‘Here’s something else,’ Lerato said, scanning the file on her lap. ‘He had fairly major surgery in 2002. A chromium and cobalt-based alloy prosthesis was implanted in the Medi-Clinic in Bloemfontein.’
‘Good. That’s good to know.’ Human turned to the detective in the front seat. ‘Still no recent pictures of the suspect?’
‘No, sir. Botha and Malherbe are working on it, though. We should have something within the hour.’
Human nodded. In the distance, he saw a small shopping centre on the right and a row of tall trees on the left. He recognised the scene from a previous visit. They had arrived at their destination. Somewhere up ahead was a brutal killer that had avoided capture for more than twenty years. Human felt his heart quicken as he tightened the straps of his Kevlar jacket. ‘Are we all ready, guys?’
‘Yep.’
‘Ready as ever, sir.’
‘Let’s kick some ass.’
Human turned to Lerato. ‘You ready for this?’
She nodded, smiling. ‘I can hardly wait.’
Human squeezed her hand again. He looked through the tinted windshield at the traffic officers leading the convoy. ‘They know the address?’
‘Yes, sir,’ the driver responded. ‘They know the area well.’
They passed the shopping centre on their right. Next to it was another building housing various retail outlets, restaurants and coffee shops. This was the commercial heart of Orania. The actual residential areas lay across the R396, to their right. At the main intersection, the convoy turned left and made another immediate left. The houses that lined the dirt road were typical of small town South Africa, and virtually indistinguishable from Hope.
Earlier that day, the administrative body of Orania had been informed of the raid. It was a mere courtesy. Although Orania was an autonomous entity, South African legal jurisdiction was nonetheless valid there. In front of them the road veered sharply to the right. Human sat forward in his seat, nervous tension making his body taut. The interior of the X5 was alive with excitement and apprehension. They were mere seconds away from capturing one of South Africa’s most vicious – and infamous – serial killers.
‘It’s a few houses up front, sir,’ the driver informed Human.
As instructed, the traffic officers had not activated their sirens. They now pulled to the side of the road. The rest of the convoy also stopped. Back in Hope, Human and the leader of the STF unit had agreed on a strategy. They were to approach the house on foot. To minimise any chances of discovery. And maximise the element of surprise.
Human, Lerato and the other two detectives jumped from the stationery BMW SUV. The other detectives were already waiting for them. Forming a silent line along the side of the road. From behind, the members of the elite STF unit rushed forward, all attired in full tactical gear and toting South African manufactured selective fire R5 assault rifles. Originally designed by Yisrael Galili, the modified R5 assault rifle, manufactured by Denel (a South African government-owned company), featured a rounded magazine, similar to the AK47 and a side-folding tubular stock, all made from extremely lightweight synthetic polymers. The features of the powerful assault rifle made it particularly popular amongst special force units, including the Serbian Special Brigade. All the STF R5 rifles were fitted with sound suppressors. Two of the STF team members each carried a Heckler and Koch HK417 with an attached AG-C/EGLM (Enhanced Grenade Launching Module) equipped with a teargas grenade. As the STF team sprinted past them, Human also saw two specially modified battering rams.
As agreed earlier, the STF would take point on the assault, with Human’s team following closely behind.
On their left was an open expanse of veldt. About a hundred metres ahead, stood their target, a solitary building, one of only two houses on the left side of the dirt road. To their right, modest houses lined the full length of the road.
The Special Task Force sprinted along the dirt road, with the group of detectives jogging some distance behind. The convoy had attracted a great deal of attention. And all along the road, residents came from their houses, watching the unfolding scene with awe and trepidation. From one house, a mother came screaming, and collected her two toddlers playing in the front garden. As the detectives jogged past, she rushed the two boys into her house.
Up front, the STF unit reached the target house. Employing standard tactical manoeuvres, they fanned out with synchronised precision. Crouching low, they swiftly surrounded the house, securing both exits. Additional members crouched below some of the larger windows. The leader of the unit communicated with his men using a specially designated frequency. All members wore specially designed headsets. Fearing for the safety of the premier’s son inside, it was agreed that the unit wouldn’t announce itself. The STF was going to go in hard. And swift. To immobilise the target with brutal force. The instruction was to take him alive, in case the child was held in another location.
Using the tall grass of the bush veldt as cover, the detectives crouched down along the dirt road. Waiting.
The house was secure.
It was time to nail the bastard.
Using a signal only audible to the STF team, the order was given.
From his vantage point, Human watched one of the STF members rise from his position underneath a large window. It was one of the soldiers equipped with the Heckler and Koch. He stepped back. And fired a grenade through the window. Normally the STF would use a stun grenade, but the threat posed to the young boy was too great in this instance. Human assumed another STF member mirrored the action at an opposite window. From their position, they heard the glass shattering.
‘Wow,’ Lerato said next to Human. He looked at her silently, suddenly feeling an intense desire to hold and kiss her passionately.
The STF leader held a fist in the air, unfolding one finger after another in rapid succession. Counting down. When his palm was completely exposed, he shouted an order into his headset. As one, the team slipped specially designed gas masks over their faces. Human saw an STF member rush towards the front door, the battering ram held before him. With a crash clearly audible from their position, he smashed the front door with a single smack. Using the backward motion of the ram, the policeman threw himself against the exterior wall, next to the obliterated doorway. With perfect synchronisation, the STF stormed inside. Crouched low. And holding their assault rifles before them.
A group of Orania citizens had gathered on a nearby lawn, watching with shocked interest.
Next to the road, Human crouched low. Waiting impatiently. This was it. Finally. After such a long time. After so many burdens and obstacles. After so much goddammned politics and bullshit. Finally. They were here. And the reign of terror was over. Daddy Long Legs was no more. Human waited with growing desperation. What were they doing? Why was it taking so long? What was happening inside the little house, choked with the debilitating teargas? After what seemed an eternity, the STF leader appeared. He gave Human the pre-arranged signal. Not wasting a second, Human jumped up. ‘Let’s go. Let’s go.’
Human sprinted towards the house, quickly closing the gap between them and final absolution, his team hot on his heels. At the fractured door, Human met the STF leader. Out of breath and sweating from the exertion under the hot Karoo sun. He looked into the task force leader’s eyes.
And felt his heart sink. Plummeting into a dark abyss.
He knew what the elite policeman was going to say before he opened his mouth.
‘There’s no-one inside.’
‘What about the shed?’
From his earlier position, Human had seen a large garden shed behind the house.
The STF leader, Captain Robert Coetzee, slipped the gas mask, positioned on top of his skull, from his head. ‘Nothing, detective. We checked it.’
Human turned around and cast his face up to the heavens. ‘Fuck!’ The scream resounded across the empty veldt. Across the road, the crowd erupted into excited babbling. Captain Coetzee turned to one of his men a
nd whispered something in his ear. Human turned to the driver of the X5 in which he and Lerato had travelled. ‘Are you even sure this is the right address?’
The detective stepped forward, apologetic. ‘I’m positive, sir. We double checked everything.’
In morose silence, Human eyed the growing crowd across the road. He pointed to the driver and another detective. ‘Go there and interview those people. See what they can tell us about the occupants of this house.’ The two detectives jogged across the road. Human rubbed his temples, a growing worry that they had all made a terrible – and very public – mistake looming in his mind.
Behind him, plumes of dissipating teargas wafted from within the house. Lerato stepped up to Human, a cloth to her mouth. She lightly touched his arm, smiling tenderly. An STF member, wearing a gas mask, emerged from the house. He held an envelope out to his leader. Coetzee handed the envelope to Human. ‘We have confirmation, detective. It is the Havenga house.’ Human took the envelope and studied it. It was a bill. In the little window the name A. HAVENGA was clearly visible. Human let out a sigh of relief and relaxed a little. At least they had that right. He wasn’t going to remain relaxed for long.
From the backyard of the modest but neat house, there was an audible commotion. An STF unit member came running up to the group. He addressed Captain Coetzee. ‘Sir, I think you’re gonna want to come see this.’ The STF leader and Human exchanged glances. Then hurriedly walked around the house towards the back.
About a metre or two behind the shed, within the dense bush veldt, a group of STF team members were standing in a semi-circle, their backs to the approaching group. When Human and the others neared the STF group, they parted, revealing what they were looking at.
Human felt his heart explode in his chest.
The Task Force members were standing around an elongated mound of earth, hidden by the yellow grass of the bush veldt.
It was a shallow grave.
Lerato’s hand flew to her mouth. Her eyes large with shock. ‘Oh my God. It’s Alex Joemat!’
Human looked down at the mound of earth, a deep frown on his forehead. ‘I don’t think so,’ he said softly. ‘It’s too large.’
‘What does it mean?’ One of his detectives asked under his breath.
And then. Just like that. Something in Human’s brain clicked. A deep suspicion. Something he had harboured since the beginning of the investigation. Something that had been bothering him since the very beginning.
Oh no. Could it be true?
Oh no! Oh no! Oh no!
He had to know. He had to find out. Right now.
He reached out a hand, addressing no-one in particular. ‘Give me a shovel. Quick.’ An STF unit member next to Human unlatched a small shovel from his backpack, made from a high-strength yet lightweight alloy. In raids like these, at least a third of the STF team would carry shovels like this on their person. He handed the detective the black shovel. Wordlessly and with grim focus, Human began digging up the mound.
‘Shouldn’t we wait for CSU, sir?’ One of the detectives asked.
‘Fuck the CSU,’ Human said, without stopping. Another two STF members plucked out shovels and helped the frenetic detective dig up the loose soil. After a few minutes they had unearthed a tall, tarpaulin-covered body. The stench of decomposition wafted from under the blue material.
‘Help me lift it,’ Human asked the STF policemen. Each grabbing one end, two of them lifted the body from the grave and carefully placed it next to the elongated hole in the hot earth. Human slowly unfurled the tarpaulin. Revealing the severely decomposed body of a grown man. The stench was powerful. And overwhelming. Several of the men gagged as the stink of rotting human flesh assailed their senses. Some took a few steps back, in an effort to escape the sickening stench of putrefaction.
‘Who is it?’ Someone asked.
‘Lerato, give me that folder.’ Human reached out a hand to Lerato. She gave him the file. He flicked aggressively through the hastily assembled file. And stopped. Reading with a furrowed brow. He snapped the folder shut and handed it back to her. ‘Everybody stand aside,’ he said, motioning with both arms. ‘Stand back.’ The group mutely complied. Human lifted the shovel into the air. Then swung it violently down onto the corpse.
‘Jesus, what are you doing?’ Someone shouted.
Human ignored the question. Aiming carefully he swung the shovel again. And again. And again. There was a nauseating rip of decaying flesh. The sickening crunch of weakened bone. Lerato gagged violently. ‘Wayne, what in God’s name are you doing?’ Lerato asked, completely forgetting their agreement to never use his first name amongst their colleagues. One of the STF members stumbled backwards. Then turned. And disgorged the entire contents of his stomach onto the arid soil of the bush veldt. The Special Task Team was trained to deal with a great many horrors. This was not one of them. Next to Human, a detective took a brisk walk and a short distance away vomited violently. Bent over.
And still Human didn’t stop. He swung the shovel. Again. And again.
‘Dear God,’ somebody whispered.
Human swung the shovel one more time. This instance, instead of the hideous sound of splintering bone and tearing flesh. There was another sound.
Something metallic.
Human stood over the rotting corpse. Heaving with exertion. His breath coming in rasping bursts. Within the body’s fractured knee, something shiny gleamed in the hot sun. Human looked up at the crowd, gathered around him. He wiped his mouth, a dour look on his face.
‘Ladies and gentlemen. Meet Daddy Long Legs.’
***
They stood for a long time. No-one saying a word. Staring down at the decayed corpse of Arnold Havenga.
It was a massive anti-climax. A bitter disappointment. To have come so far. And yet, to have achieved nothing. In some ways, they were right back at square one.
Judging from the level of decomposition, Human guessed the corpse was around two months old.
‘I don’t understand,’ one of the STF team members said, shattering the silence. ‘What does it mean?’
‘It means we’re dealing with a copycat serial killer,’ Human said morosely.
A stunned silence greeted his words.
He felt drained. And defeated. He should have known. He should have been able to tell. And most of all, he should have listened to his intuition. It had been screaming at him almost from the start.
‘What now, detective?’
‘I don’t know.’ Human stared into dull empty silence. Feeling lost.
All this time they had been chasing a fifty-year old serial killer. A phantom. A bleak spectre. Resurrected from the past. All this time they had been focusing on the wrong person. Yes, that’s exactly what they had been doing all this time, Human thought. Chasing phantoms.
They had finally solved a twenty-year old crime. Hurray! But now they were left with a brand-new unsolved mystery.
And yet. How had the copycat been able to duplicate Daddy Long Legs’s signature and modus operandi so perfectly? How had he been able to fool an entire squad of detectives? An experienced profiler? And, of course, Human himself?
On one level, Human felt like they were right back at the beginning. Like they had made no progress at all. And yet. There had to be a connection. What could it be?
Human would soon have his answer.
The teargas had finally cleared from the house. And no-one had seen Lerato drift off. Now she was back at Human’s side. ‘There’s something I want you to see.’ Human looked at her, hopeful. He and the group of policemen followed her into the house.
As was clear from the outside, it was a modest house. But the interior was pristine. And immaculate. The style inside was minimalist. And sparse. It was neat. Yet somehow lacked a woman’s touch. Lerato led the team through the small sitting room, down a corridor and into a bedroom.
Human stood at the bedroom door in shock.
Walking into the room was like entering a time capsule.
And going straight back to the 80’s. On the wall facing the door was a Bon Jovi poster. And one featuring Cindy Lauper. On the opposite wall was a Ghostbusters movie poster. The furniture was old and dated. A wooden bunk bed in the middle of the room. Between the bed and window was an old and weathered easy chair with a square design. But there was something else. Toys were arranged across the tiny room. Without exception they were all from the 80’s. A giant Rubik’s Cube was perched on a coffee table. Next to it was an iconic Simon memory toy. Circular and with coloured buttons that lit up when depressed, it brought back a flood of unpleasant memories to Human. Memories of an awkward childhood.
In the far corner of the room stood a beautifully preserved Castle Grayskull, populated with various figurines. Human recognised He-Man and Skeletor figurines. And Skeletor’s evil female companion.
What was her name again?
In a large crate in the corner there were more toys. Another iconic 80’s toy. A red View-Master. The hugely successful stereoscopic viewer that allowed children to view 3-D images using the distinctive circular reels. Inserted into the View-Master was one of these reels. The crate contained other items like A-Team figurines, Transformer models and an ancient Nintendo console. The toys were all ancient. But in pristine condition. As if they were there for demonstration purposes only. As if they had never actually been touched by a child.
‘It’s a boy’s room,’ someone said.
‘Maybe it’s a memento,’ someone else said. ‘Some kind of strange memorial.’
‘It’s a shrine,’ one of the STF’s said. ‘A shrine to his dead child.’
‘You would think so,’ Lerato said, stepping into the room. ‘But someone’s been living here.’ The men looked at her with shock.
‘Someone’s been living here?’ A detective asked. ‘A boy? But there was no record of any adoptions.’
‘Oh, it’s not a boy.’ Lerato opened the closet doors. Hanging from the railings, was a row of clothing. Shirts. Trousers. Jackets. But they were not the clothing of a child. She picked up a large pair of shoes. ‘I would say about size twelve.’ The detectives stared at her with surprise. ‘Our mystery tenant is a big boy.’
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