Her jacket was still crumpled up on the bed, and the crucifix still hung on the wall. He took another look around the room, shrugged his shoulders and turned to leave.
But something wasn’t right.
Something was missing.
He turned back and looked at the bedside table. He dumped the docket on the bed and paged through the album. He found the one he was looking for right at the back. Murphy’s Law, he thought, whenever you’re looking for something it’s always right at the end. The silver-framed wedding photo, present in the pictures, was missing from next to the bed.
NATALIE SAT AT A TABLE in the back of the coffee shop across the road from the law firm where she worked. It was always full of attorneys and their clients at lunchtime. Janet was late, as usual. Lunchtime traffic was a problem. It was an excuse she'd become comfortable making for Janet over the years. Natalie chewed the skin on the edge of her thumb as she waited for the waitress to notice that she was sitting there. She desperately needed some coffee. The caffeine would steady her frayed nerves.
It was a strange feeling wondering whether or not she could trust the two people she thought would never betray her. She’d always believed that the bond between her, Janet and Louis was unbreakable. Now she wasn’t sure if she could trust either of them. They'd always been the two people she would trust with her life, her soul. They'd always protected each other. She’d never kept anything from them, but now it seemed they'd been keeping secrets. How many other things had they kept from her over the years?
How could the two people who'd gone to such lengths to protect her when they were teenagers, be so duplicitous? The memory was as fresh and sweet as though it had just happened. She could still see them sneaking into the orphanage that night after she'd confided in them. Louis took her place in the bed and waited for the old bastard to make his way down the passageway and into the room that she shared with five other girls. He’d ignored the others and slithered into her bed, where Louis waited with a knife. She and Janet were under the bed. The old man hadn't expected that. She hadn't heard what Louis said. She'd only heard the sound of her own heartbeat. The old bastard never bothered her or any of the other girls after that.
She spotted Janet’s blonde head as she walked into the restaurant and watched her look around the room. Janet’s blue eyes roamed over the faces closest to her and then squinted to see towards the back. Janet really should wear her glasses out in public, Natalie thought; she, on the other hand, had the eyes of a hawk. They even looked like hawks’ eyes, or that was what Louis always told her. That was when he was in a good mood. When he was angry with her, he said she had the eyes of a witch.
She stood up and waved so Janet could see her. Sitting down again, she waited for her friend to weave her way around the other tables. A waitress arrived at their table the moment Janet sat down; they ordered coffee. It irked Natalie that the waitress had ignored her the entire time she'd been waiting but decided to pay attention when Janet arrived. The little bitch wouldn't be getting a tip. Janet grabbed the menu and perused it with hungry eyes.
“So ...” Janet said over the menu. “Do you want to start or should I?”
“Well ...” Natalie looked down at her hands. She needed to stop chewing her fingernails she decided. “Since you called this little powwow, you can start.”
“Thanks ...” she took a breath and blew it out slowly. “It’s that fucking-bitch-ex-girlfriend of Nico’s.”
“What about her?”
“She keeps calling him at all times of the night.”
“What on earth for? Does she want him back or something?”
“She claims she wants to talk to him about this case he’s working on, but I don’t buy it. If that were it, she would call him at work and not at home.”
The waitress interrupted them before Natalie could say anything else. The tip of her shoe caught on the edge of a tile. She tripped, sending a cup of hot coffee flying. The hot black liquid landed on Natalie’s lap. With a yelp of pain, Natalie sprang out of her seat and grabbed the waitress.
“You fucking stupid cow,” she screamed.
“I’m sorry, ma’am,” the waitress stammered
“You’ve ruined my suit. How am I supposed to go back to work looking like this?”
“Nats, it’s okay. It’ll dry,” Janet said, touching Natalie’s shoulder. “You can let go of the waitress now.”
Natalie let go of the frightened waitress, who ran straight into the arms of a very unhappy-looking manager. The manager marched the waitress back to Natalie and Janet’s table.
“I apologise for this accident, ladies,” the manager said. His oversized moustache bristled. “Your lunch will be on the house.”
“So does that mean I’ll actually get to drink the coffee instead of having it poured all over me?” Natalie asked.
“Yes, ma’am. I’ll bring you a fresh cup right away.”
“Thank you, and another waitress would be nice as well, one who actually knows what she's doing,” Natalie said, as she sat down, clenching and unclenching her fists.
“So ... I don’t suppose you could do that to Nico’s ex?” Janet asked, a slight smile playing on her lips.
“Sorry. Went a little overboard there, didn’t I?”
“Well, maybe just a smidge. I mean, you did have the poor girl’s hair in quite a grip.”
“Did I? I didn’t even notice.” She looked down at her lap, hoping that her eyes wouldn't betray the absolute glee she'd felt at seeing that bitch waitress cower in fear. She felt the scalding heat on her legs. The pain was strangely exhilarating. She took a deep breath and exhaled slowly. “So where were we?” Natalie asked, fighting for control.
“Seriously, do you think you could do that to her?”
“Now you’re the one overreacting. Nico loves you. You have nothing to worry about,” Natalie said, not really being honest. “So who is this woman, anyway?’
“Helen Stratford.”
“From the SABC News?”
“That’s her.”
“You’re kidding?” Janet was screwed. Helen Stratford was gorgeous. Natalie couldn't help but wonder how Nico had managed to land her as a girlfriend; he wasn't exactly what she would have thought of as a stud. “Why did they break up?”
“Nico won’t talk about it, but from what I can gather, she was using him for leads on stories. He was working on an important murder case, and because of her, the guy somehow managed to get away with it. Nico’s boss blamed him for leaking it to the press or something like that.”
“See? You have nothing to worry about. She screwed up, and you haven’t. Her loss.”
“You’re right. I’m just being silly.” Janet took another breath and exhaled more slowly this time. “So, do you have any news?”
“Well ...”
“Come on. I can see from your face that something’s up.”
“Something's certainly up,” Natalie said with a smile. “Okay ... well ... you know Louis’s little problem?” Natalie kept an eye on Janet's face for any signs of betrayal.
“Yes. What about it?” Janet asked, not meeting Natalie's gaze.
“It looks like it might be clearing up.”
“Really?” Honest surprise mixed with something Natalie couldn't interpret.
“We made love on Sunday, and it was incredible. He did things I didn't even know he knew how to do. I think we may get through all the issues together after all.” She felt a blush creep up from her neck to her cheeks. She'd always confided the most intimate details of her relationship with Louis to Janet, but telling her these things now felt a little uncomfortable.
“That’s great. I’m so happy for you.” Her voice, however, belied that sentiment. Natalie picked up on the insincerity in her voice. Had her best friend really stabbed her in the back in the worst possible way?
“Are you okay?”
Janet’s voice startled her. She shook all the dark thoughts out of her mind.
“Sorry. I was just th
inking about something I need to take care of,” she said and smiled. “Now what do you want to eat?”
NICO TOOK THE STAIRS down to the first floor and knocked on the caretaker’s door. The caretaker was wearing the same blue shorts lodged under his voluminous belly. How could the bugger be wearing shorts in the middle of winter? The caretaker, who introduced himself as Koos, invited him in. His flat was not at all what Nico had been expecting. There weren’t any oily engine parts lying on the carpet in the process of being repaired, or any rusty tools strewn across the dining room table. It was clean. There were fresh flowers on the table in a plain glass vase. Scatter cushions were arranged on the light beige sofa.
“My wife loves to clean; if I dump anything on the floor, she picks it up within five seconds. I’ve actually timed her doing it,” the caretaker said as if reading Nico’s mind. “Does your wife do funny things like that?” Koos asked.
“I’m not married. The reason I’m here, Mr ...?”
“Just call me Koos, everybody else does.”
“Okay, Koos. Has anybody been into Mrs van Wyk’s place since Sunday?”
“I don’t think so. This is a big block of flats. I don’t see everybody’s comings and goings you know.”
“Yes, I realise that you can’t be in more than one place at a time, sir, but did anyone ask you for a key to her flat or did you see anyone hanging around here in the last day or two?”
“Wait a minute. There was this one guy. Actually, he was one of yours.”
“One of mine?”
“Ja, a cop.”
“What did he look like?”
“He looked like a cop. A young cop. You guys all look the same in uniform.”
“I don’t suppose you noticed what rank he was?”
“Sorry, I just saw the uniform. He said that some evidence had been left behind and that he needed to get it. I just opened up for him and waited outside while he went and got whatever it was that he needed.”
Nico cursed silently.
“Did you see what he took?”
“Nah, sorry. I wasn’t really looking, you know. I didn't want to get in his way.”
He could quite happily have decked the idiot, but he doubted that it would have made much difference to the man’s face.
“So let me get this straight, a young policeman in uniform asked you to unlock her flat, so he could remove something, and you didn’t get a good look at him, and you didn’t get his name? Is that about right?”
“Yes. Are you implying that I did something wrong? He was one of yours, for fucks sakes. You don’t argue with your type, that’ll get you tossed into the Tjoekie.”
“Thank you, sir, if you see him again please let me know,” Nico said, handing him his business card. Then he turned and walked away. The caretaker stood in the doorway looking confused.
“Oh, one more thing ...” Nico said from the top of the stairs. “Did you open the shower curtain when you found Mrs. van Wyk’s body?”
“Um ... I ... I might have done. I can’t really remember. Er ... I think I did. Why?”
“Oh, no reason. Thanks again and remember to let me know if you do spot that cop again,” Nico shouted as he jogged down the stairs.
7
This was where he’d first seen Theresa van Wyk. She’d been drunk. The only time he’d seen her sober was the night she died. It was here in this small shopping centre’s parking area that he decided it was time for her to die. Now it was time for him to find another one to take that Bitch’s place in hell.
He watched people come and go. Some went into the small pizza shop or walked past him through the walkway to the Spar at the back. A young woman and a little girl walked out of the flower shop with a large bunch of mixed flowers. A wild array of colours, reds, yellows and blues blended together. That harpy never had flowers in her place. A weathered-looking man sold second-hand books outside the DVD shop. His brown knitted jersey should have found its way into the trash a few years ago. A middle-aged woman walked past his passenger-side door and almost fell onto the bonnet of his patrol car in her hurry to get to the bottle store. He watched her as she stumbled through the door. He sat there watching, waiting for another five minutes.
The woman came out of the bottle store carrying a black plastic packet with the neck of a bottle of Vodka sticking out. She walked past him once again and tripped; landing on her knees and hands on the tar behind his rear left bumper. He got out, walked over to her and helped her back onto her feet.
“Are you all right?” he asked her, once she was tottering on her feet.
“Yes. I’m fine, and so’s the bottle. Now get your bloody hands off me.” Her speech was slurred, and the smell of cheap booze drifted from her mouth.
She pushed him away and stumbled across the parking area. Drivers hooted and swerved to avoid hitting her. She managed to cross Anna Wilson Street without being knocked down and buzzed herself through the green gate of her block of flats.
“I’ll see you soon,” he mumbled to himself, got back into his patrol car and drove out of the parking area.
THE ROOM WAS DARK. The candles, which Janet insisted on lighting whenever she came over, gave the place a softness absent during the day. The street lights and the flickering candle flames danced on the walls. Janet’s head rested on Nico’s lap while his fingers played with her hair. His thoughts kept returning to the missing silver frame and the bathroom curtain. Why did the Strangler close the curtain after he killed them? Nico tilted his head back against his old leather couch and tried to concentrate on the movie Janet wanted him to watch with her. It was some romantic movie with Julia Roberts. He got a glance of Julia Roberts’s wild red hair from under his eyelashes. She was getting old. He closed his eyes and heard Julia Roberts laugh. Her laughter turned into the Strangler’s laughter. Yep, he thought, the murdering piece of shit was probably sitting at home laughing at him because he had no idea who the killer was. But he was getting closer.
“So laugh as much as you want you bastard. I’m going to get you,” he whispered.
“What did you say?” Janet was sitting up and looking at him.
“Hmm ... what?” he asked.
“You were mumbling something about ‘going to get you’.”
“Oh ... was I? I didn’t realise I’d said that out loud.”
“Are you okay?”
“I’m fine. Aren’t you supposed to be watching old Julia over there? She’s much better looking than I am.”
“I’m not exactly into women and as attractive as she may be, I much prefer looking at you.” Wrapping her arms around his neck, she kissed him. “So? Do you want to talk about it or are you just going to mumble to yourself all night?”
“It’s this case. It’s driving me nuts. That’s all. But I’m sure Julia Roberts is far more interesting.”
“You’re not getting off the hook that easily. So spill it.”
“Are you sure you want to hear about it?”
“Abso-bloody-lutely.”
“Okay, you win,” he said and took a breath, giving him time to consider what and how much he could tell her. “This guy is one sick puppy and it’s starting to look like the Doc's profile was right about it being a cop.”
“Why are you so sure it’s a cop and why does it have to be a guy? Why can’t it be a woman?” She frowned. He loved it when she frowned like that.
“Well, for one thing, the killer has to be incredibly strong, and I don’t know about you, but I don’t know any women who are that butch. Plus when women kill, it’s not usually the way they do it. Women tend to shoot or use poison. A male wearing what could have been a police uniform was seen leaving the first victims flat. I also went back to all the murder scenes and, at each and every single one of them, the caretaker or neighbour told me a cop had been back to the scene after we had cleared it. A man: not a woman. The cop told them evidence had been left behind. So, of course, they didn’t think twice about letting him back in to retrieve it. At each scene, he took
something both personal and had a small cash value. But there’s something else that’s bugging me.”
“What’s that?”
“I think he feels sorry or regrets his actions or something like that, afterwards.”
“Why do you say that?”
“After he’s killed them and posed them in the bathtub, he closes the shower curtain. Pete tells me if a rapist, for example, puts his victim’s skirt back down and covers her privates, that he feels remorse. Whereas a rapist who leaves his victim’s privates open for the world to see feels absolutely nothing about what he’s done.”
“Oh, okay. Pete probably knows what he’s talking about.”
“Yes, he does. It took him long enough to get his doctorate in psychology. Anyway, where was I?” he asked, rubbing the bridge of his nose between his thumb and index finger. “Oh, ja ... our killer, he closes the curtain on his deed. So he still has a bit of humanity left in him, and hopefully, that little bit of humanity will get him caught. Or maybe, if I’m lucky, he’ll get stupid.”
“Interesting, but do you know what?”
“No, what?”
“You think about this guy way too much, and I know just the way to get him out of your head, for a while anyway.”
“Oh really, and how do you intend to do that?”
“Mmmm. Wouldn’t you like to know?” she said as she unzipped his pants.
Requiem in E Sharp Page 6
