‘So ...’
‘They dug the graves, removed the coffin and replaced it with one of our poor mannequins. The hole was then covered with a thin piece of timber, just thick enough to support the mound of dirt. When the time came, all that had to be done was simply collapse the timber ... and voila.’ Hertzog indicated the loose pieces of timber at the bottom of the grave. ‘It takes no effort at all, despite my dramatics.’
Van der Merwe stared at the name on the tombstone. ‘So, does this mean –’
‘Yes, Constable. The killer’s next target is going to be a Rockcliff.’ Hertzog grimaced. ‘Unless we can stop him.’
Twenty two
Constable van der Merwe raced back to the Coffee CBD, flooring the pedal of the Toyota Hilux, painted in the distinctive yellow of South African Police vehicles. The omni-present vans were known as Zola Buds in the townships, named after the South African barefoot sprinter who had been universally reviled after the incident with American Mary Decker at the nineteen-eighty-four Olympic Games.
‘Do you want me to drop you at the guesthouse, Captain?’
’No time for that, Constable. We have absolutely no time to waste. Head straight for the Rockcliff residence.’ Hertzog instructed Jools to radio the Land Rover unit remaining in Coffee and tell Dog and Chaz to meet them at the Rockcliff residence. Jannie Duvenhage was still in Bloemfontein with the other vehicle. ‘What can you tell me about Mr Rockcliff, Constable?’
‘Well, sir, his name is Alistair Rockcliff. He’s by far the wealthiest man in the district. His family has a majority stake in the diamond mine, plus he owns dozens of other businesses.’
‘How many children does he have?’
‘I think he has two daughters, Captain.’
‘I see.’ Hertzog paused, thinking. ‘Is he close to the Major?’
‘I believe he is, sir.’
‘Hm-huh. Has he expressed any kind of opinions on the abductions?’
‘I don’t know, sir.’ Van der Merwe paused, glancing at Hertzog. ‘Well ... also ...’
‘Yes?’
‘I think there’s something wrong with him.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘I don’t know, sir. Just rumours.’
‘Rumours? Is he sick?’
‘I don’t know, sir.’
‘Well if there are rumours then somebody must have some kind of idea.’
‘No, sir. I don’t think anybody really knows.’
‘There’s something wrong with him but nobody knows what?’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘That’s insane, Constable. How did these rumours begin in the first place? What do his friends or associates say?’
‘They don’t know, sir.’
‘They don’t know?
‘Nobody knows, sir. In fact nobody even knows what he looks like.’
‘Now you’ve totally lost me, Constable.’
‘Yeah, I agree,’ Jools said. ‘What is he? Some kind of phantom?’
Van der Merwe stared at the two detectives out of the corner of his eye. ‘He’s a recluse, sir. No-one’s seen him in over ten years.’
Twenty three
Nadine Rockcliff paged lazily through the Franz Kafka novel while sipping her cappuccino. Although it was the heart of winter the day was sunny and warm. After a few minutes of unsuccessfully trying to penetrate Kafka’s terse prose she placed the book on the table. She looked around the near-empty coffee shop. Except for her table, there was only one other student and an elderly couple in the small premises of Café Bohѐme.
The university holiday had virtually emptied the little college town of Stellenbosch. And students were few and far between. Nadine didn’t mind of course. There was a certain gentle solace in the quietness of Stellenbosch over holiday periods. She naturally wouldn’t have minded going home to the town of her youth either. Sarah and Willemien were also home for the holidays. Nadine had looked so forward to sharing the stories of her first year at university, just as much as she had looked forward to hearing those of her friends. So much had happened in the six months since they had left school. It sometimes felt as if the adulthood they had so desperately craved in the small Free State town of Coffee had been visited upon them in a matter of weeks since attending university. Yes. Nadine had no complaints. Life was good. Unbearably good. It was enough to make one feel guilty.
Nadine signalled the waitress for the bill. While she waited she busied herself staring through the windows of the coffee shop at the beautiful leafiness of the quiet Stellenbosch street outside. Yes, this was most certainly contentment. Although ...
Why had her dad been so insistent that she not return to Coffee for the holidays? He had mumbled something about her safety. Which just didn’t make sense. Whatever in the world could threaten her in the little one-horse town of her youth? Besides, she had been so worried about his health lately. She wanted to be with him. He received the best care money could buy. But still.
To compensate her for the “inconvenience” he had deposited another five-thousand rand in her bank account. Okay. So, yes. Being stuck in Stellenbosch during the holidays was hardly the stuff of nightmares.
The waitress brought the bill. For a few moments the two pretty girls exchanged pleasantries. As a student at Stellenbosch University – arguable the country’s best Afrikaans university – Nadine was a regular at Café Bohѐme and knew all the waitresses and managers. In a tiny little hamlet like Stellenbosch it was very difficult not getting to know everyone sooner or later. Nadine slipped the waitress a fifty and told her to keep the change. She grabbed her oversized handbag and slipped the worn copy of Metamorphosis into its cluttered depths. Moments later she was walking down the shady Stellenbosch street, humming West End Girls, the new tune from the Pet Shop Boys.
About half a mile behind her a dark figure detached itself from the shadows and quietly followed her.
Twenty four
The police van pulled up outside a massive and ornate wrought-iron gate. A six-foot white-washed wall ran along the perimeter of the large verdant property. Right at the back of the property stood a stately mansion. Big and beautiful, it resembled a plantation house from the deep south of the United States. To their right a row of towering weeping willow trees lined the bank of the Modderrivier, long luscious tendrils dipping lazily into its muddy waters.
Chaz and Dog were already waiting for them at the gate. Hertzog climbed out and went to meet them. He quickly briefed them on his latest discovery.
‘Well, let’s do it,’ Dog said. He walked over to the gate and pressed a button underneath an intercom speaker. A CCTV camera looked down upon him.
Nothing happened.
He pressed it again. After what seemed an eternity the intercom crackled. ‘Yes,’ a curt voice said.
Hertzog stepped forward. ‘I’m Captain Hertzog from the Major Crimes Unit.’ He paused. ‘We’re busy investigating the disappearances of the Coffee youths.’
Silence.
‘Mr Rockcliff will not be receiving any guests today.’
‘This is not a social call. We have crucial information regarding Mr Rockcliff’s children. We believe one of his daughters will be the next target.’
Silence.
After endless moments a mechanism within the gate motor clicked. The huge gates swung silently open.
‘Congratulations, Constable,’ Hertzog said as he climbed into the police van. ‘You’re about to get your first glimpse of the mysterious Alistair Rockcliff.’
The convoy slowly made its way up the long driveway all the way to the large mansion where the paved road circled an impressively large stone fountain. The group of policemen climbed out of the two vehicles and mounted the portico steps. The ornately carved door to the mansion opened. A tall haughty-looking man stood in the doorway. He was wearing the elaborate outfit of an old-school manservant.
Dog nudged Jools in the ribs. ‘Look. It’s a flippin’ butler,’ he said sotto voce.
‘Mr Rockcli
ff is expecting you upstairs,’ the butler said. The detectives recognised his voice from the intercom. ‘I regret that Mr Rockcliff cannot receive you alone.’
‘Let me guess,’ Dog said. ‘He’s got his lawyer present.’
‘No, sir,’ the butler said with ill-disguised contempt. ‘He is accompanied by his medical staff.’ The policemen exchanged surprised glances. One by one they filed into the mansion foyer. Two beautiful sweeping stairways flanked the large room, culminating in wide upstairs landing lined by an opulently carved wooden balustrade. ‘Please follow the stairway,’ the butler said, indicating the nearest staircase. ‘Turn right at the landing. It’s the first door on the right.’
Hertzog nodded politely. ‘Thank you.’
The group mounted the staircase. And followed the butler’s directions. They arrived at a closed door. Hertzog knocked softly. After a few seconds they heard a voice from inside. ‘Enter.’ The detectives exchanged glances, taken aback at the imperious tone of the command. Hertzog turned the brass door knob and entered.
None of them knew what to expect. But they were nonetheless taken aback at the sight that greeted them.
It was a spectacularly large room. Tall French doors offered a breathtaking view of the front garden with its myriad manicured trees and bushes. In the distance they could see the wrought-iron gate. The room itself had been cleared of the majority of its furniture. Instead in the corner stood a massive queen-sized canopy bed with lavish linen and curtains that – bizarrely – blended elements of Rococo and Moorish designs. Flanking the draped monstrosity were various expensive-looking medical machines. Hertzog recognised a cardiopulmonary bypass pump, also known as a heart-lung machine, as well as an electrocardiogram device which beeped at regular intervals. In another corner stood an expensive motorised wheelchair. On either side of the canopy bed were two nurses. At the foot of the bed what Hertzog assumed to be a doctor stared at them with interest.
‘Please come in.’ It was the same voice as before. Only when the doctor moved aside did the detectives, for the first time, spot the owner of the commanding voice. For a moment the policemen stared in dumbfounded shock. The frail and emaciated body almost disappearing in the lavishness of the bed couldn’t possibly belong to the voice that had spoken with such self-assured authority. When he spoke again however it dispersed all doubts. ‘How can I help you, Captain Hertzog?’
‘Good day, sir,’ Hertzog said, stepping forward. ‘I assume you are Mr Alistair Rockcliff.’ Although Alistair Rockcliff appeared weak and fragile, on closer inspection Hertzog saw powerful features that belied his frail state. His aristocratic visage was further accented by a hooked nose and a mammoth grey beard, making him appear like an ageing Zeus.
‘You are indeed as good as they say,’ Rockcliff said without a trace of sarcasm in his imperious voice. He looked at the Constable. ‘I see you are accompanied by our very own Constable van der Merwe.’ Although his voice was strong he spoke with some difficulty. An intravenous drip was inserted into his left arm and the tubes from an oxygen tank were clamped around his nostrils.
The Constable looked on in shock. ‘How did you know –’
‘You mentioned my daughters, Captain. I hope you’re not wasting my time.’
‘Sir, we have reason to believe your daughter will be the next target.’
‘Which one of my daughters, Captain? I have two.’
Hertzog paused. ‘We’re not sure.’
‘Then how can you be sure my daughters are in danger?’
‘Trust me, Mr Rockcliff. Our evidence is conclusive. One of your daughters will be the victim. And I’m afraid it may happen at any moment.’
Rockcliff paused for a long time, staring with unblinking eyes at Hertzog. ‘Don’t trouble yourself, Captain. My daughters are both perfectly safe. My youngest is in her room at this very moment. And my eldest is in a safe place, far away from here.’
‘Mr Rockcliff, you don’t seem to understand. This man’s crimes have spanned two cities. For almost an entire month he has struck ... again and again, with absolute impunity. He has managed to circumvent the efforts of your entire police force as well as our own unit. This man –’
‘Are you saying you’re incapable of capturing this man, Captain?’
Hertzog sighed in exasperation.
Twenty five
The walk to Nadine’s flat took her less than fifteen minutes. As she inserted the key into the lock she paused momentarily. A flicker of a shadow passed over her good mood. She turned, feeling a sudden anxiety constrict her heart. After looking around the empty street for a few moments she chuckled to herself. She took a deep breath and shook her head. She reminded herself to reduce her intake of caffeine and drink more Rooibos.
She turned the key and entered her spacious flat. She always loved coming home to her pozzie. Unlike most of her friends who had to live in the hostels or share grubby little bachelor flats across Stellenbosch, her privileged position meant she had a luxury two-bedroom apartment to herself. Yes, Nadine was privileged. But she wasn’t spoiled. She realised her fortunate circumstances meant she had to give back to those who were less privileged. It was the main reason why she had come to Stellenbosch to study sociology. She was going to become a social worker. Her dad thought little of her career choice. But unfortunately for him she had inherited his stubborn genes. He was the first one to admit it.
Nadine’s intense sense of social responsibility also meant that she had participated in all the anti-Apartheid protest action that had rocked the Stellenbosch campus that year. Becoming a social worker was one thing. Her dad would have a baby if he knew about her political leanings however. She knew exactly how influential a figure he was in the local National Party circles.
She closed the door behind her and immediately switched the TV to the M-Net channel – South Africa’s only pay-TV channel. She flopped onto the couch and began watching a re-run of The Simpsons.
Outside the shadowy man watched the front door of Nadine’s luxury apartment. A surreptitious scan of the street revealed that it was empty.
Soon. Very soon.
Twenty six
‘You don’t have to like me. You don’t have to trust me. You don’t even have to believe in me. All I’m asking is that you send a police officer to your daughter’s location this very moment. We don’t even have a minute to spare.’
‘What makes you think you can come to our town and tell us what to do, Captain Hertzog? If it hadn’t been for your incompetent meddling we could have resolved this whole issue a long time ago. On our own.’
The beeps from the ECG monitor quickened. And became erratic. The nurses looked at the doctor with concern.
‘I’m sorry, Captain. You are distressing my patient. I am going to have to ask you to leave.’
Hertzog stared at Rockcliff with anguished rage.
Twenty seven
The dark figure scanned the quiet street surreptitiously. A Volkswagen Beetle slowly scuttled past, Danger Zone from Kenny Loggins pumping from its crowded interior.
He waited patiently until the noisy vehicle turned a corner. Then he moved from behind the poplar he was using as cover. With confident easy strides the shadowy shape moved towards the front door of Nadine Rockcliff. Enclosed in his pocket was the trusty electric tazer that had proven useful so many times before.
From inside the flat emanated the raucous laughter of Nadine Rockcliff.
Twenty eight
‘Damn you, Rockcliff,’ Hertzog said, ignoring the doctor. ‘Your stubborn refusal to co-operate and this ... sickening secrecy that all of you continue to maintain has already cost the lives of three innocent youths.’
‘How dare you?’ Rockcliff tried to rise in his obscenely lavish bed. The heart rate monitor was going ballistic.
The doctor shoved himself into Hertzog’s face. ‘If you don’t leave now you will cause this man’s death.’
‘How dare I? For God’s sake. How dare you?’ Hertzog pushed aside the doctor, s
creaming at the prostrate Rockcliff. The nurses cowered in a corner. ‘All of you ... the whole bunch of you ... you’ve completely sapped my patience. And I’m a very patient man, Rockcliff.’
‘Captain, you are busy causing –’
‘Oh shut up,’ Hertzog said, fixing the doctor with an enraged stare. Dog stared at their commander with awe. Hertzog walked up to Rockcliff. The invalid pushed himself up against the backboard of his canopy bed, alarm streaking across his face. The ECG went off the charts. ‘Right now I don’t give a damn about your life, Rockcliff. You’ve long since forfeited my sympathies. But I do care about the life of your daughter.’ He pointed a finger at Alistair Rockcliff. ‘You WILL send a police patrol to your daughter’s location. Right now!’
Hertzog placed his hand on his holstered service pistol.
Twenty nine
The murky figure scanned the front area of Nadine Rockcliff’s flat one more time. It was safe. There was no-one. The last phase of the plan could commence.
With the powerful tazer at the ready, he leaned in to press the door bell.
Inside, the theme music of the Simpsons indicated the animated programme was finished.
Thirty
Some say true silence can only exist in a vacuum. Maybe that’s true.
The total silence that followed Hertzog’s words however seemed almost as awesome and total. Except of course for the mad bleating of the ECG monitor.
For interminable minutes no-one said anything. No-one spoke.
Silence.
Beep. Beep. Beep.
Silence.
Hertzog glared at Rockcliff. And everyone else stared at Hertzog.
The Man in the Wind Page 21