The Man in the Wind

by Vernon W. Baumann

  ‘In any case, the suicide of a local man has placed additional ... burdens on our limited resources.’

  ‘Suicide?’ Hertzog frowned. He looked at Jools. ‘Were we informed of this?’ He asked, addressing the question to no-one in particular. Jools shook his head.

  ‘I hardly think the suicide is related ... Captain Hertzog.’

  ‘There are no co-incidences when it comes to murder, Major Bismarck.’ Jools matched the policeman’s frigid tones exactly. Dog smiled while Duvenhage watched with confused interest.

  Ever the consummate diplomat, Hertzog smiled to dispel the tension. ‘You are more than likely correct, Major. However, as a matter of course, I would like all the pertinent information on the person in question.’ He looked at the mayor, his magnanimous smile not once faltering. ‘I’m sure you both would like a speedy resolution to these disappearances. I wouldn’t want any ... oversights on our part to hinder the course of justice.’

  The mayor gave Bismarck a cool stare. ‘I am sure Major Bismarck would be most delighted to assist you in whatever way you request.’

  In the kitchen the fridge stuttered and stammered.

  ‘We appreciate all the help we can get. Especially from an experienced officer of the law such as the Major.’

  A group of boys sauntered past in the street outside, chattering loudly. They were waving around ice lollies.

  ‘Naturally.’ The mayor smiled. His gray sideburns rode up on his cheeks. ‘I ask only one thing of you, detective.’ Sensing that the tortured meeting was coming to an end, Jools sat up and loudly dumped his cup and saucer on the coffee table. The spoon jumped into the air and clattered unceremoniously on the table surface. Bismarck stared cool acid at the bushy-haired detective. ‘Please keep us in the loop at all times,’ Botha continued, unperturbed. ‘Please keep us informed ... at all times ... of any new developments. You understand that this matter is very ... close to our hearts.’ He gave a sideways glance at Bismarck. ‘I also ask that you involve our police force in your investigation.’

  ‘Of course.’ Hertzog smiled. ‘It would be my pleasure.’

  The clock on the mantelpiece chimed six times. Each chime was like a hammer shattering the silence.

  ‘Fantastic then.’ The mayor stood up and extended his hand. Hertzog rose to his feet, followed by the others. Only Bismarck remained seated.

  ‘It was wonderful meeting you, Mayor Botha,’ Hertzog said, shaking his hand. ‘I am delighted to be visiting your town. I can’t tell you what a pleasure it is to be getting away from the hustle and bustle of Johannesburg.’ Hertzog nodded amiably at the seated police chief. ‘Major.’

  Mayor Botha placed his hand on Hertzog’s shoulder as he led the group of detectives to the exit. ‘Wonderful. I trust your lodging arrangements are in order?’

  ‘Yes,’ Hertzog said at the door. ‘Charming little guesthouse. I believe they do a legendary English breakfast.’

  The mayor laughed loudly. Maybe a little too loudly. ‘Well, then you are better informed than I thought you were, Captain Hertzog.’

  Hertzog laughed politely as he allowed his detectives to exit before him. ‘We will be in contact, mayor.’

  ‘Please, call me Lloyd.’

  ‘Very well then ... Lloyd.’ Hertzog turned to go then stopped. He faced Lloyd Botha. ‘Tell me something. Has anybody made contact with you ... or the Bismarck family? You know, with some kind of ransom demand?’

  Botha’s smile froze on his lips. Then faded. He stared at Hertzog for a moment. ‘No.’

  ‘I see. Very well then. Good day ... Lloyd.’

  ‘Detective,’ Botha said, nodding curtly at the detective who was already halfway down the pathway flanked by a beautifully manicured lawn on both sides.

  Inside the lounge, Bismarck was standing by the window. He watched the group of detectives climb into their Land Rovers through the lace curtain. Botha joined him. Both men watched the detectives in silence. ‘Do they know about the graves ... and the posters?’ Botha looked at Bismarck.

  ‘No.’

  Silence.

  ‘Good. Let’s try and keep it that way.’

  Twelve

  ‘We’re dealing with what’s – undoubtedly – the most complex case of I’ve ever come across in my career. I don’t know if you agree with me, detectives.’

  Shaun Hertzog was standing in front of a large white board, balanced on an easel. The detectives of MCU were seated in front of him in a semi-circle. Two loosely arranged tables occupied the space between Hertzog and the rest. Chaz and Duvenhage sat behind one of the tables while Jools perched on the edge of the other table. Dog sat to one side, straddling a chair with its back to Hertzog. The elite policemen nodded in response to Hertzog’s statement.

  ‘Detective Duvenhage, won’t you please get that air-conditioner,’ Hertzog said, referring to an antiquated device built into the back wall. Duvenhage jumped from his chair and quickly crossed the floor of the sparsely furnished conference room of the Rust en Vrede guesthouse. He flipped open the control panel of the old unit. It was humming and shivering loudly in an effort to dispel the rising heat of the Free State morning. He shut it off. ‘Thanks. Much better.’

  As Duvenhage seated himself an elderly lady with a pink apron popped her head through the doorway at the back of the conference room. ‘Coffee, detective?’

  ‘Oh no, thank you, Mrs Rabie. We’re fine. Once again, thank you for making your conference facilities available to us,’ Hertzog said, indicating the room which was little more than an empty space with a few chairs and tables and a lone white board.

  ‘Goodness, detective, it’s the least I can do to help you solve these terrible crimes.’

  Hertzog smiled and nodded, waiting for her to leave. After a few seconds she disappeared again. He looked at his group of detectives. ‘A complex case, to be sure.’ He turned and made a large “X” on the board. ‘In the past we’ve dealt with crimes that were committed in a single, limited location. This time, however, we have two crimes ... spanning two weeks ... and two cities ... or towns, as it were,’ he said, drawing another “X” on the board.

  ‘If the crimes are even connected,’ Dog said.

  ‘Indeed. If the crimes are even connected.’ Hertzog nodded. ‘However, considering that the youths were both from prominent families from the same town, it’s safe to say – for now – that they appear to be connected.’ Dog nodded. ‘Everything in my experience leads me to believe they are.’

  Jannie Duvenhage put up his hand.

  ‘Ah, Detective Duvenhage, it’s not necessary to put up your hand.’ Dog Doober smirked derisively. ‘Speak freely, please.’

  ‘Well, sir, following on from what Detective Doober said, what if the cases are not connected. I mean, in the way that we think. What if we’re dealing with ... with a serial killer.’

  Silence.

  Hertzog nodded slowly, contemplating the youthful detective’s words. ‘Hm-huh. Okay.’ He turned to Jools. ‘Detective van Sant?’

  ‘Well, Jannie, personally I think it’s kinda unlikely.’ He chewed his inner lip, arranging his thoughts. ‘In the first place, serial killers operate in a fairly limited area. Their killing ground – if you like – is usually an area in which they feel comfortable. They kill in terrains that are extremely familiar to them. It is this familiarity that allows them to hunt and kill victims without arousing suspicion. They kill where they live. They almost never select victims from distant urban areas – unless they are actually resident in these areas on a temporary basis. In the second place, the victims of serial killers are almost never known to the killer. It has happened that serial killers murder people known to them ... but these cases are so rare that they can almost be entirely dismissed. You see, Jannie, it is precisely this randomness that makes this unique category of killer so difficult to apprehend.’ Duvenhage nodded. ‘In the third place, the victims of serial killers themselves are never known to each other, as in this case.’ Jools gave Jannie Duvenhage a l
opsided grin. ‘It is these considerations, old bean, which makes it extremely unlikely, in my opinion that we’re dealing with a serial killer.’ Despite Jools’s kind exegesis, the youth bowed his head and stared at the floor with pursed lips. A slight blush touched his cheeks. Dog snorted.

  Hertzog looked at Duvenhage. ‘However, detective, you’ve made a very valid point. And I’m glad you did.’ Duvenhage looked up at the lead detective. ‘Assumptions are the single greatest enemy of any investigation. There are literally hundreds of examples throughout history of massive blunders that were caused by preconceived notions of guilt. The jail cells of the world are full of the unfortunate victims of those grave errors. So, yes, detective Duvenhage, you highlighted a crucial factor – we mustn’t let our assumptions dictate the direction of this case. The evidence must lead the investigation. Not the other way around. Well done, detective.’ Jannie Duvenhage smiled uncertainly. Chaz slapped him softly on the shoulder. Dog Doober yawned. ‘And just to underscore what I’ve just said, I want to amend what Lieutenant van Sant referred to just now. Yes, the victims of serial killers are never known to the killer. That’s why the older term “Stranger Killer” is in many ways – to me – a more accurate description of what these murderers do. And yes, the victims are never known – or related – to each other. However, for every fast rule of serial murder there is an exception. There was one specific case in which the victims of a serial killer were indeed all known to each other. Anybody?’ Hertzog looked around the room. ‘It’s arguably the best known serial killer of all time. Still no-one?’ He scanned the room. ‘The killer I’m referring to is, of course, Jack the Ripper. Yes. All his victims were not only known to each other, they were in fact intimately acquainted.’ Hertzog paused dramatically. Duvenhage stared at the senior detective in wonder. ‘I hope this has again illustrated how important it is for all of us to keep an open mind. Let’s not fall into that age-old trap known as hubris.’ He nodded, settling the matter. ‘Okay. Back to business. Gentlemen, the perpetrator – whether he’s a killer or merely an abductor at this stage – has a massive head-start. We are literally two weeks and two victims behind. If these cases are indeed related then we are dealing with an extremely organised and committed criminal.’ Hertzog eyed the group of men solemnly. Both youths disappeared suddenly. The abductions were clean and efficient. No witnesses. No complications. In both cases he managed to take them without arousing even the slightest suspicion. We are dealing with a highly intelligent and resourceful person.’ He paused. ‘Something that troubles me deeply.’

  ‘What worries me, boss,’ Chaz said, ‘is the perpetrator’s motive. If these crimes are linked ... and if the person is known to the victims, then what possible reason could he have for abducting two ... well, innocent youths?’

  ‘Yes, it’s a good point, detective. Once we learn the motive, we’ll be able to get a fix on the subject’s identity. However, this is not going to be an easy case. That’s why it’s important to split our resources. I’ve asked Detective Bosman to go to Bloemfontein to follow up on the Bismarck girl’s disappearance,’ Hertzog said addressing the rest of the detectives. ‘Detective, I want you to liaise with the Bloemfontein detectives. Gather as much information as you can. Remember we have a mandate from the office of the National Police Commissioner. Treat the Bloemfontein unit with courtesy. However, don’t let anything stand in the way of the investigation – especially not pride or incompetence. Detective Bosman, I also want you to pay a visit to the Bloemfontein Coroner and look into the suicide mentioned by the Major. I have received confirmation. The corpse of the suicide victim is currently there. His name was Wouter Bredekamp. And he was a long-time resident of Coffee. However, the suicide is secondary, especially until we can link it to our main investigation.’

  ‘Sure thing, boss.’

  ‘Detective Doober, I want you to liaise with the local police. Get friendly and see what you can learn. . I also want you to compile a detailed history of the Bismarck girl.’

  Dog nodded. ‘Yes, boss.’

  ‘Detective van Sant, you and I will interview some of the local relatives of Michelle Bismarck and Manie Botha. The trail is still fresh. Let’s strike while the iron is hot, so to speak. Detective Duvenhage, you’re with us.’ Jannie Duvenhage nodded enthusiastically. Hertzog straightened. ‘Gentlemen, I feel there’s a lot more to this case than meets the eye. The – shall we say – peculiar behaviour of some of our hosts just serves to confirm my suspicions. Things are not as they appear. Although the first victim disappeared in Bloemfontein I believe the answer lies here in Coffee. And the perpetrator is somebody from this very town.’ The detectives nodded gravely. Hertzog stared into the distance, mulling over something in his mind. ‘One more thing. As you witnessed, the mayor requested we involve the police chief in our investigation. Normally I would not have a problem with this. However, the conduct of Major Bismarck is worrying. And perplexing. I simply don’t trust him. So let’s find creative ways to involve him ... while keeping him at arm’s length. Understood?’

  ‘Hell, I thought you were never going to ask,’ Jools said, evoking laughter from the others.

  Hertzog smiled. ‘Let’s tread carefully. I believe our friends are hiding something from us. Until we know what ... or more importantly, why ... I suggest we keep things formal.’ He paused, and said almost as if speaking to himself. ‘Whatever it is, I believe it’s at the very core of these strange disappearances.’

  Thirteen

  While the detectives of the Major Crimes Unit were enjoying a rather subdued braai at the Rust en Vrede (Rest and Peace) Guesthouse, a German luxury sedan was quietly cruising south on De Beers Street.

  This was – is – small town South Africa and people had very simple and well-established routines. By eight at night everybody was already well ensconced at home. Dinner was finished and the dishes done. On a Tuesday night especially, the streets of Coffee were empty. Tuesday night was, after all, Dallas. And nobody missed Dallas. Especially after the shooting of J.R. Ewing.

  So, on that cold Tuesday evening the ’86 Mercedes Benz C-Class 200 was the only vehicle out and about on the main street of Coffee. It coasted slowly towards the southern exit, passing the world’s largest coffee pot surreptitiously, without a single sound. At Mosley Street the Benz took a right, heading south-west. At the corner of Mosley and Du Preez the driver turned left. Soon the mining houses on one side and the mine dump on the other gave way to an open stretch of road. Up ahead various warehouses made of corrugated tin loomed. The car headed continued south-west.

  In the moonlit night the sprawling terrain of the Coffee Open Pit mine appeared like a ghost town. Huge gargantuan towers, conveyer belts and processing plants cut grotesque shapes into the night sky. In front of a mobile office trailer the car ground to a halt on the loose gravel of the road. The door opened and a man climbed out. For a brief moment his features were visible in the soft silver of the moon.

  Doctor De Wet Bismarck.

  He paused for a moment. And looked over each shoulder. For another moment he carefully scanned the surroundings, looking for any sign of movement amongst the mine site’s sinister shadows. When he was satisfied he slowly made his way to the door of the mobile site office. At the door he paused once more. Casting surreptitious glances in all directions. Then he opened the door. Mute light from inside the office cast a serrated silhouette across the gravel of the road.

  Inside, four men were waiting for him.

  Fourteen

  Detective Jake “Chaz” Bosman rang the gate-bell of number fourteen, Reeler Street in Fichardtpark – a relatively new middle-class neighbourhood in the Orange Free State capital of Bloemfontein. He was standing in the driveway in front of a tall palisade fence known affectionately as Devil’s Fork amongst South Africans. Unlike their peers in other western countries, South Africans lived like prisoners behind high-security walls and fences. Neighbourhoods were patrolled by private armed response units equipped with powerful hand gu
ns. In the suburbs of South Africa it was virtually impossible to walk up to someone’s door and ring the bell. Welcome to paradise.

  Chaz rang the bell at the gate once more. He had arrived in Bloemfontein less than an hour before after a two-hour drive from Coffee. After booking in at the President Hotel he had contacted Linda van Wyk, sister to Alte Bismarck and aunt of Michelle Bismarck, requesting an interview. After initially expressing reluctance, Linda van Wyk had eventually agreed to an interview with the seasoned detective. As Chaz was about to ring the bell a third time he wondered if her reluctance had returned. But then a bleary voice crackled uncertainly through the system’s intercom. ‘Hello?’

  ‘Mrs van Wyk. This is Detective Bosman. I spoke to you earlier today. About an interview.’ Without a word the palisade gate slid open noiselessly. Chaz walked up the driveway. A brand-new white BMW 3-Series was parked in the driveway. He skirted the double garage that occupied the front of the yard. On his left was a plain but well-kept garden with a spread-out lawn. A plastic garden set composed of one table and four chairs sat in the middle of the lawn. A fat ginger moggy cat brushed up against his trousers. An attractive woman with shoulder-length auburn hair waited for him in the doorway of the house. She was wrapped in a night gown and had slippers on her feet. Chaz smiled as he held out his hand.

  ‘Ms,’ she said, limply taking his hand.

  ‘I’m sorry?’

  ‘It’s Ms. Not Mrs.’

  ‘I see. Sorry about that.’ Up close Chaz noted that she was older than he had initially thought. A web of crow’s feet creased her tired-looking eyes. The rim of her lips was wrinkled by the marks of the habitual smoker. And her brow was furrowed by perpetual worry. ‘Thank you for seeing me.’