‘It was pinned to the community notice board at the entrance to the OK Supermarket,’ Bismarck said darkly.
‘Is it the only one?’ Hertzog said.
‘No. I ordered my men to scour the whole town.’ He pulled a sheaf of four posters from his desk drawer. ‘They found others, posted at strategic places across the town, including the church notice board.’
Hertzog nodded. ‘And you’re sure that’s it?’
‘Pretty much. We’ve looked everywhere. There’s nothing else.’
‘You realise it’s an absolute imperative that Mr Trudouw not see any of these.’ Hertzog paused. ‘It will surely drive him over the edge.’ Bismarck nodded in agreement. ‘Did you interview potential witnesses? I mean, surely someone can’t put something like this up in a public place without being seen by someone.’
‘They’re conducting interviews as we speak. You must understand areas like the OK Supermarket has a great deal of traffic. It’s easy for someone ... to get lost in the crowd. The church notice board on the other hand is sheltered from view. It would take nothing to put something up there without being spotted.’
Hertzog nodded in frustration. He stared at the poster. ‘Dear God. What a twisted fucking mind.’
The poster resembled the other one in every detail. It featured a close-up photograph of Elizabeth Trudouw. The terror that twisted her pretty little face into a mask of pure horror was sickening. Repulsive. Written underneath in large Times New Roman script was the single word: WHY?
‘Jesus,’ Jools whispered under his breath.
‘Has this one been dusted for prints?’ Hertzog asked.
Bismarck nodded. ‘Nothing.’
Hertzog’s jaw line bulged as he bit down on his teeth. ‘Gentlemen, we’re racing against time. The clock’s ticking while the life of an innocent girl is at stake. We need to find this madman now. Before another life is lost to his madness.’ He glanced at his men. ‘Let’s get going.’
Bismarck stood up. ‘Detective ... Captain ... I want to thank you for not seeking my resignation. I promise you the full co-operation of my entire division.’
Hertzog nodded. ‘You understand that there will need to be an investigation at a later date. However, I’ll be sure to mention all the help you have extended us.’ Bismarck nodded.
Silence.
‘How is your brother?’ Doctor De Wet Bismarck had been released from jail the previous evening.
‘I don’t know. We haven’t spoken since ...’ His words trailed off. ‘He’s taking a sabbatical in Bloemfontein.’
Hertzog gave the station commander a thin smile. ‘Okay. We’ll be in touch. I’m taking this one to keep in our custody,’ Hertzog said indicating the poster on Bismarck’s desk. He picked it up, gave Bismarck a curt nod and indicated for Duvenhage and Jools to exit the office.
Outside, in the glaring Free State sun the detectives paused next to their Land Rover. ‘I don’t know,’ Jools said, ‘but after the whole Doctor Bismarck thing I feel like we’re right back at square one.’
Hertzog grimaced. ‘In some ways we are. In other ways, however, I think we’ve made very good progress.’ He patted his friend’s shoulder. ‘Don’t worry. We’re going to catch this bastard.’
Inside the Landy, the two-way radio started crackling. ‘Charlie Foxtrot Zero. Charlie Foxtrot Zero. Come in. This is Charlie Foxtrot One.’ There was a slight pause. ‘Boss, we’ve got a serious development. Come in.’
Jannie raced for the SUV, unlocked it and grabbed the receiver. ‘Charlie Foxtrot One. This is Charlie Foxtrot Zero. What’s your status? Over.’
‘Put the boss on the line, kid.’
Jannie handed the receiver to Hertzog. ‘What’s going on, detective?’
There was a dramatic pause. ‘Boss, you’re not going to believe this.’
‘Let’s have it, detective.’
‘Boss ... you need to get over here. We found something strange.’ Hertzog and Jools exchanged a quizzical look. ‘I think we found the three teens.’
Seven
The Bredekamp house was on a smallholding a few kilometres south of Coffee, just off the R704. Half and hour’s drive, to the south-east, lay the historic town of Jagersfontein. About three clicks outside Coffee, Jools took a left at a gate with a rusted iron archway that bore the name: BREDEKAMP.
Another kilometre down a badly corrugated dirt road brought them to the dilapidated Bredekamp house. A sombre looking Chaz met Hertzog and the others in the driveway. Hertzog smiled as he extended a hand. ‘Good to see you again, Detective Bosman.’
‘It’s good to see you again as well, boss. I just wish it could have been under more positive circumstances.’
Hertzog’s face immediately darkened. He nodded. ‘Show me what you got.’
Chaz led the group around the house, past a grove of mangy looking fruit trees interspersed with at least three rusted car wrecks. At the back of the yard, alongside a large cement dam slaked with green slime was a large wooden barn with flaking red paint. ‘I expected to see Major Bismarck accompanying you,’ Chaz said.
‘We’ll inform him in good time,’ Hertzog said, surveying the surrounding area, overgrown with thick clumps of wild kikuyu grass.
‘Dog gave me a quick overview of all the recent developments.’ Chaz shook his head. ‘And just when I thought we were close to getting the sonofabitch.’ He pushed open one of the large barn doors to allow his colleagues to enter. ‘It’s over there, in the corner. We waited for you before we proceeded.’
‘Thanks,’ Hertzog said. ‘Where’s Detective Doober?’
‘He’s inside, boss. A couple of guys from the CSU team are helping him break down the locked door. It looks like a basement room,’ he added.
Hertzog braced himself as he headed towards the far left corner of the darkened barn. Despite ten years as a homicide investigator it was never a pleasant task uncovering cadavers. Especially after the onset of decomposition. Hertzog peered into the darkness. ‘Detective Duvenhage, please open those barn doors so we can get some light in here.’ He pulled out a flashlight and pointed it in the direction Chaz had indicated. ‘Detective Van Sant, do you have your flashlight with you?’
‘Yep.’ The beam from Jools’s flashlight coalesced with that of Hertzog to form a figure-eight of light in the dark corner of the barn. The scene was illuminated only slightly more when Duvenhage pushed open the creaking barn doors.
The detectives looked on, stunned.
‘Damn, is that –?’
‘Yes,’ Hertzog said, nodding slowly in the mute darkness.
In the dark corner of the barn there were three graves.
Eight
Hertzog stared in mute fascination at the three graves, lined up in neat parallel rows.
‘What have you been up to, Mr Bredekamp?’ Hertzog said under his breath. He kneeled down to inspect the graves. And prodded one of the mounds with his finger. ‘Strange. Very compact.’ He looked up at Chaz. ‘In fact, these graves don’t appear to be fresh at all.’
‘I agree, boss. Me and Dog discussed the same thing. It doesn’t quite make sense.’
‘Nothing about this case makes any sense,’ Jools said.
‘Detective Duvenhage, get the CSU team to bring one of their portable lamps in here. Tell them to bring their shovels,’ Hertzog said, referring to specialised miniature shovels the forensics unit used to excavate grave sites.
‘Sure thing, boss,’ Jannie said, disappearing through the barn doorway.
About fifteen minutes later the barn had become significantly more crowded. Two powerful lamps had been set up casting the scene in sharp light. Four members from the forensics team were carefully digging away at the grave mounds, exhuming their morbid contents with practised skill. The detectives stood a short distance away, watching with growing interest.
‘What a strange place for a burial,’ Chaz said, scanning the dusky interior of the barn, choked with years of cobwebs ... and neglect.
‘I thin
k that was precisely the idea, detective. Who would suspect a barn like this would be a burial site?’ Hertzog watched the CSU members at work. ‘These graves were never meant to be discovered.’ Hertzog turned to Dog who had joined the group. ‘Detective Doober, what’s the status on your progress inside the house?’
‘Well, we’ve been able to do a more thorough search of the premises. Nothing out of the ordinary yet. We just started on the basement door when the graves were discovered.’
‘You seem to be having a lot of trouble with that little wooden door, Doggy,’ Jools said, winking at his colleague. ‘Just let me know when you need some help.’
‘I wouldn’t want to ruin your manicure, Van Sant,’ Dog said, flipping Jools the “bird” from behind his left hand. ‘Boss, it’s one seriously hard-arsed door, fortified with steel bolts and two-inch hardwood laths. Whatever Bredekamp’s hiding in that basement, it’s something he was very desperate to keep secret.’ Hertzog nodded in agreement. ‘Actually, if you don’t need me here, I wanna crack that bastard. And get to the bottom of this whole thing.’
‘Yes, I agree, detective. Good thinking. Let us know if you need help.’
‘I’ve got it covered, boss,’ he said, blowing Jools a kiss and heading for the exit.
Hertzog’s attention was drawn to sudden commotion from the forensics team.
‘Sir, we got something,’ one of the team members said, rising to his feet and turning to face Hertzog. ‘And you’re not going to believe this.’
The four detectives hurried over to the graves. The CSU member pointed at the middle mound. Hertzog leaned forward to get a better look at what he had uncovered. He inhaled sharply as he stared at what lay buried in the dirt. Hertzog had expected to see one of the three missing teens. Instead, staring at him with sightless eyes was an ancient mummified corpse.
Nine
‘Holy shit. Is that a mummy?’
Jools stared dumbfounded at the macabre spectacle while Hertzog and Chaz looked on, frowning. Jannie Duvenhage gawked at the mummified remains with eyes wide and mouth agape. Hertzog knelt by the unearthed corpse and leaned over the blackened face, studying it carefully.
‘Under certain circumstances buried corpses become naturally mummified,’ the CSU tech explained. ‘In this case, it was the heat and dry conditions. This area has a semi-arid climate most of the time. Over the last two decades the region has also been cursed by severe drought. I expect that this, and the shelter offered by the barn, created this ... phenomenon,’ he said pointing to the corpse.
‘It’s a female,’ Hertzog said. ‘Probably in her late twenties, though it’s difficult to say.’
‘I agree, sir,’ the CSU tech said.
Next to Hertzog one of the other CSU members had unearthed another corpse. This one was also mummified. Hertzog shuffled over and inspected it. ‘Male,’ he said. ‘Probably around the same age.’ He looked up at the tech standing next to him. ‘Any idea how long they’ve been buried here?’
‘Erm ... because of the mummification it’s difficult to say, sir. I’ve only seen something like this once before, in the Karoo. If I had to make an educated guess ... I’d say no less than fifteen years. Maybe even as much as twenty years.’
‘Fifteen to twenty years,’ Hertzog said, mulling over the information in his mind. ‘We need to get these corpses to a pathologist as soon as possible.’
‘Sir, if I can make a suggestion.’
‘Hm-huh?’
‘There’s a guy at Wits University, a professor, who’s doing some seriously groundbreaking work on forensic anthropology. Maybe we can get him involved. I’m sure he’d be more than glad to assist.’
‘Good idea. Can you get hold of him?’
‘I’ll do it right away.’
On the other side of Hertzog the Crime Scene Unit had unearthed the last remaining corpse. ‘Sir?’ The tech said, requesting Hertzog’s attention. ‘We’ve got another male.’
Hertzog inspected the corpse. ‘Two males and a female. Buried about twenty years ago.’ He studied the corpse, frowning. ‘What does it mean?’
‘It looks like Wouter’s been a very bad boy,’ Jools said.
‘I just wished he hadn’t taken his secrets to the grave with him,’ Chaz said.
‘Do you think it’s related to our case, boss?’ Duvenhage asked.
‘That’s a very good question, detective.’ Hertzog frowned, ruminating momentarily. ‘Maybe ... maybe not. Right now, for all we know, these people died of natural causes.’
‘But then why bury them in unmarked graves? In a place that was meant to remain secret?’ Jools asked.
‘I agree. It’s very suspicious. But remember, our duty is to always ... always follow the evidence. Let’s not make the evidence follow our theories. Until we know more, let’s assume, for the time being, that these are two entirely unrelated crimes.’ Hertzog indicated the three graves. ‘If this is a crime at all.’ He paused. ‘Whatever the case, let’s not make any assumptions until we know more. We saw where our assumptions got us with Doctor Bismarck.’
‘Speaking of the mighty Bismarcks. What about the Major, boss? When are we going to inform him of this?’ Jools raised his eyebrows enquiringly.
Hertzog paused, pondering Jools’s question with great intensity. ‘I know we requested his full co-operation. And we can’t exactly expect him to assist us without reciprocating. Except, I feel we need to keep this to ourselves ... for the time being. I don’t know why, but I feel we’re going to achieve a lot more if none of our local colleagues find out about our discovery.’ Hertzog stood up and looked at each of the men gathered there in turn. ‘In fact, I am making this an order of the highest priority. Absolutely none of this is allowed to leave this circle. No press. No local cops. No-one, except those gathered here today. Is that understood?’ The men nodded in compliance. Hertzog turned to the CSU tech. ‘Can you arrange any kind transport for these corpses. Something totally inconspicuous. Something that won’t draw any kind of attention?’
The tech nodded. ‘I’m sure we could organise something, sir.’
‘Good. And remember, as far as anyone else is concerned, none of this happened. At least not yet.’
At that very moment Dog came crashing through the entrance of the barn. ‘Boss, we broke through the door.’ He paused for a moment, hands on his knees, breathless. ‘You’re not going to believe what we found.’
Ten
The basement – as an extension to the average house – harbours interesting psychological implications. As a subterranean room, it represents (if one were inclined to become philosophical about architecture) the dark ID of the house. The shady subconscious, as it were. The basement can become an extension itself of the mind of the very person occupying that house. A place where all the murky sub-strata of the occupant’s mind finds corporeal manifestation.
As the detectives stood in the basement of Wouter Bredekamp’s house, they felt they had stepped into the shadowy realms of the dead man’s mind.
Wouter Bredekamp had obviously spent a great deal of time here. As evidenced by the one peculiarity that always seemed to accompany Wouter Bredekamp wherever he went.
Squalor.
The first thing that struck the detectives was the sickening stench of rot, decomposition and decay. Like a toxic wave it engulfed them, overwhelming the senses. Jannie Duvenhage turned from the open door and became violently ill in the littered hallway.
With handkerchiefs to their mouths the group carefully descended the littered staircase. In addition to his sordid living conditions, it appeared as if Bredekamp was also a hoarder. On the way down the stairs, the detectives had to fight their way through crushed cooldrink cans, urine-soaked newspapers, empty packaging and all manner of discarded foodstuffs. Dog nearly slipped as he stepped onto a slimy half-eaten steak and kidney pie, teeming with maggots and green with age.
At the bottom of the staircase, Hertzog and his detectives stared in shock at the chaotic filth of Wouter Bredekam
p’s life.
The floor of the basement itself was hidden under years of squalid hoarding. Empty wrappers and packets, discarded cans of baked beans, an old rug with what appeared to be faeces stains, a broken vacuum cleaner, milk cartons, an old carburettor, dozens of empty bottles of cheap sherry, and scores of items whose decayed state defied description. In a corner Hertzog spotted a cat litter box. Inside, mixed with the stained cat litter and hanging over the edge of the box, was the half decomposed corpse of a kitten.
‘Dear God, this is sickening.’
‘Check this out, boss.’ A dozen stacks of magazines were balanced precariously in various positions across the littered room. They were composed entirely of Scope magazines. Since pornography was illegal the Scope was the closest thing to a “girly” magazine in South Africa at the time. In keeping with the demure standards of the time the nipples of the nude models were covered with little stars. The “family-friendly” stars would only disappear in the nineties. Dog grabbed one of the Scope magazines. ‘Nineteen-seventy-nine,’ he said, chuckling.
In the section underneath the staircase there was a small basin with a scullery area. It was laden with dirty unwashed dishes; plates heaped with chicken bones and dried mouldy beans, dirty mugs filled with a strange black liquid. A brown sticky goo covered the entire surface area. Dozens of dead cockroaches were enmeshed in its gluey resin.
With every step dozens of cockroaches would go scurrying about. The detectives stumbled over a stained and torn mattress covered with an old blanket. Now they knew for a fact that the basement was the actual living quarters of Wouter Bredekamp. In the far corner was an old tattered recliner, shiny with dirt. It was located in front of an old Pioneer TV set. Flanking the TV were two stacks of VHS video tapes. On closer inspection the detectives saw the tapes were all hard-core pornography films. All highly illegal.
‘Tsk tsk,’ Dog said. ‘Wouter, you bad boy.’
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