates because they didn’t have armed guards in the street as well as on the property. The ones murdered by intruders because they didn’t have a properly monitored CCTV surveillance contract. Or razor wire bolted to the wall as well as electric fencing on top of it.

*

Claude had a plane to catch. He phoned his brother to find out what the hell was keeping him, and got no reply. It was 10:30. Security confirmed that the boss and missus had left at 9:15. He could wait no longer. First he instructed the agency to drive his brother’s route. Then, as was correct, he informed the police. Maybe they’d respond, and maybe they wouldn’t. Panting with exertion, Claude was the last person to board the flight to Cape Town.

A passing motorist spotted Bruce Dreyer not three kilometres from his Houghton home. He was lying in an undignified position in the gutter, like a dog knocked down at the side of the road. The motorist was too afraid to get out. He phoned the emergency 112 and waited, engine idling, hazard lights flashing, headlamps playing on the sprawled shape.
The security firm’s patrol car was first to arrive, ahead of the ambulance and police van. The motorist got out and joined the two men in paramilitary uniform. In the glare of the headlights they stood looking down at the crumpled heap. One of the security men donned surgical gloves and bent over. The victim was undoubtedly dead, for the right side of his face and head was a bloody mess, all smashed in from the impact of several bullets. The man straightened up.
“This is no tramp got knocked down by a hit-and-run. This oke’s got money – check the shoes.” The almost-new black leather shoes shone with the soft lustre their designer had intended them to shine. “No, I think this could be the gent we’ve come looking for. This has got to be another hijack victim.”

*

So, in spite of all his wealth and the precautions he had taken not to become another crime statistic, Bruce Dreyer had been shot to death and dumped at the side of the road – for the sake of his grand saloon. Not that the motive mattered much: people were ...NEXT-->

 

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