Blood Safari by Deon Meyer

Author:Deon Meyer [Meyer, Deon]
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
Tags: Thrillers, General, Mystery & Detective, Fiction
ISBN: 9781444801590
Google: oPwFppixzQEC
Publisher: Random House Digital, Inc.
Published: 2007-01-02T06:00:00+00:00

* * *

She was a small woman in her fifties, a busy little

bee with short bottle-blonde hair and an

extravagant wedding ring on her pudgy finger. She

was dressed as though she were off to church, her

high heels click-clacking hurriedly across the tar

road as she approached my car.

‘Wait, don’t get out, hi, I’m Nadine, pleased to

meet you, just follow me, I’ll show you the first

place, it’s not far.’

Business couldn’t be too bad in the Lowveld

property market; she drove a white Toyota Prado,

but not as fast as she could speak.

The first house was near Dingleydale, east of the

R40,

about

ten

kilometres

from

Edwin

Dibakwane’s house with the pink concrete. It was

right on the gravel road and a huddle of the locals’

houses was in view.

I stopped behind her and got out. ‘Unfortunately,

this won’t do.’

‘I’m sorry, I don’t really know what you want,

usually we go through all the requirements first.

Koos just said a house on a farm or a

smallholding.’

‘I want something more remote.’

‘The other place is more remote, but it is a bit

run down, if you don’t mind neglected, and there is

no electricity, just gas. It belongs to an advocate in

Pretoria. He has a few places, but no one lives on

that one, he bought it as an investment. It has a

beautiful view of the mountain and there’s a river.’

‘I don’t mind neglected.’

‘Let’s take a look, then. Maybe it’s just what you

want and the rent is less too. You will have to take

it for the whole month, but you said you’re OK

with that.’

‘I am.’

We drove on, north on the R40 and then left on a

gravel road at Green Valley. Mariepskop loomed

directly ahead, the slopes densely forested.

After fifteen kilometres of dusty bends she

stopped at a farm gate and jumped out, indicating

that I should wait. She fiddled with a bunch of keys

and then shoved the farm gate open and called,

‘Leave the gate open, we’ll be coming out here

again.’

There was a rusty pole beside the gate with a

nearly illegible sign with six bullet holes in it.

Moüasedi.

We drove uphill on a rough farm track. I

worried about the Audi’s ground clearance. Near

the gate it was grassveld, but within two hundred

metres the bush grew thick. We drove through a

tunnel of trees, the Prado’s roof scraping against

the branches and leaves.

The house was over a kilometre from the gravel

road. It was an aged building, sixty years or older,

corrugated iron roof, yellowing lime-washed

walls, a big chimney. The veranda looked out over

a stream, rather than the promised river. Directly

west the cliffs of Mariepskop dominated the

horizon.

Not perfect, but it would do. The yard was big

and open enough to see someone coming from a

hundred metres off. The disadvantage was that the

dense bush would afford shelter beyond that. But it

was also difficult to move through. As far as I

could see, there was only one workable access

route, thanks to the towering mountain and the

jungle across the stream.

She got out and waited for me.

‘What does Motlasedi mean?’ I asked.

‘I don’t know, but I will find out. Let’s have a

look inside, I don’t know what it’s like, the place

has been shut up a long time, but there is some

furniture at least.

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