‘Mrs Miranda Kirsten?’ Hertzog asked, flashing his badge.
The woman was momentarily taken aback at the sight of Hertzog’s police badge. ‘I ... no ... Miranda Kirsten doesn’t live here anymore.’
***
Hertzog and Jools exchanged a look of frustration.
‘She doesn’t live here anymore? Since when is that?’
‘Oh, quite a while actually. Almost a year, I’d say.’ She looked at the police van parked in the street. ‘What is this in connection with?’
‘Do you know her forwarding address?’ Hertzog asked, ignoring the question.
‘I’m afraid I don’t. Hertzog ran a clenched hand through his thick black hair. He sighed in exasperation. ‘However, I think Mr Rogers might.’
Hertzog looked up with anticipation. ‘Mr Rogers?’
‘Yes. He’s the landlord. We’re only renting.’
‘Do you have his number? Or an address?’
‘Yes, but I’m afraid it’s not going to do you any good.’
‘Why is that?’ Jools looked at her with growing impatience.
‘He’s on the road. He’s travelling from the Northern Transvaal.’ She offered a hopeful smile. ‘He said he’ll probably be making a turn tomorrow evening some time ...’
‘Dammit, we don’t have time,’ Jools said, slamming his fist into his palm.
Hertzog stepped forward, a glimmer of an idea in his mind. ‘Ma’am, do you know what car he’s driving? Also, can you give us a basic description of his features?’
The woman pondered Hertzog’s question, racking her memory. ‘Uh ... yes ... yes,’ she said, flustered by the tense agitation of the two detectives. With faltering words she described Rogers’s appearance and his vehicle.
Hertzog ran towards the police van and reached through the driver’s window. ‘Quick. Give me your radio handset.’ He identified himself to the dispatch operator. ‘I need to send an urgent alert ... to all divisions between Kimberley and Johannesburg. I need all units to be on the lookout for the following vehicle and driver.’ Hertzog relayed the description the red-head had given him. ‘I don’t care what it takes. Flag him down and get the current domicile of a Mrs Miranda Kirsten. You got that?’ The operator answered in the affirmative.
Hertzog handed the handset back to the uniformed cop and stood back. He slowly exhaled feeling all the tension of the last few hours drain from his body. All the frenzied activity of the last few days had now come to this; a waiting game. All the ceaseless hours of investigation, all the toil, all the suspicions and conclusions had now dead-ended in the great scourge of the homicide investigator. Waiting, waiting, waiting.
At the edges of Hertzog’s ragged mind lurked the nagging fear that he was once again on a wild goose chase – hunting down nebulous phantoms at risk of melting away under the least bit of scrutiny.
Jools thanked the woman for her help and joined Hertzog. ‘You wanna head back to Coffee?’
‘No. I want to be here when we receive word about our landlord.’ Hertzog asked the uniformed officer about accommodation. He gave Hertzog directions to a nearby Holiday Inn. ‘Let’s go get some sleep,’ Hertzog said as the van pulled away. ‘I have a feeling we’re going to have one hell of a day tomorrow.’
***
Jan Olifant splashed the wet mop onto the stained floor underneath the condiments shelf. A shopper had dropped a plastic bottle of mustard just before the OK Supermarket’s closing time. Instead of simply alerting staff the shopper had shoved the leaking container underneath the shelf. Which meant the long suffering Jan Olifant was left with a sticky stain that continued to resist even his most industrious efforts. Jan Olifant straightened himself, gripping the wooden handle of the old mop. He rubbed the small of his back and groaned with exaggerated misery. His was a thankless job. Remunerated at a rate that was barely above minimum wage. It was hardly enough to feed his family – and sustain his staple diet of suurwyn (sour wine). Jan Olifant looked around surreptitiously ... and scratched his testicles. Ever since he had hooked up with Maria Tieties that night in the shebeen he had been experiencing a persistent itch. He made a note to consult nurse Mazibuko the next time the mobile clinic rolled into town. Jan Olifant yawned lazily as he leaned back on the mop.
That’s when he saw it.
Olifant shuffled to the left. Mr Vermeulen, the supermarket manager was in his office, doing whatever it was that managers did after closing time. Jan Olifant propped the mop up against the shelf and quickly jogged into the staff quarters. He opened his locker and ripped out his old duffel bag. Seconds later he was back at the condiments shelf. After another quick glance to make sure the coast was clear he stepped behind the butchery counter and entered the back-of-store. The long table was laden with an unbelievable amount of red meat; boere wors (sausage), steak, chops, ribs, venison and even biltong. Olifant realised the vast amount of meat, covered in netting, was for the following day’s braai festival. It was a veritable treasure trove.
Shivering with the low temperatures of the cold room, Olifant carefully lifted select pieces of meat and slipped it into his bag. With the skill of the consummate thief Olifant knew exactly how to disguise his crime. When the bag was packed with meat Olifant replaced the netting and quietly moved back to the staff room. He inserted the bag into his locker and smiled in triumph.
Tonight the Olifant family was going to have a braai festival of their very own.
***
The next morning Hertzog was up early, pacing impatiently in the room he had booked for himself. Jools’s room was right next door. Awakened by the restless pacing Jools soon joined his colleague for coffee and cigarettes. ‘I assume you haven’t heard anything yet?’ Hertzog nodded but said nothing. He had given the hotel number to the Kimberley police station and was anxiously waiting for news. He eyed the room telephone with annoyance as if forcing it to ring through sheer intimidation. The early morning sun cast slats of bright light onto the carpet as Hertzog consulted his watch for the umpteenth time. It was going to be a long day.
Two hours later they had still not heard anything. Hertzog’s impatience was growing into restless exasperation. ‘We can’t sit around like this,’ Hertzog said after a while. ‘I feel like the whole world is collapsing around us while we’re sitting here twiddling our thumbs.’ He grabbed the car keys. ‘Let’s get out of here.’
Hertzog twisted the door handle and was half-way into the hallway when the phone rang. In his haste to answer the call Hertzog knocked the phone from the stand. ‘Hello ... hello ...’ A tinny male voice bleated from the telephone handset, lying tangled up in the cord on the floor.
Feeling both excited and annoyed Hertzog fell onto his knees and brought the receiver to his ear. ‘Yes.’
‘Boss.’ It was Jannie Duvenhage.
Hertzog cursed softly. ‘Detective.’
‘I know who the killer is.’
***
A festive mania gripped the little town of Coffee. Although it was barely nine o’clock in the morning hundreds of excited people thronged the town square. And the numbers were growing by the hour as a steady stream of vehicles entered the small Orange Free State town. It seemed as if Andries Croukamp, the acting mayor of Coffee, had been correct. The notoriety generated by recent events had become a very effective draw card indeed.
On that morning however there was no sign of the doom and gloom that had plagued Coffee of late. The entire town commune had been closed off for traffic, instantly transforming the area into a sprawling carnival. The number of stalls had grown overnight and at least fifty of these now lined the town square, all decorated with colourful banners and helium-filled balloons. The huge traffic circle in the middle boasted a DJ stand that had been pumping local favourites since seven that morning. The children’s playground had also grown and now included a makeshift stage that was going to host – amongst others – a “Little Miss Coffee” beauty pageant, a magic show, a talent contest as well as a karaoke show during the course of t
he day. Another part of the NG church lawn had been cleared for activities like sack races and touch rugby. At an appropriate distance from the church was a Castle Lager sponsored beer garden. Next to the DJ stand was a large marquee tent that was going to be the site of one of the main events of the two-day festival – the “Baas vannie Plaas Braai Kompetisie”.
The Big Boss Braai Competition.
None of the cheerful attendees seemed to notice the heavy police presence however. The mood was too ebullient; the atmosphere too carefree.
Oh yes. It was fun fun fun all around.
Except for one man; wearing a baseball cap and a large pair of shades to disguise his features. Although he moved easily through the growing crowd he nonetheless stood apart. Isolated and alone. He looked down upon those around him. Not only from his elevated height. But from the disdain he felt for the merry country people.
‘Soon you will pay,’ he said to himself, whispering with a zealous intensity. ‘Soon all of you will pay.’
***
‘Come again?’ Hertzog was momentarily dazed. He had expected another call entirely.
‘We got him, boss,’ Jannie said with great enthusiasm. ‘I think this time we actually got the right guy.’
‘Let’s hear it.’
‘Remember I told you I was checking out that Bloem Mega store, the one that specialises in high-end tech stuff?’
‘Hm-huh.’
‘Well, I mean, I figured that kind of equipment costs serious money. I don’t see anybody paying for a big purchase like that in cash, right? So I’ve been going through their credit card slips for the last few months.’
‘Good thinking,’ Hertzog said.
‘And that’s when I found it. In February of this year someone purchased a Macintosh Plus and a LaserWriter Plus.’ Jannie paused dramatically. ‘Guess who made the purchase, boss?’
‘I’m listening,’ Hertzog said, allowing the young investigator his moment of glory.
‘It was Tony Bredekamp, boss,’ Jannie said triumphantly.
‘I knew it,’ Jools said, shouting with excitement. He had pushed his face next to Hertzog’s in order to hear the conversation. ‘Dammit, I knew it.’
‘I’ve got even more, boss.’
‘More?’
‘Boss ... erm, I hope you don’t mind. I didn’t want to contact you without knowing for sure ... so, I organised a 205 and I asked Detectives Bosman and Doober to search Tony Bredekamp’s house while I made my way to Coffee.’
‘Don’t worry about it, detective,’ Hertzog said, genuinely impressed. ‘You did the right thing. That kind of initiative will get you far.’
Well, boss, you’re not going to believe it. We found the posters. The ones that had been put up in town, with the teens’ faces on them. They were there, boss. Plus ... Detective Dog booted the Macintosh. You were right all along. The computer had been used to design the posters. We got him, boss. We got the sick bastard.’
‘Detective Duvenhage, you have proved your worth over and over again. Well done, Jannie. And welcome to the team.’ Hertzog glanced at Jools, nodding his approval. ‘Is Tony in custody?’
‘Unfortunately not, boss. He’s still missing.’
Hertzog grimaced. ‘Listen to me carefully, detective. It is of the utmost urgency that we apprehend this man as quickly as possible. He is a deviant of the highest calibre and poses a very real and present danger. Put out an APB (All Points Bulletin) immediately. Get everyone on the Coffee police force involved. Detective, I’m sure I don’t have to tell you that the lives of countless people depend on our actions over the next few hours.’
‘It’s already taken care of, boss. Detective Doober organised it.’
‘Well done, Detective. Keep me in the loop.’ Hertzog ended the call.
‘What now, Shaun?’ Jools asked. ‘Do we head back to Coffee?’
‘Not this time, Jools. I refuse to let complacency trip us up again. We’re going to ride this train all the way to the end.’ He paused, a look of grim determination on his face. ‘Besides, I’m sure the others can handle it.’
Both detectives jumped with fright when the phone rang again.
***
The Defender ground to a halt in front of the modest house. Jools checked the address, hurriedly scrawled down on a loose piece of paper. ‘This is it.’
‘Let’s go.’
A squad car from Parkweg, Bloemfontein’s main police station, had spotted Rogers and his vehicle just north of the Eeufees Road turn-off. The elderly landlord didn’t have Miranda Kirsten’s details with him. Fortunately a quick call to his secretary finally provided the information Hertzog had been seeking so desperately. In light of recent developments the information didn’t seem nearly as important anymore. As they stood in front of the heavy door Hertzog wondered if he hadn’t made a huge mistake by not returning to Coffee. He knocked and waited.
A striking woman opened the door. She had long flowing black hair, beautiful classic features and a trim body surprising for her age. Hertzog knew she was retired yet she didn’t look anything close to sixty. It was clear that she had once been an exceptionally beautiful woman. ‘Good morning, Captain Hertzog. Mr Rogers told me you’d be calling.’ Her voice was husky. She held out a hand in greeting and smiled.
‘Mrs Kirsten, I’ve been waiting to talk to you for quite a while.’ He shook her outstretched hand.
‘Please come inside,’ she said, waving the detectives into her living room. Like her, its decor was classic and timeless. ‘How can I help you, Captain?’ She asked once they were seated.
Hertzog decided to be straightforward with her. ‘We’re investigating the disappearances of the teens in Coffee, Mrs Kirsten.’
‘Oh my goodness,’ she said, placing a hand on her breast. ‘I read about that.’ She looked at Hertzog with surprise. ‘And you think I can help you?’
‘Maybe. In the course of our investigations we came across a place called the Children of God Orphanage.’
Her eyes grew large. ‘Oh dear, I remember it. Yes. It was an awful place.’
‘An awful place?’
‘Oh, yes. Terrible.’ She paused. ‘The Children of God Orphanage was probably the worst children’s home I had ever come across in my long career as a social worker. There was a lot of controversy surrounding that place.’ She sighed, a stricken look on her face. ‘There were allegations ... claims of mismanagement, embezzlement and worse ... sexual abuse.’ Jools and Hertzog exchanged looks. ‘It turned out the owners of the orphanage were a pair of con artists, I guess you could say. All the allegations came to nothing though. In the early seventies, the place burned to the ground. It was alleged that the owners caused the fire. But those allegations ... like all the others ... came to nothing. They disappeared into thin air soon afterwards. Their record keeping had always been atrocious. But it didn’t really matter. Virtually everything ... including the juvenile records were destroyed in the fire.’ She stared at both detectives intently. ‘You see, the mismanagement wasn’t only on their side. All the social workers involved with the orphanage were dismissed. They were all accused of gross dereliction of duty. In any case, I was appointed right at the end to ... I guess, wrap up the whole matter. To settle everything.’ She shook her head, exhaling loudly. ‘It was a mess. Those poor children were in a horrid state. It was awful.’
‘Mrs Kirsten, I need you to think back. I need you to try and remember. We need information on a specific child.’
‘Goodness, Captain it was such a long time ago. I don’t know. There were so many issues to sort out. I don’t think ...’
Jools leaned forward. ‘Mrs Kirsten, this is absolutely crucial. The mother of one of the children in the orphanage disappeared. She vanished into thin air. The case was never solved. That was why the child ended up in there.’
‘Oh my goodness, yes. I remember. I remember now.’ Her face lit up. ‘The mother disappeared while on a hitchhiking trip.’ Both Hertzog and Jools perked up. ‘That’s the re
ason why I remember him.’
‘Him?’
‘Yes, it was a boy.’
Hertzog and Jools exchanged excited looks. ‘Mrs Kirsten, is there anything else you can tell us about the boy?’
‘Well I wish I could. You see I was forced to hand over the case not long after the fire. And even if I wanted to tell you ... I’m not allowed to.’
‘You’re not allowed to?’ Hertzog looked at her, a quizzical look on his face.
‘The boy’s file was sealed shortly afterwards.’ She looked at the two detectives with regret. ‘I’m afraid no one is allowed to look at it.’
***
Hertzog stared at her with shock. ‘The file is sealed?’
‘Yes, I’m afraid so.’ She looked from one detective to the other. ‘I’m sorry. I didn’t handle the case for very long. I only made one visit to the couple who adopted the boy. However, because of the sealed file, I cannot tell you anything I learned in an official capacity.’ She looked at Hertzog with tenderness. ‘I’m so sorry. I know this is important to you. But I don’t know much in any case. All I remember is that it was a beautiful little boy.’ She leaned forward and touched Hertzog’s hand. ‘I’m really sorry. I wish there was something I could do.’
Hertzog stood up. ‘Don’t worry. There’s something I can do.’ He pointed at a telephone in the corner of the lounge. ‘May I please use your phone, Mrs Kirsten?’
‘Of course, Captain. Anything to help you.’
Hertzog walked over to the phone. He reached into the pocket of his jacket and took out a piece of paper with a number scribbled on it. It was the Bloemfontein magistrate on standby. He dialled and waited.
‘Thank you, Mrs Kirsten,’ Jools said. ‘We appreciate your help.’
She smiled graciously. ‘Like I said, I just wish there was something more I could do.’
The Man in the Wind Page 27