The Man in the Wind

by Vernon W. Baumann

  Dog jumped up. ‘Dônner! Now you’ve made me fall hopelessly in love with you. Let me help you with those, Mrs Rabie.’

  ‘Getruida,’ she said, smiling coyly at the policeman.

  ‘Getruida it is,’ Dog said, scooping up the rest of the plates. They went into the interior of the house, chatting amiably.

  ‘So what now?’ Jools asked when they were gone.

  Hertzog wiped his mouth with a serviette. ‘Well, we can accept this latest obstacle ... or we can try and make use of our own “diplomatic channels”’.

  ‘And how do you propose we do that?’

  Hertzog smiled mysteriously. ‘You forget we now have “friends in high places”’.

  Realisation dawned on Jools’s face. ‘Aha. You mean our friend, the Deputy Minister of ... er, what was it again?’

  ‘Law and Order.’ Hertzog wagged a finger at his friend. ‘Shame on you, detective.’

  Twenty-four

  ‘What do you have?’

  The beautiful Doric columns cast dark lines on the stinkwood floor of the upper storey porch as the afternoon sun crept across the whitewashed mansion. To the south the Modderrivier meandered through the sprawling estate. The river offered a breathtaking view of its muddy waters through towering poplar trees. An extended driveway led to the porticoed front porch of the antebellum style plantation house. Cypress trees flanked the driveway, creating a dense canopy. You could be forgiven for thinking this was the Deep South – Georgia or South Carolina perhaps – and not the heart of Africa.

  Two men were seated on the upper storey veranda that extended all the way around the house. One was dressed in a bespoke charcoal suit. The other was wearing a silk dressing gown. An intravenous drip was hanging from a stainless steel stand.

  ‘You’re going to be surprised,’ the lawyer said.

  ‘I’m never surprised.’ The man in the wheelchair looked straight ahead.

  ‘It seems our detective is a very wealthy man,’ the lawyer said, leafing through a sheaf of papers. He looked up at the bearded man in the wheelchair to gauge his reaction. His face remained expressionless.

  ‘Go on.’

  ‘In fact he’s a multi-millionaire.’

  The bearded man looked over at the lawyer. ‘He inherited his money.’

  ‘How did you know?’

  ‘How else could a civil servant possibly make that much money?’

  ‘I guess you’re right.’ He looked at the papers in his hand. ‘His parents, Nadine and Anton Hertzog died in a mysterious freak accident – when he was still a teen.’

  ‘Interesting.’

  ‘The freak accident?’

  ‘The choice of career.’

  ‘Hmm. I agree. Why would a multi-millionaire choose to become a cop. Of all things.’

  Silence.

  ‘That worries me.’

  ‘It worries you?’

  ‘It means our detective is a crusader.’

  ‘Really? I pegged him as more of a thrill-seeker.’

  ‘Of course you do. That’s why you work for me.’

  The lawyer cleared his throat and looked out over the poplars that flanked the double-story house.

  Silence.

  ‘You said the accident was mysterious. Why is that?’

  ‘Well, that’s exactly it. There are virtually no details available.’ He paused. ‘Almost as if someone expunged the particulars.’

  ‘We need to get more information on him.’

  ‘Yes. I have –’

  ‘We need to get leverage on him. We need to stop this investigation. Before it’s too late.’ The bearded man gave the lawyer a steely look. ‘If I’m going down in flames ... I’m taking everybody with me.’

  The lawyer swallowed hard.

  Twenty-five

  Detective Sergeant Chaz Bosman stood in Michelle Bismarck’s immaculate room. Next to him stood Linda van Wyk, Michelle’s aunt. She was – like the previous time – in a bath gown. Chaz surveyed the room, frowning. ‘So you say you know nothing about a diary?’

  ‘No, detective. She told me nothing about anything like that.’ She looked at Chaz. ‘But like I told you, Michelle was – is – a very secretive girl.’

  ‘Uh-huh.’ He approached her nightstand and opened the drawer. He looked up at Linda van Wyk. ‘And you’re sure you don’t mind me looking through her things?’

  ‘Of course not, Chaz.’ She smiled a broken smile. ‘Anything to help you find Michelle.’

  Chaz carefully searched each of the two drawers of the nightstand. Nothing. He stood and opened the closet doors. He searched each cubicle in turn, careful not to disturb the neatly folded layers of clothing. Nothing. He then proceeded to search her various jackets, coats and other items hanging on hangers from the closet rod. Nothing. Chaz closed the closet door and surveyed the room. ‘Where would you hide something like a diary, Linda?’

  Linda van Wyk smiled coquettishly at the detective. ‘You sure you want to know such private things about me, Chaz?’ Chaz looked at her in surprise. She avoided his eyes with coy subtlety. ‘If I wanted to hide something like that,’ she said, walking over to a chest of drawers, ‘I would do it over here.’ She opened up the lowest drawer to reveal various items of lingerie.

  Chaz cleared his throat. ‘I ... er ... I think I already looked over there.’ Chaz carefully avoided eye contact as he studied the drawer. ‘However ...’ He walked over to the chest and squatted down at Linda’s feet. He inserted his hand deep into the drawer and reached for the back. It was clear that the drawers didn’t extend all the way to the back of the chest. Chaz’s posture afforded him a close-up view of Linda’s exposed leg. As he felt around the back of the chest of drawers he tried his level best to avoid staring at the luscious curve of her calf. He stopped. His eyes widened. ‘Aha.’

  ‘Found something?’

  He nodded, smiling in triumph. ‘I think so.’

  He pulled out his arm. Clasped in his hand was a laminated cardboard casing, diagonally cut open at the top. It contained a matching set of notebooks with the word My Dairy emblazoned on the spine. His triumph was immediately mitigated by disappointment. ‘Dammit.’

  One of the notebooks was missing. He opened the remaining diary and quickly scanned the book for a date.

  ‘Dammit.’ He looked at Linda van Wyk. ‘The most recent one is missing.’

  ‘Goodness.’ She looked at Chaz, wide-eyed. ‘I didn’t even know she kept a diary.’ She placed a finger on her chin. ‘Didn’t she maybe carry it with her?’

  Chaz studied the diary with its butterfly motif. ‘Maybe.’ He looked at her. ‘Has anyone been to the house since ... her disappearance?’

  ‘Well, yes.’ She stared at the ceiling, trying to remember. ‘Er ... several of her friends dropped by. At various times.’ She looked at Chaz. ‘You know, just to express their condolences and so on.’

  ‘Could you provide me with their names?’

  ‘Well, no ...’

  ‘No?’

  ‘I only knew some of them. Some of the others I hadn’t met before.’

  Chaz nodded, grim. ‘Do you think you could come to Parkweg some time?’ He asked, referring to Bloemfontein’s main police station. ‘And meet with a sketch artist?’

  She looked at Chaz with quizzical confusion. ‘Do you really think one of her friends would have stolen her diary?’

  ‘We can’t discount anything at this stage,’ he said with firm conviction.

  ‘But why would they do something like that?’

  Chaz shook his head. ‘I have no idea, Linda.’ He raised his eyebrows. ‘Well, would you? Come to Parkweg some time?’

  ‘Yes, of course,’ she said frowning. ‘Of course.’

  ‘Thank you.’ He stood. ‘Linda, thank you for allowing me to come over ... and have a look. I appreciate it.’

  ‘Yes.’ She smiled at the detective. ‘Any time, Chaz.’ She led him to the lounge. She stopped a short distance from the front door. They faced each other. ‘I was
glad when you phoned.’ Chaz nodded. ‘It was good to hear your voice again.’

  He smiled at her. ‘My invitation stands. If you need to talk ... about anything, just give me a call. Any time.’

  She reached out and touched his arm. ‘You’re not married.’ It was more of a statement than a question.

  Chaz cleared his throat. ‘It didn’t work out.’ He looked at his left hand. ‘It was a long time ago.’

  She touched his cheek. ‘She didn’t know what she was giving up.’ For a moment they stared at each other. A motorbike raced past.

  ‘Well, I better get going.’

  ‘Yes, of course.’ The warmth in her eyes faded. And was replaced by something else. Determination?

  She turned and walked towards the interior of the house. Chaz Bosman looked at her with surprise. At the arch that led to the hallway she paused and turned. With a deft movement of her right hand she undid the knot of the girdle that fastened her bath gown. The garment fell open. She was naked underneath. She had large voluptuous breasts with surprisingly dark nipples. The slight curve of her white tummy dipped into a thin line of pubic hair. She looked at the shocked detective without batting an eyelid. As she turned, the folds of the gown draped across a naked thigh, revealing the smooth curve of her full buttocks. ‘I’m going to shower,’ she said, dropping the gown to the floor. She walked down the hallway, her curvy buttocks swaying with undisguised seduction. ‘You can show yourself to the door.’ She paused and looked over her shoulder. ‘Or you can join me.’

  Chaz Bosman stared at her naked beauty, eyes wide.

  Twenty-six

  Jools handed the wireless phone to Hertzog.

  ‘It’s for you.’

  Jannie Duvenhage and Jools van Sant were each seated on a table while Shaun Hertzog stood in front of the whiteboard. On its freshly wiped surface Hertzog had drawn a graphic representation of the investigation thus far. The confusing mass of new evidence had necessitated a comprehensive review. A circle on the left contained the words MICHELLE BISMARCK while another circle contained MANIE BOTHA. A smaller circle slightly beneath was labelled WOUTER BREDEKAMP, the suicide victim. Hertzog had drawn a large question mark next to this last circle. Various lines connected the circles. Each line had its own label. Hertzog summed up thusly: Michelle Bismarck, a troubled girl with a “past” disappears mysteriously in Bloemfontein one evening while out on the town. She is seen talking to a mysterious man.

  A mysterious person, Jools corrected at this stage.

  Yes, indeed, Hertzog continued. A mysterious person. Apparently Michelle was busy getting her life in order, leaving her past – and her wild youth – behind her. At the same time she appears to have discovered an enigmatic source of income – the very thing that precipitated her sudden onset of adulthood, we are told by a friend. She receives monthly deposits of five thousand rand in her bank account, from an offshore bank account located in the Caymans. In addition she purchases herself a brand-new BMW. We are also told she kept a diary. Any word on that, detective?

  Jools informed Hertzog that Chaz was “on the job”.

  Then, two weeks later, Hertzog continued, on Friday the thirteenth as it turns out, Manie Botha himself mysteriously disappears. We are told he is seeing someone romantically but refuses to divulge the identity to anyone. He receives various expensive gifts from his mysterious girlfriend. Could it be that Manie Botha is seeing Michelle Bismarck? Well, the indications are that this is certainly a possibility. Especially considering how “upset” he was in the days that followed Michelle’s disappearance. We also learn, Hertzog continued, that Manie Botha is in Bloemfontein on the evening of Michelle’s disappearance. Co-incidence? Probably not.

  And then, as if things aren’t complicated enough, we learn that the suicide of Wouter Bredekamp wasn’t a suicide at all. And that it was, in fact, expertly staged. Which leads us to the inevitable question of how many people would have the knowledge or skills to stage a suicide. Hertzog left the question up in the air. Any word yet from Detective Doober, Hertzog enquired of Jools. Earlier Hertzog had instructed Dog to investigate the suicide scene with a Bloemfontein CSU (Crime Scene Unit) crew.

  Nothing yet, Jools confirmed.

  Well, Hertzog began but was interrupted by the phone.

  ‘Who is it?’ Hertzog asked as he took the handset from Jools.

  ‘I think it’s the Mayor,’ he said, sotto voce.

  Hertzog sighed but said nothing. He took the handset. And placed it on speakerphone. ‘Mayor Botha?’

  ‘Captain Hertzog.’

  ‘What a pleasure it is –’

  ‘I’m very concerned, Captain.’

  ‘Concerned?’ Hertzog shot Jools a knowing look.

  ‘Very concerned, Captain. About the investigation.’

  ‘About the investigation?’

  ‘The investigation, Captain.’

  ‘I see. And what seems to be the problem, Mayor Botha?’

  Did I not ask you to please keep us informed of any new developments?’

  ‘You did.’

  ‘I did.’

  ‘You did, indeed.’

  ‘Captain?’

  ‘Yes, Mayor.’

  ‘You have not kept us informed. Neither did you involve Major Bismarck in your daily investigations.’

  ‘I didn’t?’

  ‘No, you didn’t.’

  ‘Well, Mayor Botha ...’

  ‘Captain?’

  ‘Did I not send the Major a report on the Bredekamp suicide?’

  ‘You did.’

  ‘I did.’

  ‘But why did you fail to mention the foreign deposits into Michelle’s bank account?’

  Silence.

  ‘I see. Well, Mayor Botha ...’

  Captain?’

  ‘ ... I was, in fact, in the process of compiling a report for the Major right this very moment.’

  ‘You are?’

  ‘I am.’

  ‘Good. Now I know perhaps you don’t “trust” the Major ...’ Hertzog exchanged a puzzled glance with Jools, ‘... but it’s vital that you communicate at all times with our local police force. I wouldn’t want the people of Coffee to become, shall we say, recalcitrant about co-operating.’

  ‘Of course not.’

  ‘I trust I have made myself clear?’

  ‘Crystal clear.’

  ‘Good day, Captain.’

  ‘Good day, Mayor.’

  The call was ended.

  ‘Less co-operative,’ Jools said with irony. ‘Is it humanly possible to be less co-operative than this bunch?’ Jannie Duvenhage chuckled.

  ‘Interesting that the Mayor would know all these things,’ Hertzog said, contemplative. ‘Including that I don’t “trust” Major Bismarck.’

  Mrs Rabie poked her head through the door that led into the conference room. ‘Captain, can I interest your hard working men in some good ole Boere Coffee?’

  ‘No thank you, Mrs Rabie,’ Hertzog said, smiling pleasantly. He watched her go, frowning. ‘We must be careful, gentlemen. It seems the walls have ears.’

  Jools and Jannie watched the elderly lady. ‘Rightly so,’ Jools said. ‘But I don’t know why you declined her offer.’ He gave Hertzog a wry look. ‘The “walls” make a damn fine cup of coffee.’

  Twenty-seven

  Later that day Hertzog received another two calls.

  The first turned the investigation on its head.

  The second blew it apart.

  The first call.

  ‘Chaz?’

  ‘Boss. How are things going down there?’

  ‘You don’t want to know, trust me,’ Hertzog said, glancing over at his two subordinates. He indicated for Jannie to close the door to the conference room. ‘What about the aunt?’

  ‘Er ... the aunt? What about her?’

  ‘Did you go and see her?’

  ‘Yes, of course, boss. Yes,’ Chaz said, briskly continuing, ‘I went to see her. I found the diary.’

  ‘Excell
ent.’

  ‘Well, actually Michelle kept two diaries.’

  ‘Fantastic.’

  ‘Unfortunately one of them – the latest one – is missing.’

  Silence.

  ‘I see.’

  ‘Ja. But don’t worry, boss. I found a few interesting inscriptions.’

  ‘Okay. Let’s hear them.’

  The detectives heard Chaz paging over the speakerphone. ‘Okay, listen to this. It’s from November last year, the twentieth.’

  ‘Okay.’

  ‘I read: “Daddy, loving you was the hardest thing I’ve ever had to do. You will never know. I forgave you so much. Daddy, you will never know. I had to forgive you so many times. But I cannot forgive this. Not this time. How could you?”’

  Silence.

  ‘Is that it?’

  ‘Yes, boss.’

  Hertzog rubbed his chin. ‘Fascinating. I wonder what she was referring to.’ He looked at Jools. ‘Is there nothing else? About this “thing” she can’t forgive?’

  ‘No, boss. I’ve been through the entire diary. Nothing. In fact, it’s mostly about partying and boys. That sort of thing. The inscription I read was right at the end.’

  ‘Hm-huh. It’s a damn shame we don’t have the latest diary. I have an idea that’s where the important information is.’

  ‘I’ll go through the diary again, boss. And send you a detailed report.’

  ‘Good man. Any idea what happened to the missing diary?’

  ‘Linda said – ’

  ‘Linda?’

  ‘The aunt.’

  ‘Oh yes, of course.’

  ‘She said that a few of Michelle’s friends dropped by since her disappearance. I’m following up on that.’

  ‘Good.’

  ‘Boss, there are two other inscriptions that could be of interest.’

  ‘Hm-huh? Let’s hear it.’

  ‘The first one is from almost a month later, the twenty-first of December. I read: “I’ve delayed long enough. I’m doing it. Tomorrow.” That’s it.’

  ‘Curiouser and curiouser,’ Jools said.

  ‘And then, another one, two days later, the twenty-third of December. “I’ve done it. There’s no going back. God help me.”’