‘So there’s a reward, right?’
Chaz stood on the broad porch of the guesthouse. He could almost see his own reflection in its polished tiles. The exposed beams of the portico above, the stucco walls, the wide sweeping arches and the red clay tiles of the roof confirmed the Spanish Hacienda style of the double-storey house. The guesthouse had an Italian name though. La Dolce Vita.
‘You mentioned CCTV footage,’ Chaz said, ignoring the question. ‘Mr ... ah ...’
‘Van Tonder.’ The hunched middle-aged proprietor towered over Chaz. His drooping jowls, unkempt hair and weary eyes said something about missed opportunities and a lingering dissatisfaction with life. He wore a faded cardigan over a Superman t-shirt and stovepipe jeans which made him appear even taller – if that was at all possible. ‘Yes, well, we like to run a tight ship and make sure we have ah all our ducks in a row and just generally make sure things are well ship-shape you know it’s really kind of a matter of pride with us and that sort of thing.’ Like his appearance, his speech was rambling, awkward and unwieldy. ‘Yes, you know security is really ah well an issue,’ he said, leading Chaz behind the sweeping semi-circular reception desk, ‘especially with the way this country is going and all ah well who knows what’s going to happen next so we installed some you could say ah security measures some time ago to just ah I guess give us and our customers really some ah peace of mind you could say.’ Chaz nodded patiently. Van Tonder paused. ‘So ah about the reward?’ He fixed Chaz with an enquiring look. ‘What am I looking at?’
‘There’s no reward, Mr van Tonder. Think of it as your civic duty.’
‘Huh.’ Van Tonder said, snorting with a measure of disgust. He had obviously never considered the concept before. ‘Ah well it’s all back here in the office area,’ he said, leading Chaz down a narrow corridor to an office at the back. The corridor walls were also stucco decorated with colourful ornamental tiles.
‘You got a beautiful place here, Mr van Tonder.’ Chaz looked around with appreciation.
‘Ah well we try our best really to make everything pretty and all but I’m really just the ah manager here and everything I really wouldn’t haha call myself the proprietor and all you know.’ Chaz nodded without saying anything. Van Tonder had specifically presented himself as the proprietor over the phone. ‘Well, here we are.’ The cramped office had a desk littered with papers and various bric-a-brac on one side. It was fixed to the wall. Above the desk were two black-and-white CCTV monitors. The one monitor displayed a view of the guesthouse parking lot while the other one displayed a sweeping panorama of the foyer area including the reception desk. ‘We have ah only the two cameras at the moment but they pretty much you know cover the important areas and all.’ The opposite wall was lined with shelves which contained dozens of file folders and boxes. On the bottom shelf was an old Betamax machine. Next to it was a small black-and-white television set. ‘And here is the VCR that we ah use to capture the images you know and so on.’
‘You have only the one machine?’
‘Ah well yes you see the two feeds are recorded in split screen so it means ah pretty much we need only the one recorder and all you understand.’
‘I see, yes.’
‘So we have a tape and all of the night you know the night we ah spoke of on the phone when I phoned you and all.’ Van Tonder extracted a single video from a row of cassettes. ‘And ah this is the one pretty much you know the one we spoke about with the doctor and all.’
‘Can we maybe view it?’
‘Well ah yes yes of course.’ He slipped the cassette into the Betamax.
‘Tell me something, Mr van Tonder. Do you usually keep your CCTV recordings this long? I mean, it’s been almost a month since the night Michelle Bismarck disappeared.’
‘Well haha you see you’re really lucky I guess because the ah next day the splitter started malfunctioning and we haven’t kind of really got around to getting that ah looked at and all, you understand?’
Chaz smiled. ‘You’re right. I guess that makes us very lucky.’
‘So ah well here we go,’ he said, pushing the play button. A split-screen image appeared on the small TV screen. ‘Ah well lemme just forward this a little so we can ah see the ah you know the doctor in the reception area.’ He pressed the fast-forward button. The image distorted and zigzag lines appeared on the screen. At high speed two figures materialised in the foyer area. ‘Aha well here we are.’ He released the fast-forward button.
Chaz leaned forward, studying the grainy images. Trying to get a better view of the hazy faces. He nodded. ‘Yes, that’s definitely the doctor.’ He pressed his face right up against the screen. ‘But who the ... hell ... is that ... with him?’
‘There’s ah a clearer shot when they move closer to the desk you must just give it a like a little while and all.’
Chaz continued studying the face of the unknown person, scrunching up his eyes as he tried to discern the person’s features. ‘Who ... is ... tha –?’
He recoiled. His eyes were large with surprise.
‘Oh my God. That can’t be.’
Thirty-two
The town of Coffee erupted into chaos.
At the centre of the maelstrom was the Coffee Police Station.
When the Land Rover pulled up at the back of the police station about a dozen reporters swarmed the SUV. Amongst the journalists was a TV crew from the Bloemfontein branch of SABC News.
‘Damn!’ From the backseat Jannie stared with surprise at the group of journalists, pushing and shoving their way towards the rear of the car. ‘How did they find out so quickly?’
‘They use police scanners, son,’ Dog said with condescension, also from the backseat. He steeled himself for the confrontation with the swarm of reporters. ‘What do you think?’
Jools turned to face the two detectives from the driver’s seat. ‘For a change I’m actually glad you’re around, Dog.’ He indicated the reporters thronging the Landy.
‘What would you do without me, geek boy?’ Dog said, winking at his bespectacled colleague.
Hertzog, riding shotgun, stared at the frenzied troop of journalists with concern. ‘I’m beginning to wonder about the efficacy of my earlier decision.’
Jools glanced at Hertzog. ‘It was the right decision. Don’t worry.’ He looked at the rear of the Coffee Police Station. ‘I’m not so sure coming here was the right decision though.’
‘I considered Petrusburg,’ Hertzog said referring to the little town about fifty kilometres from Coffee. ‘But the backlash would have been too extreme.’
Doctor De Wet Bismarck grunted in disdain.
Jools turned to the man between Hertzog and Duvenhage. ‘You good to go, Doc?’
Doctor Bismarck stared at the floor of the Landy, sullen and resentful. A capped volcano. ‘I want to see my lawyer.’
‘Don’t worry, Doctor Bismarck,’ Hertzog said grabbing a carton box from the floor of the vehicle and pushing open the passenger door of the Defender One Ten. ‘We’ll get to that.’
The crowd of reporters exploded into a frenzy. They pushed and shoved. They shouted questions at the policemen and their prisoner.
‘Let’s do this, Duvenhage,’ Dog shouted as they hauled Bismarck from the rear of the car. Jools and Hertzog flung open the front doors of the Defender and jumped out. They went ahead, trying to push open a path through the reporters. They rounded the corner of the police station. And stopped. Momentarily taken aback. Caught off guard.
The front of the police station was packed with a huge throng of people. About three dozen people. The crowd erupted at the sight of the policemen and their prisoner. Shouting. Pointing. Jeering. Some were on their toes. Others were craning necks. Everything in order to get a front-row seat to the spectacle. It’s not every day one of Coffee’s wealthiest men is arrested for abduction and suspicion of murder.
‘Are you telling me these people also have police scanners?’ Jannie asked no-one in particular, shouting to make him
self heard above the cacophony. The policemen said nothing as they pushed through the crowd. Struggling to fight their way to the entrance. Hertzog and Jools almost fell through the large double doors as they entered the station. Duvenhage, Dog and the doctor followed hot on their heels. As soon as they were through, two burly policemen slammed the glass doors shut. They pushed against the double doors with their combined weight as reporters and citizens crammed against the glass. Shouting. Jabbing. Pointing. The strobe of camera flashes was constant. Epileptic.
The wall of reporters and citizens outside was replaced by another – entirely different – wall inside. Mayor Lloyd Botha. Major Bismarck. A suited man the policemen didn’t recognise. And a bevy of brawny police officers.
‘What is the meaning of this, Captain Hertzog?’
Hertzog ignored the mayor’s question, pushing through to the rear of the police station. ‘Take him to the interrogation room,’ he said to Dog and Duvenhage. He turned to the group of men.
‘You’ve made a big mistake, Hertzog,’ Major Bismarck said. ‘You can’t just do as you wish. There will be consequences.’
Hertzog pulled a paper from his inner jacket pocket. ‘We have a valid warrant for the arrest of your brother, Major. In accordance with the Criminal Procedure Act of the Republic of South Africa.’ The Major grabbed the warrant and perused it, his face taut.
‘What are your grounds for this arrest, Captain?’ The mayor asked.
‘We have documented evidence that points to the direct involvement of Doctor Bismarck in the disappearance of both Michelle Bismarck and Manie Botha.’
There was a stunned silence.
‘What?’ Mayor Lloyd Botha glared at Hertzog. ‘This is preposterous. Why were we not informed of this?’
Hertzog pulled another folded sheet from his inner pocket. ‘You are now.’ He handed the paper to the Mayor. For a moment Botha stared at the piece of paper as if it were infected with a contagious disease. He took it delicately.
‘I hope you read him his rights, Captain.’ Bismarck shoved the warrant into Hertzog’s chest. ‘His lawyer will be here shortly.’ He leaned into Hertzog’s face. ‘You’re going to pay for this.’
Hertzog grabbed the warrant and turned. ‘Excuse me. I have a suspect to interrogate.’
Bismarck marched after Hertzog. ‘Not without me, you’re not.’ He indicated for the man in the suit to follow him. ‘I’ve requested Mr Jacobs, counsel to Mayor Botha to join us in the interim. While we wait for my brother’s attorney to arrive.’
‘Suit yourself,’ Hertzog said, walking down the long corridor towards the first of two interrogation rooms. He opened the door and entered. The interrogation room was clinical and foreboding. Cold and bare. Designed to intimidate suspects. Doctor Bismarck was seated in one of two chairs at a heavy wooden table. Jools, Dog and Duvenhage were standing in various positions against the back wall, behind Bismarck. Major Bismarck, Mayor Botha and the attorney followed Hertzog into the room.
‘I want a lawyer.’
‘I heard you the first time, Doctor Bismarck.’ Hertzog slammed the box onto the table.
‘Well, maybe you don’t understand, Hertzog,’ Major Bismarck said behind him, arms folded in passive aggression. ‘That means you have to cease the interrogation.’
‘You are, of course, most welcome to say nothing, Doctor. You are most welcome to seek the counsel of your attorney.’ Hertzog placed his hands on the wooden table and leaned towards Bismarck. ‘You could speak to us ... or we could speak to the media.’
Bismarck, arms folded in front of him, sneered with derision. ‘Do what you fucking want.’
‘We know you were in Bloemfontein on the night of Michelle’s disappearance.’
‘So fucking what,’ Bismarck said.
‘This is not a legal interrogation, Captain,’ Jacobs said.
‘We have CCTV footage from the La Dolce Vita guesthouse.’
Silence.
Bismarck went pale. His bellicose bravado faded like early morning mist before the winter sun.
‘What is he talking about, De Wet?’ Major Dawid Bismarck glared at his brother, uncertain.
‘Well, gentlemen,’ Hertzog said, addressing his men. ‘Doctor Bismarck has chosen to speak to his legal counsel instead of us. This interrogation is finished.’ He picked up the box and turned towards the door. ‘I’m sure the media delegates outside would be most eager to learn of our findings. And view our evidence.’
‘Wait.’ Bismarck looked down at the floor. Unwilling to meet the eyes of those around him.
‘De Wet. What are you doing?’ The Mayor asked.
Hertzog turned around. ‘Are you willing to speak to us, Doctor Bismarck? Without the presence of your attorney?’ Bismarck said nothing, staring with morbid sullenness at the floor. ‘Doctor, I will respect your privacy. And – as far as possible – I will guarantee your confidentiality. Doctor Bismarck? Will you speak to us?’
Silence.
‘Yes!’ He looked up at Hertzog. The anger of the caged animal on his face. ‘Yes, fucking yes. I will speak to you.’
‘De Wet, what in God’s name are you doing?’ Mayor Botha took a step forward.
‘I will speak to you.’ Bismarck looked at his brother and the Mayor. ‘Alone.’
‘Have you gone insane?’ Dawid Bismarck asked.
‘I would strongly urge you to say nothing, Doctor –’
‘Fuck off.’ Bismarck bared his teeth, growling at the Coffee delegates. ‘Leave! Leave now.’
‘You don’t know what you’re doing, De Wet.’ Major Bismarck appeared to almost plead with his brother.
‘Lloyd. Dawid. Leave now.’
Mayor Botha stepped up to the table and leaned into De Wet Bismarck’s face. ‘Don’t you fucking dare betray us, you son of a bitch.’ His voice was a fierce enraged whisper.
Hertzog and Jools looked at each other with surprise.
Bismarck jumped up. ‘Leave right now.’ He pointed at the door. ‘This has nothing to do with you. Leave me alone.’
The mayor glared at Bismarck. Then turned and walked. He was followed by Major Bismarck and the attorney. Bismarck threw his brother a last look before he closed the door.
‘Detective Doober, make sure there’s no-one in the observation room.’ He looked at the others in the room as Dog exited. Jools moved into position behind Hertzog, standing in front of the two-way mirror. ‘Let the record reflect that the suspect wishes to speak to us ... alone.’ Jools and Jannie nodded. ‘We won’t be recording this conversation, Doctor.’ Bismarck nodded, defeated. Hertzog seated himself across from Bismarck. ‘Doctor, I’m not going to beat about the bush. Things don’t look good for you.’ Bismarck said nothing, head bowed. ‘Before I question you, I’m going to tell you what we know.’ From within the box, Hertzog pulled out a thick file folder. He slammed it down on the table, opened the folder and flipped through the pages. ‘We know Michelle was blackmailing you.’
Bismarck’s head whipped up. ‘What? How ... how do you –’
Hertzog pushed one of the bank statements towards him. Bismarck stared at the statement for a moment. His face drained of blood. ‘How could you possibly –’
‘That’s not important for now, Doctor. Michelle was blackmailing you. And we know why.’ Bismarck looked from Hertzog to Jools. His face was a bizarre cocktail of fury and confusion. ‘We know you were in Bloemfontein on the evening of her disappearance.’ Bismarck averted his eyes. ‘And we know you weren’t alone. We have CCTV footage in evidence.’ Bismarck chewed his bottom lip. A deep furrow creased his forehead as his face turned a dark red. ‘You were having an affair, Doctor Bismarck.’ Hertzog whipped a grainy image – faxed though from Bloemfontein earlier that day – out of the folder. He slammed it down on the table in front of Bismarck.
Doctor De Wet Bismarck buried his face in his chest. ‘No ... no ...’ he said, wailing.
‘Yes, Doctor.’
‘No ... no ...’
‘Take a look, D
octor.’ Hertzog pointed at the image. It was grainy. But the identity of the other person was clear enough. ‘Look, Doctor.’
‘No ... no ...’ Bismarck shook his head from side to side.
‘You were having an illicit affair, Doctor. Weren’t you?’
‘No ... no ...’
Hertzog slammed his fist down on the table. ‘You were having a relationship Doctor Bismarck. You were having a romantic relationship ... with Manie Botha.’
Thirty-three
There was a huge gaping silence in the interrogation room.
Bismarck sat with his head bowed. He said nothing.
‘You were having a homosexual relationship with a teenage boy – the mayor’s son, no less. Michelle found out ... and began blackmailing you.’
Bismarck raised his head. ‘What?’ His speech was feeble. Slurred.
‘We initially thought Michelle was seeing Manie. But she wasn’t. They were friends however.’ Bismarck stared at Hertzog, dazed. ‘Manie told Michelle about the affair.’ Hertzog slipped another fax from Chaz across the table. ‘She records it in one of her diary entries. ‘Manie told her about the relationship and she started blackmailing you.’ Hertzog shook his head, smiling with rueful irony. ‘And you – the great exacting Doctor Bismarck – you just couldn’t allow that, could you?’
Bismarck stared at Hertzog. ‘What are you saying?’
‘But of course, punishing Michelle just ... wasn’t ... enough.’ Hertzog leaned forward. ‘You had to punish Manie as well. Didn’t you?’
‘What?’
‘You killed your daughter. And then you killed your teen lover.’
‘No ... no ... I didn’t ...’ He stared at Hertzog, wild-eyed. ‘Manie wasn’t ... he isn’t ... he’s not ...’ His head slumped forward. ‘You have no proof,’ he said in feeble protest.
‘Really?’ From the box Hertzog pulled out a bunch of cassettes in a plastic evidence bag. He threw the bag onto the table. ‘I’m sure you recognise these. The expensive gifts you bought your teen lover.’
‘Stop referring to him as my goddamned teen lover.’
The Man in the Wind Page 13