Death in Durban

by Jon Zackon

  I felt a tightening in my chest. I had no idea where Theo was going with this but it sounded all too ominous.

  “Why would Koos want a farm in the middle of nowhere, Danny? What did it mean to him? Man, I had to take a look. And talk about remote? Jeez! I’m not going to tell you where it is, except to say it is in a thousand square mile area in the shadow of the Drakensberg. It’s that remote. I didn’t want to go there alone, so I took my son Louis. He is a tough cookie, that boy. He’s a detective like his dad, only smarter and tougher. I hired a Land Rover and off we went. Just as well it was a Land Rover. When we finally tracked the farm down we had to go on a road that was no more than a dried up riverbed. Huge boulders, five-foot deep potholes – it was like going on safari.

  “So we get to the farm and the gate is chained. I just drive straight through it. Wham! We can see from the boundary fences that this is not a large farm, perhaps six or seven hundred acres. But there is something about it. The farmhouse is in a dip and it is surrounded by blue gums. So it is more or less invisible from most directions. This is Koos all over, ja? Always something to hide. The farmhouse is old and derelict. Windows are broken and there’s animal droppings on the floor. The smell is terrible. I know that smell, Danny – it smells of death. We decide to search the place room by room. Nothing special in the front room, nothing in the second room, and then in the third, which looks like it has been used for storage, there are cupboards and a wardrobe. In the one cupboard we find old clothes, wallets, watches and all sorts.

  “Now you have to understand, Danny, we are not here as police. We are not going to itemise things, make a record. But before we came, I got Louis to look up the old case histories of the Indian boys who disappeared, and so on. Well, the wallets belonged to those two boys. One of the watches had an inscription, something like, ‘To Arji on his fourteenth birthday.’ So here’s the evidence. Now I know. My heart is so heavy. Koos is a serial killer, no question. I remember Louis had to grab my arm or I was going to sink to the floor.”

  Theo raised a hand to his face as he relived the shock.

  “There’s evidence of other victims, too,” he continued. “But by now I’ve seen enough. We clear all this stuff out so we can burn it or bury it. We go through the rest of the house quickly, but there’s nothing surprising. Just years of dirt and neglect. Then we go outside … what’s up, Danny, you want a break?”

  Theo’s story was getting to me and I feared what was coming. He pointed the way to the bathroom, where I stood by the washbasin splashing cold water on my face. I was trying not to breathe so hard. It was a good five minutes before I’d calmed down enough to go back to the lounge.

  “Ja, Danny, you were right to take a break,” said Theo. “Is it OK for me to go on?”

  I nodded and he said, “So me and Louis go outside and we find a row of old buildings. A stable, a tool shed, workers’ quarters and a small barn. As we get near the barn the stench is too terrible, man. It’s unreal. We have to clutch our hankies to our noses. But we have to go in. There’s holes in the roof and the whole building is nearly falling down. We push the double doors wide open so the light can get in and straight away we see, along one wall, what looks like a row of torture instruments from the old days. I’ve been a detective all my working life but I’ve never seen anything like this. Things that twist, things that pull and stretch, sharp things and manacles. All pretty crude, but I’m sure they worked. So I stand there thinking I’m in a horror movie. There’s a door in the wall. Louis opens it … and we see a pile of bones and skulls, a pile of old clothes, a pile of red blankets, a pile of sticks …”

  Theo stopped to brush tears away. “… And now we know why Koos has bought this farm.”

  He was struggling to get the words out.

  “It’s a fucking torture chamber. And no one except the torturer ever comes out alive. Now something is clear to me. Koos has used the farm because Durban was becoming too hot for him. But he had to go on killing and killing. It was his fucking perversion. If another Indian boy disappeared or if he shot another black boy in the city there would have been repercussions. He knew this. So he’s fitted this farm up and gone hunting for black kids. They would have been youngsters on their way from the Transkei to Natal to find work. The red blankets and the sticks that we found were one hundred per cent tribal Xhosa. These were boys from illiterate families. If a family like this doesn’t hear from a son they might assume the worst, that he’s been killed. But they don’t really know. The son’s silence could be for all sorts of other reasons – an illness, a woman, anything. So they never report it. And Koos can kill these boys without fear of retribution.”

  Theo was talking faster and faster, as if he was trying to get the horror story over with as quickly as possible. I had to lean forward to hear him clearly.

  “He probably picked the boys up on the roads with a promise of work. Maybe even two or three boys at a time. He’d take them back to the farm and more than likely shove a shotgun in their faces. We found a rusty old Ford pickup behind the stables. That’s what he probably used to find them. We also found a crude cremation site. There were bones there, too. But using that would have caused him problems. Bodies don’t burn that easily, you know. And you don’t want a really bad smell coming from your farm all the time. It could have alerted the neighbours.”

  Theo paused and looked up. To his relief – and mine – Angie had brought us more coffee. My hand shook as I picked up my cup.

  “You reported none of this,” I said, trying hard not to sound too censorious. I had to hear the rest of his story.

  Theo took a deep breath, cleared his throat, and said, “Look, Danny, I’m going to explain my motives to you in full, OK? It wasn’t just the damage it would have done to my sister, or my lovely innocent nieces, or my own sons. It could have been concluded that I was complicit in Koos’s crimes. The law could have taken the same stance that you have – that I could have stopped the killings at any time. So I wasn’t going to incriminate myself, was I? But there’s more. A helluva lot more. There was the honour of the Durban CID and the Durban City Police at stake. This is my town and my force. We aren’t all a bunch of bloodthirsty psychopaths, you know. There are a lot of bloody good guys on the force. They didn’t deserve to be tarred with Koos’s brush. And then there’s the country itself. All the time these events were unfolding the reputation of white South Africans was sinking and sinking. The whole fucking world disliked us. A story about Koos would have done terrible damage to my country. Surely you see that?”

  Yes, I knew what he meant. But what about the victims? What about justice? Still, I hadn’t come here to pick an argument with Theo. So I changed the subject.

  “What did you do with this delightful farm – just leave it?”

  “Don’t be crazy, man. It was a forensic scientist’s dream. I’ll tell you what we did – we sanitized it. Louis and me. From top to bottom. We went back there with drums of bleach and we sprayed the stuff everywhere. We swept and brushed and painted until the rooms were sparkling. We made a small bonfire and burned the clothes and the sticks and most of the stuff that could reveal a victim’s identity. We destroyed the cremation site. And then we came up against a terrible problem, as we knew we would. What the hell do we do with the skulls and all the bones? And the red blankets, too. They’re hard to burn. And you can’t bury them on the farm – they’d be found sooner or later. But that boy Louis, he is so damn smart, Danny. He thought for a while and came up with a great solution.

  “We were only fifty miles or so from the Transkei border. There have been dozens, maybe hundreds, of faction fights there in the last hundred years. Xhosas against Zulus. Old enemies, ja? Louis had investigated a faction fight when he was a rookie. He knew the area well. So we drove there with all the bones and blankets. Near the site we found a stand of wattle that must have been planted sixty, seventy years ago. We buried the stuff in shallow graves in the middle of this plantation. Just think of i
t – anyone finding those bones would immediately think, ‘faction fight.’ Nothing else would make any sense. And no one is ever going to investigate the remains of an old battle on that border. The most they’d do is give the bones a decent burial.”

  “Very clever, Theo. But now you’ve told me.”

  “So what, Danny? You’d never find any of these places and I doubt you’d be foolish enough to look. And you can’t repeat what I’ve told you. It’s all hearsay. And it’s not very credible. Yes? No? No one would believe you, pal.”

  “Yeah, I suppose you’re right. So you came away with nothing?”

  “Not quite. We brought these back.” He pointed to a pair of crossed assegais mounted on the wall behind his head. “Fuck knows where Koos got them from. They were in with the torture instruments but there was no blood on them. He probably used them to terrify his victims. We think they may be very old. After I die Angie is going to give them to a museum.”

  “And the farm? Who owns it now?”

  “Well, it wasn’t worth a lot of money. Bad area and too small. So I sent my own detectives an anonymous letter saying I believed the owner of the farm had lied about his identity. The matter was investigated and a court decided the property should revert to the state. As happens in these cases the state put the property up for auction last year. It was bought by a Griqua family and they must be happy with it because there have been no complaints. And that’s it.”

  Theo looked exhausted. His head lolled and his shoulders sagged. I didn’t feel that good myself. My head spun. I’d learnt too much in too short a time. I’d need to digest it all. We talked for a little while longer and then I thanked Angie and began to take my leave.

  Theo roused himself. “Before you go, Danny, I want you to promise to do me a favour.”

  “Sure. If it is in my power.”

  “Well, I want you to kill the son of a bitch – but that’s not the favour because that’s what you’ve come out to do yourself, isn’t it? No, the favour is this – please burn his house down after you’ve killed him. If nothing else, burn his papers. He’s got an office in that house and I worry that he is busy scribbling his memoirs or some such nonsense. Will you do that?”

  “If the chance presents itself I will, Theo.”

  “Thanks. But you know … what you’re doing … it won’t be easy. Koos has no trouble killing people. He could kill you first.”

  “Of course. I’m prepared for that.”

  “How?”

  “I’ve lodged a letter with a Jo’burg lawyer that says why I am setting out to kill him. Things I can’t say in public while I’m alive because I have no evidence and because the laws of criminal libel have always prevented me. But that letter would be read out in a coroner’s court. A letter written by a British journalist who has been killed by a former cop. That’s a good news story. At least the world would hear what he is really like. It would finish him.”

  “OK, I can wear that. It’s not the same as if a senior detective like myself was telling the world. Koos will simply refute everything you say and life will carry on. But some people will choose to believe you and I suppose that’s the point, ja? It might make the Truth Commission sit up and take notice – and that’s obviously what you really want.”

  “That’s it, but I can’t go yet can I, Theo? You promised to tell me how to get to Koos’s farm.”

  Angie brought him paper and a pen and he drew me a map.

  “There,” he said, pointing to the plaas. I borrowed the pen and drew a circle around it before folding the paper and putting it my wallet.

  “When are you going back to the UK, Danny?”

  “Not sure yet,” I replied. “I’m thinking of staying on for a week or two.”

  I walked down the front path to the gate. From the road, high on the Bluff, I paused to take in the view of the bustling harbour. Beyond lay the beach, stretching northwards until it disappeared in a seaside haze. I’d once been in love with this place, such a sultry, racy city. Perhaps I still was.

  Angie wheeled Theo on to the veranda. He gave a little wave and shouted, “Good luck.”

  As I opened the door of the hire car I felt a shiver. I’d done everything I’d come to South Africa to do. Except kill Koos van Blatter.

  Chapter 35

  A BLEAK tableland is opening up ahead of me. All I can see behind me is a great cloud of dust thrown up by the tyres. To the south and west the storm clouds seem to be edging ever nearer. I am not too far away from my destination.

  A few miles past the dorp of Van Zeeder’s Kopje and its eponymous hill I see a signpost and take a turning to Van Zeeder’s Plaas. It is less than twenty-four hours since my meeting with Theo. I’ve exhausted my memories and must focus on the present.

  I’d love to say that I have a carefully worked out plan of action but I don’t. Uppermost in my mind is my aching knee. I desperately need to get out of the car so I can stretch. And then there’s the angina. I took a beta-blocker after breakfast. That was the prescribed dose. Now I flush another down with a gulp of diet Coke. I’ve seen poker players cheat by taking beta-blockers to slow their metabolism when there’s absolutely nothing wrong with them. I think my case is different. As a further protection I am carrying my nitrate spray in a trouser pocket. I hope I don’t have to use it.

  The road could be worse, given what Theo told me about having to drive over a dried-up riverbed to get to Koos’s farm in southern Natal. This one is narrow, just a farm track, but it has been graded and the sandy surface is reasonable.

  Fifteen minutes or so after the turn-off I negotiate a cattle grate. The farm’s gates are fifty yards on. They lead to a typical old South African homestead. Single storey, whitewashed walls, black zinc roof, wooden veranda, an array of outbuildings, including a big garage and servants’ quarters – nothing out of the ordinary.

  Except for one thing. As I drive in and coast to a stop beside the house I realise that I cannot see anything that is alive, apart from a few trees and the odd clump of grass. Whoever heard of a farm without chickens? Or livestock of some sort? Or dogs?

  Vast fields of stubble stretch in all directions, except where bush fires have taken their toll. These fields, which once grew ten-feet tall mealie plants, look as if they have not been tended for a long time.

  And there certainly aren’t any humans around.

  It’s like a bloody ghost farm.

  I put on a pair of M & S gloves that I’d brought especially from England and stuff a dampened tea towel, taken from Penny’s kitchen, into my jacket pocket. I take the Browning out of the cubbyhole with my left hand, release the safety catch, and pick the ball peen hammer up from the passenger seat with my other hand.

  Using my shoulder, I half-close the car door. Not being exactly stealthy, but definitely on the quiet side. The wind that is driving the storm is busy raising frantic swirls of dust off the land. Its activities are noisy, so I doubt anyone inside the house can have heard me.

  There are steps in the middle of the veranda, with a window behind. The front door is fifteen feet along to the right. It is being held open by a hook, with the entrance itself covered by a screen door.

  At last I detect signs of life – there are flies everywhere.

  I can see that the screen door opens inwards. Good. But it concerns me that it may lead into a hallway. I tell myself not to hang around worrying about it. Whatever I’m going to do must be done without hesitation.

  I take the steps two at a time, quickly cover the fifteen feet of unpolished floorboards, kick open the screen door and find that I am in a large living room. No hallway.

  On the far side of the room, slumped on a settee, is a small, childlike figure. As my eyes adjust to the gloom I can see it is a man wearing a loose fitting T-shirt, sagging jeans, dirty trainers and a baseball cap.

  I’m not going to waste time. I stride across the room, skirting a coffee table, and raise the hammer.

  The man looks
asleep but as I reach him he rouses himself. I can see fear in his eyes. He draws his legs and arms up reflexively and grimaces, waiting for the blow. In that instant I see a glint of gold in his mouth. I bring the hammer crashing down on his left knee.

  Predictably, he screams.

  My aim is better than his was all those years ago. I wouldn’t be surprised if I’ve shattered his kneecap.

  “So now you won’t be running away from me, hey Koos?” I say, attempting to sound calm and matter of fact, despite the fact that I am puffing like a steam engine.

  “Jesus Christ, Danny, what the fuck did you have to do that for? Aaaaah!”

  “Even Stevens, Koos. Don’t tell me you’ve forgotten.”

  I switch weapons, so the Browning is now in my right hand. I’m inclined to kill him immediately, but he is in so much pain I change my mind. Let him suffer a little.

  He is holding his leg with both hands and rocking – and swearing and moaning.

  “You know what Theo said to me after you smashed my knee, Koos? He told me to shut up, to stop acting like a baby. It’s only a sore leg.”