Chapter 7
"It may have been your bright idea, doctor Hendrik," Henk declared as he looked at the wound on her forehead, "But nobody may ever accuse me of having ten thumbs and twenty bananas on my hands again. The patient flourished under my hands."
"H'm, under your hands, mister Maritz? Hendrik asked, highly amused. "What did those hands of yours do to the patient to make her flourish? Tell me about it."
"Don't be witty, doctor. Admit it; one would have to use a magnifying glass to be able to see the scar."
Lana was not convinced. She looked at her own reflection in the mirror and all she could see was a red, swollen scar on her forehead.
"Oh well, what does it matter, anyway." She never considered herself a beauty queen. "And now, lord Frankenstein, may your monster invite you and the doctor for lunch at the Home Industry as a token of my appreciation? While we are here, I want to phone my ex sister-in-law from the call box, seeing that I cannot phone her from my own phone."
"Seeing that I forbid you to use your phone, I would like to offer you the use of my own phone." Henk placed his phone on the table in front of her and started looking through the menu. "I would rather eat food than cake. Would it be okay if I ordered a sandwich?"
"Whatever you want," Lana answered as she started dialing.
"A pie with gravy and chips," Hendrik decided.
"Me too." Henk closed the menu.
"Me too. Please order for us." At that moment Wynand's sister picked up the phone on the other side and Lana immediately apologized. "I am sorry for only returning your call now."
"Why did you not tell anybody that you are in Johannesburg?" her ex sister in law interrupted her.
"In Johannesburg. No I am …" Lana prepared to explain, but when Henk gestured she asked: "Why do you think that?"
"They traced you via your cell phone signal."
"How and why?" She sounded like an idiot to herself. Henk had mentioned the possibility of this to her, and now it has happened. "And who are they?"
"Lana I have to warn you. I don't know what you are trying to do, but the people looking for you are the police. You cannot hide forever. Turn yourself in, Lana."
"Why should I do that? I haven't done anything wrong." She placed the phone in front of her on the table and switched on the loudspeaker. She wanted Henk to follow both sides of this bizarre conversation with her.
"There was a detective who asked a lot of questions," Wynand's sister continued. "He is convinced that Wynand did not die of a heart attack, but nobody can prove anything, as the body had been cremated more than a week ago."
"What happened to his ashes?"
"Jamima had scattered his ashes in the Charles River."
"She did not wait very long."
"No, she did not." His sister's voice sounded sad.
"Do you know what the so called police want from me?"
"The detective desperately wants to get hold of Wynand's computer. I tried to divert him by saying that it was probably stolen during the last burglary at your house … but then he told me that you are using Wynand's computer to send your articles via satellite connection through the internet to the various magazines you work for."
"What? Listen, I … I have … to go." Lana whispered distraughtly and severed the connection. For a long while she sat there looking at Henk.
"The case, whatever it may be, seems to be serious enough for the police to get involved." Henk rubbed his head and continued: "Assuming Wynand was murdered in Europe that would mean that he had enemies. Do you know of anybody who could have been offended by him?"
"Yes, many people. He was always on the defense and utterly self-righteous. That was the kind of man he was. He was very full of himself and conceited. In short, he was always right and everybody else always wrong, if you know what I mean."
"I understand. It could also be one of Wynand's enemies, pretending to be a policeman. Suppose there is some incriminating evidence on the computer, which could harm somebody. Did you take a look at the things he had stored on the computer?"
"Yes, here and there, but most of the files are password protected. I deleted some of them after storing them on CD's, to gain some memory."
"Would you mind if I looked at them?"
"Are you au fait with computers?"
"My dad is computer fundi!" Hendrik picked up his knife and fork as his aunt placed the food in front of them. "Are we going to eat, or are you going to solve the case first?"
"We will eat while we are busy solving the case." Henk took their hands and said a quick table prayer.
"Were you serious when you said your dad was computer fundi?" Lana asked Hendrik. "Is that another one of his hidden talents?"
"Oh yes, but what can I say. If the man has got it, he has got it," the young doctor replied and started eating the juicy pie, gravy, chips and salad.
"Then I think he should see if he can sniff something out," she dared them.
"He will sniff something out," Hendrik assured her.
When they arrived at her house later Henk was eager to get to the computer. He did not wait for Lana to invite him in, but pushed past her and went straight to the laptop lying on the table. "I assume that it is this computer."
"No, it is the one underneath my bed," she said with a twinkle in her eyes and started laughing when he swung around. "I am joking. Your instinct has directed you on the right road, my friend."
"Shame on you for making fun of a serious matter." He sat down and started pressing keys on the notebook.
"Something cold to drink? A beer, perhaps."
"You must be joking," he rebuked her without looking up from the screen. "How early do you want me to fall asleep tonight? You should know by now what that stuff does to me. Do you have juice or a soda in the house?"
"Yes, what would you prefer?"
"Yes thanks," he answered absentmindedly.
"Which one?"
"Thanks." Lana shook her head, because she could see that he was a man on a mission. After a while he looked up and asked, "Can we start eliminating? Under what file names do you store your work?"
"Under ‘Lana's file', ‘General workspace' and ‘Magazine Articles'. Wynand's files are ‘Private', New Folder' and ‘For Web'."
"My, but you are organized,' he praised her. “However, just for the sake of thoroughness I will look in the other departments as well. You say the man worked with the stock exchange and figures?"
"Yes, Dude," she sighed and placed the cold drink on the table.
"Private," Henk said to himself and Lana could see that he was fascinated with the file. "What were his children's names?"
Lana mentioned the names and he wrote them down. Then he started patiently trying out different combinations of the names.
"His full names and nicknames?" the PI demanded half an hour later after having had no success. "Swear words he may have used. His ID number. His mother and father's names."
"He never used any swear words." Lana stood up to prepare supper.
"What did he call you?" Henk asked after a while, despondently resting his head on his one hand.
"Laankers and Laantjie ..."
"Laantjie. That is cute. Wow. And that's it." He jumped up and the chair he was sitting on fell over. "It works. You were the man's password, in everything. Everything, my goodness!"
"Oh, am I supposed to be glad or sad?" She was busy frying onions and added beef mince. "What do you see?"
"Figures, my dear." He picked up the chair and sat down again.
"And what can you make out in the figures, computer fundi?"
"Enough, I thrive on figures."
"Mister Henk Maritz, bean counter."
"Bingo."
"Huh?"
"I was a chartered accountant and forensic auditor for most of my life, Lana. The most boring form of life on earth, especially to ignorant people. However, to me it makes sense. Balance sheets tell stories," he mused and his beautiful green eyes turned into sli
ts as he peered at the screen.
"Is that why you stick your nose into everybody's business at the centre?"
"Yes, after I resigned from my previous rather stressful job, I keep myself busy by doing their accounting and VAT returns, and sometimes I look after my friend's business concerns when they go on holiday."
"Shame ..."
"Oh oh, who are Paul Hollander, James Freeman and Keeps van Banneker?" He obviously did not hear her sarcastic comment, or he chose to ignore it, because he was absolutely intrigued by what he could see on the screen.
"I have never heard of them," she answered after thinking for a while. "Can you tell me?"
"Not yet, but I am working on it." He stared at the screen and clicked on the mouse for a long while. Then he sniffed in the air. "Are you making food? Can you believe it? I am hungry again."
"You should be hungry. It has been eight hours since we have eaten. I am not the best chef in the world …"
"Stop putting yourself down." He got up from his chair and embraced her." You are an excellent journalist. I have read and enjoyed all the articles you have written that I could find on the internet. Look at how you are upgrading your house. The food you made smells so divine, my mouth is watering already. But hey …"
He let go of her, standing back and looking at her.
"But hey, what?" She added some whole tomatoes from a tin and stirred it into the bolognaise mixture.
"Lana, we will have to go to the police, to Interpol, to be precise. Wynand was busy with bigger things than what you and I can handle on a PI-level."
"Together with those guys whose names you mentioned?" she asked in shock.
"Perhaps. They could have been his contacts in different countries. They may also be the people looking for Wynand's computer. If Wynand was murdered, the guilty person won't hesitate to kill again."
"That serious?"
"Yes Lana, what I have seen on this computer is fraud, unless there is an explanation for all of it. But up to now I have not been able to determine any legal explanation for what he was doing."
"And if he did have an explanation, it has gone to the grave with him." She pulled up another chair and sat down slowly. It felt as if she was in pain, but she could not determine in what part of her body.
"You are probably right. His last transaction had taken place on the third of January, on the day of his death. He was laundering large amounts of money, other people's money." He shrugged. "Without their permission, because they did not realize that he was using their money."
"How?"
"A little bit here and a little bit there to make it look like bank charges and expenses. And that made Wynand into a very wealthy man."
"What will happen to the money?"
"It is a difficult situation. The ombudsman will have to decide."
"Would you like to have some wine with the food?"
"Do you have wine?" Henk opened the fridge door before she could answer. "Yes thank you. I see you have a box of Swartland Stein. Wine does not make me so drowsy."
"If you pass out tonight, there will be trouble," she warned. "I don't think I will ever be able to sleep in my life again. Who did Wynand steal the money from?"
"Besides others, from you, my dear Lana. How often did you inspect your bank statements?" The look in his eyes was sympathetic.
"Not very often," she admitted, biting her lower lip.
"You inherited money from your aunt about three years ago. Into what account was the interest paid?"
"Into my account, I assume."
"No, sweetheart, it is here …" He tapped on the laptop. "Wynand used your money. Sometimes he replaced it when he made a profit on some of his transactions. You were one of his victims, as he hacked into your account."
"One of his victims? Were there many?"
"Yes Lana, unfortunately." Henk poured the wine and placed one glass in front of her. "Do you have some empty CD's? I would like to transfer these files and take them with me.
"There." He opened the drawer where she pointed and took out a new CD. "We will have to treat this case with the utmost care. There are probably people who knew what Wynand was busy with and who would like to have a piece of the pie. It may even have been one of them who killed him. What can you tell me about his sister?"
"Nothing out of the ordinary. She is quite harmless," Lana defended her. "She would not have harmed a hair on Wynand's head."
"What about his fiancé, or wife or whatever ," Henk asked. "The next possible culprit in the case, your honour, is Mrs. … Mrs. … What is her name again?"
"Jamima, or something to that effect," Lana told him. "What are we going to do?"
"I will go to a friend of mine who is working at the forensic auditing department in Pretoria. He will be able to advise us. And then the police will have to take it from there…"
By ten o'clock Henk was getting ready to leave.
"Thanks for the meal. It was delicious. I enjoyed your company, but I have to go to sleep now, as I am planning to be past Nelspruit by five o'clock tomorrow morning." He embraced her and kissed her on her forehead, then on her nose and at last on her lips, resting his mouth on hers for a long while.
"You have to go …" She pushed him away. His presence so close to her made her heart beat faster. She had to come up for fresh air.
"I know, Lana," he sighed and when he kissed her again, more passionately this time, she had to employ all her self-control to stop herself from melting into his arms.
"Henk, you really have to leave now."
"Good night, little woman." He let go of her, walked out of the door to his car, and shouted to her while he opened the car door: "Lock your doors and look after yourself."
"I will. Drive safely, Henk!" Lana waved at him and watched as his car lights disappeared into the night.
Then she took a long leisurely bath and climbed into bed.
Strangely enough the thoughts occupying her brain and keeping her awake were not about Wynand's fraud against her and his clients, but about the feelings that were slowly awakening by the kisses of the attractive bean counter from the bush. She could still feel the sensation of his arms as he embraced her and his strong body against hers, and she felt excited about the next day and any other day in the future in which he would feature.
She knew now that she was right in feeling from the moment she had met him that Henk Maritz would be responsible for more than hardware and building materials in her life. She adored him. She wondered if he was disappointed that she had pushed him away. Deep in her heart she knew that sometime or another she would allow him to get closer to her, much closer…
When his SMS came through a few minutes later – "I am at home. Stay safe, beautiful woman. Good night," she knew that he was also aware of software developing between them.
"You too, handsome and talented detective," she replied, tongue in cheek. "Drive safely tomorrow. Let me know when you arrive there, and keep me updated on what happens."
Man of Many Talents Page 7
