‘It’s fine. You’ve already helped a lot.’ He smiled at her. ‘What happened then?’
‘Well, I was looking for her. And then. I thought I saw her walking up the stairs. Valentino’s is in a basement, you know.’ She paused. Tears came to her eyes. ‘And that was the last time I ever saw her.’
Chaz squeezed her arm. ‘Don’t worry. We’re going to do everything to solve this ... thing.’ She nodded through tears, dabbing at her eyes with a Wimpy serviette. ‘When she went up the stairs ... could you see if she was alone?’
She shook her head. ‘The staircase is always packed. You know, people come and go all the time.’
Chaz nodded, trying to hide his disappointment. He sipped his cold coffee while he stared at the overcast sky. He leaned forward and took her hand. ‘Lizelle.’
‘Yes?’ She looked at Chaz with concern, noting the gravity in his voice.
‘What do you think happened to Michelle?’
She pulled away and averted her face. After a long time she spoke. ‘I didn’t want to mention this. I mean, I know he was a bastard to her. But I ... I didn’t want to mention this.’
‘What didn’t you want to mention?’ He looked at her imploringly. She said nothing. ‘Lizelle,’ he said with firm insistence.
Lizelle looked at him with anger flashing in her eyes. ‘She told me once. Right after we first met, shortly after she came to Bloemfontein. She said ...’ She paused staring with intensity at the coffee-splashed table.
‘Lizelle.’
‘She said, “If anything ever happens to me ... my father has something to do with it’”.
Lizelle Blomkamp met Chaz Bosman’s puzzled stare with intensity.
Seventeen
The early morning sun cast slanted shadows across the facade of the OK Supermarket in De Beers Street. The Land Rover with the Transvaal plates came to a stop in one of the diagonal parking bays. It was too early for the usual troop of beggars. The Leyland 4x4 was the only car in the parking lot.
‘Hey, Shaun, please get me a pack of Camels,’ Jools said, handing Hertzog a five-rand note. Hertzog nodded without saying a word and took the folded note from his subordinate.
He walked through the entrance and greeted the lone cashier at the only available till. At the row of fridges he extracted a bottle of mineral water. And walked down the aisle. Making a show of looking for something. All the time he kept his eye on the in-house butchery counter.
It was empty.
Sighing softly he walked towards the cigarette counter next to the entrance.
‘Good morning.’
Hertzog swung around. And saw her.
Marike.
‘Good morning,’ he said, smiling.
‘Early bird shopping?’ She asked, indicating the bottled water in his hand.
‘Oh ... this, yes.’
Silence.
‘So, how’s the butchery going?’ He flinched slightly at the inane question.
Her smile faded slightly. ‘It’s going.’
Silence.
‘Good.’
Silence.
‘Well, I guess I better –’
‘How is your investigation going ... Shaun?’
Hertzog smiled, relieved. ‘It’s going.’
She laughed. An unfettered girlish laugh that reverberated across the empty supermarket. ‘I’m glad to hear.’ She stared at him intently. ‘I know you’re going to get him.’
Hertzog nodded, smiling. He studied her face. And noted how expressive her features were. How different emotions seemed to animate different parts of her face. ‘Tell me, how long have you been ...’
‘In Coffee?’ She asked. Hertzog nodded. ‘Oh, about two years or so.’ She paused. ‘I moved here shortly before I married ... Jack.
Hertzog nodded. ‘I see. So you’re not a local?’
She laughed again. That same childish laugh. ‘Oh my, no. And believe me, they let you know that every opportunity they get.’
‘Really?’
She nodded, arching her eyebrows in an exaggerated manner. ‘Yes. Coffee is a very ...’ She looked around. ‘... a very insular place. Very difficult to crack. Everything is connected. In some way or other. The power structures here are very ... rooted in the past. If you’re not a part of that, then you remain an outsider.’
‘I see.’
‘I mean, don’t get me wrong, the people are nice and everything. People help each other.’
‘And yet ...’
She shrugged. An act that was so girlish it was completely disarming. ‘It’s been a while now ... and I still don’t feel like I belong. I’m not even sure they like me.’
Hertzog smiled at the child-like candour of her words. ‘You smell nice.’
She looked at him, surprised. A smile of such undiluted delight washed across her face that Hertzog felt his heartbeat quicken. She traced a finger across her neck. ‘Thank you, Shaun.’
Hertzog cleared his throat. ‘Tell me something ... er, did you know the two youths?’
Her eyes grew wide. ‘The ones that disappeared? Um ... a little. You know, from seeing and such like. I didn’t really know them personally.’
‘Do you know of any reason why anyone would ... kidnap them?’
She shook her head vigorously. ‘No, Shaun. I don’t understand why anyone would do something like that.’
Hertzog nodded in contemplation. ‘Yes, that’s something –’
‘Please tell me about yourself,’ she said, blurting out the words.
Hertzog paused, shocked by her request. ‘Well ...’ He smiled, embarrassed. ‘There’s not much to tell.’
‘I don’t believe that.’ She smiled with pursed lips.
‘Well, I ... uh ...grew up in Pretoria, in Waterkloof.’ Her eyebrows arched at the mention of the upmarket Pretoria suburb. ‘Nothing out of the ordinary, really. I attended University of Pretoria but eventually decided to follow my calling.’
‘And become a detective?’
‘Something like that.’ He watched the morning sun swim across her face. ‘What about –’ For the first time – illuminated by the sunlight – Hertzog saw a bluish streak under one cheek, nearly disguised by foundation. He gently traced a finger across the bruise. ‘What is this? Did he –’
A flash of cold fury exploded in her eyes. ‘It’s none of your business,’ she said, violently recoiling from his touch.
Hertzog’s face turned a deep red. He looked at her, shocked. ‘I’m sorry. I didn’t mean anything by it.’
For a moment she stared at him. Her face was a bizarre maelstrom of rage and confusion. Then her features softened. And became girly again. ‘No. I’m the one who’s sorry. I meant to say, I didn’t want to make my problems your problems.’
‘Don’t apologise,’ he said, his eyes fixed on the bruise. ‘Next time it happens ... I’m going to arrest him.’
She grabbed the lapels of his jacket. ‘Please. Please don’t do that. I beg you.’
Hertzog stared at her, taken aback by the intensity of her pleas. ‘Okay, I won’t. I promise.’
Sensing the awkwardness of the moment Marike let go of Hertzog. She straightened his jacket. ‘Thank you.’
Strident steps behind him drew Hertzog’s attention. It was Jack Strydom. ‘That Kudu is not going to butcher itself, Marike,’ he said fixing Hertzog with a cold gaze. He stopped next to them. ‘Now!’ She nodded meekly and scurried away. ‘Don’t you have a job to do?’ He smirked as he looked at the seasoned detective. Hertzog said nothing. He turned and walked away.
Jack Strydom stared after him. Cold malice glinted in his steely blue eyes.
Eighteen
‘It wasn’t a suicide.’
There is nothing as final as a mortuary. The walls with their clinical tiles shout it. The shiny stainless steel trolleys, faucets and solid top autopsy tables scream it. And then of course sinister accessories like spigots, sparges, splash plates and removable filter traps just settle it beyond any argument. There i
s no place on earth that is designed with such a sense of morbid finality ... as a mortuary. Not even a crime scene. Not even a cemetery. Not even a divorce court is as final as a mortuary. And there was nothing on God’s earth as final as the Bloemfontein State Mortuary.
‘What do you mean?’
‘Pretty much exactly what I said. It’s not a suicide.’ The state pathologist burped as he wiped the thick lenses of his horn-rimmed glasses on his stained flannel shirt. A single undone button offered a view of his hairy paunch. ‘Which part of the phrase are you having difficulty with?’
Detective Sergeant Chaz Bosman ignored the comment. He sighed softly as he stared with bleary eyes at the short stodgy man in front of him. The four bourbons from the previous evening had hampered his sleep instead of aiding it. Doctor Giepie Crouz slid the glasses back onto his sweaty face. From behind the chunky lenses his eyes appeared frog-like. ‘What are you basing your findings on, Doctor?’
‘How about eighty years of forensic science.’ Chaz sighed again. Louder this time. ‘And this.’ Doctor Crouz motioned for Chaz to follow him. He stopped in front of a stainless steel stool.
‘And this?’ Chaz asked, nodding at the stool.
‘Have a seat, oh ye of little faith.’
Chaz sat down, a look of wearied resignation on his face.
‘Can I please have your gun?’
‘What?’ Chaz looked over his shoulder at the portly pathologist behind him.
‘Please. My homicidal tendencies are motivated purely by science.’ Chaz reached into his jacket and extracted the service revolver from his shoulder holster. He handed the gun to the doctor. ‘Ah, now who ever said one of these doesn’t make you feel like a man,’ he said, admiring the cold glint of the gun. Turning it this way and that.
‘You were saying, Doctor?’
‘Yes, of course.’ He cleared his throat. ‘Observe.’ He placed the gun against Chaz’s temple. ‘Now, if you wanted to say, “Goodbye, cruel world”, you would do something like this, right?’ He simulated pulling the trigger. ‘Bang!’ He leaned over Chaz’s shoulder. ‘What’s the first thing that happens?’
‘Recoil.’
‘Exactly.’ He walked around and faced Chaz. ‘And that’s exactly the problem.’
Chaz stared at him. ‘So the trajectory is all wrong.’
The pathologist’s face exploded with delight. ‘My goodness. You’re not from here, are you?’
‘So the trajectory is ... downward?’
‘Not only is it downward, my good man, but it’s at an angle that makes it wholly impossible in a suicide case.’ He stepped forward, pointing the gun at Chaz.
Chaz threw up his hands. ‘Whoa!’
‘Goodness gracious. No need to fret, detective. Despite my soft chewy exterior I am rather adept at handling firearms.’ Detective Sergeant Jake Bosman gave the pathologist a withering look as he allowed him to – once again – place the revolver against his head. ‘Please grip your gun.’ Chaz did as he was instructed. Doctor Crouz grabbed hold of his wrist and pulled the handle of the gun upwards, forcing the barrel downwards at an extremely acute angle. ‘This was the trajectory of the bullet that took the life of this unfortunate man. I’d say about thirty degrees. Now, as you can clearly observe, it’s a most ridiculous way to commit suicide.’ Chaz nodded as the pathologist handed his gun back to him. ‘In my experience, Detective Sergeant Bosman, suicide is hard enough. People don’t make it even more difficult.’
Chaz nodded slowly. ‘I assume you tested his hand for gunshot residue?’
‘You assume correctly. And yes. There were significant traces on his right hand. Which leads me to one unassailable conclusion.’
‘Somebody went to great lengths to stage a suicide.’
‘That would be it.’
Chaz shook his head and sighed as he stood up. ‘Fantastic.’
Doctor Crouz stared at Chaz in surprise. ‘My, my, detective. You don’t look none too pleased.’
Chaz holstered his gun. ‘Have you ever seen a pile of shit turn into a mountain of shit?’
The Doc laughed. ‘I work for the government, don’t you know?’
Nineteen
‘Okay. Let’s hear it.’
Jannie Duvenhage carefully slid the Defender One-ten into third gear and cruised slowly in a northerly direction while he watched Hertzog in the rear-view mirror. And listened to Jools, riding shotgun. Jools was turned back in his chair, facing Hertzog in the spacious back seat. He was reading from a notebook.
‘What do you want first? The good or the bad news?’
‘Is there such a thing as good news when it comes to murder?’
Jools chuckled. ‘Well, it looks like Oupa’s been busy,’ Jools said referring to Chaz.
Oupa. Grandpa.
Jools van Sant had spoken to the elderly detective earlier that morning at the guesthouse. He flipped through the little notebook, trying to decide where to start. ‘Okay, so Marais fast-tracked the warrant on Michelle Bismarck’s bank account,’ Jools said, making reference to the state prosecutor for Pretoria. ‘Good call, Shaun.’ Hertzog nodded. ‘Chaz said he’ll be serving the warrant today. Hopefully he’ll get a detailed statement for the last few months by tomorrow.’
‘Good.’
‘He said he’ll fax through a report later today.’
‘Good. Tell him to wait for my go-ahead. I want to be around when the fax comes through.’
‘Yep.’ Jools made a note in his book. ‘He spoke to the friend. She said a couple of things which make the warrant even more urgent.’ Hertzog nodded. Jools repeated what Chaz had learned. How Michelle Bismarck had suddenly acquired large sums of money. About the mysterious “friend” from her hometown. And her last night at the Bloemfontein night club. ‘Also, she mentioned a diary.’ Jools looked at Hertzog with expectation.
‘Very interesting. The Bloemfontein unit made no mention of a diary.’
‘None whatsoever,’ Jools said, consulting his notebook. ‘Chaz is thinking of going back to see the aunt. To ask her if he could search Michelle’s room.’
‘Good call.’
‘It’s a left here?’ Jannie asked, indicating an upcoming road.
‘That’s right, driver,’ Jools said, winking at the rookie. ‘The Bismarck house.’
‘We must ask Mrs Bismarck about the money. I’m not sure where it fits in ... but it’s vital.’ Jools nodded, frowning. ‘What else have you got?’
‘Remember Wouter Bredekamp? Our suicide victim?’ Hertzog nodded. ‘Well, it’s not a suicide.’
Hertzog sighed. ‘I suppose that’s the bad news?’
‘Yep. Pretty much.’
‘Why is that bad news?’ Jannie Duvenhage asked.
‘Well,’ Jools said, ‘it means we’re investigating three murders, as opposed to just two.’
‘Why are we assuming the two youths are dead?’ Jannie glanced at Hertzog in the rear-view mirror.
‘You’re absolutely correct, detective.’ Hertzog returned Jannie’s gaze in the mirror. ‘We shouldn’t assume. However, my experience tells me that they are – more than likely – deceased. Also, by approaching the case as a homicide instead of a missing persons report it gives us added leverage.’ He frowned. ‘It’s important that we not communicate our suspicions to the family. We need them to cling to some form of hope, however illusory.’ Hertzog studied Duvenhage’s face. ‘I know it seems ... mercenary. Murder is unfortunately a grim business, detective. It’s important that you steel yourself, right from the beginning. It gets easier. It’s never easy. But it gets easier.’
‘Yes, boss.’ Duvenhage watched the road, clenching his jaw.
‘Certain findings of the state pathologist indicate the “suicide” was definitely staged. That complicates the matter even further,’ Jools said, addressing Jannie. ‘It’s not only a question of “who” and “why” but also a matter of who would have the necessary knowledge to stage such an incident.’
‘You mean ...’
> ‘Yes.’ Jools looked at Hertzog. ‘We can’t discount police involvement. In fact, our station commander sent over a Constable this morning, while you were in the shower. He asked whether we had any new “findings” to share with him.’
‘Hmm.’ Hertzog ruminated, frowning. ‘We’re going to have to handle Major Bismarck with kid gloves. He’s no fool. We can’t go on pretending we’ve got nothing.’ Hertzog paused. ‘Let’s give him the suicide. And watch his reaction. He’ll find out sooner or later in any case.’
‘I agree.’
‘As for the rest, we tell him nothing. Until we absolutely have to.’ Jools nodded.
‘Do you really think Major Bismarck is connected?’ Jannie asked as he pulled to a stop outside the house of De Wet and Alte Bismarck.
‘The more I learn, the more I think everyone is connected, detective.’ Hertzog studied the Bismarck house through the Landy’s window. ‘In one way or another.’
‘Well, boss, if you want my opinion, I think Manie Botha and Michelle Bismarck are definitely connected. I think Jools is right. The Botha boy suddenly starts getting expensive gifts while Michelle suddenly has a ton of money. It can’t be a co-incidence.’
‘Possibly.’ Hertzog frowned. He was about to open the Defender’s door when Jools stopped him.
‘Ah, before you go, I have one more report from Chaz. It’s a real jewel.’ He raised his one eyebrow. ‘I didn’t know whether to classify it as good or bad news so I left it for last.’
‘Okay ...’ Hertzog looked uncertainly at Jools.
‘An old school friend of Michelle phoned the Bloem police. She said she saw her in Welkom over the weekend.’
‘What?’ Jannie looked stunned.
‘She swears on the Bible it was Michelle.’ Hertzog stared into emptiness, frowning.
Silence.
‘Do you think it’s really Michelle?’ Jools asked.
Hertzog mulled over the new information. ‘Could be.’
‘What if she’s actually just on a bender ... and not kidnapped at all?’ Jannie asked.
‘Even worse, what if they staged the whole thing? Manie and Michelle knew each other. It’s possible right?’ Jools said.
The Man in the Wind Page 9
