‘I hope not.’ Hertzog grimaced. ‘Either way, it makes a mockery of our whole investigation.’ He stared at the Bismarck house. ‘Let’s keep it under wraps for now,’ he said exiting the vehicle. The other two followed.
Hertzog knocked at the door. After a few moments an attractive but tired-looking woman opened the door. Long auburn hair framed pleasant and soft features.
‘Mrs Bismarck? I spoke to you yesterday, over the phone.’ Hertzog extended a hand. ‘Captain Shaun Hertzog.’
‘Yes, of course. Welcome, Captain.’ Her speech was slightly slurred and there was a subtle haze to her eyes. Hertzog and Jools exchanged quick glances. With a doctor for a husband it wasn’t difficult to guess at the source of her miasma.
They entered the stylishly decorated house. Alte Bismarck motioned for them to sit in her spacious lounge. She seated herself in the nearest easy chair. Jools and Hertzog shared a long leather couch while Duvenhage occupied a chair to her immediate left.
‘How may I help you, Captain Hertzog?’ Alte Bismarck had dark rings around her eyes. She wore no make-up.
‘We’re interviewing everyone again, ma’am.’ Hertzog paused. ‘We’re doing everything in our power to ... find your daughter.’ Duvenhage glanced at Hertzog.
Alte Bismarck gazed into the distance. Then turned her eyes towards the floor. ‘Yes.’ Hertzog and Jools exchanged another glance.
‘Mrs Bismarck, do you know of anyone that would be providing your daughter with large sums of money?’
‘Money?’ She looked at Hertzog, dazed and confused. ‘What money?’
‘So, you don’t know about the money?’
‘What money, Captain? I don’t understand what you’re talking about?’
Hertzog frowned while Jools arched his eyebrows. ‘What about the car? Do you know anything about that?’
‘Car? What car?’ She stared at Hertzog. ‘What are you talking about?’ Hertzog and Jools looked at each other.
‘Is it possible your husband could have been funding Michelle?’ Jools asked.
‘No.’ She bowed her head, digging her thumb into her palm. ‘No ... I ... I ... no. Definitely not.’
‘You seem very sure of this.’ Jools tried to make eye contact with her.
‘Of course I’m sure.’ She looked up, incensed. ‘You don’t know my husband ... er ...’
‘Lieutenant van Sant.’
‘Yes. You don’t know my husband, lieutenant van Sant.’
‘What do you mean?’
She gazed into the distance, absent-mindedly chewing on the nails of her right hand. She said nothing for what seemed like ages.
‘Mrs –’
‘Things used to be so different. When she was young.’ She paused. ‘Michelle was ... the apple of his eye. When she was very young. And she loved her daddy. A real daddy’s girl. But De Wet is ... a difficult man. A hard man. With rigorous expectations. As she got older, things changed.’ She looked at Hertzog. ‘He’s a good man ... deep down. But things changed. By the time she was a teen, they were fighting all the time.’ She stared out of the window. ‘It’s so difficult to please him,’ she said, to no-one in particular. Then she turned to Hertzog. A cold edge had sparked in her eyes. ‘My husband disowned Michelle, Captain. He didn’t just stop helping her ... or stop giving money. He disowned her.’ She bared her teeth in sleepy rage. ‘Our only child. He disowned her. He made sure she wouldn’t get anything.’ Jools and Hertzog exchanged another look. ‘When she left Coffee, to go live with my sister, I tried to help her. I would send her a few hundred rands every month. When he found out, he exploded. He threatened to cut me off completely. He said ...’ She began sobbing quietly. ‘He said ... she was no longer a daughter of his. He said ... she was dead to him.’ Jools stood up and handed her a folded handkerchief. ‘Thank you,’ she said, dabbing at her eyes. The policemen waited patiently while she composed herself. ‘You ask why I seem so sure of this, Lieutenant,’ she said, looking Jools straight in the eye. ‘If my daughter was on fire, my husband wouldn’t waste his spit to save her. Would he help her with one blue cent? No. That’s who he is, Lieutenant.’ She sniffed. ‘I don’t know what money you’re talking about, but I can assure you – without the slightest doubt – that my husband wouldn’t help Michelle in any way.’
‘I understand,’ Hertzog said after a while. ‘Mrs Bismarck, why ... why exactly did they have such a bad relationship?’
‘It wasn’t just one thing, Captain. My husband expresses his love through pride. He has rigorous expectations of what the world should be. No-one can live up to such extreme standards.’ She paused. ‘Even I ...’ She left the sentence unfinished. ‘Did you know that my husband was the youngest qualified doctor in the history of the Orange Free State, Captain?’
‘No, I didn’t ma’am.’
‘You can’t apply those same standards to a teenage girl. Sooner or later, something is going to snap.’ She stared at the terracotta floor. ‘It was a vicious circle. The more he expected of her ... the more she rebelled. The more she purposely disappointed him.’ She dabbed her eyes as fresh tears flowed. ‘The last few months, things got even worse. Even though she was living in Bloemfontein, it was like ... it was like he ... like he hated her.’ She cried, the sobs racking her body. ‘“That bitch”, he called her. Our own daughter. “That bitch”.’ Her face contorted with grief. ‘It was like he truly hated her. As if the distance between him and her just ... exacerbated his ... his disgust.’ She dabbed at her eyes, the handkerchief now wet with tears. ‘The last few months have been unbearable.’
‘Yes,’ Hertzog said, regarding her with pity. ‘I can imagine.’
Silence.
‘Mrs Bismarck, do you think it’s possible that Michelle could have been seeing Manie Botha, the mayor’s boy?’
‘What?’ She looked surprised. ‘No. I mean, no, I don’t think so.’
‘You’re sure of this.’
‘Yes, of course. We spoke regularly. I’m absolutely sure she would’ve mentioned something.’ She frowned, irritable. ‘What does this have to do with my daughter’s disappearance?’
‘We’re not sure yet.’ Hertzog paused. ‘I have to ask again, are you absolutely certain she wasn’t seeing him?’
‘Well, I mean, who could know anything about Michelle. But I seriously doubt it. She likes older men, you understand? And he’s barely ... what, sixteen?’
‘Is there any reason she would want to hide any kind of relationship from you?’
‘I don’t think so. But with Michelle you could never be sure of anything. She’s a complex girl, Captain. Just like her father.’
Hertzog nodded. ‘Did you know that she kept a diary?’
Alte Bismarck thought for a moment. ‘No. I didn’t.’
Hertzog scratched his chin. ‘Mrs Bismarck, I have to ask this.’ He paused, uncertain of how to phrase the question. ‘Is there anything ... we should know? Is there any other reason why ... why someone would kidnap Michelle?’ He gave her a pointed look. ‘Is there anything you’re not telling us?’
She averted her eyes. Her shoulders became hunched. After a moment she looked up without meeting Hertzog’s eyes. ‘Captain Hertzog, I’m feeling exhausted. It’s been a very long few weeks. Can I please ask –’
‘Please, Mrs Bismarck, it’s for your daughter’s sake.’
‘I need to go lie down, Captain. I’m not feeling well.’ She stood abruptly. ‘I don’t mean to be rude, but can you please show yourselves out.’ She turned and walked into the interior of the house. The three policemen stared at her with astonishment.
Twenty
Detective Sergeant Dawie “Dog” Doober was waiting for the others at the Rust en Vrede guesthouse, reclining on the front lawn in a rickety deck chair that was part of a garden set. He pushed himself to his feet when he saw the Defender One-Ten pull into the guesthouse’s driveway. The three detectives from MCU clambered out of the SUV’s interior.
‘Look what the cat dragged in,’ J
ools shouted across the sprawling garden.
Dog chuckled. ‘Good afternoon to you too, Lieutenant.’ He walked towards the group. ‘Boss.’
Hertzog nodded in greeting. He studied his subordinate. ‘You look like you’ve got something to tell me, Detective.’
‘Boss, you’ve got no idea.’ Hertzog smiled at Dog’s enthusiasm.
‘Well, what are you waiting for, sonny boy?’ Jools chuckled as he lit a Camel.
‘So, I did the rounds a bit,’ Dog continued, ignoring his colleague’s jibe. ‘I spoke to everyone who would give me a minute.’
‘Hm-huh.’
‘I finally tracked down an interesting young man.’ Dog pulled a little notebook from his jacket pocket. He flipped a few pages. ‘Dewald De Moerier,’ he said, reading slowly from his notes.
‘That’s “De Maurier”, you peasant,’ Jools said, correcting Dog’s pronunciation.
‘Ja, wat ookal,’ Dog said, flipping Jools a middle finger.
Yeah. Whatever.
‘Yes, detective?’ Hertzog flashed Dog a reprimanding look.
‘Ah, well, he used to be an employee of Manie Botha’s dad. The Mayor. Like an intern or something.’
‘Hm-huh.’
‘Check this out, boss.’ Dog’s eyes grew large with excitement. ‘He gave the Botha boy a lift ... to Bloemfontein.’
Hertzog scowled at Dog. ‘I don’t understand.’
‘He was in Bloemfontein, boss.’ Dog threw his hands into the air. His clip-on tie flapped in the air. ‘Manie Botha was in Bloemfontein on the night of Michelle Bismarck’s disappearance.’
Twenty-one
The sickle-moon cast mitigated shadows against the corrugated walls of the mobile office. Everything was quiet. The sprawling mine was deserted. Except for three luxury sedans, parked in the grotesque shadow of the towering conveyer belt.
Everything was silent.
Except.
Except for a low hum.
Muted conversation.
The dim interior light of the mine trailer cast hazy shadows against the drawn windows.
Inside, four men were standing in a circle. Their faces were obscured by the soft light.
‘They’re going to ruin everything.’
‘We’ve got to do something.’
‘What exactly do you want us to do? It’s a national police investigation.’
‘At least they don’t know about the graves yet. Or the posters.’
‘Exactly. Yet.’
‘We have to act. They’re starting to close in.’
‘You have an inestimable gift for stating the fucking obvious.’
‘Go to hell. Goddammit. Go to hell.’
‘No! You are the one –’
‘STOP THAT.’ The voice came from the shadows that fringed the group of men. Commanding. Severe. Final.
Silence.
The men stared in the direction of the speaker. Chastised.
The silence was broken by the squeak of rubber on wood. A man on a wheelchair rolled out of the shadows and into the light. ‘We have come too far. We have achieved too much. There can only be one winner in this game. And I don’t like to lose.’
Twenty-two
Detective Sergeant Chaz Bosman sat in the stuffy office, impatient. He tapped an irritable rhythm on the surface of the old wooden desk. For the umpteenth time he read the name plaque on the desk.
DIRK OPPERMAN. MEDIA LIAISON OFFICER.
Beneath was the logo of Barclays Bank.
Less than a year later, Barclays Bank would leave South Africa after mounting pressure from abroad. Fewer and fewer multi-nationals were doing business in the beleaguered Apartheid state. But for now it was business as usual.
Chaz Bosman looked over his shoulder once again and was relieved to see Dirk Opperman approaching through the glass door. ‘Ah, Detective Bosman.’ He handed a thick envelope to Chaz. ‘Sealed and certified, in terms of Section 205 of the Criminal Procedure Act.’ He hovered for a moment, basking in the drama of the situation.
‘Thank you, Mr Opperman.’ Chaz ripped the seal and lifted the wad of papers from the envelope. ‘Do you mind if I quickly scan the contents in your office?’
‘Of course not,’ Dirk Opperman said, his eyes growing large as he watched the policeman.
‘It’s not really procedure,’ Chaz said absently, leafing through the pile, ‘but I may need your assistance.’
‘Of course,’ Opperman said in awe, seating himself in his chair. He watched the policeman with growing wonderment. Chaz continued leafing through the papers, checking dates. ‘Is that the account of a ... m-murderer?’
‘I’m not really at liberty to say.’
‘Of course.’
Silence.
‘I once met a criminal.’
Silence.
‘Really?’
‘Oh yes.’ He leaned forward. ‘A dope smoker,’ he said, whispering. He looked around. ‘My wife’s cousin. Twice removed.’
‘Hmm,’ Chaz said, not really listening. He started scanning the bank statements, page by page, tracing a finger down each column of figures.
‘I was rather brave, I must admit.’ He sat back, pleased with himself. ‘I phoned the police immediately.’
‘Uh-huh.’ Chaz continued scanning. After a while he realised the liaison officer expected some sort of reply from him. ‘Oh, so ... was he smoking dope?’
‘No,’ Opperman said, bewildered. ‘He was watching TV.’ He cleared his throat. ‘But he –’
‘You sonofabitch!’ Chaz jumped up in his chair. ‘I got you.’
Opperman jumped with fright. ‘Goodness. Really?’
Chaz leafed with frenzy through another few pages until he located another date. ‘Yes!’ Then another. ‘Yes, dammit!’ He looked up at Opperman.
‘You solved the case?’
Chaz grabbed the statement and rushed over to the liaison officer. Opperman cowered with fright. ‘Eh.’
‘I need your help,’ Chaz said, slamming the statement down and pointing at a specific transaction. ‘What does that mean?’
Opperman leaned over carefully and looked at the item Chaz pointed out. ‘Hmm,’ he said with interest. He sat back and looked at the policemen with some satisfaction. ‘Now that is another matter altogether.’
Twenty-three
‘Do you want the good news or the bad news first?’
Hertzog and the remaining three detectives from the unit were enjoying a home cooked meal at the Rust en Vrede Guesthouse. Roast lamb with sweet potatoes, rice and peas. Boerekos. As traditional as only Boerekos can get.
Hertzog was speaking to Chaz over a wireless landline handset. He had put the device on speaker phone so the others could also hear the conversation. Jools, Dog and Jannie were listening attentively to the conversation, eating utensils hovering in mid-air.
‘Goodness, not you too.’ Jools chuckled. ‘You decide.’
‘I finally managed to get the statements. I requested papers going back about a year, just to make sure we didn’t miss anything.’
‘Hm-huh.’
‘Well, we didn’t. Starting about six months ago, Michelle Bismarck suddenly starts receiving regular payments of exactly R5000, around the third of every month.’
‘Hmm. Very interesting.’ Hertzog mulled over the information. ‘Very interesting indeed.’ He paused. ‘I’m kind of hoping that was the bad news, detective?’
‘Unfortunately not, boss. The depositor isn’t listed.’
‘What?’ Dog asked. ‘How can that be?’
‘Instead of a name the statements list a code of some sort.’
‘A code?’ Hertzog sighed, shaking his head. ‘You’re right. That’s definitely not good news.’
‘I asked the bank official, boss. He said it indicates a payment from an offshore account. Probably the Caymans.’
‘The Caymans?’ Dog said. ‘Waar de dônner is dit?’
Where the hell is that?
Hertzog nodded. ‘I was afraid o
f that.’
‘What does it mean, boss?’ Jannie Duvenhage asked.
‘It means we’ve just run up against a brick wall, detective.’
‘Boss, the bank official told me this sort of thing is very difficult to trace, especially with our present situation,’ Chaz said, referring to South Africa’s growing isolation. ‘The only way to get a trace is to go through diplomatic channels.’
‘Hmm. Not good.’ Hertzog paused. ‘Okay, excellent work, detective. What’s your next move?’
‘Well, boss, I was thinking of going back to the aunt. To see if I can get hold of Michelle’s diary.’ He paused. ‘I’ll see from there.’
Hertzog nodded. ‘Okay. Keep me in the loop.’ He ended the conversation.
‘Now why would someone make regular payments into Michelle Bismarck’s account? And from an offshore account?’
‘I don’t know why she received the money. But I understand why it’s from an offshore account.’
‘Why is that, boss?’ Jannie asked.
‘To hide his identity, of course,’ Dog said with irritation
‘Do you think it has something to do with her disappearance?’ Jannie asked, scowling
Hertzog stared at the surface of the dining table. ‘Perhaps.’
Mrs Rabie, the guesthouse proprietor appeared next to them. ‘Oh dear’ she said, addressing Hertzog, ‘you hardly touched your meal, Captain. I do hope everything was to your satisfaction.’
‘It was a wonderful meal, Mrs Rabie. I’m not very hungry, unfortunately.’
‘As far as I’m concerned,’ Dog said, burping, ‘that was the best meal I’ve had in years. I would marry you to have a plate of food like that every night, Mrs Rabie. Maybe we can get your husband out of the picture.’ He winked at her. ‘I have contacts, you know?’
‘She giggled, her hand in front of her mouth. ‘Detective, you really know how to flatter a woman.’ She took Hertzog and Jools’s plates. ‘How about some malva pudding, detectives?’
The Man in the Wind Page 10
