Hertzog nodded. ‘But it was you who befriended the teens, wasn’t it?’ She said nothing. ‘You were Manie’s mysterious friend. The one he was going to see the night he disappeared. And you were in Bloemfontein the night Michelle disappeared, right? You were the “M” in her diary.’ Still she said nothing. He shook his head. ‘And all this time you were stringing me along ... playing me like some cheap, second-hand violin.’ Hertzog stared at her with hurt disappointment.
‘No ... no.’ She shook her head violently. ‘Don’t look at me like that.’
‘And what about your words from yesterday? About wanting to be with me? You played your part so masterfully.’
She screamed in anguish. ‘Noooo. No. No. No. No.’ She stamped her foot into the earth with each word. ‘I’m not a bad person. Please. Please don’t look at me like that.’
Hertzog shook his head, a wounded expression on his face. ‘I trusted you. And more. I ... I ...’
‘No ... don’t ... don’t ...’
‘I ... I loved you.’
‘No! No! Don’t say that please.’ She began sobbing bitterly.
‘I thought ... we could be together.’
‘No ... no ...’ Marike’s face was twisted into a mask of agony.
‘I wanted to make you ... my wife.’
She screamed. A tormented howl of pain. ‘Noooo. Nooo. Don’t say that.’ Nadine cowered against the tombstone. Marike fell to her knees. ‘Please ... please love me. Please love me, Shaun. Nothing has changed.’ She held out a hand towards him.
‘Dear God, Marike, you’ve murdered people. Everything has changed. You betrayed me.’
‘No. I would never. I would never do that.’
‘Marike, you have the blood of three children on your hands.’
‘No. No. They’re not ...’ She held out her hands to Hertzog. ‘I didn’t ...’
Hertzog looked at her, stunned. Realisation dawned in his eyes. ‘Marike, are you telling me ... those kids are still alive?’ She bit her lip, her chin trembling. Tears flowed. ‘Marike, don’t you understand? It’s not too late. We can turn this thing around. You’ve done terrible things, but you can redeem yourself.’ Hertzog sprinted towards her. He threw down his gun and kneeled in front of her. ‘Marike, you have to tell me. If there is any way we can still save those kids ... you have to tell me.’ Marike wept bitterly, her whole body shuddering with the intensity of her grief. ‘Marike ... do it for us.’ He stared at her, tears flowing. ‘I love you. You know I do. Please do it for us.’ She grabbed the front of his shirt, sobbing into his neck. Nadine pushed herself up against the tombstone. Hertzog held Marike tightly. He caught Nadine’s eye. He motioned for her to run. Without a moment’s hesitation the young girl ran, falling and stumbling as she went. ‘Please tell me.’
Marike pulled herself away. She pointed at a nearby tombstone. Hertzog recognised it as the Rockcliff grave he had discovered a week ago.
‘Stay here,’ he said, rising. He ran over to the site. The grave was open. At the bottom was a worn casket. He could see the coffin was taped shut. ‘Dear God.’ He whipped out his two-way radio. ‘Charlie Foxtrot One, come in.’ Moments later Jools answered the call. ‘Jools, I found the kids. They’re alive. But I don’t know for how long. I need you to get to the cemetery. Bring about a dozen officers plus equipment.’
‘Shaun, Jannie is dead.’
Hertzog became pale, stunned by Jools’s words. He nodded sombrely. ‘Okay. Get over here as quickly as you can. Over and out.’ Hertzog clipped the two-way radio onto his belt. He covered his face with both hands, eyes tightly shut. ‘Oh God no,’ he said, whispering to himself. He remained like this for several moments. Then he turned and slowly walked back to Marike. She was still kneeling in the dirt. He lifted her gently and placed her hands behind her back. He handcuffed her. She began sobbing. ‘Marike ... you have the right to remain silent ...’
Epilogue
The cold winter breeze stirred the naked Jacaranda trees. Wispy Cirrus clouds flecked the blue-gray sky, cementing the sombre mood of the four detectives gathered at the Centurion cemetery.
Today was the first anniversary of Detective Constable Jannie Duvenhage’s death.
They stood in a semi-circle around the lone grave, mute. Hands clasped in front of them. After a while Dog leaned forward. He shoved a swizzle stick into the hard soil of the grave mound and placed two shot glasses on either side of it. ‘Punt innie wind, our vriend,’ Dog said softly. The others stared at Dog’s crude monument.
Almost exactly a year before they had all gathered here for the official police funeral. They had watched as the police flag draped over the casket was neatly folded and awarded to Major-General Duvenhage. And then, as a lone trumpeter played The Last Post, they had borne solemn witness to their comrade’s coffin slowly sinking into the earth. And then it was over. And life went on. As it always had. As it always would.
Their meeting that morning was poignant for more than one reason however. Chaz had resigned from the police force. And would soon be relocating to Bloemfontein to be with Linda van Wyk. That day would be the last they would share as a unit.
They stayed a few minutes longer. Then slowly headed back to the two unmarked police vehicles.
‘What did the report say?’ Jools asked Hertzog as Chaz and Dog walked ahead. He was referring to the official report following the investigation into the fiasco the media had dubbed “The Barbecue Bloodbath”. The report had been published only days before.
‘They concluded that our unit acted within the bounds of our official duties and that our timely intervention saved the lives of dozens of potential victims.’ Hertzog paused. ‘Both Jannie and Dog were awarded commendations for their actions. Jannie’s was of course awarded posthumously.’
The Barbecue Bloodbath had made international news. In the end, six people died from poisoning and a further five succumbed to gunshot wounds. Only the presence of the multiple paramedic units prevented more from dying.
Jools nodded. ‘That’s good, right?’ Hertzog said nothing. Jools eyed his friend. ‘Stop blaming yourself.’
‘I just feel sometimes that I could have acted sooner. I’m worried that I was blinded by my relationship with ... her.’
‘We did good, dammit. Not only did we solve a twenty-year mystery but we saved the lives of two teens.’
Hertzog stared at the lawn beneath his feet, mulling over the events of that terrible day. Even now, more than a year later, he vividly recalled the dread they all experienced as they tried to rescue the teens. Michelle Bismarck and Elizabeth Trudouw had been pulled from their family graves, barely clinging to life. Manie Botha was not so lucky. It was a failure Hertzog would have to live with for the rest of his life. ‘How are they doing, by the way?’
‘As good as can be expected, considering they were held hostage in a darkened room for almost a month and then nearly suffocated in their family caskets.’ Jools paused, shaking his head. ‘Tony Bredekamp’s house, where they were held prisoner, has since become a tourist attraction. Can you believe it?’
Hertzog chuckled. ‘Did you receive your subpoena yet?’
‘Yep. It’s going to be a long year.’ Hertzog nodded.
The first of several court cases of the Coffee accused was coming up. Attorneys for the accused had managed to split the trials. Johann Trudouw’s case was the first to be tried. Having turned state’s witness he had submitted a guilty plea. His court case’s sole objective therefore was to determine the length of his prison sentence. Next up was Dawid Bismarck, De Wet Bismarck and finally Lloyd Botha, disgraced mayor of Coffee. Alistair Rockcliff had died five months before. He would face a higher form of justice.
‘Oh, by the way, your girlfriend phoned.’
‘Huh?’
‘Nadine Rockcliff. She’s developed quite a crush on her “knight in shining armour”.’
‘Oh goodness,’ Hertzog said, smiling sheepishly. ‘It’s not a crush. She’s simply grateful.’
&nbs
p; ‘Yeah right. Well, she said you can expect another grateful bottle of Johnny Walker Blue Label in the mail.’
‘I’m sure Detective Doober will be happy to hear that.’ Not having the heart to tell her that he was a teetotaller, Hertzog accepted her gifts each time with a letter of thanks instead. Dog had the most expensive collection of whiskies in all of the South African Police forces.
They halted in front of Hertzog’s police car. ‘So listen, you ruggedly handsome saviour of teen girls, you gonna join us for a drink at The Barrister?’ Jools winked at his friend.
‘I’m sorry, not today. I’ve got a long trip ahead of me.’
‘Oh, you sad romantic creature. When will you learn?’
‘See you Monday.’ Hertzog climbed into the car as Jools chased after Dog and Chaz.
Fifteen minutes later he was on the N1, heading south towards the Free State town of Kroonstad. It was a two and a half hour drive. Hertzog used the time to clear his head and focus on a new case that had just come across his desk. A series of prostitutes were turning up dead in an historic Western Cape town. Jools was right. It was going to be a long year.
Three hours later Hertzog turned into a sprawling complex, surrounded by a tall fence crowned with barbed wire. He flashed his badge to the guard who waved him through. Minutes later he was escorted down a long corridor by an officer wearing the brown uniform of the South African Correctional Services. The corrections officer opened a door and indicated for Hertzog to enter. It was a small bleak room equipped with a single wooden table and two chairs. Besides the door through which he entered there was another entrance, barred by a heavy bolted iron door. Hertzog seated himself in one of the chairs and waited. Minutes later the bolted door opened.
Marike entered escorted by a heavy-set female guard. She tore loose from the guard’s grip and ran towards Hertzog, laughing with glee. Hertzog stood up as she embraced him fiercely. ‘You came,’ she said, laughing through tears.
‘I was in the neighbourhood.’
She giggled at his joke. ‘Well, it just became a very happy neighbourhood.’
‘Let’s sit,’ Hertzog said, indicating the chairs. Marike grabbed the chair opposite his and plonked it down next to him. They sat facing each other, Marike cradling both of Hertzog’s hands in hers.
‘I’m so glad you’re here. I could hardly sleep last night.’
‘Hertzog smiled at her. ‘How are you Marike?’
She touched his cheek. ‘I’m good. So much better now that you’re here.’ She exclaimed with delight. ‘Oh wait. I made you something.’ She motioned for the female guard. The woman handed her a small knitted square, smiling. Marike proudly presented the item to Hertzog. ‘I’ve been learning to knit,’ she said with pride. Knitted in crude letters the little square piece of material bore his name. ‘I don’t really know what it is. But I thought maybe you can use it as a coaster or something.’
Hertzog took it and traced a finger along his name. ‘I love it. Thank you.’
‘I’ve also been taking hair dressing classes.’ She beamed at Hertzog. ‘You know, for when I get out.’ Hertzog nodded, delighting in her child-like enthusiasm. She stared at him, becoming serious. ‘Do you think my appeal will be successful?’
‘I’m sure it will,’ he said, lying. Due to the egregious nature of her crimes, Marike was lucky to escape the death penalty. Hertzog had personally been told that she would serve nothing less than thirty years. Now was not the time to share such information.
‘I’m on my best behaviour,’ she said. ‘I’m also seeing the psychiatrist regularly.’ She stared at him with frail tenderness. ‘I want to make you proud of me.’
‘I’m already proud of you.’
Marike smiled, elated. She grabbed his lapel and casting a quick look at the guard, pulled him towards her. She kissed Hertzog fiercely, moaning softly. The guard sighed and glanced up at the roof. Such intimate contact with visitors was not allowed. She brought her mouth up against his ear. ‘I fantasised about you last night.’ She cradled his head in her hand and stared passionately into his eyes. ‘And again this morning.’ Hertzog looked at the guard, blushing. Marike giggled with mischief. She ran her hand through his hair. ‘I love you, Shaun.’
‘I love you too,’ Hertzog said, tracing a finger along her cheek.
For the next two hours they talked about everything. And about nothing. Hertzog told her about his cases and about the other men in his unit. He told her about the things that were happening outside the walls of her prison. And about his black Labrador, Boef. He was careful to mention nothing about the cases proceeding against the men whose blatant act of criminality impacted her life so terribly. Marike in turn told him about the women who shared the prison with her. She told him about their crimes and the loved ones who were now separated from them due to their incarceration..
And then. Too soon. All too soon. Their time together was over.
Marike began crying as the guard informed her their time was finished. She hugged Hertzog, embracing him for several minutes, weeping softly.
The guard approached the table and they both stood. Hertzog kissed her on the forehead. He watched in silence as the female officer led her to the bolted door. As the door swung open she turned and looked at Hertzog. Mounting terror washed over her features. Her chin trembled as she fought to keep back the tears. ‘Shaun, please don’t leave me here. Will you come again?’ She pushed against the female guard’s iron grip. ‘Please. When will you come again? Please tell me when you’ll come again.’
Hertzog looked at her, overcome with sadness. ‘I will come again next week, Marike.’ He gave her a poignant smile. ‘Just like I do every week.’
She smiled as the guard led her through the door.
FIN
Bloemfontein
4th December
2014
About the Author
Vernon William Baumann was born in Ermelo, South Africa. He spent eight years working as a copywriter in the advertising industry and even did a short stint as a TV writer.
In 2006 he made a big leap and abandoned the advertising industry to focus on his writing. It was a huge sacrifice – but then again, a dream that doesn’t demand a sacrifice isn’t much of a dream to begin with.
Vernon William Baumann currently resides in Bloemfontein, South Africa, with his wife, seven cats and one dog. He lectures at the University of the Free State.
Vernon writes under two names:
Vernon William Baumann – Science fiction, conspiracy and esoteric fiction.
Vernon W. Baumann – crime / espionage thrillers and true crime.
Check out his other titles:
Daddy Long Legs
Knick Knack Paddy Whack
Daddy Long Legs is Back
Twenty years ago he took nine lives.
Nine boys.
Abducted. Tortured and mutilated.
Nine bodies dumped across the barren landscape of a small town in Apartheid South Africa.
Then – abruptly – the murders stopped. And Daddy Long Legs was no more.
Until now.
A young boy disappears in broad daylight. Swallowed by darkness ... on the dusty streets of Hope.
Specialist detective Wayne Human is called in. Forced by brutal circumstances to become an expert in serial killers, he must now face his most twisted adversary yet. Can he discover the terrible secret behind South Africa’s most notorious serial killer before Daddy Long Legs reaps another grim harvest?
On the other side of South Africa, advertising executive Kyle Devlin’s life is about to fall to pieces. Then a tragedy forces him to return to Hope. Can he find redemption in the town of his youth while forced to face dark demons from his past?
It’s a race against the clock as a dark spectre from history returns to haunt the people of this small Karoo town.
Why did he disappear? Why is he back? And what sick forces drive his twisted lust? The answers are more bizarre than anyone could ever have thought
.
Spanning a historic period in South Africa, Daddy Long Legs is an epic novel that probes the depths of human depravity ... at the same time examining the ultimate value of redemption.
The Third Chamber
“The only thing we have to fear ... is the end of the world.”
Franklin D. Roosevelt
(Propaganda Minister for the National Socialist government of Germany)
What does a ritualistic murder in 1940’s South Africa have to do with the end of the world? What is the Third Chamber? And why would the Guardians of the Chamber die – and kill – to protect its terrifying secrets?
Detective Chief Inspector Logan must confront enigmatic suspects, secret societies as well as bizarre anachronisms and historical oddities as he battles to discover the enigma behind the Third Chamber. It’s a race against time as the world around him slowly descends into chaos ... and Apocalypse.
Part Science-fiction, part murder mystery, this strange tale is a bizarre journey into a world where nothing makes sense. Yet where everything has a secret meaning.
Hurtling towards a startling and horrific conclusion, the Third Chamber holds the riddle to mankind’s extinction ... and genesis.
Dare you enter the Third Chamber?
The Disappeared
The Mysterious Death of RJS
Please feel free to contact Vernon at:
Email: [email protected]
Twitter @vernonwbaumann or
Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/vernon.william.baumann.author or friend him at
Facebook: www.facebook.com/vernon.baumann
He would love to hear from you.
The Man in the Wind Page 31