The Monster's Daughter

by Michelle Pretorius

  “I’m not going to hurt you, okay?” Tessa carefully unhooked the diaper pins and peeled the rough fabric off, trying not to retch. A nasty rash and half-moon-shaped bruises lined the tender skin of the toddler’s back. Something ripped inside Tessa. She grabbed a pair of scissors and cut the dress off the girl, too disgusted to try to undo the buttons. The toddler screamed hysterically as Tessa lowered her into the bathtub, her cheeks glowing red under a layer of filth, her eyes and nostrils caked with gunk.

  “It’s all right now, little one.” Tessa spoke soothingly, gently lapping lukewarm water over her body, revealing large hazel eyes and curly chestnut hair by degrees. Brown water seeped down the drain. She stood there until the tub had completely drained, dirt forming lines on the white porcelain. The girl had calmed down, her body limp in the towel as Tessa held her. Suddenly, she glimpsed her salvation.

  “Whose child is that?” Jeff stood in the doorway, a soft slur tainting his words.

  “I’m taking her, Jeff.” Tessa’s words were without apology. “Her parents are gone.”

  “What?” Jeff stared at the girl.

  “Next door. They were arrested.”

  He sighed, seemingly relieved. “We can call someone to take her.”

  “They didn’t even tell anyone there was a child.” Tessa broke into tears, her body shaking as she clung to the toddler. “She’s just a baby.”

  Jeff stepped closer to her, reaching uncomfortably, the girl between them. “The police will sort this, luv.”

  “No.” Tessa broke free from his grip, keeping her hand protectively on the child’s head.

  “Be reasonable.”

  “She’s not going back.” Tessa’s pale eyes challenged.

  Jeff tugged at his tie as if it was choking him. “She’s someone’s child, Tessa.”

  “Look at her, Jeff.” Tessa tore the towel away.

  Jeff’s face mirrored her initial horror, his brow contracting. “Maybe Child Services—”

  “I’m taking her away.” Tessa picked the girl up. “Tonight. She’ll be safe. Nobody will find us.”

  “Does this plan include me?”

  Tessa hesitated for a moment before answering. “Nothing’s changed.”

  “No. Apparently it hasn’t.” Jeff sat down on the edge of the bathtub, wiping his eyes with his palms. “I don’t think I can do this, Tess.”

  Tessa felt a willfulness spring up. “Then I’ll manage without you.”

  Jeff looked as if she had slapped him. “So that’s it?”

  “I need to get her away from here before those people sober up and remember they have a child. That is all that matters now, keeping her safe. We can talk about the rest later if you want.”

  “I don’t know that there’s anything more to talk about.” Jeff’s body deflated. “I’m going back to London. Maybe for good.” He held his breath, watching her for a reaction.

  Tessa could only muster a curt nod. The life in her arms was the only important thing now. She could do it, save this one person. Together, they would start over. One more time.

  Adriaan

  Adriaan hid behind the low fence of a house on Toby Street. Triomf spread all around, an eyesore of welfare and depravity, where the embarrassing dregs of white culture sank to the bottom. “You’re sure it’s the right man?” he asked the constable next to him.

  “He matched the description, sir. I was staking the place out. The occupants are wanted for questioning about that missing child, see? Then your man rocked up. Went in almost an hour ago.”

  Adriaan looked at the neighborhood around him, old cars and junk on the neglected lawns. Could this be where De Beer had been all along? Hiding in plain sight? His dramatics at the zoo had only convinced Adriaan that he was on the right track, too close for the monster’s comfort. If anything, De Beer’s threats to his family served to intensify Adriaan’s investigation. He kept the media in the dark, even gave them a few misdirections, but he had made sure that every milk-beard on the force memorized De Beer’s description. Contacts were roused from their hiding places, bribes distributed, threats made. Then, today, it had all paid off.

  The front door of the house across the street opened. Adriaan signaled the unit to stand by as he recognized the tall frame of the man who walked out wearing a motorcycle helmet. De Beer went through the front gate, headed toward a dirt bike parked up the block.

  “Police! Stay where you are.” The constable next to Adriaan jumped up without waiting for the signal, his gun trained on De Beer. “I said, don’t move!” He stormed at De Beer, grabbing him by the scruff of his jacket. De Beer slipped out of the jacket in one graceful move and punched the constable, then grabbed his gun from him.

  Adriaan fell back when he heard the pop, pulling his own weapon as the constable’s body thumped to the ground. There was another barrage of pops as the other policemen opened fire. Adriaan carefully looked over the fence, meeting De Beer’s eyes, the gun pointed directly at Adriaan. Adriaan hugged the ground as a bullet grazed the fence. “We have a man down,” he yelled into the radio. “Suspect on the move, riding a Honda dirt bike.” He touched the fallen constable’s neck. There was almost no pulse.

  Two squad cars approached, sirens blaring. Adriaan raced down the street, watching the motorcycle disappear down the block. It was too far away, but he fired a shot anyway. Chaos descended. Sirens could be heard kilometers away as the squad cars gave chase. Adriaan sat down on the curb where the constable had fallen, his head between his hands, frustration gnawing at him. De Beer had to be stopped. This was the closest Adriaan had ever gotten, and the man had still managed to slip away.

  “Hey, you.” A teenage girl, around sixteen, slouched onto the stoep of the house where he had hidden moments before, a cigarette hanging from her lips. “What you people doing?”

  Adriaan waved her away. “Go back inside.”

  “You find the people who took that baby?” She crossed her arms when Adriaan didn’t reply. “I told my pa the moment they moved in. I said they’ll be trouble. She acting all high and mighty as if her kak wasn’t brown, not talking to anybody. Now look. And what are you people doing?”

  “We’re working on it, miss. Now go back—”

  “Time you people stop arresting people for nothing and start doing your job, Mister Police.” She flicked her cigarette onto the grass.

  Adriaan turned away from her. De Beer’s jacket lay where it had fallen in the street, stained with the constable’s blood. He crouched down, picked it up, and went through its pockets. Nothing. His fingers brushed a piece of paper in an inside pocket and he pulled it out, hoping for a note or a receipt, anything that might give a clue as to De Beer’s whereabouts. It was a small photograph with yellow scalloped edges, its subjects, a boy and girl, faded in sepia tones. The boy was young, maybe eleven or twelve, but there was no doubt in Adriaan’s mind who it was. The girl in the photograph bore a resemblance to De Beer—eyes the same shape, fair hair, pale skin—but there was something different about her, a kindness in her expression that De Beer’s empty stare lacked.

  Adriaan crossed back to the teenager. “Can you look at this?”

  She eyed him warily, not moving from her spot in the doorway.

  “Please? You want to find the little girl, don’t you?” Adriaan walked up to her, pushing back his revulsion at her cheap perfume. He noticed that she wasn’t wearing shoes, her toenails painted a bright red. He held the photograph out to her.

  She looked at it for a moment, then nodded. “I guess it could be her.”

  “Who?”

  “The one from across the street.”

  “And the boy?”

  She shook her head. “Never seen him.”

  “When was the last time you saw her?”

  “I don’t know. Maybe a week ago? When little Tina went missing, I suppose. Ursula hasn’t been the same, never comes out now. It’s bad, losing a child, hey.”

  “Thanks for your help.”

  “You come
ask me anytime, hear?” she said, smiling.

  Adriaan smiled back, an understanding passing between them. He’d known her kind before. She wouldn’t be the first white trash who tried to get out of here by spreading her legs for a policeman. It was always good for amusement. God knows, with Gerda taking Alet and threatening divorce, he needed it. Adriaan tucked the photograph into his pocket as he walked away. De Beer wasn’t living with the woman, so what was he doing there?

  Two more squad cars pulled up to the house. “Turn over the house,” Adriaan yelled at the men who got out. “Get prints. Statements from the neighbors.” As a constable drove him back to the station, he studied the two faces in the photograph again.

  “Was she one of the victims, sir?”

  “Keep your eyes on the road, Constable.”

  “Sorry, sir. She just looks—”

  “Yes, like an angel.” Adriaan smiled.

  12

  Sunday

  DECEMBER 19, 2010

  The Dutch Reformed church on Adderley Street seemed anachronistic, standing between two modern buildings. People in shorts and T-shirts crowded the sidewalk in front of it. Behind the iron fencing, its imposing gray walls were interrupted by barred windows and a heavy wooden door. From where Alet stood, it was easy to imagine it as a fancy prison, designed to keep the congregation in a purgatory of psalm-singing until everyone had handed over their tithes.

  Patchy sunlight invaded the city’s shadows. Alet pushed up her sweatshirt’s sleeves, glancing at her watch. As if on cue, a man in a gray suit opened both church doors, then kicked at the stops. The dominee appeared behind him in black robes, taking up his post next to the door. Families in suits and knee-length dresses sauntered out, men stopping to shake hands and exchange a few words.

  Alet searched the faces, locking eyes with Koch as he walked down the church stairs. A short frumpy woman in mauve walked arm in arm with him, her graying brown hair teased into an eighties-style helmet of hairspray. Alet yawned, waiting for Koch to cross the street, while Mrs. Koch talked to a woman who Alet presumed was the dominee’s wife.

  “You could have called.”

  Alet was unfazed by Koch’s irritation, her own taking precedence. “I did,” she said. “Your ousie told me where you were.”

  Koch crossed his arms. “Well?”

  Alet mirrored his defiant stance. “Tell your wife you’re going to be late for lunch. You and I have a few things to discuss.”

  “This can wait.”

  “Actually, it can’t. You’re going to tell me the truth about you and my dad. Right now.”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “No? I know about your employment history, Professor. What you did back then for the government.”

  Koch stiffened. “I am a scientist.”

  “Doesn’t give you the right to kill people.”

  “I didn’t kill anybody.” Koch waved a finger in her face, his mouth pulled taut.

  “Look, you’re going to tell me, or I’ll go to the university board and tell them who they have in their employ. Maybe the papers would find it interesting too. You influencing the young minds of the country and all.”

  “You wouldn’t.”

  “Try me.”

  Koch met Alet on the corner after briefly talking to his wife. Alet followed him to Greenmarket Square, the streets bustling and breathing with tourists. She waved off a very dark-skinned man holding a wooden hippo statue as Koch marched straight ahead into an old hotel bar that overlooked the square.

  “So, what do you know?” Koch placed two Black Labels on the table, taking the seat opposite Alet.

  “You did research for a government front company that supplied death squads with chemical weapons. And my dad was in charge of one of those squads.”

  Koch looked at her in surprise, eyebrows raised in an unspoken question.

  “I only just found out.”

  “What do you want from me?”

  “The truth. I need to know how it all fits in with this murder investigation.”

  “I don’t understand,” Koch said, the fight out of him.

  “Did they experiment on people?”

  “Tests were done on animals—primates, pigs, dogs.”

  Alet raised an eyebrow. “You’re sure about that? What use would they have for a man like you?”

  “I did what I was told to do. Everything was highly compartmentalized. They recruited researchers from around the country, and everyone worked on their little part, with no idea of how it fit into the bigger picture.”

  “But you knew, didn’t you?”

  “People were too afraid to talk. They had us sign secrecy agreements, even bugged our houses. The tests mainly dealt with organophosphates like paraoxon, paraquat, agents that could only have been used for one purpose.”

  “Which was?”

  “They claimed the work was to protect our troops from chemical attacks in Namibia, but most of the agents were designed for offensive purposes, all small-scale production.”

  “Assassinations.”

  “I think so. They had rooms full of food and liquor that were being picked up by Security Branch men. Cigarettes. Clothes, even. All laced with the stuff.” He took a gulp from his beer before continuing. “It had been in the news around that time. Opposition leaders hospitalized because of thallium or unknown agents. It’s not hard to connect the dots.”

  “What about breeding super wolf-dogs?”

  The corner of Koch’s mouth lifted in a sneer. “You read the tabloids.”

  “The official documents are still classified, so I take what I can get.”

  “Genetic research like that takes time, money. The company was sold and privatized before we made any real progress.”

  “And people?”

  “What?”

  “Did you use people in these experiments? If the government was willing to experiment on humans, they may have been doing it for a long time. Longer than you know.”

  “Nonsense. Look, I was just as surprised as you when I saw those results.” Koch sighed. “We didn’t know anything back then. Those experiments were failures. The technology for that kind of thing simply didn’t exist. It’s impossible that they’d have known more in 1900.”

  Alet leaned on the table, cradling her chin in her hand. “Then help me out, Professor. I don’t understand how this is possible.”

  “Evolution, perhaps? A different species could have evolved alongside Homo sapiens for thousands of years, living and passing as human.”

  “And we didn’t find out about it until now?” Alet thought about Koch’s theory for a moment. “Okay, suppose that happened. There had to have been more of them, right? A single being can’t evolve on its own. They had to breed.”

  Koch’s eyes narrowed behind his thick glasses. “I think we can presume that.”

  “Where are they, then? Could they be the other victims? Someone found out about these non-humans, saw them as a threat, and tried to eradicate them?”

  “No.” Koch swept his hand through the air emphatically. “The DNA evidence you sent me from those old cases was all human. No match to your victim whatsoever.”

  “Dammit.” Alet rubbed her temples. It would have been a neat solution, a motive at least. Somewhere out there was a faceless killer she just couldn’t get a grip on, and it was frustrating the hell out of her. “And my dad? How does he fit in to all of this?”

  “I really don’t know anything, Alet.” Koch fiddled with the label on his beer bottle, pulling at the edges and sticking them back down again.

  “That’s kak, Professor,” Alet said. “Why did you agree to keep this quiet?”

  “I thought that’s what you wanted.” A thin layer of perspiration had formed on Koch’s pasty face.

  “I expected you to write a paper about it. Get published. Have your name in the scientific spotlight. Unless of course you suspected that it had something to do with the work you were doing for the government,
the larger thing they were working on?”

  Koch pressed his lips together, the corners drooping. He looked like all the authority figures she’d ever encountered, the dominees, the teachers, the principals, the drill sergeants, the station chiefs, all of them asserting their authority without opposition because they were white and male.

  Alet shook her head. “You can’t go public about what you did back then, because you’re scared you’d be found out, prosecuted. But you’re desperate to get back at my father. You wanted me to find out about what he did. Expose him to his only daughter. I just can’t figure out why.”

  “I really don’t see what—”

  Alet held her hand up to stop him. “I don’t think you understand, Professor. The time for amnesty is over, the TRC went home. So help me understand why I shouldn’t take everything I have to the government.”

  “It’s personal. Nothing to do with this case.”

  Alet crossed her arms, her gaze unwavering. “You should talk to me, Professor.”

  Koch held his hands up in a sign of surrender, letting them flop back down on the table. “I suppose it doesn’t matter anymore.” He stared at the TV screen above the bar as he talked, suddenly unwilling to look her in the eye. “Your dad … We were friends of sorts, you could say. Worked a few cases together in Pretoria, sometimes shared a dop while trying to reason things out. Catching the bad guy, watching the pieces come together, it was a huge rush to be part of all that. Adriaan was obsessive, relentless. I admired that, wanted to be part of it, see?” An expression of self-ridicule lodged on Koch’s face.

  “My daughter got into trouble because of some hippie she was seeing at the time, arrested for aiding the ANC. Known ANC sympathizers had been disappearing regularly at that point. The police would detain them indefinitely. Their families didn’t know if they were in jail or dead. You have no idea what it was like back then.” Koch looked pleadingly at Alet. “I was frantic when I got the call. I went to Adriaan, begged him to help. He took care of it, brought her home, kept her name off the government lists. He even fixed it so the boyfriend wouldn’t be a problem anymore.” Koch bowed his head. “The relationship changed after that. If he said anything, changed his mind, my girl would have been in a whole lot of trouble. So when Adriaan Berg pulled at my leash, I came running.”