by Jay Nadal
Margaret gasped and placed her hand on her chest as her breathing intensified. “Oh my Lord, sweet Jesus,” she moaned as she cried. Sandra placed a comforting arm around the sobbing woman.
“May I come in to ask you a few questions?”
Both women nodded and led Scott through to the lounge, a small room, sparsely furnished. A grey three-seater settee and armchair took up a large proportion of the room. A small TV sat in one corner. A black glass stand stood to one side of the room, its shelves packed with pictures of what Scott presumed to be family, alongside pictures of village settings, mountains, and flowers.
Scott positioned himself in the armchair as the two women sat together on the sofa. Sandra offered her friend several tissues as Margaret shielded her face with a hand, the tears escaping through the gaps in her fingers.
“What’s happened?” she muttered.
“That’s what we’re trying to determine, Margaret. We believe that a body discovered a few days ago is that of Michael. His parents have been informed, and we are waiting on confirmation of his identity.”
Margaret looked puzzled. “But I have a picture of him if you want to know what he looks like. Has Anneke and Patrick not seen the body?”
“I’m afraid that’s not possible. Until all forensic tests and the post-mortem are completed, it will not be possible for them to see the body.”
Crease lines appeared as Margaret frowned. Scott moved along before Margaret questioned him further.
“I understand that you childmind here?” Scott asked as he glanced around the room. Scott noticed the lack of children’s toys, books, and puzzles that he imagined would be found at any childminders’. He put it down to the fact that perhaps they had been put away in another room. “How often did Michael come here?”
“Rarely. Maybe once a week when Patrick and Anneke had other things to do.”
“What was Michael like?”
The smallest of smiles broke Margaret’s face as she gazed off into the distance retracing her memories and the happier times. “He was a good boy. Kind, soft, and very smart,” she added, nodding.
“Did he ever mention anything to suggest that he was in trouble, or worried about anything?”
Margaret shook her head. She narrowed her eyes as if trying to recall any times when he may have showed distress about something.
“What about when Patrick and Anneke came to drop him off? Did you sense anything wrong with his parents?”
Margaret glanced towards Sandra, and they exchanged unspoken words. Scott was sure of that. She turned back towards Scott. “Patrick and Anneke never came here. They never dropped him off or picked him up.”
Scott feigned confusion as he looked at the two women. “I don’t understand.”
“It was always Pastor Mabunda who would bring the children. He organised everything. He said he wanted to make it easier for everybody. He would bring them and take them back.”
Scott frowned. “And he did that for all the children you looked after?”
Margaret nodded.
“So you never saw any of the parents?”
Margaret confirmed Scott’s suspicions. “The pastor said he would take care of everything. He said he had the gift of God, and praise be the Lord, we trusted in him. He said the fewer people that knew where I lived, the less likely that someone would find me and send me back…” Her head dropped as she wrung her fingers in her lap. She felt scared, frightened, and unsure of her life and future.
12
The mid-afternoon sun carried some heat at this time of year. It dipped low in the sky, its bright brilliance casting long shadows that crept across the office floor. The team perched on desks and chairs as they focused on the incident board. Raj passed around the chocolate fingers which were snapped up by others. Scott relayed the outcome of his meetings with Simon Young and Margaret Eze.
Simon’s information attracted the most attention as the team hung on his every word. Wide eyes and occasional “oohs and ahs” reflected their curiosity and fascination as Scott flicked through his notes.
“So if this voodoo witch doctor stuff is so powerful, do you think we can get a potion so that Mike has more success with women?” Raj teased.
The dig met with a rumble of laughter.
Mike retaliated, nodding in the direction of the box of chocolate fingers that Raj held. “I do just fine, mate. It’s you that needs the help. What do they say? People unlucky in love often turn to food for comfort. I rest my case.”
Helen stifled a laugh as her hand hid her smile.
“Better still, maybe I’ll get a potion made up that gets my team to take the job seriously,” Scott added with a wry smile. Even though he was just teasing, the team refocused again. “With what I’ve heard from Simon and the NCA, our investigation has all the hallmarks of a ritual killing, and I think that has to be the focus of our investigation. I also believe the pastor is connected to our case. He seems to carry a high degree of respect from those we’ve spoken to, but I feel that there’s a hint of intimidation as well.”
“So we need to figure out who did this and why?”
“Helen, Simon spoke about muti killings not being sacrificial or religious but for medicinal purposes. But he also added that there have been more recent cases which have had the sacrificial element to them. I get the impression it’s so ingrained in their culture, that it is seen as normal or even expected.”
“So where do we go from here, Guv?”
Scott wasn’t sure. In his mind, he felt as if he was racing around in circles. With it being such an unusual case, the only way he saw to maintain the integrity of the investigation was to treat it like any other murder.
“We need a breakthrough with other families in a similar situation. I can understand that they are scared. Whether they’ve come here legally or illegally, they are looking for a better life. That’s why I think we’re meeting a wall of silence. They are suspicious of authority. In their home countries, the authorities are often corrupt and untrustworthy.”
Scott took a moment to think back over his meeting with Simon.
“From what Simon mentioned, there’s deep-rooted corruption in the police and judicial services. They take bribes and dish out their own violence. Extortion rackets are commonplace, men disappear, and women are sexually abused. So I’m not surprised that they see all figures of authority in the same light.”
“We can’t all get tarred with the same brush, Guv.”
“I agree with Helen,” Scott added raising a hand. “But I think it will take time to gain their trust, and time isn’t something we have. Mike, I know you’ve contacted the community support groups and churches. I need you to push harder on that front. Take Helen or Abby with you and get your faces in front of them. I’m not being sexist here, but it’s a very male-dominated environment in their home countries. If you go with Helen or Abby, it might just soften their view of us.”
Mike nodded his agreement. “I’ll get on to that right away, Guv.”
“As we know, the boys in the Met had a similar case. So I’m going to put a call into them this afternoon and lean on their experience. Any snippet they can give us might help. In the meantime, Abby, get back on to the NCA and find out as much as you can on muti killings. There may have been others in different parts of the country. It’s a long shot, but try the South African embassy. Perhaps they could put us in touch with the right intelligence services at their end?”
Abby confirmed the request and then moved on to her updates. “Forensics have confirmed the body is Michael. The buccal swab and blood confirmed a DNA profile match with his parents. We knew that anyway, but it’s good to get valid confirmation.”
“Can you inform his parents please?”
“Yes, Guv. There’s also feedback on the blanket that Michael was wrapped in. It’s a type of outdoor blanket commonly found in most camping stores. We’re compiling a list of relevant stores in the Brighton area, and we’ll contact them first. If we draw a blank,
we’ll look at shops outside of the area and online stores.”
“Good call, Abby. Any further update on the PolSA team?” Scott asked looking for feedback from someone.
Abby continued, “It’s a blank there, Guv. No body parts at all. No blood traces either. The other items recovered were not connected to our case. However, the claw hammer had DNA traces belonging to a suspect that’s wanted for a string of burglaries, so uniform are taking that one. I looked at sex offenders, and nothing springs out. There’s no one who displays such violent tendencies. Plenty of kiddie fiddlers mind you, but there’s no evidence of previous dismemberment.”
Scott knew that that would be the case, as they were following the muti killing line of enquiry.
“Do you remember how Dr Hall talked about stomach content analysis?” Abby asked Scott.
Scott nodded as his mind tracked back to that conversation during the post-mortem.
“Well, other than the nuts and raisins, a white creamy substance found in his stomach was a ground corn mix. It’s a staple food in Africa. They call it pap. He also had scraps of dried meat, springbok. I think it’s like the meat jerky that the Americans eat.”
“Well, at least the poor boy was fed,” Scott sighed. “How did you guys get on with searching the pastor’s apartment?”
Raj sat up and flicked through his notes. “Forensics have been over the place. There’s no sign of blood anywhere. They lifted hair and fabric fibres. One of the hair fibres came back as a match for Michael. So we know he’d been in the apartment. Could all be legit? Whilst he was there, he claimed that he held Sunday school for the children. If that’s the case, it could account for the samples found. Clearly, we’ve not identified any other children so far, so we can’t cross-reference.”
Scott shook his head and grimaced. “I’m not so convinced, to be honest, Raj. He seems to have had far too much involvement with Michael, even to the extent of taking him to the childminder’s and bringing him back. Surely, that’s a job for the parents? He doesn’t give much away in his interviews. I get the impression that people are scared of him. Whether that’s to do with the stuff he spouts as a pastor, or something else, I’m not sure.
“But we’ve got a child that’s been murdered, and we can place the child in his apartment at some point. So, either he’s not telling us something, or he’s hiding something. We need to dig up as much as we can about him.”
The team agreed in unison, some stared at their pads, and others stared at the grisly images of Michael on the incident board.
13
Preparing dinner for their guests had proved a bigger challenge than Scott expected. On the one hand, Cara had disagreed with many of his suggestions, and on the other, he’d had to think about what else he could prepare. Jonathon ate anything, but Abby, on the other hand, was the difficult diner. Scott knew that Abby wasn’t keen on fish, hated red meat, didn’t eat meat on the bone and dreaded anything that had too much fat in it.
Cara had sighed as they’d flicked through dozens of recipes online trying to find meals they both agreed on. They decided on an Italian-themed night, with classic bruschetta which Cara prepared, chicken cacciatore casserole for main which Scott was finishing off, and classic Italian tiramisu that he’d prepared earlier chilling in the fridge.
“Do you think they’ll like the food, Scottie?”
“I hope so. If Abby pulls a face as she picks the food apart, don’t panic. She does that with everything she eats. Anyone would think she’d been served a plate of cowpat if you only judged her expression.” He laughed as he impersonated her.
Having finished the last of their preparations, Cara tidied up. As she brushed past, Scott reached out and pulled her towards him, his hands resting on her hips. He breathed in her perfume and fixed his eyes upon her.
“What?” Cara asked as she frowned.
“Nothing, babes. You just look stunning tonight.”
“Well, I try. I do want to create the right impression.”
Scott smiled and kissed her. “You do. Trust me, you do. I’d like to skip the meal and have my dessert right now,” he said, pulling her hips into him.
“Down boy. You sure you put the brandy in the tiramisu, and not in you?”
Scott didn’t have time to reply as the doorbell rang. “Show’s on,” he replied as he squeezed out from between Cara and the kitchen worktop.
Scott answered the door with Cara in tow. Abby introduced Jonathon to them. He was a tall man at six feet, about the same as Scott, clean-shaven with dark brown short hair, and green eyes. He was casually dressed in dark blue jeans and a white shirt that remained untucked. He greeted Scott, shaking his hand before leaning over to kiss Cara on the cheek.
Scott wasn’t too sure what he had expected of Abby’s boyfriend. He was neither well built nor skinny, so Scott would have described him as average, with an exceptionally long neck. Jonathon towered over Abby’s five foot three frame. But then he wasn’t surprised. She had always preferred tall, well-built, rugged men. It was something to do with being wrapped up in their strong arms and the sense of safety that provided, which she enjoyed.
Frequently, Scott hadn’t agreed with her assessment of why she went for that type of guy. But Abby being Abby, she’d seen a survey of women in a magazine, and the results highlighted that height was the key to sexual attraction. She’d elaborated on the article, by stating that only after a couple has decided the difference in height between them is right, did they consider face, personality, and body shape. Her summation was that men preferred to look down on a woman whilst women preferred to look up to men.
The conversation and wine flowed. Jonathon was easy to get on with. He joked, didn’t take life too seriously, and even poked fun at himself. Abby appeared quieter than normal, nerves getting the better of her. Cara floated in and out of the room fetching condiments, drinks, and playing her role of hostess to perfection.
Scott fired one question after another in Jonathon’s direction. “What plans have you got for the business?” “Does the business do well in the face of online competition?” “What do you want to get out of life?” Jonathon seemed unperturbed by the barrage of questions, and enjoyed the frankness and dialogue that engrossed them all. Scott pulled back when Cara reached under the table and squeezed Scott’s thigh, a sure sign that he’d crossed the line into interrogation mode.
Cara faced just as many questions in return as Jonathon leant in and grilled her about her job asking, “How does it feel to cut open a body?” “Does the smell put you off?” “What made her choose such a profession?”
Scott cleared the plates away after the main meal and prepared the desserts, whilst Cara found herself engrossed in the finer points of post-mortem procedures. Abby followed him in a few minutes later.
She nudged Scott in the ribs. “Well, what do you think?”
Scott glanced over. There was a hint of anxiety etched on her face as her eyes searched out an answer in Scott’s reaction. “You’re serious about him, aren’t you?”
Abby shrugged. Her face reddened with embarrassment as she wrapped her arms around her waist. “I guess.”
“Well, I’m not your father. If he makes you happy, then I’m happy for you.”
Abby threw her arms up in despair. “That’s hardly a fucking ringing endorsement, is it? The way you questioned him in there, anyone would have thought you were my father.”
Scott reflected on Abby’s comment. He came over as the overprotective father, questioning his daughter’s new boyfriend. “Yeah, sorry about that.” He stopped what he was doing, wiped his hands, before giving Abby a hug. “Listen, I’ve not said this before, but I care for you. You’re my friend and colleague. And…I want to look out for you. I know you’ve had some real shit relationships, and I don’t want you getting hurt again.”
At that moment, Cara came in holding an empty bottle of wine and paused in the doorway. “Excuse me, Scottie, but she’s already spoken for. Her boyfriend is in the other room,
if you hadn’t noticed?” She gestured nodding in the direction of the hallway.
Scott and Abby laughed. “I’m just giving her a pep talk, love. She was worried about what I thought about him.”
Cara waved him away dismissively and gave Abby a tight squeeze. “Don’t you worry about what Scottie says. Jonathon is lovely. He sounds kind, attentive, caring, and above all else, he can’t stop talking about you in there.”
Abby blushed as she hurriedly made her way back to the dining room.
“Did I sound like an inquisitive father?” Scott asked, now doubting himself and feeling self-conscious.
“Hello, why do you think I squeezed your thigh? I was trying to tell you to shut up.” Cara planted a lingering kiss on Scott’s lips. The effects of a whole bottle of red wine had left her feeling risqué and horny.
Scott fended her off as she made a move to grope his groin. “Enough, woman, you’re on heat all the time.”
“Spoilsport,” she moaned as she picked up two plates of tiramisu and walked back.
Midnight had come and gone by the time Jonathon and Abby left. Jonathon’s conversation had been just as energetic when they left as when they had arrived. It was way past Abby’s bedtime, and she had been flagging since ten p.m.
Pleased with how the evening had gone, Cara and Scott stumbled into bed having cleaned away. Scott continued talking long after realising that Cara had fallen asleep moments after shutting her eyes.
14
He parked the car in the chilly darkness of night and got out to listen. Nobody followed or came up behind him. For company tonight, he had a nocturnal audience. The owls hooted in the trees and the rodents scurried amongst the leaf litter on the floor of the forest. The foxes trod with stealth, stopping and listening for any sounds that indicated a possible midnight snack.
He stepped around to the back of the vehicle and opened the boot. It took a few moments to unload everything before he set off following a winding path amongst the woodland. Rows of trees shielded him on all sides, a thick blanket of darkness that crowded him. Two bags and a crate of small plastic containers slow him down. A slippery floor and exposed tree roots presented him with invisible hurdles as he stumbled like a drunk. He cursed, “Fuck sake,” as he picked up his belongings and continued.