The Man in the Wind

by Vernon W. Baumann

  ‘They’ve been here before,’ she said, turning and walking inside without inviting the detective to enter. Chaz followed uncertainly. ‘It didn’t seem to do any good then. I don’t really see what good it’s going to do now.’ Inside the darkened interior of the living room a striped cat darted at the sight of the wizened detective. The space was large and unkempt. Various cats’ toys lay around. The throws that covered the sofas were wrinkled and dishevelled. Empty coffee mugs and ashtrays overflowing with cigarette stubs stood everywhere; on the coffee table heaped with old magazines; on the arm rests of the sofas; and on the dining room table at which Linda van Wyk now waited for Chaz – slumped into a chair. ‘How can I help you, detective?’

  Chaz slowly approached the table. ‘May I take a seat, ma’am?’

  ‘Please don’t “ma’am” me,’ she said, dismissively waving a hand at the empty chair closest to her.

  Chaz sat down. ‘Ms van Wyk I –’

  ‘Please, if you’re going to bug me then at least call me Linda.’

  Chaz – ever the consummate gentleman – smiled pleasantly, unperturbed by her lack of social graces. ‘You mentioned the other detectives?’

  ‘They were here. A couple of times. The whole bunch of them.’ She picked up a pack of Courtleigh Satin Leaf. ‘Mind if I smoke?’

  ‘Of course not.’

  ‘They asked the same questions,’ she said lighting a cigarette with a Bic lighter. ‘Over and over again.’ She blew a jet of smoke into the air. ‘But I could see what they were thinking. “The little whore”, they thought. “The little dagga roker”.’

  Dope smoker

  ‘They came here pretending like they cared. Pretending like they were actually doing something to find her. But I could see through them. Fucking Dutchmen,’ she said using the pejorative term for Afrikaners. Chaz raised his eyebrows. ‘Don’t worry, I’m also Afrikaans’ she said as if this justified her slur. Chaz nodded politely. ‘I tried to explain to them. That Michelle was a good girl. She is. She’s no whore, detective,’ she said slamming her hand on the table. ‘I tried to explain to them. That she had a hard life. I told them ... I said ... that bastard damaged her. Fucked her up.’ She chewed her nails as her eyes moistened. ‘He’s a hard man.’

  ‘He?’

  ‘Her fucking father, detective,’ she said, raising her voice. Growling at Chaz. She sucked on the cigarette. And turned away. ‘I’m sorry. Please forgive me.’

  Chaz reached out and placed his meaty hand over hers. ‘It’s fine. I understand,’ he said gently.

  She nodded as tears flowed freely. And smiled a broken smile. ‘He was – is – a hard man. He’s selfish. And cruel. He turned her from a beautiful young girl who loved the world into a tortured young woman who hated herself.’ She chewed her lip and wiped her eyes with the sleeve of her gown. ‘Just like my father.’ She sniffed loudly. Chaz studied her and realised that under her dishevelled tiredness she was an exceptionally beautiful woman. ‘Isn’t it funny, detective? How we perpetuate the suffering of our youth.’ She aggressively killed the cigarette in the ashtray. ‘Alte and I. We hated him. Our father. Hated his fucking guts.’ She smiled sardonically at the aged detective. ‘And what do we go and do? We marry men ... just like him.’ She ripped another cigarette from the pack and lit it with shaky fingers. ‘Aint life just a fucking peach?’ She wiped the remaining tears from her eyes. ‘Any case, I’m sure you didn’t come here to listen to my sad little story.’

  ‘It’s fine. It really is.’ Chaz smiled at her.

  For a moment she stared at Chaz, as if seeing him for the first time. ‘Thank you.’ She took a deep breath. ‘Michelle had a hard life. He ruined her. De Wet. She came here to live with me ... almost two years ago. To start a new life. We always understood each other, I guess. Alte never had the guts to stand up to that vicious bastard. But he wouldn’t dare treat me like that. So she came here. I guess she felt safe ... and protected.’ She paused. ‘It wasn’t always easy. She had developed some bad habits. Drugs. Alcohol. Made some no-good friends. However, after a while she started putting her life back together. She got a job. It wasn’t a great job. She was a receptionist at a legal firm. But it was her first real job. And she had options. She could study further. Become a paralegal, you know.’ She gave Chaz an intense stare. ‘She still had some of her bad habits. She drank a little too much. And I think she continued smoking dagga.’ She gave Chaz a sideways glance. ‘I warned her to stop that stuff. I told her, society frowns on that kind of thing. But still. She was improving. She was getting better. She was starting to build a brand-new life and becoming a responsible young woman.’ Linda paused. ‘She talked about getting a place of her own. And she even bought herself a new car – out of the box,’ she said, indicating the vague direction of the driveway.

  Chaz looked perplexed. ‘Really?’ He asked with surprise. ‘You mean the brand-new Beamer in the driveway?’ Linda van Wyk nodded. ‘I don’t understand. How could she afford a car like that on a receptionist’s salary? While talking about getting a place of her own?’

  ‘I don’t know. I asked her. But she was vague.’ She stared at Chaz through a trail of smoke. ‘I asked her a few times. Once she said something about her father being a generous man.’

  ‘Really? And you didn’t think that was an odd comment? Especially considering their ... ah ... history together.’

  ‘I don’t know, detective. She said a lot of odd things.’

  ‘I see,’ Chaz said, frowning intently while scribbling in his notebook. When he finished he stared into space, nodding to himself. He turned to Linda van Wyk. ‘Tell me about the night she disappeared.’

  ‘Well, it was just an ordinary Friday night. Michelle went out with friends. After work. She was partying considerably less than when she first arrived. But she’s young. She liked to socialise.’

  ‘I see. And this was a regular thing? Going out on weekends?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Who else was acquainted with her schedule?’

  She frowned. ‘I don’t know. She spoke to Alte once a week or so? Besides her ... I don’t really know who else would know her that well. Except, of course, her friends. Especially her best friend, Lizelle.’

  ‘Do you have her contact details?’

  ‘Yes,’ she said rising, ‘let me get that for you.’

  ‘Not now,’ Chaz said, gently pushing her down. ‘Afterwards.’ He consulted his notebook. ‘When did you become aware that she was missing?’

  ‘Well, in the beginning she used to stay out all weekend. But the last few months she had become more responsible. When she went out she would come back ... I don’t know ... two ... three o’ clock in the morning.’

  ‘So you realised something was wrong the next morning?’

  ‘Not immediately. At first I thought that maybe she had gone to sleep over at Lizelle’s place. But when I hadn’t heard anything from her by that afternoon I started worrying. She usually phoned me when she was away for long periods. So I started phoning her friends. And when none of them knew where she was ... well, I contacted Alte.’ She swallowed hard. And bit her lip. ‘By that Monday morning ... I knew ... I knew that something was wrong.’ She grabbed Chaz’s hand. ‘Michelle had genuinely turned a new leaf, detective. That’s what those other cops simply wouldn’t accept.’ She removed her hand. ‘Since getting the new job she hadn’t missed a single day of work.’ Tears started welling up in her eyes. ‘I reported her missing and ... well, the rest is history.’

  ‘Chaz nodded. ‘Tell me, did she ever mention a boy called Manie Botha?’

  Linda stared down at the cluttered surface of the dining room table. ‘No.’

  Detective Bosman mulled over some thoughts. ‘Has anybody ... in any way ... contacted you with any demands? Like a –’

  ‘Ransom?’ She asked, arching her eyebrows. ‘What could I possibly give them? They can have my pathetic little alimony cheques, if that’s what you mean.’ She stubbed out her cigarette. ‘No.
’

  ‘Tell me ... Linda ... is there anything you can think of ... anything at all that could be relevant?’

  She shook her head and pursed her lips, wrinkling her chin. ‘I’m sorry, detective. I’ve been through this a million times in my head – hoping there was something I overlooked. I’m sorry.’

  ‘That’s perfectly fine. Don’t worry about it.’ Chaz looked towards the interior of the house. ‘She lived with you, inside the house, right?’ Linda van Wyk nodded. ‘Could I possibly see her room?’

  ‘Sure,’ she said, rising. Chaz followed her as she walked down a long corridor. She stopped at a closed door and pushed it open. Chaz entered.

  The room was surprisingly neat and tidy. Sensing his surprise Linda said, ‘I told you. Michelle was a good girl. She was really starting to rebuild her life. On top of that she was ambitious. And she was starting to create a life for herself in the world.’

  ‘May I,’ Chaz asked, indicating her closet. Linda nodded. He opened the closet doors and peered inside. Her clothing was neatly arranged on the closet rod. The shelves were packed with tidy precision. ‘Nothing’s missing, right?’

  ‘Nothing at all. Except the clothing she was wearing that night.’ Linda indicated a rack stacked with albums. ‘She loved her music. She would never leave these behind. I told those detectives. Michelle’s not hanging in some drug den. Something has happened to her.’

  Chaz looked at her with sympathy. ‘She was fortunate to have someone like you in her life.’

  Linda approached him. ‘Detective, tell me, honestly. Do you think she’s still alive?’

  Chaz paused for a long time. ‘I don’t know, Linda. I wish I could tell you that she is.’

  She took his hand. ‘You look like a good man, detective.’

  ‘Jake.’

  ‘You look like a good man, Jake. Please promise me you’ll do everything to try and catch the person who did this.’

  ‘I am working under one of the best detectives in the South African Police. I give you my solemn word that we will find this person ... and bring him to justice.’

  ‘Thank you.’ She wiped a tear from her eye. ‘I believe you.’

  Chaz looked around one last time. ‘I think that’s all ... for now. If I needed to ... would you mind if I came to see you again?’

  ‘Not at all,’ she said, leading him from the room. ‘I would ... like that very much.’ She cleared her throat and hurried towards her living room. ‘Let me get that number for you. Lizelle. Michelle’s best friend.’

  ‘That would be great.’

  She scribbled hurriedly on a piece of paper and handed it to Detective Bosman. ‘I hope this helps.’

  ‘I know it will.’ They stared at each other for a moment. Somewhere a cat meowed. ‘Well ... ahem ... let me be off. Please ... Linda ... if you think of anything, anything at all, don’t hesitate to give me a call.’ Chaz handed her a business card.

  She nodded. ‘Thank you.’ The ginger moggy from outside rubbed up against Bosman’s trousers, purring loudly. ‘Oh Pliskin. Stop that.’

  ‘Never mind,’ Chaz said. ‘I like cats.’

  ‘That’s good to know,’ she said, beaming. They stared at each other, saying nothing. Linda van Wyk rubbed a curl of hair from her face. And stared down at the floor, blushing. ‘Well, let me not keep you.’ She led Chaz to the door and waited as he exited. She followed him to the gate.

  ‘Thank you for your time, Linda.’ He turned to face her and was surprised to find her scowling, a deep frown on her brow.

  ‘Detective ... Jake ... you be careful when dealing with those people.’

  ‘Those people?’

  ‘Everybody from that horrid little town. And I mean everybody. Those people are evil. There’s something not right about that place.’ She took a step forward. ‘Don’t trust any of them.’

  Chaz Bosman said nothing, frowning at her words.

  Fifteen

  The Land Rover pulled to a stop in the curve of the cul-de-sac at the end of Kruger Street. Jools and Hertzog climbed out of the front seats while Jannie Duvenhage exited the back. The detectives stood for a moment in the mid-afternoon sun, looking at the swanky double-storey house of Mayor Botha. It was obviously new. Some parts of the garden had not yet been fully developed. In a far corner of the yard was a weathered pile of building sand. The house had a vacation feel about it. Like it belonged at the coast. In Plettenberg Bay. Or Jeffereys Bay. A rich man’s playground.

  ‘You would have thought she would have made arrangements to see us sooner,’ Jools said, looking at his watch in the afternoon sun. ‘Especially since her son is missing.’

  ‘Peculiar,’ Hertzog said. He stared at the neat face-brick construction of the Mayor’s house. And the balcony that loomed over the entrance. ‘I agree.’ Captain Hertzog looked at his two detectives. ‘Well, gentlemen, let’s go and speak to Mrs Carol-Ann Botha –’

  The two-way radio unit in the Land Rover crackled and scratched. ‘Charlie Foxtrot Zero. Please come in, Charlie Foxtrot Zero.’ This was Hertzog’s pre-agreed call sign. He walked towards the car. ‘We have a relay from Charlie Foxtrot One.’ Charlie Foxtrot One was Chaz Bosman. Hertzog lifted the handset and depressed the transmit button. ‘Charlie Foxtrot One.’

  ‘Boss?’

  ‘Speak, detective.’

  ‘I went to see the Bismarck aunt. I learned something interesting, boss.’

  ‘Good man.’

  In short crisp sentences Chaz Bosman told Hertzog what he had gleaned from the interview. He made special reference to the brand-new BMW sedan in the aunt’s garage.

  ‘Brand new?’

  ‘Yes, boss.’

  ‘And you verified ownership?’

  ‘Yes. It’s registered to her.’ There was silence as Hertzog mulled over the words. ‘Boss I was thinking of getting a “205,”’ Chaz said, using the common police lingo for a Section 205 Subpoena under the Criminal Procedure Act. The warrant enabled the police to scrutinise the bank accounts of victims ... or suspects.

  ‘Absolutely,’ Hertzog said. ‘You want me to write those up for you?’

  ‘No, boss. It’s already done.

  ‘Good work, detective.’

  Chaz said nothing. ‘I’m going to see the Bismarck girl’s friend just now,’ his voice crackled through the unit. ‘Will let you know.’

  ‘Good. Thanks for the information,’ Hertzog said looking up at the Botha house. ‘Over and out.’ He joined Jools and Duvenhage. ‘Let’s go, gentlemen.’ He stepped onto the pavement. And slowly walked up the pathway lined with expensive terracotta tiles. Unlike larger urban areas like Bloemfontein, Johannesburg or Pretoria, the houses of Coffee were free of extreme security measures. Hertzog knocked on the front door using the ornate brass knocker.

  The detectives waited. Inside syncopated footsteps approached the door. And then nothing.

  Quiet.

  Hertzog knocked again.

  Clumsy fingers attacked the lock. The door swung open.

  The detectives stared in surprise.

  Framed in the door was a young man that couldn’t have been much older than nineteen or twenty. He had immaculate and chiselled features. Thick blond hair fell in effortless waves across his sculpted cheek bones. He stood at least a head taller than the detectives from Pretoria. His rippled pectoral muscles pushed against the thin cotton of his t-shirt casting perfect lines of shadow across his chest. He smiled, exposing two rows of impossibly maintained teeth. Pearl white. Even and perfect. The sun sparkled off his spotless complexion.

  An Adonis. In the bush veldt.

  Hertzog and Jools looked at each other in surprise. Hertzog turned to the handsome young man. ‘Good day.’ He held out a hand. The young man looked down at Hertzog’s hand with sparkling green eyes. Slowly. Ever so slowly. He extended his hand. His bicep bulged, stretching the short cotton sleeve. ‘I’m here to see Mrs Carol-Ann Botha,’ Hertzog said. Friendly.

  Jannie Duvenhage stared at the young man with
shock. His mouth hung open. Jools gently nudged him in the ribs with his elbow. The rookie detective straightened. And cleared his throat.

  Slowly. Ever so slowly. The beautiful young man looked up at Hertzog. He opened his mouth.

  And bleated.

  Hertzog and Jools gave each other quick glances. Surprised. Shocked. Jannie Duvenhage turned ashen. His mouth fell open again.

  Hertzog tried again. Smiling broadly. ‘Mrs Carol-Ann Botha?’

  The attractive young man opened his mouth again. Full lips parted in perfect symmetry. Exposing once again those flawless teeth. He moaned. Long and loud. ‘Maaaaaaaaaaaahhhhhh.’

  Jannie Duvenhage staggered backwards.

  Recognition dawned in Hertzog’s face. The young man had spoken a single word. ‘Mom?’ Hertzog said. ‘Yes. Your mom. Can I please speak to your mom?’

  From inside hurried steps approached. Thin and sharp. Like a woman. Wearing high heels. An attractive woman in her early forties appeared at the door. Despite her age she had a youthful beauty barely been touched by time. Hertzog compared mom and son and easily observed the resemblance. Her lipstick mascara and foundation had all been expertly applied, like it took no effort or time at all. But of course it did. She had the general patina of someone who took great care of herself. Using the world’s most expensive cosmetics. She smiled broadly. Exposing perfect teeth. There was something about her smile that hearkened back to her husband. It was a practised smile. Easy. But trained. ‘Yes? How may I help you?’

  Hertzog flashed a badge. ‘Captain Hertzog from the Major Crimes Unit. This is Lieutenant van Sant,’ he said pointing to Jools, ‘and Detective Constable Duvenhage,’ he added, pointing to Jannie Duvenhage.

  ‘Yes, of course.’ Her smile didn’t waver at all. Although her eyes hardened ever so slightly as she studied the three men. ‘My husband warned me.’ Jools’s eyes narrowed at her choice of verb. ‘Please come in,’ she said, graciously waving her guests into the house. She looked like a model from a 50’s Chrysler commercial.

  Hertzog nodded, friendly. He entered the spacious foyer. Jools followed, mumbling a greeting. Duvenhage trailed behind, unable to keep his eyes off the Adonis-like young man that remained at the door, slightly confused. Noting the young detective’s stare, Mrs Carol-Ann placed a hand on her son’s shoulder. Her smile was frozen into place. Her eyes were cool and detached.