by Jon Zackon
“I’m not certain. But I’m seriously thinking of hunting him down.”
He smiled ironically. “Hmm. You’re going to need some evidence first, don’t you think?”
***
Ruth was buried a couple of graves away from her parents. Steven’s father lay nearby. We placed pebbles on all four family graves. I felt numb, staring at Ruth’s grave. It was all too sad. Eventually, I shook my head and moved on.
On our way out we washed our hands, according to ritual, and got into Steven’s car. I didn’t feel like talking, but he said, “By the way, I’ve got certain things that belong to you.”
“What?”
“Dozens of seventy-eights and about a dozen LPs.”
“Ha! My record collection. I had to leave Durban by plane and I could only take a few LPs.”
“Well, when Ruthie died her mom gave them to me to look after. I didn’t fancy shipping them to England.”
“No, of course not. But I think you’ll have to go on keeping them. Or sell them or give them away, if you want.”
“Look, what are you doing for lunch? If you come back to our place, Maisie – my wife – has made something for us. You can listen to some of your old tracks. I’ve also got something to give you.”
His present, handed to me as I was leaving, was a framed photograph of Ruth during her first year at university. She was wearing an academic gown and her brown hair tumbled down to her shoulders. It was a happy picture.
“I’m sure I’ve seen it before,” I said.
“Yes. It used to stand on a sideboard in their house.”
“Thank you, Steven. I’ll give it a good home, I promise.”
***
At four o’clock I drove to Umhlanga to meet someone whose name I’d spotted while riffling through Natal phonebooks at Eric’s offices in Jo’burg. The only familiar name I could find among many thousands belonged to Neal Smythe.
He lives these days in a large house standing in well-tended grounds a few hundred yards from the sea. As my hire car crunched up the gravel driveway he came out and opened the car door to greet me.
“Danny Waterman, as I live and breathe! Good to see you after all these years. What brings you to town?”
“I’d love my old job back, Neal.”
“Wouldn’t we all, pal?”
Five minutes later I sat, Scotch in hand, as we reminisced.
“That was a great team – Conrad, you and me,” he said. “Best fucking night team The Messenger ever had. What a shame you left. And I’ll tell you something else, I never ever understood exactly what happened, Danny. Can you tell me now?”
“OK. In a nutshell, here goes … the Indian reporter Fazal began to investigate Van Blatter, the trigger-happy detective. Remember him? It was a mistake on Fazal’s part. I think Van Blatter raped him – don’t look so shocked, just think back – and then threatened his family. Fazal topped himself, as I’m sure you remember. I was incensed and wanted The Messenger to pursue Van Blatter. He heard about this and tried to kill me. Twice. Then the cops told me to fuck off out of SA. Period. How’s that for some succinct reporting?”
“Jesus Christ, I never knew what was going on, Danny. No wonder Fazal did himself in.”
“Yeah, events conspired to keep all the relevant facts from being made public. But no longer, Neal. The world’s changed and I intend to tell the truth about Van Blatter. I’m not sure how many people will still care, though. Even the Truth and Reconciliation Commission are letting him get away with it.”
I took a sip of Scotch and continued, “Anyway, it sounds as if the whole incident must have quickly blown over at The Messenger, otherwise I’m sure you’d have heard something about it.”
“Well, I didn’t stay long myself, Danny. I was offered a terrific position in the Cape. Spent the rest of my career there. Retired two years ago and came back to live here.”
“I can see you’ve done very nicely for yourself.”
“Thank you, yes. I suppose you know Conrad and Moira live in Canada now. Four kids.”
“Yes. I saw them in London some years ago. Have you kept in touch with any of the other Messenger guys?”
“Nearly everyone’s dead or gone. Geordie West is the only survivor from our day.”
“Gordon?”
“Died young. He was always sickly.”
“The old editor?”
“Died two years ago in his nineties.”
“Harland and Chris?”
“Ah, the partners. They both left. No idea where they are.”
“Well, if you see Geordie please send him my best, Neal. And please apologise for me. I’m leaving town tomorrow and won’t have time to look him up.”
That was the last of my appointments on a long and tiring day. I headed back to my hotel, hopefully to rest.
***
Question: How do you prepare for the most important meeting of your life? Answer: You go out and get plastered.
I stood in the hotel bar after dinner downing Ballantines and thinking about the key questions I was going to put to Theo.
At 11pm I went up to my room and threw up. Probably a good thing, or so I told myself. It would rid me of some of the Scotch in my system. And I couldn’t afford to have a serious hangover.
Chapter 33
WAS THIS going to be the day when I would learn all the secrets? I had little doubt that Theo knew the answer to most, if not all, of the questions that crowded my mind. He was sitting on the veranda of his ranch-style house as I drove up.
“What are you doing on the stoep, Theo?” I called out as I walked up the path. “It’s bloody windy.”
“Ag no, Danny. I love it out here. Take a look at the view.”
I turned to look back across the road. In the distance a cruise liner attended by tugs was being angled into a berth. All kinds of shipping clogged the quays. The harbour water glistened and behind that the Indian Ocean beckoned – this way to the Orient.
“I see what you mean,” I said, climbing the veranda’s steps. Only then did I notice that Theo was sitting in a wheelchair, a blanket slung over his knees. Age had not treated the old warrior kindly. He sat slumped, which reduced his height to something approaching average. There was little flesh left on his once huge frame and his face was deeply lined.
But worse was to come. He grinned, watching my reaction as he lifted the blanket. His left foot was missing.
“Shit, that’s tough,” I said.
“Diabetes. And you know what? I still can’t leave this stuff alone.” He pointed to what looked like Scotch in a glass placed on the table beside him.
“What the hell, Danny. The docs say I’m dying anyway. Cirrhosis, prostate cancer, maybe lung cancer, the fucking lot. They’re taking bets on which one gets me first. They give me three to six months. So I’m buggered if I’m going to give up the only thing I can still enjoy. Along with fags, of course.”
“Sorry to hear you’re so ill, Theo. Is that why you wanted to see me?”
He didn’t answer the question, but said, “Don’t take it the wrong way, but I’d like you to step over here for a second.”
I did as he asked and he ran his hand over the front of my shirt.
“Ja, turn around, please. You know, once a detective, always a paranoid prick.”
And he ran his hand up and down my back.
“I’d never wear a tape,” I said dismissively. “Wouldn’t know what a device like that looks like.”
“I know, Danny. But I can’t be too careful. I’ve got a lot at stake here. I don’t ever want to be quoted. Now sit down, sit down. Do you want something to drink? Scotch? Beer? No? Angie …” he turned his head and called back inside the house ... “bring a jug of orange juice out, doll.”
A minute or two later a tall, fair-haired woman appeared with a tray, a jug and a single glass.
“Angie, this is Danny.”
“I’ve heard all about you, Danny,
” she said. “Welcome back to Durban.”
It was obvious Theo was in no hurry. Perhaps, though, he detected signs of impatience in me.
“What time do you have to go, Danny?”
“My flight back to Jo’burg goes at 6pm.”
“So you can stay until three-thirty or so, ja? Angie’s made lunch and even if we take a break that gives us quite a lot of time. So why don’t we begin by you asking the questions you most want me to answer?”
“OK. I’m sure you can guess what the first question is – did Koos kill Ruth Fall?”
“Man, I couldn’t prove it then and I can’t prove it now, but I think so. He had no alibi and to my mind not at first, but eventually, he was the prime suspect.”
“But no evidence?”
“Sorry, no.”
“That’s very disappointing for me.”
“Ja, I agree.”
“You know, I’d like to kill the little shit.”
“Yes, I realise that’s why you’ve come back to the Republic. Who can blame you? He would have killed you that night by the side of the road. And I think he killed the girl. And he’s got away with that. I’ve heard a rumour that if he is called before the Commission his lawyer will claim he is too sick to appear. Have you ever heard such shit? If you want to know the truth, Danny, his criminal activities are far worse than you can possibly imagine. But I’ll come to that later.”
“Why didn’t you stop him before he started, Theo? To me it always looked like you were protecting him.”
“Ja, I’ve got a lot to answer for, I know. But he was my brother-in-law and…”
“What?”
“I thought you knew. He was married to my sister Rita …”
Shit! Of course! The moment Theo saved my life. He was standing above us, shining the torch down at us and … what was it he said to Koos? … “Put the gun down, swaer.”
As I well knew, swaer is the Afrikaans word for brother-in-law. But it never registered with me that night because it is one of those words that are used loosely, like “brother” in English, to mean “mate” or “friend.” It never crossed my mind for a second that Theo and Koos actually were brothers-in-law.
But it explained a lot.
“Next question.”
“Did Koos kill that Indian boy?”
“There were two of them. The first was before you joined the paper. I found evidence of that …”
“That must have been the one that led to the sacking of a young reporter.”
“Ja, that’s so. The second one was the Sikh boy …”
“The one Fazal tried to investigate?”
“That’s the one. I found evidence of that too.”
“Shit. And what about the knife Koos showed us?”
“Not proven, but almost certainly the boy’s.”
“And Fazal? Did Koos assault him?”
“No direct evidence, but years later Koos used to laugh about how he terrorised the guy.”
“Oh, my God. Poor Fazal. What about the robbery deaths? I know about the first two, when Koos shot those black kids up the backside, did he ever do that again?”
“Yes, twice more. But by then he was getting smart. There’d been so many rumours about him that he didn’t want to be seen going around openly killing more black kids. I think our chief also spoke to him about it. Bad publicity for us, although in some parts of the country the shopkeepers welcomed that sort of behaviour, you know. Around that time The Messenger published the findings of an investigation into Koos’s second shooting. His pal Marty blamed you for that Messenger report. Said he tried his best to keep the incident quiet early on but you sabotaged him, got it into the paper. And what you did got him sacked. The investigation exonerated Koos, naturally, but it helped to put pressure on him. It was all adding up.”
Theo coughed uncomfortably a couple of times then took a deep swig of Scotch. Pain showed on his face and it was a while before he could continue. “So you know what the bugger did? In each of the next two cases he got underlings to say they’d done it – you know, to say they’d shot the suspects as they were running away.”
“Typical Koos. What a fucking dog.”
“Ja, Danny, that was Koos all over.”
“Do you know what I think, Theo? The only reason he didn’t kill Fazal was because he knew he could keep him quiet by threatening his family.”
“I’m sure that’s true. It’s clear that he loved to play cruel games with individuals.”
“Next question. The night he tried to kill me – how did you know he was chasing after me in his car?”
“I had a man watching you. He reported that you hadn’t sold your car as I wanted you to and then he saw you loading up the boot. I told him to keep me informed of your every move and he radioed that you were on your way. But I made a bad mistake, Danny. It didn’t cross my mind to order the bloke to keep everything confidential. I thought that would be understood. But he was a rookie and Koos had already got to him. So the bloody idiot let Koos know, too. Luckily, I also had lookouts at Pinetown. I alerted them that you’d left. They saw you going through the town and then saw Koos’s Zephyr. I really had to shift to get to you. Even then it took me so long I thought you’d already be dead.”
“And what if I was?”
“Then nothing.”
“You’d have covered it up?”
“Yes – but only if I could get away with it.”
“Koos meant that much to you?”
“No. Koos meant fuck all to me. Get that through your head. But my sister … and her gorgeous daughters … they mean the world to me and Angie.”
Theo scratched a point below his knee vigorously.
“Neuropathy,” he said. “They cut your foot off but it still bloody itches. All to do with the nerve endings, I’m told. It’s a real bugger. Next ...”
“I’m sure I’ve got other questions but I can’t think of any. You said something about having proof …”
“I haven’t even begun yet, Danny. But it’s a very distressing story and I don’t want to spoil our lunch. After we’ve eaten I’ll tell you the lot.”
“Even more distressing than we’ve discussed?”
“You have no idea, man. We’re talking major league butchery.”
“Fucking hell. I’ve always wondered just how bad Koos was.”
“As I said, you have no idea.”
Chapter 34
WE WERE allies of a sort, although the past was still a barrier between us. Could I trust him now? I honestly didn’t know. But he was dying and I couldn’t help feeling sorry for him. I wheeled him into the lounge, where Angie brought us coffee. We drank in silence.
After a while Theo said, “This was a very dark time in my life I have to tell you about. It’s not easy for me.”
Another pause and then he began, “Look, it’s like this … around the time you left Durban I had just been promoted, as you may remember. I had a lot of new duties and more or less lost track of Koos. But he was the ace detective so I just let him get on with it.”
Theo spoke with deliberateness, his voice flat, as if he was giving evidence in court – something he’d done hundreds of times, I guessed.
“After a while I noticed Koos was away most weekends. On his own. I asked Rita about this but she just glossed over it. One day in 1969 or 1970 we noticed she had a black eye. Angie asked her how she got it and she said the usual – you know, that she’d walked into a door, or something like that. I wanted to confront Koos but Angie wouldn’t let me. She said I’d only cause more trouble between them and you can’t help people who don’t want to be helped, and all that crap. But as far as I was concerned, Koos’s card was marked, ja?”
Theo glowered, remembering his anger all too well. “Then Rita got ill and was taken to hospital. We looked after their girls, Linda and Suzanne, as if they were our own. Our boys, Louis and Piers, who were a few years older, loved their cousins and would
do anything for them. Koos came round to see his girls, but not that often. I was really getting worried about him. Anyway, Rita came out of hospital and things seemed to go back to normal for a while and more time passed and we were up to what, 1980-ish? We’d go out together, say to the beach. But Rita wouldn’t swim, wouldn’t take her top off. Then she had a bruise on her cheek. Then another black eye. Danny, I was sick of the lies. I shouted at her and she started weeping. I ordered her to take off her blouse. And of course, she was covered in bruises. I sat and waited that night until Koos got home. I frogmarched him into the back yard and I thrashed him. I’ve never hit anybody so hard. Man, I don’t know how I didn’t kill him. I bundled him into my car and took him to hospital. I told them he’d been assaulted by a gang of robbers.”
Theo paused to catch his breath. “The whole thing had a terrible effect on him, as you can imagine. Their marriage fell apart. He started drinking heavily and eventually he left the force. They got divorced. At first my sister was angry with me – can you believe that? Then she realised what a relief it was not to be beaten up on a regular fucking basis and she thanked me for saving her. She knew he’d have killed her eventually.”
Theo dabbed his eyes with a hanky and blew his nose loudly. I was desperate for him to continue but he took his time regaining his composure. Then he said, “Koos bought a hardware business here in Durban and I lost track of him completely. But he still exercised his rights to see his girls occasionally. He used to visit them when he knew I wouldn’t be around. Five years ago his father died. Now he was rich. He owned three farms in the Transvaal. And let me tell you, Danny, one of them goes all the way to the horizon. It’s enormous. He left Durban and went to live on the big farm.
“He’d left a lot of stuff behind at the house that Rita didn’t touch until he’d gone. She found a lot of paper work in a trunk in the garage and wanted to throw it all out. But then she says to me, ‘What’s this?’ She shows me a letter from the tax people or the Land Registry, or some other official source – I really can’t remember. It was regarding ownership of a farm in southern Natal. The letter was addressed to a Mr Henry Herren-Degrasse. Who the fuck was he? I immediately said to myself, what the fuck is Koos up to, hey? Then I remembered something he said to me years before. Something about having an ancestor who emigrated from Holland or Germany in the 1850s. Koos said this man had a posh sounding double-barrelled name but the name died out because he and his wife had only one child, a girl, who was Koos’s grandmother. Danny, I’m a detective, for fuck sake. I can smell deceit a mile away. I just had to know what all this was about. For one thing, this farm wasn’t mentioned in the divorce settlement, so there could be something in it for Rita, ja? I was owed leave, so I went to Pretoria and there, in the records office, I found evidence of a Henry Herren-Degrasse, who died in 1898. So it’s plain to me – that bugger Koos has stolen a dead man’s identity so he can buy a farm in secret.”
