‘Nothing. It just keeps ringing.’
‘Dammit. We’re running out of time.’ Hertzog glared at the cluttered surface of his desk. ‘How far is this place?’
‘Seventy kilometres. We can be there in under an hour,’ Jools said, reading Hertzog’s mind.
‘Let’s go.’ Hertzog grabbed his jacket and the Defender keys. ‘Please tell everyone Lieutenant van Sant and I are heading out to Vanderkloof,’ he said to a uniformed officer manning the front counter. Moments later they were racing towards De Beer Street and the R48 that would take them to Luckhoff and Vanderkloof beyond that. ‘Is the magistrate on board?’ Hertzog asked. He had requested that a local magistrate remain on standby for the next few days in order to expedite warrants. Every minute counted. Every second was precious.
‘Yep,’ Jools said. ‘We got him spooning his telephone.’
Hertzog nodded with satisfaction, staring at a young couple attaching a group of balloons to a road sign. In the four days since the dramatic confession Coffee had been radically transformed. Large and colourful banners, bunting and posters had been put up all over town, especially the main street leading into town. The large communal area between the NG church and the little strip mall had been converted into a temporary carnival. Scores of stalls and booths now lined both sides of the double lane street that ran through this area. The sprawling lawn in front of the church had been transformed into a children’s playground, dominated by a large jumping castle and an inflatable slide. Everywhere townspeople were scurrying about, busy finalising everything for the big Braai Festival.
Marike had been right. It was as if the town itself had undergone a transformation since the confession. There was a celebratory merriness to the townspeople ... a delirious joy that Hertzog had not seen before. As if the town had truly experienced a catharsis. As if it had finally managed to unburden itself of its dark past.
Hertzog eyed the preparations and the festive decorations with trepidation. The Braai Festival was scheduled to start the following day.
‘You really think he’s going to use the festival to make his point?’
‘I know it,’ Herzog replied without hesitation. He gunned the Defender and raced down De Beers Street, heading for the R48 turn-off.
The single lane road leading to Vanderkloof is narrow with more than a few treacherous turns. Luckily for the two detectives the road that day was quiet as Hertzog charged with breakneck speed towards their destination.
Vanderkloof. Tucked away in precipitous mountains and situated on the banks of the Vanderkloof Dam, it was a picturesque resort town. Steep meandering little streets and beautiful resort houses added to its holiday feel. As the detectives headed into the town centre, past a quaint little shopping centre across from a small police station they were not concerned with relaxation however. They were inextricably caught in a race against the clock. And so far they were losing. It was after four and the sun was descending slowly in the west.
The two-way radio crackled. ‘Charlie Foxtrot One, come in. Charlie Foxtrot One.’ It was Dog. ‘Boss, I managed to track down a family friend of the Kirshenbaums. Remember those three male members of the family we were unable to track down? I contacted a friend of the family. Good news. I got a general location on one of them. One of Ronny’s nephews. He’s an ANC member. Been running from the security police for the last few years. He’s gone totally underground. He changed his appearance and get this; the family friend told me he’s been living in some small Free State town for the last few years.’
‘What?’ Jools looked at Hertzog.
‘She doesn’t know where, but she says it’s definitely in the Free State.’
‘If the security police are after him I don’t blame him that he’s gone underground,’ Jools said.
He was right. In nineteen seventy nine Project Barnacle was founded at the behest of General Magnus Malan, the Minister of Defence. Major Neil, former commander of the Selous Scouts’ recce troop, became the top-secret unit’s first director. Initially the organisation’s objective was to “identify guerrilla infiltration routes, pin-point and infiltrate training camps and direct air strikes on them”. In time however, its spectrum of activities would become significantly more sinister. It would eventually carry out some of the Apartheid government’s most infamous assassinations, mostly overseas. In nineteen eighty-six the unit’s name changed to the CCB – the Civil Co-operation Bureau. Only slightly more terrifying than the Orwellian double-speak of its bureaucratic name was the scope of its operations. It divided large parts of the world into “kill regions”. These included not only Africa, but also Europe and the United Kingdom. The home territory, South Africa, was region six. The CCB and especially its headquarters, the notorious Vlakplaas, would evoke blind terror in Apartheid activists and dissenters. It was not surprising that Ronny Kirshenbaum’s nephew went to such extreme measures to escape the Security Police and the CCB’s insidious tentacles.
‘I wouldn’t be surprised if he was living in Coffee, boss,’ Dog said. ‘Maybe he’s discovered what these people did to his uncle. I’m running a background check on likely suspects. I’ve also faxed a few photographs to the family friend – to see if she recognises anybody in Coffee as Ronny’s nephew.’
‘Very good work, detective,’ Hertzog said to Dog. ‘Keep me updated.’
‘Sure thing, boss. Over and out.’
‘You got that address?’ Hertzog asked. Jools read it out. ‘Good, it’s straight ahead.’
A few seconds later they stopped alongside a modest house on the corner of a T-junction. They climbed out. In the distance one could see the sharp blue waters of the Vanderkloof Dam, snaking through adjacent mountains. As they stepped onto the front lawn they realised why their telephone calls had gone unanswered. An old lady was sitting on a lawn chair in the shade of an Acacia tree, fast asleep.
‘Ma’am,’ Jools said.
The old lady awoke with a start. ‘What?’ She looked around, bewildered. Then focused on the two strangers in her garden. ‘What do you –’
‘Ma’am, we’re detectives from the South African Police,’ Hertzog said, flashing his badge. ‘Can we please ask you a few questions?’She shook the sleep from her head then nodded uncertainly. ‘This is Lieutenant van Sant. I’m Captain Hertzog.’
The woman composed herself. She smiled at the two detectives. ‘You should know not to give an old woman such a fright,’ she said, waving at the two remaining lawn chairs. ‘Please have a seat. Can I get you something?’
‘No, ma’am. We’re fine.’
‘Please, call me Saartjie.’
Silence.
The two detectives looked at each other uncertainly. Hertzog leaned forward. ‘Ma’am, we have some bad news.’ Hertzog sighed and began telling her everything they had learned, leaving out the details of the three Coffee youths that had been kidnapped. When he had done the elderly lady stared at Hertzog, visibly shaken. Her lower lip quivered.
‘Oh dear God. Oh dear God. How awful.’ She placed a hand in front of her mouth as tears welled up in her eyes. ‘How terrible.’
‘I’m sorry, Saartjie.’ Hertzog placed his hand on hers.
‘I don’t understand. Did you come all this way just to give me the news?’
Hertzog glanced at Jools. ‘I’m afraid not, Saartjie. You see, we’re actually investigating a series of crimes –’
‘You mean the kidnappings. In Coffee?’
‘Ah ... yes, that’s exactly right.’ She looked at Hertzog with confusion. ‘We’re trying to track down the surviving relatives of all three victims.’
‘You think one of us did this?’
‘No, of course not,’ Hertzog said, lying. ‘But we have to cover all our bases.’ The old woman nodded, stunned. ‘We have to know ... besides yourself, are there any other relatives of Susan? We know about her uncle.’
‘Oh yes, poor Trevor. That was so sad ... the accident and all. It sometimes feels as if our family is cursed.’
&nb
sp; ‘Your family tree gets a bit hazy at times. Your sister, Janet, she ...’
‘Yes, Janet was an exact duplicate of our mother. She looked for love in all the wrong places.’ The old lady stared into the distance. ‘No, I’m sorry detective. It was only the three of us, Trevor, Janet and me.’
‘Did Trevor have any children? Someone that could have been close to Susan?’
‘No. He had no children. And no, neither did I.’
Hertzog sighed, staring up at the clear blue sky above. Another dead end. ‘I see,’ he said, beginning to rise. ‘Thank you for your help. I’m sorry if we –’
‘You don’t think it could have been the little one, do you?’
Hertzog fell back into his chair, shocked. ‘Little one? What do you mean?’
She stared at Hertzog, surprised. ‘Surely you know that Susan had a child?’
The Child
Hertzog and Jools stared at each other in shocked silence.
‘I don’t understand,’ Jools said. ‘We checked the records. There was nothing about a birth. I made sure. There were no birth certificates whatsoever.’
The woman shook her head in rueful sadness. ‘Dear precious Suzie.’ She looked at the two detectives. ‘I’m not surprised there weren’t any records.’ She remained quiet for a moment. When she spoke a tender melancholy touched her words. ‘A few months after Suzie disappeared a friend of hers contacted me. I don’t remember the girl’s name. But she told me Suzie spoke about me often with great fondness. She hadn’t seen Suzie for a few years. But she and Susie had been communicating telephonically just before she disappeared.’ The woman began crying. ‘She said that Suzie was coming to see me.’ Saartjie remained quiet for a few moments, overcome with sadness. ‘She said the last time she saw her Suzie was living in some Beatnik commune in White River, in the Northern Transvaal. The whole hippie thing was only starting to happen then ... so I guess it’s the kind of thing young people did back then. She said the last time she saw her ... Suzie was pregnant.’ Hertzog and Jools listened attentively, not wanting to interrupt. ‘I’m not surprised Suzie didn’t register the child. She was definitely a free-spirit. And of course, she hated the government. She was always a bit of an activist. In fact, when she disappeared I thought for a long time that maybe it was ...’ She averted her eyes. ‘I thought maybe the Secret Police got her.’ Hertzog nodded with sympathy. ‘I must admit, I was disappointed ... that Suzie didn’t tell me. However I shouldn’t have been surprised I guess. When she got involved with all those dope smokers we lost touch.’ She looked at the two detectives, fresh tears flowing down her withered cheeks. ‘I truly believe, detective, that she was coming to tell me. I believe that’s why she was coming to see me.’ Hertzog nodded. ‘So when Isabelle, yes, that was her name ... Isabelle. So when Isabelle told me about the child I begged her to try and locate the child. Or at the very least to see if she could find out anything about the child. I knew that Janet wouldn’t be interested.’ She looked at Hertzog with fierce intensity. ‘I had to find that child, detective. It was my only link to Suzie.’ She paused. ‘I waited and waited. But nothing. I thought maybe she had forgotten. Or that she just couldn’t be bothered. And then ... about eight months later she called me. She said she had discovered the child’s location.’ She raised her tear-streaked eyes to heaven. ‘I thought all my prayers had been answered.’ Slowly her eyes sank to the dirt beneath. ‘But no. It wasn’t meant to be.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘She gave me the name of a place, The Children of God Orphanage. Rather ironic now that I think about it.’
‘Why do you say that? What happened?’ Hertzog was becoming frustrated.
‘The orphanage was located in Carletonville. A mining town ... bit of a rough place. I tracked down a number. But when I phoned ... the line was discontinued. I contacted the local social services people. A woman told me the place had burned down. She said all the records had been destroyed in the fire. And then she told me the orphanage was under investigation. She wouldn’t tell me why. I contacted about a dozen people. But it was like hitting a brick wall. No-one would say anything.’ She cried, her eyes clenched tightly shut. ‘The child must have been almost four by then.’
Hertzog jumped up. ‘Saartjie, may I please use your phone?’
The old woman nodded. ‘It’s in the living room.’
Hertzog ran inside and located the phone. He dialled and after receiving an answer barked several orders into the receiver. He hung up and waited. Ten minutes later the phone rang.
‘Yes.’ The officer on the other end gave Hertzog a number. He dialled it and waited. He was about to kill the call when a woman answered. She sounded young. Hertzog mentioned the orphanage. The woman paused uncertainly then replied that she knew about the “whole affair” but that it was before her time. Could Hertzog maybe phone the following morning to speak to someone more senior? When Hertzog replied out of frustration that it was a matter of life and death and that he couldn’t bloody well wait until the next day she became haughty and replied he was lucky to find someone in the office at all and that rudeness never solved anything. Hertzog calmed down and asked her pretty please to see if she could find the name of someone who could help him. She sighed dramatically and said she would phone him in a while. Hertzog waited. And waited. He paced nervously. And still he waited. Hertzog was beginning to think the girl had deceived him in order to get rid of him ... when the phone rang. With relief Hertzog answered.
‘Yes.’
‘I’ve got a name and address. No number unfortunately.’ The woman paused. ‘Also ... she’s retired.’
Hertzog cursed under his breath. ‘Give it to me.’ He wrote it down, wondering how he was going to get back to the Transvaal in time to interview the social worker. There was no way he was going to involve another investigator at such a crucial stage in the investigation. ‘Okay. And that’s a Carletonville address?’
‘Carletonville? No. It’s a Kimberley address. She worked for the Western Cape department of social services.’
‘Yes!’ Hertzog shouted with joy.
‘Excuse me?’
‘Thank you, thank you, thank you,’ he said, killing the call without giving the perplexed girl the chance to respond. He ran outside. ‘Jools, we’re going to Kimberley.’ He bowed down in front of the old woman. ‘Saartjie, you have no idea how much you helped us.’
‘Oh yes, well, of course,’ she said rising. ‘Are you sure I can’t make you some tea.’
‘Thank you. But maybe next time. Good day.’
Jools bade a quick farewell then hurried after Hertzog. ‘Good news?’
‘I think so.’ He quickly briefed his partner on what he had learned.
‘So we’re going to Kimberley? Right now? Why not just leave early tomorrow morning. It’s only an hour’s drive from Coffee.’
‘We’ve got no time to waste, Jools. If we hurry we can maybe even interview her tonight.’
‘Let’s do it then.’ Jools sat back and prepared himself for the nearly two-hour drive to Kimberley. ‘What’s her name?’
‘What’s that?’ Hertzog asked, concentrating on the road. Darkness had already settled over the winter-driven Orange Free State.
‘The social worker. What’s her name?’
‘Miranda Kirsten.’
‘Well,’ Jools said, rolling down the window in order to light a cigarette. ‘I hope you’ve got no plans for the evening, Mrs Kirsten.’
A starry night settled over the wide plains of the western OFS. Koppies and ridges became dark ghostly silhouettes against the pin-pricked sky. The road was a serpentine creature, leading them into the darkness beyond.
Engrossed in gloomy thoughts, neither detective spoke a single word the entire trip.
Up ahead. In the city of Kimberley. Lay the final answers to all their questions.
Little did they know...
The Social Worker
About fifty clicks outside of Kimberley Hertzog asked Joo
ls to radio the local police station. They requested a squad car meet them at the northern entrance to the famous mining city – at one stage home to such luminaries as Cecil John Rhodes and Barney Barnato. As neither Hertzog nor Jools knew Kimberley they didn’t want to waste time locating the address of the retired social worker. Time was precious.
Twenty minutes later as they hit the outskirts of Kimberley on the N8 highway they spotted the flashing lights of a police van. Hertzog pulled up alongside the van, flashed his badge and waited for the police car to make a U-turn.
‘Ever seen the big hole?’ Hertzog asked as the van raced ahead of them, lights flashing. He was referring to Kimberley’s most famous tourist attraction – the world’s largest open pit mine.
‘I’ve seen a lot of a-holes ... but never the hole,’ Jools said, flicking a cigarette from the open window.
Hertzog chuckled. Up ahead the police van flashed its hazard lights, slowed down, and then came to a stop. ‘I think we’ve reached our destination.’ He pulled up behind the van. The two detectives jumped from the Defender. ‘Is this the place?’ He asked the uniformed driver of the van.
‘Ja, Captain. This is the address you gave us.’
‘Thanks,’ Hertzog said. ‘Hang around for a while, will you?’
‘Sure thing, sir,’ the officer said, killing the van’s engine.
Jools and Hertzog walked up to the front door. Even in the dark they could see the lawn was perfectly trimmed and the garden beautifully maintained. Jools knocked. Moments later the door opened. A petite red-headed woman stood in the doorway. ‘Good evening,’ she said uncertainly. ‘Can I help you?’
The Man in the Wind Page 26