The First Rule of Survival

by Paul Mendelson

  ‘Look, this is good. Let’s talk to both of these guys. I can’t say I’m optimistic, but it’s better than anything else.’

  ‘Bring them in?’

  ‘No. Find out where they are. We’ll go to them. Gauge reactions – it might save us a lot of time.’

  Main Road in Claremont used to be a little taste of Africa in the Southern Suburbs; street-stalls and hawkers, kiosks at the entrances to dark, hollow mini-malls, the incessant honking from taxis plying their trade, men stretched out of the side windows, screaming their route, importuning passengers.

  Now, at the Newlands junction, sparkling office blocks, slick shop units and a gym for the beautiful slim have replaced dilapidated but characterful terraces of shops. The independent trader is out, and the big names have moved in. It’s tidy, Don thinks, but dull, just the same as everywhere else. De Vries, who normally lets Don drive, screeches into a Waiting Zone, and applies the handbrake heavily. They are right outside ‘Kingdom of Beds’.

  ‘It’s a bed shop,’ de Vries says, waiting for Don to close his door, looking up at the gaudy sign. ‘Not a fucking kingdom.’ He locks the car and turns towards the smoked-glass doors. ‘You do it.’

  Deepak Tineer stands very straight. He is wearing a narrow beige suit over his skinny frame, a striped tie in toning browns, tortoiseshell spectacles, and dusty light-brown plastic loafers. He speaks calmly, in a high-pitched voice; perfect, slightly accented English.

  ‘Nothing was proved against me. No charges were laid. I was an innocent man. I have certificates proving my credentials: I am a listed practitioner of my craft.’ He lowers his voice, his eyes scanning the shop-floor. ‘Why are you asking me this now? That incident was many years ago. I am a hardworking man and a respectable citizen.’

  Don February says: ‘Do you remember, in 2007, the abductions of three children from around here, shortly after you moved to this area?’

  ‘Of course. It is all over the papers – the bodies you found. It was you people who did not solve the crime in the first place.’ Tineer curls his hands onto his chest.

  ‘Why were you driving over Sir Lowry’s Pass last Tuesday morning at ten forty-five a.m.?’ Don asks him.

  ‘I was visiting a client.’

  ‘Where?’

  ‘In Hermanus. He is a gentleman who moved from Claremont to Hermanus to retire. He and his wife have always bought their beds from us and he wished to do so again. He has two other bedrooms. For three beds, the manager sent me to his home personally. I considered it an honour. You can check if you like.’

  ‘I will do that, sir. Did you drive directly from your home?’

  ‘Yes. I took my own car.’

  ‘You returned at . . . ?

  ‘I was back here by three p.m.’

  ‘Did you stop anywhere on either journey?’

  ‘You know I did,’ Tineer responds indignantly. ‘You people stopped me at one of your pointless roadblocks.’

  ‘Anywhere else? A garage, a café?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘You are sure, sir?’

  ‘Yes, quite sure. What is this?’ He points at de Vries. ‘Who is he?’

  De Vries raises his eyes upwards.

  ‘What do you want?’ Tineer persists.

  Vaughn turns away.

  ‘From you,’ he says, loudly enough for Tineer to hear even with his back to him, even walking away. ‘Nothing.’

  ‘You honestly think,’ de Vries asks Don once they are moving again, ‘that the Somerset West traffic guys could stop a guy with two day-old bodies in the boot, and miss it?’

  Don says: ‘Depends whether they are awake, or sick at being stuck out on a main road, pissing off the innocent general public.’

  ‘Maybe.’

  ‘Perhaps I would discount this altogether, but you know that trap before Sir Lowry’s? You are in it before you see it.’

  De Vries says nothing until they reach the M3 freeway down to Muizenberg and Kalk Bay.

  Then: ‘By the way, Don – tip for you. The general public: they’re never innocent.’

  He’s pat; Don chuckles.

  Robert Ledham lives in a gated community just outside the formerly grand seaside resort of Muizenberg. The estate is set well back from the beach, even from the inland lakes, next to some rough sandy ground and a busy local road. The complex is surrounded by a high wall, topped with razorwire. At the gate, De Vries shows his warrant card to the security guard.

  ‘Robert Ledham, number sixteen.’

  The guard looks at it, and says: ‘Mr Ledham, yes?’

  ‘Number sixteen,’ de Vries repeats, reaching for his card, revving the engine. The guard turns away from the car and towards his wooden gatehouse. De Vries opens the car door.

  ‘What are you doing?’

  The guard turns back. Says: ‘I have to call through. All visitors are announced.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘I am calling Mr Ledham, to check that he is at home.’

  De Vries walks up to him and snatches his card from the man’s hand. ‘I don’t want you to do that.’

  The guard looks surprised to be challenged. ‘Those are the rules, man.’

  ‘Never mind, just don’t call him. This is a surprise visit.’

  The guard turns again.

  ‘Hey!’ De Vries shouts.

  ‘I am calling my supervisor.’

  ‘You— wait.’ De Vries checks himself, so much frustration waiting to burst from him. ‘Listen to me. I am the police. If I tell you to break the rules, you break the rules, okay? Do not call Mr Ledham. Do you understand?’

  The guard looks blank.

  ‘Do not call him, that is an order. In five minutes, you can call your supervisor if you want. I’ll put him straight later. Now let me in.’

  The guard looks past de Vries to Don February, sitting silently in the passenger seat of the car, staring straight ahead. The guard sneers and then he raises the gate. De Vries calls back, poking his finger out of the window: ‘Don’t make me make trouble for you.’

  He accelerates up the short drive, takes a hard turn left and pulls up in the small car park of a large close of modern detached houses. The houses are modest, uniform in style, boasting a large garage with a pitched roof, and each with a little deck at the back and a tiny yard. Vaughn reckons that the view from the deck is probably the tall, solid, razorwire-clad wall.

  ‘Like a fucking prison.’

  Don looks at de Vries; for six months he has worked with this man. He has never seen him so disconsolate, so depressed.

  ‘Come on, Don,’ de Vries says. ‘Let’s meet another innocent member of the general public.’

  He stomps over the pink brick pavement and up to the small frosted-glass porch. De Vries’ knock is thunderous.

  A shadow appears, casting more shadows in the mottled glass. The voice is whiny.

  ‘There is a bell, you know.’

  ‘Don’t trust ’em.’

  ‘What do you want?’ The voice is just behind the flimsy front door.

  ‘Police, Mr Ledham. We need to talk with you. Open your door.’

  A chain and two locks are undone, and the door opens.

  ‘I wondered if I’d get a little visit.’ Ledham smiles unpleasantly and ushers them inside. The living room is airless and hot, stale cooking-fat lingering in the air.

  De Vries recalls the little stoep. ‘Maybe we can go outside?’

  ‘And let my neighbours hear your questions? I don’t think so.’ Ledham sits in an old burgundy velvet winged armchair, at an angle to his sofa, where he points his visitors.

  ‘How did you know we weren’t a neighbour, when we knocked?’

  ‘I don’t choose to socialize with my neighbours. That’s the point of this estate; no disturbances.’

  De Vries stands up and faces Ledham.

  ‘You were crossing Sir Lowry’s Pass last Tuesday morning. Where were you going?’

  ‘I know you think that because of what I did, I’m public prop
erty, but I am a free man. I only have to notify you when I choose to move house.’

  De Vries is studying him. Ledham is pasty and running to fat. His clothes are loose and faded; he is wearing elasticated trousers, his plaid shirt tucked in the waistband. Vaughn observes a gold crucifix flopping over his collar; long, thin fingers at the end of skinny wrists, Ledham’s thumb and forefinger rubbing constantly.

  He smiles patiently. ‘It’s a simple question, Mr Ledham. Just answer it.’

  ‘You found the bodies of two boys, I know, at that farm-stall. And they were the boys abducted from here. Well, I was visiting an old friend in Knysna then – I was there for ten days in all. I remember reading about the abductions in the newspapers. On Tuesday I was driving to Greyton to visit that same old friend. He was staying at Greyton Lodge. I spent the night there and came back the next day, and I haven’t been anywhere since.’

  Ledham’s speaking voice is precise and controlled, but his eyes don’t match the words.

  ‘Same friend both times?’

  ‘Same friend.’

  ‘You can give your Knysna friend’s details to my colleague in a moment,’ de Vries tells him. ‘Did you stop on your way there?’

  Ledham’s tongue appears between his lips, wetting them. ‘I stopped at Tallons mini-mall, for some . . . snacks.’

  ‘Anywhere else?’ de Vries asks lightly.

  ‘I also visited that farm-stall place.’

  ‘MacNeil’s farm-stall?’

  Ledham’s eyes stare straight ahead. ‘Yes.’

  ‘But you’d just bought snacks at the mini-mall?’

  ‘That farm-stall makes their own pies. I was buying them to eat later on in the journey.’

  ‘Where did you park?’

  Ledham rolls his eyes. ‘In the car park, obviously.’

  ‘Where?’

  ‘I don’t know.’ He purses his lips, squeezes his eyes shut. ‘At the front, overlooking the road. It was busy.’

  ‘Did you drive around the back of the building?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘What time did you arrive there?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ he replies impatiently. ‘I was stopped by the road-block, spent ten minutes there, then drove straight up the pass and to MacNeil’s. You obviously know I was stopped; that’s why you’re here. So, work it out yourself.’

  Don reads the report. ‘Stopped by Traffic Officer Jackson, at one thirty-five p.m.’

  ‘So, two o’clock then. Something like that.’ Ledham seems indignant. ‘It’s irrelevant anyway. I parked, went straight to the hot counter at the shop and bought two pies. There were . . . two people in front of me. I bought the pies, and then I got into my car and drove to Greyton.’

  ‘What car do you drive?’

  Ledham sighs heavily, pushes up gold-rimmed spectacles. Sweat droplets enlarge on his bare scalp, begin to move to the thin white strands of hair, clinging to the sides of his scalp.

  ‘You know perfectly well what car I drive. It’s in that report.’ He points at Don.

  De Vries keeps his voice low.

  ‘Why do you find answering questions so difficult?’

  ‘Because,’ Ledham starts, rising from his chair and then sitting back down, brushing down his thighs, ‘you know the answers to these questions. There is no point in asking them. It’s a waste of time.’

  De Vries holds his defiant stare until Ledham backs down.

  ‘Shall we go and see it, sir?’Vaughn asks.

  ‘Yes,’ Ledham says. ‘You look at it. Only car I’ve owned in the last six years. It’s not very clean, I’m afraid – meaning I haven’t had it cleaned – but you look at it.’ He adds, pointedly: ‘Put your minds at rest.’

  He gets up, takes keys from a china saucer on a shelf and hurries to his front door. De Vries and Don February follow him. Ledham approaches his garage, presses a button on a remote and watches the large white door rise. Parked more or less in the middle of the double width space is a small white Toyota with fading paintwork. Don checks that the numberplates match those in the traffic report.

  ‘Please open the boot of your car.’

  Ledham walks around his car, finds the correct key and opens the boot. It is lined with newspaper. De Vries lifts the paper and looks underneath. The blue carpet is faded, but otherwise clean.

  ‘Why the papers?’

  Ledham clucks. ‘I went to the garden centre. The man who carried my plants laid it in there. They always do that.’

  De Vries nods, opens the passenger side door and peers in. The back seat is clean apart from a scattering of dead leaves.

  ‘All right,’ he says. ‘We’ll come back inside again now.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘I haven’t finished my questions, Mr Ledham. You said you didn’t want to talk outside. We can talk here if you prefer?’

  ‘No,’ Ledham replies. ‘We’ll go back to the lounge.’ He locks the car, exits the garage and operates the electric door to close it. He re-opens the front door and walks in ahead of them, places his keys back in the saucer, and re-takes his seat as before.

  De Vries sits down on the sofa, next to Don. There is silence, until Ledham twists around and faces them.

  ‘What now? I’ve answered all your questions. You’ve seen my car. You know full well I have nothing to do with your inquiry.’

  ‘Why do I know that?’

  Ledham lowers his voice. ‘If you have read my file, you would have seen that my . . . proclivities used,’ he emphasizes the word, ‘used . . . to lie elsewhere.’

  ‘Where?’ de Vries asks blankly.

  ‘Girls, Colonel. I have always admired young girls. No doubt like half the male population of the country.’

  ‘But they don’t kidnap them and hold them against their will.’

  Ledham narrows his eyes. ‘You would be surprised at the will of the young. Some of them know exactly what they want, and society feels very challenged by that, I can tell you.’

  ‘You have a computer?’ de Vries asks.

  ‘No.’

  ‘No computer?’

  ‘That’s what I said.’

  ‘Mind if we take a look around your house, Mr Ledham?’

  ‘Yes, I do. I have certain rights of privacy. If you want to search my house, produce a warrant with good cause, otherwise no.’

  ‘Fair enough. If you’d prefer we arrest you and take you into town for twenty-four hours, we can do it that way.’

  ‘Arrest me? On what charge?’

  De Vries leans into Ledham’s face. ‘Because you’ve lied, Mr Ledham. Some of what you’ve told me is true, and some of it isn’t. When you tell me what I want to know, maybe we’ll leave you in the peace you so obviously desire. Until then, here in your home or in my cellblock, I’m right in your face.’

  Vaughn looks at Ledham’s pale hands, liver-spotted and quivering. Ledham sees him watching, meshes them.

  ‘About what, exactly, do you think I’m lying?’

  Vaughn snorts. ‘You want my party trick? It’s not very impressive when I am so good at sniffing out a big fat lie, and you are such a total godawful amateur liar.’

  Ledham recoils in his seat, colour in his bland cheeks. De Vries takes up his stance facing Ledham, his back to the window.

  ‘When you drove to Greyton last Tuesday, where did you stop?’

  ‘I told you – the mini-mall and MacNeil’s. And at your road-block. I told you.’

  Vaughn studies him. ‘What did you buy at the mini-mall?’

  ‘Snacks.’

  ‘What snacks?’

  ‘I don’t remember that.’

  ‘A drink, sandwiches maybe?’

  ‘Yes, I suppose so.’

  ‘A hot pie?’

  ‘Yes, a hot pie. A pepper steak pie . . .’ He trails off. ‘No – at MacNeil’s.’ Ledham stops suddenly, realizes his mistake even before de Vries spells it out.

  ‘You see, Mr Ledham, when you stopped near Tallons, it was for another reason, wasn’t it?
’ de Vries stares him down. ‘Where did you go in Somerset West? You stopped somewhere near Tallons, but why?’

  He sees Ledham quiver, then let go, deciding to come clean.

  ‘All right. I stopped at the mini-mall because I was thirsty and I wanted a cool drink, and . . . because there is an “Adult Fantasy” shop there.’

  ‘Oh, I see. I didn’t know there was a branch there. Did you, Warrant Officer?’

  Don thinks de Vries knows full well about an ‘Adult Fantasy’ store there. Don, however, doesn’t.

  ‘No.’

  ‘What did you buy? Some magazines, DVDs . . . lingerie?’

  ‘That’s my business. I’ve told you I was there.’

  ‘I think you’ll find it’s my business too. Now, go and show Warrant Officer February your stash. Don’t worry, he’s quite unshockable. And give him your friend’s details too.’

  Don gets up, but Ledham remains seated.

  ‘I wish to call my lawyer. I want to know what he says about this illegal search.’

  ‘Fine. You get one call before we lock you up.’

  Ledham suddenly seems confused, disorientated. He looks at de Vries. ‘All right, all right. You don’t care how much you humiliate me, do you?’

  ‘No.’

  Ledham leads Don towards the bedroom, glancing back at de Vries as he goes.

  The moment they are out of sight,Vaughn walks to the opposite end of the house, opens a door onto a guest room with a pink carpet and an old-fashioned exercise bike by the French door. He opens the cupboards, checks under the mattress and the bed. He walks up and down the carpet, feeling for a hollow space. When he finds nothing, he leaves the room and opens the next door. It is a large walk-in closet, containing cleaning equipment. He hunts for a light-switch, but can’t find one. The third door he tries is locked. He trots back to the living room, opens every cupboard door he can find, searches an antique cabinet, containing only old half-finished bottles of spirits, and tracks back and forth over the carpeting. When he is satisfied that there is nothing obviously hidden, he goes to the window and stares out into the yard. There is a narrow deck, a short strip of grass, well-tended, and a narrow paved area. He can see where Ledham has planted some trees and climbers against the dominating wall.

  He hears Ledham and Don returning. When they are back in the room, Ledham says: ‘Everything legal. Maybe not to your taste, but legal. Isn’t that right, Warrant Officer?’