‘Don’t think just because –’
Hertzog shoved his badge in Jack Strydom’s face. ‘This is official police business. If you get in my way I’m going to arrest you for obstructing the course of justice.’ Hertzog scowled at the large butcher. ‘Please, don’t tempt me.’
Jack Strydom glared at Marike with pure hatred. ‘You can have the bitch,’ he said with a smirk. ‘No-one else wants her.’ He turned his back, grabbed a large meat cleaver and with one powerful stoke sliced a leg of lamb in half. Hertzog grabbed a shocked Marike’s hand and led her out.
‘What are you doing?’ She asked, distressed.
Hertzog stopped and grabbed her shoulders. ‘Our entire investigation is a shambles because no-one in this damned town is telling us the truth.’ She shrank from his sudden fury. Hertzog took a deep breath. ‘I’m sorry. Please. I didn’t mean to frighten you.’ He paused. ‘I would never do anything to ... harm you.’
‘What do you want?’ She looked at him with confusion.
‘Let’s go outside where we can talk in private.’ He took her hand and walked through the doorway of the supermarket. Outside he crossed the street. He turned to face her. ‘First of all. Are you okay?’ She smiled uncertainly and nodded. He paused, looking into her eyes. He smiled. ‘You’re wearing ...’
‘Yes.’
Hertzog nodded slowly. The smile lingered on his lips. ‘Good.’
‘Shaun.’ She looked at him with tenderness. ‘What do you want from me?’
Hertzog frowned. ‘We’ve been here for almost two weeks. And we’ve got damn all nothing to show for it.’ He exhaled with exasperation. ‘Nobody is telling us anything. And everybody seems to be hiding something. What the hell is going on? What is this town hiding?’ He looked at her with earnest appeal. ‘Please. You’re the only one I can trust.’ Marike stared at him, touched by his words. Her eyelids quivered uncontrollably. It was the most beautiful thing Shaun Hertzog had ever seen. ‘Is there anything you can tell me? Is there anything at all that can help us find this man? And stop him?’
She stared at him for what seemed like an eternity. A slow universe revolved around the moment. Time faded. Melted away. And then she spoke. ‘They didn’t tell you about the graves, did they?’
Hertzog stared at her with confusion. ‘The graves?’
With rapid, breathless words she told him about the events that occurred following the disappearance of Michelle Bismarck and Manie Botha. About the graves. And the posters. When she was finished Hertzog’s face had become a solid mask of shock and vexation. He was about to reply when she reached up, grabbed the lapels of his jacket and kissed him hard on the mouth. It was a tight, close-lipped kiss. The way a teen might kiss her first love. She released him. Stared deep into his eyes. And ran across the street without looking back. Hertzog watched her disappear into the supermarket with blank surprise. Dazed, he strolled back to the Land Rover. He climbed into the vehicle. ‘Gentlemen,’ he said not meeting their eyes, ‘our investigation has new focus. We need to pay our friend, the station commander a visit. But first –’ He looked at his colleagues. Jannie Duvenhage was smiling broadly. Dog was whistling an inane tune while Jools tried unsuccessfully to suppress a smile. They were all staring at Hertzog. ‘Okay, okay, let’s just get going,’ Hertzog said, blushing a deep red.
Thirty-seven
They stood around the grave. The four detectives.
The soil that composed the burial mound was still bright. Freshly turned. The dark compacted soil of the adjacent grave lay in sharp contrast.
The group of detectives stood. Mute witness to the bizarre scene. Their ties and suit jackets flapped in the wind.
They stared at the gravestone.
HERE LIES MOTHER, SISTER, WIFE AND FRIEND. WE WILL FOREVER REMEMBER. REST IN PEACE. ANNA-MART BOTHA. 1899 – 1968
‘Who is she, boss?’ Jannie asked.
‘Mayor Lloyd Botha’s mother.’ Hertzog stared at the tombstone, frowning intensely.
The detectives stood, silent. The wind whipped their suits about their bodies. Hertzog stared at the twin graves with feverish intensity. He bit his lower lip until his flesh turned white.
Jools gave him a sideways glance, worried. ‘You okay?’ He asked under his breath. Hertzog stared at the graves as if in a daze. After a few moments he visibly shook himself from his reverie.
Dog stepped forward and pointed at the grave. ‘So let me get this straight,’ he said. ‘Every time a kid disappeared one of these graves would be dug up and a mannequin put inside?’
‘A mutilated mannequin, I am told,’ Hertzog said softly.
‘And it’s always a family member’s grave,’ Jools said. ‘This grave was excavated when Manie Botha disappeared.’ Jools turned and pointed to the grave of Bismarck senior, a few plots away. ‘That one was desecrated when Michelle Bismarck went missing.’
‘Dônner. That’s insane.’ Dog shook his head.
‘Boss, why would Doctor Bismarck do this?’ Jannie asked.
Hertzog paused. ‘Doctor Bismarck didn’t do this, detective.’ He looked at the grave with rueful regret. ‘We made a big mistake.’ He sighed. ‘A big mistake.’
‘So ...’ Jannie Duvenhage rubbed his chin. ‘If he didn’t do this ... who did?’ He looked at the other two detectives. ‘This is a very strange signature. Do you think ... it could have been ... a serial killer?’
Silence.
‘If you mean is it someone who has committed a series of murders, well ... yes.’ He looked at Duvenhage. ‘But this is not the work of a serial killer. This doesn’t fit the psychopathy of a serial killer.’ He paused. ‘These crimes are deeply personal. And they’re aimed at the families. The missing teens are ... collateral damage.’ Hertzog ran a hand through his thick black hair. ‘The killer wanted to make a statement. And that’s exactly what he’s done.’ He stared at the graves, a worried expression on his face. ‘And death shall have no dominion.’ Hertzog spoke slowly and deliberately as he quoted the famous poem. ‘Dead men naked they shall be one ... with the man in the wind and the west moon ...’
Dog stared at Hertzog with incomprehension. ‘Huh?’
Silence.
‘He’s already taken two teens,’ Hertzog continued. ‘And I’m afraid he’s only getting started.’
Hertzog had no idea how right he was.
Thirty-eight
‘Your omission is nothing short of a betrayal of everything the South African Police stands for, Major Bismarck.’
Hertzog, Jools, Duvenhage and Dog were standing in Major Bismarck’s office. The station commander was seated behind his desk, taciturn as usual, flanked by two of his officers. On the desk lay two fresh Polaroids, taken by Jools. It showed the freshly arranged graves of Anna-Mart Botha and J.R. Bismarck.
‘This is not about ethics, Major,’ Hertzog continued. ‘Your failure to inform us of this vital piece of evidence constitutes a serious crime.’ Hertzog pointed a finger at the senior commander. ‘You, better than anyone else, should have known that.’ Bismarck’s two officers shuffled in awkward discomfort next to their commanding officer. ‘I could have your badge right now ... and have you arrested.’
Bismarck slammed his palms down on the desk. His two officers both started with fright. ‘Damn you. Who the hell do you think you are, coming into my office and talking to me like I’m a roof in your little department?’
Roof. Rookie.
Hertzog stepped forward and slammed his own palm on the desk. ‘Who the hell do you think you are, Major. Treating this town like your own little domain ... acting as if you’re above the law.’ He eyed the Major with steely determination. ‘Well, you’re not. And it’s about time somebody brought you down.’
‘Listen, you don’t – ’
‘No, you listen, Major. It will take one call to have you dishonourably dismissed. One call to have you stripped of your rank and all your benefits. One call to issue a warrant for your arrest and book a cell for you, right next door to your brot
her.’
The Major stared at Hertzog, his lips parsed into a thin line of barely-controlled rage. Behind the polarised lenses of his Ray Bans his eyes burned with seething hatred. His nostrils flared as heavy breathing racked his chest.
‘Imagine what the media will make of that? Two disgraced sons from a once prominent Orange Free State family.’ Behind the dark lenses one of Bismarck’s eyes twitched. ‘It’s up to you now, Major.’ Hertzog leaned forward, both hands on Bismarck’s desk. ‘Your future lies squarely in your hands. Are you going to save what’s left of your career ... or shall I make that call?’
Bismarck’s chin quivered as his body stiffened. Both hands were balled into tight fists. His breathing became erratic as a film of sweat appeared on his forehead. And then, in a release of pent-up emotion he slammed his fist down on his desk with such force his nameplate was propelled into the air. It fell clattering to the hardwood floor. ‘Dammit.’ There was a slight falsetto underlying the Major’s curse. Dog and Jools exchanged glances. Bismarck fixed Hertzog with a black look, his eyes two orbs of flaming rage above the thin metal frame of his Ray Bans. ‘Leave my office.’
The officer to his right folded his arms in triumph, threw his head backwards and smirked as he stared at Hertzog. ‘That’s right,’ he said. ‘I think it’s about time –’
Bismarck’s head whipped around as he glared at the officer. ‘No. You! Both of you. Leave my office right now.’ The two officers stared at each other in bewildered shock. The officer who had spoken dropped his arms next to his sides and meekly walked towards the door, followed by his comrade. ‘And I don’t want to be disturbed by anyone,’ Bismarck said. ‘Is that clear?’ He waited for them to close the door behind them. When he spoke it was with faltering words, his rage replaced with tense uncertainty. ‘I ... I had no reason to suspect that ... the desecrated graves had anything to do with the ... disappearances.’
‘Bullshit!’ Hertzog fumbled at the two photographs on the desk, perturbed. He slammed one of the photographs down on the desk. Bismarck’s body shook with fright. ‘Your niece goes missing and your father’s grave is desecrated.’ He slammed the other photograph down in front of Bismarck. ‘Danie Botha goes missing and the next thing his grandmother’s grave is likewise desecrated.’ He leaned far forward, right into Bismarck’s face. ‘And you want to tell me you had no reason to suspect that these incidents were related.’ Bismarck averted his gaze. ‘I warn you, Bismarck,’ Hertzog said, purposely dropping Bismarck’s rank. ‘You have one chance. One chance only to mitigate the dismal situation you’ve gotten yourself into. One chance only to avoid a long prison sentence.’
Bismarck stared at the floor at his feet, vigorously rubbing his forehead with his hand. ‘I didn’t ... I didn’t ...’
‘What was that?’
Bismarck whipped off his shades and stared at Hertzog, a combination of anger and despair in his eyes. ‘I didn’t know what to do.’ His eyes danced around the room, looking at each of the detectives in turn. ‘I didn’t know what to do. None of this made any sense. Nothing like this has ever happened.’ He looked at Hertzog with inchoate pleading in his eyes. ‘I ... we were hoping to deal with this ... thing ourselves. I didn’t mean for things to get this far.’ He dropped his head in his hands. ‘None of this made any sense.’
Hertzog’s tone softened. ‘I understand.’ He pointed at the photographs. ‘I’ve never seen anything like this myself. So, I understand your ... confusion, I guess. However, Major Bismarck it puzzles me why you thought you could solve this problem with your limited resources.’ Hertzog looked at Jools. ‘If we had been called in right from the start who knows where we could have been by now.’ Bismarck nodded, almost imperceptibly. ‘I think it’s important that you tell me everything you know. Start right at the beginning.’
Bismarck slowly raised his head. He looked at Hertzog with defeat. And nodded. He waited for the detectives to seat themselves before he began his slow lumbering narrative. He described Michelle Bismarck’s disappearance. And why no-one took it seriously, especially considering her history. He told Hertzog about the discovery of the first desecrated grave, that of his own father. He averted his eyes, perhaps realising again how ridiculous his statement that the desecration wasn’t related to Michelle’s disappearance now sounded. He described Manie Botha’s disappearance and the subsequent search. He also told Hertzog that, once again, they discovered a desecrated grave, this time the final resting place of Anna-Mart Botha, mother to the present mayor of Coffee. Here Bismarck interrupted him.
‘Major, please tell me you kept both the mutilated mannequins in your evidence locker.’ He leaned forward. ‘Please tell me you didn’t destroy them.’ He looked at Bismarck with grave admonishment. ‘You realise you need to do as much as possible to remedy your ... transgressions.’
‘Yes, Captain Hertzog.’ Bismarck stared at his reflection in the glossy surface of his desk. ‘We kept them both.’ It was the first time that Bismarck had addressed Hertzog using his proper title ... without sarcasm. ‘I’ve also posted round-the-clock guards at the cemetery,’ Bismarck added helpfully. ‘In case he strikes again.’
Hertzog nodded. ‘Good. Now, Major you need to be absolutely open and honest with me.’ Hertzog paused as he fixed Bismarck with a grave look. ‘Is there anything else ... anything at all that you’ve neglected to tell us about? Anything at all?’
Bismarck remained quiet for a long time as he contemplated Hertzog’s words. Finally he spoke. ‘Yes. There is something else.’ Slowly he told the MCU detectives about the posters that were discovered, pasted all along the buildings in De Beers Street.
‘Holy shit,’ Jools said, shocked.
Bismarck opened a top drawer in his desk, reached inside and took out one of the posters. He slowly handed it to Hertzog. Detective Captain Hertzog stared at the poster in mute shock. He closed his eyes and rested his forehead on a fist. ‘Dear God, Major Bismarck, there is nothing you could say that could justify an egregious omission like this. How could you?’
Silence.
‘Can we rely on your full unrestricted co-operation from now on, Major? Or do I need to contact the Provincial Commissioner of Police?’
Bismarck once again averted his eyes, nodding gravely. ‘You have my full –’
The door to his office flung open. One of the officers from earlier poked his head into Bismarck’s office. ‘Major Bismarck, we’ve got a new –’
Bismarck glared at the officer. ‘Did I not tell you no-one was to disturb – ’
‘Sir,’ the officer said, ignoring Bismarck’s rebuke. ‘Another teen has disappeared.’
Hertzog’s detectives all swung around to face the officer. Bismarck’s words were frozen in his throat. His mouth hung open.
‘Sir, it’s Elizabeth. Johann Trudouw’s daughter.’
***
In a beautiful southern mansion about ten kilometres from the police station a phone rang. Moments later a manservant carried a cordless phone to a bearded man lying in an opulent canopy bed. ‘Sir. Mr Jacobs on the line.’
‘Yes?’
‘I’ve discovered an interesting few things about our man, Captain Hertzog.’
‘Good. Let’s hear it.’
‘It was a struggle, I’ll tell you. Parts of his file are sealed. But a friend of a friend –’
‘Spare me the details.’
Jacobs sighed on the other end of the line. ‘Very well. It seems our Captain isn’t as spotless as he would like everyone to believe.’
‘Uh-huh.’
‘I’ve finally managed to learn about the circumstances surrounding the death of his parents.’
‘I’m listening.’
‘Shortly after his sixteenth birthday our man Hertzog was on holiday with his parents. One night he stole his father’s vehicle and went on a drinking binge. It looks like it wasn’t the first time. He was a bit of a bad boy. In any case, in the early hours of the morning he was heading back to the family beach house. He was
heavily intoxicated and lost control of the vehicle, ploughing into the main bedroom. Both parents were killed instantly.’
‘Goodness, that is rather interesting. How does a person with a criminal record become a police investigator?’
‘That’s just the thing. He was never indicted. His age and other factors convinced the authorities not to press charges. The fact that his uncle was a Pretoria judge couldn’t have hurt either. In any case, after he matriculated he went overseas for around three years. Until this day no-one knows where he went or what he did. Those who knew him assumed it must have been some sort of spiritual odyssey. Because, by all accounts, when he came back he was apparently a changed man. Hardly anyone recognised him.’
Silence.
‘Good work. I think we’ve just found our adversary’s pressure point.’
Part Two
The Spectre from the past
Thou shalt not bow down thyself to them, nor serve them: for I the LORD thy God [am] a jealous God, visiting the iniquity of the fathers upon the children unto the third and fourth [generation] of them that hate me;
Exodus 20:5
One
Elizabeth Trudouw had big dreams. Thirty-thousand hectares big.
Elizabeth’s father was Johann Trudouw. With three farms in the Coffee area, another two bordering the Orange River in Hopetown and a game farm in the Luckhoff area, Johann Trudouw was by far the region’s most successful and wealthiest farmer. He was also one of the wealthiest farmers in the Orange Free State in general. No mean feat as the province is aptly known as the nation’s breadbasket.
Elizabeth was a pretty young girl with ash-blonde hair (usually worn in pig tails) and an open face dotted with freckles. She was like most girls in the rural enclave of Coffee. She was just starting to get into pop music. Her walls featured posters of Wham, Sandra, Kylie Minogue, and of course, Steve Hofmeyer (a local TV star who would later become a singing sensation and the darling of the Afrikaner “volk”). She also liked Madonna and Michael Jackson, even though dada didn’t approve. Madonna was “sluttish” and Michael Jackson ... well, her dad definitely wouldn’t like a “Bantu” (black man) on her walls. But not to worry. She reserved special places in her scrap book for these two. Yes, Elizabeth was just like any other girl her age. Except that she wasn’t anything like other girls her age.
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