De Vries smiles, but does not alter his gaze.
Steinhauer taps Hopkins’ wrist, nods at him.
‘It is fine, Ralph. Colonel de Vries has many years of resentment to work through. Perhaps this is a kind of therapy for him? He believes that I was not helpful to him in 2007, and now, because poor Marc got himself involved in something terrible, he thinks that I must be involved too. It is something of a conspiracy theory, but it really will be easier if we let it run its course.’ He turns back to de Vries, settles himself on the small chair, affects relaxation. ‘Please, ask your questions. I have a lunch appointment.’
‘Dr Steinhauer, for your information, you had no influence over the course of the inquiry. However, Dr Dyk was the consultant psychologist on the case, and he did influence our direction. What was your professional opinion of Dr Dyk when you worked near him in the 1990s?’
‘I had no opinion.’
‘We have been told by several witnesses that you had a strong influence over your brother, Marc. How did that manifest itself?’
‘I disagree. I have already stated: Marc was his own man.’
‘Marc’s own wife felt that you were a strong influence over him.’
Steinhauer snorts. ‘Then that says more about her than me.’
‘You didn’t feel protective towards him?’
‘From whom would he need protecting? No. Marc made his own way.’
‘Even when you were younger?’
‘I was his older brother; the oldest child of four. I hope that I had some influence on, perhaps even respect from, my younger siblings.’
‘But no undue influence?’
‘I do not understand the use of the word “undue”, but no.’
‘You’ve never married yourself?’
‘No.’
‘May I ask your sexual orientation?’
Hopkins takes a breath but Steinhauer says, ‘I have had several relationships with women. I have not found the woman with whom I would wish to share my life. My work has always proved demanding. I imagine I will come to regret such a situation.’
‘With hindsight,’ de Vries continues, ‘is there anyone who you think might have been able to influence your brother in such a powerful way?’
‘You talk of influence. All I know now is that the evidence seems to point to my brother being responsible for the death of two teenage boys who had been previously held captive. As I have always believed, if the motive was kidnapping and abuse, the course of events suggest a single perpetrator and, loath as I am to believe it, my brother appears to be that man.’
De Vries grins sourly at him, speaks very quietly.
‘You were wrong then, and you are wrong now. This was not the work of one man working alone. We already know the identity of others involved in these crimes and, even as we speak, we are working on further identifications. Now that we have found where they were kept, the site is yielding many indicators.’
‘I will be interested to learn about these others—’
‘Just for the record,’ de Vries interrupts, ‘I want to be clear on this. You state that you never visited the former government bunker located at the far north-eastern corner of your brother Marc’s land outside Riebeek-Kasteel?’
‘Never.’
‘So if we were to find forensic evidence linking you to that site, you would be surprised?’
‘No, Colonel, I would be astonished, and indeed afraid. Since I have never visited this place, it is impossible for any evidence of my being there ever to appear. If it were to do so, I would know that something was amiss.’
‘In what way, amiss?’
‘Since I was never there, there could be no forensic evidence to find. Therefore, if it were to be found . . . Even you can draw a conclusion from that.’ Steinhauer then turns to Hopkins and back to de Vries. ‘Am I permitted to make a statement myself?’
‘Go on.’
‘Whatever you think of me, Colonel, let me confirm what I believe you already know. I was not in Cape Town when these three boys were taken. I have never had any knowledge of their whereabouts, and I have certainly never visited the site. I was over ten thousand kilometres from South Africa when you say my brother shot two boys. No matter that I commented on the original case, and it turns out that my brother was, horrifically, involved, I myself have no involvement whatsoever, and you will never find any evidence to the contrary. So, I suggest that we “bury the hatchet” and consider working together.’
De Vries waits to see if Steinhauer has any more to say. Then he places the files in his briefcase and stands up.
‘That’s all, Doctor. I formally request that you inform us if you intend to leave Cape Town.’
Steinhauer stands up and offers his hand to de Vries, who keeps his hands at his sides. Steinhauer shakes his head.
‘I will be in my Cape Town office for a week or so. After which, I should imagine I will return to Johannesburg. Ralph will inform you.’
‘Mr Hopkins,’ de Vries says, ‘I require you to inform me before the event. If we wish to question your client further, we will do so here. Are you clear?’
‘On the law. Yes, thank you. I will fulfil my duty as set down therein.’
Don looks to de Vries and then opens the door to the interview room. He leads Steinhauer and Hopkins away, towards the elevators. De Vries leaves the room. As he passes the door to the observation suite, du Toit opens it, says: ‘Vaughn. My office, ten minutes.’
As the door slowly swings shut, de Vries hears du Toit murmur to Norman Classon, ‘Jesus Christ.’
Du Toit swivels his chair to his desk, faces de Vries.
‘I hope you are going to tell me what was gained by that.’
‘You were observing.’
‘I tell you what I observed: a man against whom there is not one jot of evidence to suggest that he had any personal involvement in these matters.’
‘I agree.’
‘You do?’
‘Steinhauer has gone out of his way to ensure that there is no physical evidence to link him to these crimes. Even the dates of his absence from Cape Town: he leaves the morning of the first abduction; he returns one day afterwards.’
‘But you’ve confirmed he was there?’
‘We’ve spoken to the doctor he says he was with, and he confirms that Steinhauer was there. He won’t provide any details.’
‘So, he was there. What he said was true?’
‘It’s too perfect, because he has it all worked out. Every question I asked him confirmed that.’
‘So, we move on?’
‘No, sir. We don’t move on.’ De Vries is impatient. ‘You have to be alert to the undercurrents; the movement beneath the surface. Every question I asked him about evidentiary links he answered fluently: that is because he had prepared those answers. Every question relating to connections he finds less . . . shall we say, stable . . . like what Dr Johannes Dyk may or may not have told us, his reaction is quite different. He does not reply; he parries. He answers questions with questions. He does this for a reason: he knows that it is not safe to answer.’
‘I think that is open to interpretation.’
‘When I ask him about his brother, he tells us that he knows Marc bought the land. Do you see the significance of that?’
‘No.’
‘If Marc Steinhauer is “his own man” as Nicholas claims, why would Marc mention this fact to him? Why would Nicholas Steinhauer go out of his way to emphasize it?’
Du Toit shrugs.
‘I’ll tell you why: because it is a significant area of questioning. It contradicts what we know about Marc Steinhauer – that this was an exceptional action by him, that he was more happy following instructions than issuing them. Nicholas Steinhauer knows this, and he is trying to control the scope of questioning. Suspects do that subconsciously, although in this case, I think he knows exactly what he is doing.’
‘It’s an interesting theory,Vaughn. It sounds like something from a handbook, but
I don’t see what it proves.’
‘Did you observe his concern when I told him that I was noting inconsistencies between his statements and others received. It was palpable. This is because he can control events and his involvement in them, but he can’t control what other people may say. He’s afraid of that.’
‘I think we all appreciate your instincts, but this proves nothing.’
De Vries stands up, shouts in a hushed voice, ‘For fuck’s sake, Henrik, when will you understand? This man is too clever to leave physical evidence. He is not a physical man; he is a mind man. He knows we will find nothing – that’s why he is so confident. Probably he never set foot on that farm, but there are microphones in that cell area. For what? For who? For him. He is controlling this nightmare, but he is detached. It is unattributable. But there are uncontrollable elements – human elements. That is what frightens him, and those are what will, eventually, capture him.’
‘Sit down, Colonel.’
‘Don’t do that,’Vaughn tells him, pacing around the chair but not sitting in it. ‘You have my respect. But we have both been at this too long to piss about. I appreciate the pressure you have to bear from above. I understand that your position is at stake here, and the longer you back me, the more you risk. But I am telling you: I know that Nicholas Steinhauer is behind this. You may not be able to see it, but I can. I know. And I will catch him in the lie.’
Du Toit looks uncomprehending. Sighs. Says, ‘What do I tell the press?’
‘Nothing. Confirm that we interviewed Nicholas Steinhauer, and tell them nothing.’
‘That is not a commodity in which they deal.’
De Vries snorts. ‘That’s exactly what they deal in. They just take it and blow it up. Give them nothing and let them print whatever they want. Better they do. Let Steinhauer think he’s got the better of us.’
‘Did he not?’
De Vries looks away and shakes his head despairingly.
‘Just because lots of people can’t see something doesn’t mean it isn’t there.’
‘By lots you mean me?’
‘I mean anyone who sees one and one and won’t make two.’
‘Vaughn. Enough. It doesn’t matter one jot that you can see it. You have to prove it to the court – and that requires evidence or a confession. So, just concentrate on that.’
‘I will do that, sir.’
‘And you wish the press told what?’
‘I’ve told you, tell them anything. Tell them that he is assisting us with our enquiries or whatever you usually say when we are knee-deep in shit.’
‘That won’t play well.’
‘For God’s sake! Who cares what plays well? I want these men caught, and whatever it takes – within the law – I will do it. You’re a policeman, Henrik, remember that. Sometimes you can’t play it straight. You have to come at your suspect from an angle they are not expecting. And that requires confidence. The press can wait.’
‘Classon agrees with me,’ du Toit says unhappily. ‘If you go after Steinhauer with nothing, you will turn opinion against us. You know that there are forces upstairs who would rather see this experiment, and all of us, disappear. You are playing with the fate of this entire department.’
De Vries grits his teeth. He feels an unutterable frustration build, and he knows that he must contain it.
‘Cut me loose. Don’t support me – I don’t care. I’m tired of playing politics. I’m sick of having to impress the media. I just want to do my job. I want every last man who knew about Steven and Bobby and Toby and, for God’s sake, Henrik, so should you.’ De Vries sits down opposite du Toit. Du Toit says nothing. They sit, not looking at one another. Minutes pass.
‘Come in. Sit down, and listen.’ Don February sits in front of de Vries. ‘Time is running out. Du Toit is losing it. He cares more about his damn department than about finding the truth. We have to keep the pressure on and resolve this. What did you make of Steinhauer?’
‘Before that, I have to tell you: Marc Steinhauer did not call Ralph Hopkins on the night before his suicide.’
‘What?’
‘I finally got an answer from the network. He made no call after eight thirty-four p.m. when he called his wife from Rooiels. I checked with Telkom; there is no landline connected to the Betty’s Bay house. I have rechecked the surveillance report, and spoken to the officer on duty. Steinhauer did not leave the property after he arrived.’
De Vries scratches his head. ‘Why would Hopkins lie?’
‘I do not know.’
‘Can we trace received calls on his cellphone?’
‘If we obtain a warrant, yes.’
De Vries thinks. ‘He would know?’
‘If we applied for a warrant, yes. The Constitution does not permit a secret application.’
‘The Constitution . . . ?’
‘As I understand it.’
‘What is Hopkins’ role in this?’ de Vries muses. ‘Before Marc Steinhauer jumped, Hopkins had spoken to him, maybe for a minute or two before we arrived . . .’ He closes his eyes. ‘I’m trying to think what he did when he was following Steinhauer with me . . .’ He says nothing. Then he snaps open his eyes. ‘Don, I want you to push on with any link between Dyk and any member of the Steinhauer family. Get your men to call hospitals throughout Cape Town if necessary. And call that doctor friend of yours: Matambo.’
‘Matimba. Yvonne Matimba.’
‘Yes. Find out if you can look at her sources. Ask her if she can help. Nicholas Steinhauer didn’t like talking about Dyk. We know there is a link because both Marc Steinhauer and Dyk visited that bunker. We have to find out what that link is.’
‘You think it is worth keeping an eye on Steinhauer?’
‘No. I told du Toit – he isn’t a physical guy. He’s not going to call anyone, meet anyone. He’s thought every step through; it’s in his head. That’s where it will stay.’
‘So, what do we do?’
‘If he’s the brains, and we know neither Dyk nor Marc Steinhauer is the physical presence, then there’s at least one more to find. That’s the weak link. If we find that person, or persons, it all comes crashing down. That’s what I’m counting on.’
‘Okay.’
‘Don. From now on, whatever else happens, we’re on our own. Du Toit is going to bow to pressure, and Thulani is going to try to close this down, tie it all to Marc Steinhauer and make the SAPS look good. They need a success too badly. We can’t let that happen. We need to get lucky. After seven fucking years, we need one thing – anything – to go our way.’
Don February hands out puff-pastry canapés, smiles at his guests, hears nothing they say. In the kitchen, he lays down the empty platter and walks to the bathroom. He locks the door, puts down the cover to the toilet seat, sits on it, his head in his hands.
He faces a decision; it haunts him every week of his life. He has to align his loyalty; he has to be confident that he is correct, certain of himself.
He recognizes in de Vries a blind passion which, though admirable, is dangerous to the case, to Don himself, even to the SAPS. He wonders, as he has done so many times, whether he should cut himself free of this man. He is a poor leader, a bigot and misogynist, probably a drunk, who has alienated colleagues, friends, even his family. Yet, despite this, there is something significant in de Vries that Don rates most highly of all. Amidst the jargon and paperwork, the bureaucracy and office politics, he stands for something which has always meant a great deal to Don, has defined his decisions for fifteen years: the pursuit of justice. Don thinks about his peers, reflects that amongst the university-educated black officers – the first batch of these black South Africans to reach the workplace in the new country – all their conversation, all their ambition, is their own. Whatever it takes to rise, inexorably higher; higher, especially, than the white man.
Don pulls off a length of lavatory paper, wipes his eyes and blows his nose, flushes the cistern. He unlocks the door and walks out to the party, so l
ong-anticipated by his wife. She is standing there.
‘Donald,’ she says. ‘What are you doing?’
He smiles back at her, kisses her on the cheek, whispers, ‘You don’t need a policeman to tell you that.’
De Vries hesitates at his door. As he drove up the side of the mountain, he was so certain, but now he wonders whether he is compromising too much to achieve his aim. He is still frustrated by the knowledge that Johannes Dyk will reveal nothing; will almost certainly never break, never divulge his secrets. Suddenly, he knows his mind. He has weighed the consequences and he understands that no one can hurt him. He will not allow the top floor to capitulate; he will not allow Nicholas Steinhauer to walk away, to recover his precious reputation and to scorn the SAPS and de Vries himself in some gaudy fiction passing as fact. Everywhere around him, exploitation thrives unpunished because the law binds him and serves only to protect them. He has made his decision.
‘This is a bigger decision for me than for you.’
‘I haven’t heard the favour yet.’
De Vries looks at Marantz, wonders to whom this man’s loyalty truly lies. He takes a breath.
‘I need a list of patients’ names from a private medical practice.’
‘Names?’
‘Just names. I don’t need patient records, anything more confidential.’
‘Those of Dr Nicholas Steinhauer, perhaps?’
‘Ja.’
‘He was just on television, you know? I had it on while I changed.’
‘Doesn’t surprise me.’
‘What is it? You think he’s involved?’
‘I don’t think it, I know it. I just can’t prove it.’
‘Why his patients?’
‘Because he kept himself out of the actual kidnappings. He probably never visited the boys, but I know that he knew about them. I’m certain of it. That’s why I know he used somebody else and I was thinking: Who would he use? Who is weak and easily influenced? Who trusts this man and will do anything he asks?’
‘A vulnerable patient?’
‘Could be, couldn’t it?’
‘It could. Why not a simple warrant?’
‘I need to work independently.’
The First Rule of Survival Page 26
