by Jon Zackon
Leaning against the wall are an array of metal appliances I do not recognise. But I would bet they are instruments of torture.
A weird thought occurs to me. Is this where Koos caught AIDS? From this very youth, perhaps? How just if this rotting corpse exacted such a terrible and fitting revenge.
I had prepared myself to find many bodies. Are there more? I walk into the room.
One stride, two strides …
No! No! I feel myself falling.
I’m falling into oblivion.
Instinctively I throw out my arms. My right hand grabs something. A handle, a rod, a lever of sorts.
I grab it and cling on for life.
I look down and see my feet dangling in thin air.
My lungs are empty. I have to suck air back into them.
I can also see that I am indeed clutching a lever – and that it probably operates the trapdoor that I have just stepped on
Terror gives me strength.
I slowly pull myself up until my left knee – the one that aches – is firmly over the edge of the floorboards. Another heave and I am out, gasping and sweating as I roll away.
Safe, although my hands and knees are shaking and a dull ache has gripped the back of my left arm. I’m still lying on my stomach, which allows me to lean over the trapdoor and look down.
There are indistinct shapes down there, in a heap, in a pit. Light is filtering in, probably from a skylight that I can’t see, and the shapes are beginning to take form.
A black snake, four or five feet long, perhaps frightened by the trapdoor opening, dislodges itself from under the heap and disappears towards the side of the pit.
The heap is made of bodies. I can see the old clothes and the bones and the skulls. Four skulls, or is it five? One is partly obscured by the bodies above it.
There is something extremely puzzling about the way they are lying.
Had I fallen in, having stepped into the room from outside, I would have landed with my head where the feet of these bodies lie.
So it’s clear – they have all fallen through the trapdoor while trying to get out of the room.
Oh shit! It’s down to Koos again. One of his little games. I just know it.
In my opinion these are the bodies of boys he has tortured, in the same position as the first corpse I found. When they have been close to death, or when he has tired of the play, he has released them and told them to run. They have headed for the door, only to fall into the trap. He has more than likely shot them as they fell. Probably up the backside.
It was a game directly based on his so-called “justifiable” killings carried out as a detective in Durban. His intention has been to replicate the same thrill that he felt then.
I am trying to piece the horrific game together when I hear a squeak.
I look up. The wind is closing the steel door. I see for the first time that there is no handle on the inside.
Panicking anew, I scramble to my feet. But as I try to reach the door I stumble and fall. I’m lying full length – but I am still inches short.
The door is almost shut.
I see the hammer on the floor. It must have fallen out of my pocket. I grab it by the head and swing it towards the sliver of light.
It hits the edge of the door and jams it open.
Another second would have been too late.
I stagger upright, push the door open and rush out of this hideous place.
I fall to me knees. I can feel my heart trying to pound its way out of my ribcage.
Just in time I pull the tea towel away from my mouth – and throw up on the grass. Heaving and gasping, I retch again. And again.
Now a giant crab is clutching my chest. Its pincer reaches down my left arm, causing a fierce pain that settles and becomes concentrated in the palm of my hand. I simply can’t struggle against it. I can’t breathe. I’m surely going to die.
I reach into my pocket and pull out the nitrate spray. Two quick shots under the tongue. Try to breathe, Danny! Slowly. That’s it.
“Heh, heh, heh, heh, heh …”
My gaze shoots upwards to the top of the steps.
Koos is sitting in the kitchen doorway laughing at me. That high-pitched cackle again.
The shotgun is lying across his legs.
Chapter 37
THE ANGINA pains drain way slowly. Shit a brick, I must have come so close to having a heart attack. The nausea gradually subsides. I use the tea towel to wipe my mouth, then throw it into the uncollected rubbish. But I remain on all fours in case I begin to heave again. In any case, the strength has gone from my legs and I need to recover.
Koos is still giggling away.
“That’s the funniest thing I’ve seen in a long time, Danny,” he says. “That puffer thing … is that like Popeye’s spinach? Feeling up to the mark again? I can’t say you look it.” More giggling. “My little rumpus room has that effect on people.”
He adopts a mock serious expression. “You know, if the door closed, that would have been the end of you. You’d never have known how to get yourself out. That door cost me thousands of rand and let me tell you, the mechanism inside is beautifully hidden away. And did you notice my trapdoor? Very proud of that, you know. Built it myself. The lever’s an old handbrake. But it’s set on open, so how come you didn’t fall in, hey? How the hell did you get round it, Danny?”
Little does he know!
More sniggering. Then, “So do you think I’d have rescued you? Fuck no, Danny. No-o-o way! I’d have left you to rot. Your own bloody fault for snooping on me. That’s what you are – a fucking snoop. I’ve got a good mind to shoot you right now, snoop.”
I can feel my strength returning. And I’m getting fed up with the one-sided conversation.
“You don’t have any ammo,” I say.
“That’s where you’re wrong, pally. You know when you kicked the gun out of my hands? You didn’t check it, did you, cunthooks. Look …”
He cracks the weapon open.
“I’d already loaded the first cartridge, pal. Heh, heh. It was there all the time.”
“Can I ask you something, Koos – what makes you so fucking cruel? How come you tortured those boys in there? What did they ever do to you?”
“It was a fucking game, Danny. I asked them if they wanted to play a game and they all said yes. Every one of them.”
“Don’t be stupid, Koos. You know how stupid that is.”
“I told you they were vermin. Expendable. They’re not the same as us, Danny. They’re a lower life form.”
“That’s also shit. They are the humans and you are the bloody animal, Koos.”
I know full well that he cannot bear to be challenged – and I’m doing exactly that.
His face has gone red with anger. “You fucking snivelling Kaffir lover,” he yells. “You Kaffir-boetie! You piece of Commie shit! If I was fit I’d come down now and chuck you in there with them. I’d play a game or two with you, pal … shove a fucking hot poker up your fucking arse …”
“Ain’t going to happen, Koos. You can’t even get down the steps. You’re finished, man. Washed up. Smashed up leg … dying of AIDS ...”
“Don’t speak to me like that,” he rages, shifting his weight. He winces and gasps as he moves his shattered knee.
He’s not a pretty sight when he’s in a rage. I well remember the bulging eyes and screwed up face from a previous occasion. He picks up the shotgun and aims it at me.
“Go ahead,” I say. “Use that cartridge and there won’t be one left for you.”
He sits frozen, the gun still aimed at me.
“I doubt you’d hit me anyway,” I say gently. “Look at you – you’re shaking.”
It’s true. The gun begins to oscillate. He hasn’t the strength to keep it straight. I can see his fury abating. At last he lowers the weapon. The usual bright and breezy Koos begins to reappear.
“Don’t you worry abo
ut me, pal,” he says. “I hunted on this plaas when I was a kid. I didn’t miss very often.”
“What else happened to you in those days, Koos? How did your father treat you? Did he molest you? Did he fuck you?”
“Don’t start that fucking psycho nonsense on me or I will shoot you.”
But we both know he’s bluffing. While I’m this far away he poses no threat to me.
The sky is overcast and darkening all the time. The wind has given way to a moody stillness.
“He fucked you, Koos. So why won’t you admit it? Don’t you understand, it sort of gives you an excuse for turning out this way? Your old man bred a monster in you, Koos. Simple as that.”
He lets out a torrent of abuse. His head is shaking and he’s pointing his finger at me and talking rapidly, not shouting though. It’s mostly in Afrikaans, so it’s difficult for me to follow. But I catch the words “snake in the grass” and “Judas” and I think some of it, at least, is aimed at my parentage.
I have to prevent myself from laughing. I want him to keep talking in the hope that he’ll eventually reveal something about his past. But no such luck. As he quietens down he starts to sulk.
The whole conversation has been nothing but irritating. It’s obvious at last that he’s never going to reveal anything useful about himself.
My legs are feeling stronger and I stand up.
“Right, I’m a bigger target now, Koos. So go ahead and shoot.”
I can hear him making an effort to breathe normally. After a minute or so he says, “You’re trying to play that game with me again, Danny. The bet, check, chuck game. What a stupid cunt you are.”
“It’s not a game. I badly want you to live out your days, Koos. I know you will get sicker and sicker – first with this, lets say flu, and then with that, TB perhaps, and in the end … well, you will probably die of pneumonia after weeks of coughing and choking and pain and vomiting and suffering. I’m more than happy to die for that.”
“You’re lying.”
“No, I’m not. And I can prove it.”
“How?”
Something inside me has snapped. I could easily walk away and leave Koos to his fate. But I’m certain he would soon kill himself despite all my efforts to prevent that happening. I still want him to suffer endlessly – and I wouldn’t mind kicking his other knee in, into the bargain. There’s so much damned hate and anger in me! And there’s that feeling in the back of my mind, always there when I’ve dealt with this terrible man, that he has a card up his sleeve. That he is somehow going to turn the tables and humiliate me again.
In any event, I’ve made a threat and I won’t forgive myself if I back down now. So I take a couple of deep breaths and say, “In a second or two I’m going to start climbing the steps. Do you hear me, Koos? When I get to the top I’m going to take that gun off you. Like I told you before, I’m going to leave you to enjoy a slow and painful death, matey.”
He laughs. But this time there’s a nervous edge to it.
I start to climb, taking my time.
“You know those boys down there?” I call out as I negotiate another step. “There’s no way you can be made to pay for what you’ve done to them. Your sins are overwhelming. How can one man pay for torturing and killing so many people? But the AIDS levels things out a little, don’t you agree, Koosie? Doesn’t really let you off the hook penance-wise, but every little bit ...”
I reach the landing and look up. Koos looks frightened, which has to be a first. He’s having increasing difficulty in breathing. He begins to cough. His face is etched in pain and there are tears in his eyes.
I take two more steps.
“… helps.”
The great Durban detective levers the gun so that it is standing upright on the step immediately below him. He waits until the weapon is steady, then he reaches down to the trigger, puts the barrel in his mouth and, before I can reach him, blows his brains out.
He is thrown backwards and when I get to the top he is lying half in and half out of the kitchen door. Blood and bits of matter cling to the top of the doorframe. I dare say the kitchen ceiling is also spattered with the stuff, but I have no intention of going inside to look.
“What a bloody shame,” I say aloud, as if he is still alive. “At least I gave you a bit of a hard time, hey Koos? I’ll bet no one else has ever put you on the spot like that. Just a pity you didn’t have the guts to answer any of my fucking questions.”
Rain is starting to fall. Great windborne drops that smack into the dry earth. A fresh, welcome smell rises from the soil, although it can’t displace the miasma that fills the atmosphere and my nostrils. A voice is telling me to get out of this dreadful place.
I go down the steps and out of the gate. I walk round the house to where the BMW is parked. There is a large rain tank against the wall alongside the veranda. It has a tap close to the ground. I take off my gloves, lean down and cup my hands to wash my mouth out. The water tastes of rust so I spit it out quickly, but let it splash over my shoes. I shudder to think what filth there might be on them.
I’ve left the hammer behind but no matter. I don’t want to go near Koos’s dungeon ever again.
Then I remember … the envelope! My hand goes to my breast pocket. It’s still jammed in there.
I give a huge sigh of relief.
It’s beginning to pour as I get to the car. Get going, get going, says the voice in my head.
This time there are no plumes of dust or vehicles to hinder me. Without a backward glance I drive away from the farm as fast as I can.
***
In silhouette, the mine dumps look even more like a ghostly armada as dusk and the storm descend on them. I have raced back to Jo’burg but am now caught up in the late afternoon traffic. The rain isn’t helping and my angina is coming back.
I’d tried to plan this part of the day but it isn’t working out. I’d hoped to be back at Beth’s before 4pm so she could drive me to Penny’s. But it is 5.15pm before I leave the Western Bypass at Ferndale. So I change course and head directly for Penny’s house in Blairgowrie. I’m pretty sure Beth, who lives a few miles away, will be able to collect her car without much trouble.
I’d hoped to get the BMW washed before handing it back. Beth will just have to accept the mud on the wheels and the dead insects on the windscreen, which are a sure sign that I have been travelling at speed.
Why am I in such a hurry? Simply this – I’m booked on a flight from Johannesburg International to Heathrow tonight. I’d hinted to Theo that I would be staying in SA for another week or so. It was a lie because I didn’t altogether trust him. What if I had killed Koos? In those circumstances I would have wanted to hotfoot it out of the country without Theo or anyone else stopping me.
My flight leaves at 9pm, which means I have to be at the airport by 7.30pm, which means I have to leave the house at 6.50pm at the latest. Which means I’m bloody well up against it.
I park the car at 5.53pm and charge upstairs.
“Where have you been, Danny?” shouts Penny from the kitchen. She sounds angry.
And how angry would she be if she could see what I do next? I run into her bedroom and place the Browning back under her pillow.
I run into the guest room tearing my clothes off on the way. I have to shower. I have to get that smell off me at all costs. I chuck my dirty clothes into a plastic bag and shove them into the bottom of my suitcase.
“I’ve made you some sandwiches,” Penny calls out. “I saw you arrive. You’re not going to explain the state of your clothes, are you? Or Beth’s car, or your lateness?”
“Sorry, sis. I can’t. But you deserve a medal for looking after me.”
“Will you come back and have a proper holiday one of these days, Danny?”
“Yes, I promise.”
I have one last duty to perform. By arrangement, I phone Eric.
“I’m still here,” I say.
“And the othe
r party?” he asks.
“’Fraid not. Called to a higher place. And I didn’t even have to do anything. He did it all himself.”
“Intriguing. Write to me.”
“It’s a deal – and Eric, thanks for everything, hey?”
I pack the envelope into my flight bag rather than my suitcase. I don’t want to let it out of my grasp.
“I’ve got you, Theo,” I say to myself. “I’ve bloody well got you. Right where I fucking want you.”
Chapter 38
I KEEP the taxi driver waiting outside Esher post office while I go in to buy stamps. He’s charging me £50 for the journey from Heathrow – so let the bugger wait. When I get back into the cab I take the envelope out of my flight bag and stick on the stamps plus an airmail sticker.
Less than ten minutes after I arrive back in my house I pick up the telephone and dial Durban. I don’t want to wait another second to make this call.
“Hello,” says Theo.
“It’s me. We have a lot to discuss, Theo.”
He puts the phone down. Cheeky bastard.
I phone again.
It rings and rings. He will have to answer in the end. He knows that I will hound him otherwise.
Eventually, he picks up the receiver again. Before he can open his mouth I say, “Van Zeeu, Stourmont and Sons. Heard of them, Theo? They’re a firm of Krugersdorp solicitors.”
“I’m old and I’m dying, Danny. What the fuck do you want from me?”
“I’m back in England where you can’t get to me, right? I flew in this morning and I’ve got this large envelope in my hand and I just bought stamps for it and I’ve already stuck them on. There’s an old letter box at the end of my road, Theo. It will take me approximately two minutes to walk there and post this document to Van Zeeu, Stourmont. And you know who they are, don’t you? That’s right pal, they’re Koos’s solicitors.”
“OK, OK, you win. So what do you want?”
“You know what I want, Theo – the fucking total, unabridged, unbridled, unvarnished truth.”
