‘And?’ Jools leaned back in his creaky swivel chair.
‘Pack your bags, detective. And inform the boys to do the same.’ Hertzog smiled mysteriously. ‘We’re going on a little holiday.’
‘Durbs?’ Jools asked, referring to Durban, South Africa’s sub-tropical capital of fun and sun.
Hertzog picked up his mug and sipped thoughtfully. ‘I was thinking more of the Orange Free State.’
Van Sant leaned forward, distaste across his face. ‘Holiday? Sounds more like Hell.’
Hertzog eyed his right-hand man with surprise. ‘Come now, Jools. A beautiful pristine part of the world. Characterised by undulating hills, magnificent sprawling flatlands and idiosyncratic koppies. Not to mention some of the most hospitable people you’ll ever meet.’
‘You sound like the world’s worst travel agent.’
Hertzog chuckled. ‘I always look forward to getting away from the city and heading for the platteland.’
The countryside. Literally the flatland.
Hertzog winked at his partner. ‘Don’t you?’
Van Sant grunted as he picked up his phone’s receiver and dialled. He waited a moment. ‘Dog? Get the boys together. We got a hit.’ He listened to the cop on the other side of the line. ‘Uh-huh. We’re leaving ...’ Jools looked at Hertzog for confirmation.
‘Tomorrow.’
‘...tomorrow ... yeah. And guess what? We’re heading for your neck of the woods.’ Jools chuckled softly. ‘What? I thought you were a plaasboer from the Free State?’
Plaasboer. Farmer.
As Jools finished the call two middle-aged men entered the office. Both cops immediately recognised Colonel Hans Maartens, Deputy National Police Commissioner. Only Hertzog recognised Dawie Malan, Deputy Minister of Law and Order.
It was widely rumoured that Malan was soon going to be asked to join the notorious State Security Council. South Africa might have nominally been a (Whites-only) democracy, but in reality more and more of the important functions of the Apartheid state were being handled by the SSC. In the final “Total Onslaught” years of the 1980’s the State Security Council had powers which approached the USSR’s Politburo – the very mechanism the SSC was designed to combat.
Hertzog smiled amiably at the two men. Jools rose lazily to his feet.
‘... and here we have the Major Crimes Unit, specifically division three,’ Colonel Hans Maartens said as he entered the office, leading the political VIP by the arm. ‘It’s a specialised unit we founded some ... uh ...’ He looked at Hertzog.
‘Two years ago, sir.’
‘Yes, that’s right. Two years ago. Division three specialises in helping rural police stations – without the necessary expertise – solve serious crimes.’ He nodded at Hertzog. ‘Detectives, I’d like you to meet Dawie Malan, a member of President P.W. Botha’s cabinet.’ He looked at the politician. ‘This is the head of the unit, Captain Hertzog.’
Malan held out his hand. ‘Pleased to meet you.’ He paused. ‘You’re not possibly related to ...’
‘No, sir,’ Hertzog said, laughing. ‘No such luck.’ Malan was, of course, referring to J.B.M. Hertzog, the famous Anglo-Boer War general and later Prime Minister of the Union of South Africa. ‘I may very well ask you the same question.’
The rising NP star laughed heartily. ‘Oh goodness, no.’ Hertzog was, of course in turn, referring to D.F. Malan. The very first National Party Prime Minister. The man who is broadly accepted as the political founder of Apartheid. ‘To quote one of our best detectives, “No such luck.”’
‘You’re too kind, sir.’
‘Oh,’ Colonel Hans Maartens said, pointing to Jools, ‘and this is Lieutenant Jools van Sant.’ Jools, making no effort to move out from behind his desk, waved absently and mumbled a greeting.
Malan smiled uncertainly. ‘Pleased to meet you.’
‘Captain Hertzog’s team , Dawie, has been one of our unit’s busiest and most successful divisions. They have, I’m very proud to say, a hundred percent closure rate.’
‘Very impressive, detective. Anything interesting you’re working on right now?’
‘Well actually, sir,’ Hertzog said glancing at Jools, ‘we’ve just been asked to investigate a series of odd events in the little town of Coffee. In the Orange Free State.’
‘Oh my goodness. My father-in-law has a farm in the area. Nothing too serious I hope.’
‘I don’t know yet, sir. But we’re going to give it our full attention.’
‘Wonderful.’ He reached out and shook Hertzog’s hand once again. ‘Detective, it’s men like you that make this government great. You make us proud.’ Jools rolled his eyes. ‘It’s been a true pleasure meeting you.
‘The pleasure is all mine, sir.’
‘Please don’t hesitate to call if there is anything I can do for you. You should look up my father-in-law. I’ll give him a call.’
‘Thank you, sir.’
‘Good day then,’ Dawie Malan said warmly. He waved a curt greeting to Jools. ‘Detective.’ Jools mumbled something unintelligible and plopped down into his chair. The two men exited.
‘You’re way too nice, Shaun.’ Jools leaned back in his chair. ‘Just for once I’d like to see you put one of these National Party suits in their place. You know they’re wrecking the country?’
‘No need to be cynical, my dear friend.’ Hertzog smiled patiently. ‘It’s the suits, as you put it, that ensure the continued existence of our special little unit.’ Hertzog winked at his colleague. ‘Or would you rather be doing Onluste in the townships?’
Onluste. Riot control.
‘Yeah well.’ Jools wrinkled his face. ‘So when are we leaving?’
‘Soon.’ Hertzog paused. His amiability darkened into a frown as he stared into the distance. ‘I’ve just got some ... business to take care of.’
****
He stood alone in the dusk. A bouquet of flowers grasped tightly in each hand. Behind him the falling sun cast a pink hue across the parallel rows of tombstones. Next to him a marble angel with folded wings and hands clasped in prayer cast a silhouetted shadow across the two grave mounds. The two mounds of earth over which he stood, looking down in anguished silence.
Two mounds of earth. A silent rebuke. A double condemnation.
Neither earth – nor the dead – speak. But a troubled conscience makes it so.
He stared down at the twin graves. His lower lip quivered. And his eyes moistened.
He squatted between the two parallel graves. And gently placed a bouquet before each headstone. He sat for a moment. Silently praying. His lips moving with feverish intensity. Then he reached out an arm towards each of the beautifully carved marble monoliths. And placed a hand on each.
‘I’m so sorry.’ Captain Shaun Hertzog paused, eyes tightly shut. ‘Please forgive me.’
Eight
If you were standing next to the N12 just outside Kimberley, on Wednesday, the eighteenth of June, nineteen-eighty-six, you may have observed nothing at all. Or you may have seen a convoy of two Land Rover (Defender) One-Ten models speed past. Painted in the idiosyncratic “Keswick Green” these vehicles were not in themselves special in any way. But their cargo was. They were transporting South Africa’s most specialised unit of police detectives. Also known as the Major Crimes Unit or MCU.
Driving the rear Landy was Jake “Chaz” Bosman, the old man of the unit. Chaz Bosman had been around when the Central Johannesburg Police Station was still situated at Marshall Square – a move which had happened in nineteen-sixty-eight. It was rumoured that Chaz had been present at the infamous Sharpeville Massacre of nineteen-sixty. A rumour that remained just that ... since he rarely spoke about his early days as a cop. Weather-beaten, stern and wizened, Chaz had what you might call “the face of a cop”. Except that his deep hazel eyes betrayed a depth and intelligence that was only evident to the most observant. And something else. A lingering sadness. A melancholic wistfulness that comes from a lifetime of witnessing the w
orst depravities of mankind. Chaz Bosman was almost two decades older than the rest of the team.
‘Jannie.’ Chaz turned to the detective next to him. ‘Pass me a cigarette there.’
Detective Constable Jannie Duvenhage reached for the packet of Gunston Filter on the dashboard. In his eagerness to extract a cigarette he spilled the contents onto the floor of the Land Rover. ‘Aw darn, I’m sorry, sir.’ He fumbled with grasping fingers at his feet.
‘Ontspan, seun.’
Relax son.
He took a cigarette from Duvenhage’s outstretched finger. ‘And didn’t I tell you to call me Chaz?’
‘You did.’ He smiled nervously. ‘You did ... Chaz.’ Duvenhage’s youthful features lit up as he smiled. The youngest member of the team – and the newest recruit – Jannie Duvenhage’s boyish good looks and sculpted features made him appear more like a movie star than a Pretoria cop. The attractive young man’s odd choice of career became more understandable however when it was considered his father was a high-ranking officer in the
South African Police – a Major General no less. Although some – not Bosman – had resented the rookie’s recruitment into the elite unit, Hertzog had insisted that the young man be allowed to prove himself. The Coffee assignment was the unit’s first big investigation since Duvenhage joined. His big opportunity to prove himself had arrived.
Chaz studied the youth next to him. He took a deep drag and exhaled slowly, returning his eyes to the road. ‘You’re going to be fine. Don’t worry about it.’
Duvenhage averted his face, staring at the dry landscape that flashed past. ‘I’m not worried.’
‘The boss wouldn’t have taken you on this assignment if he didn’t think you were ready,’ Chaz said, ignoring Duvenhage’s protest.
Jannie Duvenhage turned to face Chaz Bosman. ‘Really? You think so?’
‘I know so, kid. So just take it easy, okay?’ He indicated the youth’s feet. ‘And pick up the rest of my dônnerse cigarettes,’ he said, flashing Duvenhage a dry smile.
Duvenhage smiled sheepishly as he picked up the Gunston cigarettes.
Nine
Dawie “Dog” Doober wound down the Landy’s window and spat a big green ball of phlegm into the rushing wind.
‘Sweet,’ Jools van Sant mumbled in the seat next to him.
‘If you can’t beat ‘em ... join ‘em, old man,’ Dog Doober said, winking at the bushy-haired detective.
‘Uh-huh. And if you can’t join ‘em ... beat ‘em with a rusty old pipe.’
Dog chuckled, winding down the window some more. He pulled at his collar adjusting his clip-on tie. ‘Bliksem. We’ve hardly hit the Free State and I’m already kakking under all this heat.’
‘Please cool it with the language, detective.’
‘I’m sorry, boss,’ Dog Doober said casting a look at Hertzog in the rear-view mirror, genuinely contrite.
‘It’s hot, yes. However, typical of semi-arid climates you’ll find daytime temperatures – even in winter – to be unusually high whereas evening and morning temperatures are decidedly polar. That should go some way towards cooling that temperament of yours.’ Jools smirked softly earning a dagger-laden glance from Dog. ‘As we approach the first month of winter the heat should start easing a bit in any case.’
Dog nodded. ‘Yes, boss.’
In the spacious backseat Captain Shaun Hertzog sat staring pensively out of the window. The semi-arid landscape of the western Free State flashed past. A mother with a baby tied to her back and two toddlers on either side of her watched the convoy of Land Rovers pass her. One of the infants, a little boy, tugged at his mother’s protective grasp and waved excitedly at the white men in the 4x4 vehicles. Hertzog waved in reply. ‘Detective van Sant, what have you got for us?’ Although they were old friends, Hertzog rarely called Jools by his first name in front of the other detectives.
Jools flipped through a file on his lap. ‘Hmm,’ he said, scanning the contents again. ‘Okay. We’ve got two missing persons.’ He flicked a page. ‘Michelle Bismarck was last seen on Friday, the thirtieth of May. She’s the daughter of Doctor De Wet and Alte Bismarck. A very prominent family in Coffee it seems. His brother, Dawid Bismarck, is the current station commander. Their father was also police chief for a long time.’ Jools glanced up at Hertzog. ‘Like I said, a rather esteemed family. According to her aunt, Michelle Bismarck went out with friends the night of her disappearance to a place known locally as er ... Valentino’s.’ He flicked the page. ‘Local club.’ Hertzog nodded. ‘Apparently she got separated from her friends during the course of the evening. This kind of thing happens a lot I’m told. She’s allegedly somewhat of a wild girl,’ he said as an aside. ‘The proverbial black sheep of the family.’
‘Sounds like my kind of chêrie,’ Dog said, smiling salaciously.
‘In any case,’ Jools said, ignoring Dog’s comment, ‘no-one has seen her since.’
‘Hmm-uh. I see.’ Hertzog nodded in contemplation.
‘So tell me something.’ Jools turned around to face Hertzog. ‘We’re investigating these two disappearances as a single case. Even though they happened two hundred kilometres and two weeks apart?’
‘Well, it’s Colonel Jansen’s opinion that the two cases are linked,’ Hertzog said referring to the head of the MCU. ‘I happen to agree with him. More importantly, how often do two youths from two prominent families from the same small town disappear within weeks from each other?’
‘Fair enough.’ Jools turned around again.
‘You think it’s a ransom thing, boss?’ Dog asked.
Hertzog ruminated for a moment. ‘No I don’t. But only time will tell.’ He looked at Jools. ‘We need to send Chaz to Bloemfontein as soon as we land in Coffee. I want him to re-interview everyone. See what he can dig up.’ Jools nodded. ‘She was living with her aunt at the time of her disappearance? If I remember correctly.’
‘Uh-huh. That’s right.’
Dog leaned over and flipped the volume dial on the car radio. ‘Hey boss, you check out this crazy Kraut yet?’ The car’s interior was filled with the gaudy sounds of Rock Me Amadeus. Dog laughed raucously. ‘Flippin’ Germans. What’ll they think of next?’
Hertzog smiled politely. ‘I believe he’s Austrian, detective.’
‘All the same to me, boss.’ Dog wrinkled his upper lip, making his bushy moustache dance like an epileptic worm. Lovingly groomed and cultivated it was his pride and joy.
‘Is that all we have?’ Hertzog asked Jools.
‘Yep. It’s a bit thin, I know. Bloemfontein said they’ll fax us a more complete file upon arrival in Coffee.’
Hertzog nodded. ‘And the boy?’
‘Let’s see,’ Jools said, flipping through the pages of the slim file. ‘Okay. Manie Botha was last seen on Friday, the thirteenth of June. The last person to see him was his best friend, Fred van der Merwe. They spent the afternoon playing tennis and had arranged to meet at the house of a certain Miss Trudie Gerber, where a house party was to take place.’ Hertzog nodded. ‘Manie Botha never showed up at the party however. His friend, Fred, thinking that he decided to spend the evening with ... er ...’ Jools scanned the page, frowning, ‘... with his girlfriend instead, didn’t think anything of it. Only when Manie didn’t show up at his parents’ place the next day did his mother become concerned enough to alert the authorities.’
‘What about his girlfriend?’ Dog asked. ‘What did she say?’
Jools chewed his lip. ‘Well, that’s the thing. Apparently no-one knows who the girlfriend is. Even his best friend’s in the dark. He said ...’ Jools traced a sentence with his finger, ‘... “Manie didn’t want to tell me who she was.”’
‘Strange.’ Hertzog rubbed his chin slowly. ‘And for all we know she was the last person to see him.’
‘Maybe she’ll still come forward,’ Dog offered helpfully.
‘Then why hasn’t she done so already?’ Hertzog frowned. ‘Make a note, Detective van Sant. We have to follow
up on this. There’s something odd about the whole business.’
‘Sure thing.’ Jools scribbled on the open page. ‘Our boy Manie is quite a different story when compared to Michelle Bismarck,’ he said when he had done. ‘Straight-A student. All round achiever. The son of Mayor Lloyd Botha and Carol-Ann Botha. Carol-Ann is, I believe, a cousin to the Bismarck brothers.’
‘Sounds like a blêddie incestuous bunch to me,’ Dog said, shaking his head.
‘Well, detective, I would say rather than being a disadvantage it’s certainly one of the benefits of living in such a small community. Yes. In a little hamlet like this ... where everyone literally knows everyone else life is characterised by a ... neighbourliness that is sadly lacking in modern urban environments.’ Dog and Jools shot each other a knowing glance. ‘A spirit of caring and sharing.’ There was a moment of silence in the Land Rover. ‘Ah yes. Despite the unfortunate circumstances I must say I rather look forward to meeting our new friends in Coffee.’
The Man in the Wind Page 4
