Dark Traces

by Martin Steyn

  “Which one is his?” asked Magson.

  “Number four. That’s where his car is parked.”

  “That doesn’t mean he is in number four.”

  The uniform stammered, but Magson had already lost interest. “I’m going to reception, to make sure they are in number four, and to get a key.”

  Menck nodded. “I’ll wait for Gys and the others and keep an eye out.”

  Magson watched the apartment as he walked across the parking area. What was going on inside? A girl on an autopsy trolley seeped into his thoughts and he forced the image away. It was only when he grasped the handle to open the door marked reception that he became aware of the rumble of the ocean.

  The reception area was modern, spacious and obviously expensive. The walls were white, the furniture a combination of brushed metal and glass. Large, frameless paintings of Table Mountain and Bloubergstrand in light blues and violets. Behind the counter was a stylish young woman, black suit seemingly designed for her, black hair tightly tied back.

  The slight lift of the eyebrow as she looked at him did not escape Magson. “May I help you, sir?”

  “Warrant Officer Magson,” he replied, showing her his identification card. “There is a suspect in one of your apartments.”

  “A sus—” She shook her head. “I’m sure that can’t be.”

  “Have you seen this girl?” He showed her a photo of Anja Heyns.

  “Yes. She came in earlier this afternoon.”

  “Was she with an older man?”

  “Yes, she was with a man. What is going on?”

  “In what room are they?”

  “We don’t have rooms, sir, we have apartments, and our guests place a premium on their privacy.”

  “The man is a suspect in a serious crime.”

  “Yes, I understand, but we have a strict policy ...”

  Magson glanced at the name tag, ann viljoen engraved in the silver metal, and switched to Afrikaans, “No, Miss Viljoen, you do not understand. There is a teenage girl in one of your apartments with a murder suspect. I couldn’t care less about your policy. I want to know what apartment they are in and I want a key.”

  She blinked and it took her a moment to recover enough to speak. “They’re in ... apartment four. What are you going to do? Our guests ...” She gesticulated with her left hand.

  “Where is the key?”

  “You can’t just ... These are premium apartments!”

  “Miss Viljoen, that girl is most likely in serious danger. If you give us the key, we can unlock the door. Otherwise we’ll have to break it down.”

  “You can’t do that!”

  “It’s your choice,” said Magson. “And I can also tell you this, Miss Viljoen, you are on the verge of obstructing the course of justice.”

  She glanced around, picked up the phone. “Let me phone my—”

  “Then we’ll break down the door.” He started turning around.

  “Wait!”

  “Miss Viljoen, you’re wasting my time.”

  “Okay. Okay.” She raised both hands, indicating he should wait, reached for a keycard and, with some hesitancy, handed it to him.

  “Thank you. Can you describe the layout of the apartment, please?”

  Her face took on a pained expression, but she did as he asked.

  Gys Burger and Kayla Schulenburg were waiting with Menck when Magson exited the reception area. They had already put on their bulletproof vests and Menck handed him his.

  “Thanks.” He pulled it on. The breeze was clammy against his skin. He could smell the salt of the ocean in the air.

  “Norton is in number four. There are two entrances, the one here and a glass sliding door on the other side. The sliding door opens onto a balcony with stairs down to the beach. Gys, Schulenburg, you go around and cover the sliding door, but keep out of sight. There’s a lot of glass on that side for the view.”

  They nodded.

  “Colin and I will enter through the front door. It’s an open plan—only the bedroom and bathroom have doors. We’ll go in silently, but things can change quickly. Remember, the girl is inside and we don’t know what kind of weapons Norton’s got with him.”

  Burger and Schulenburg left to go around the complex and cover the balcony. Magson and Menck took their positions outside the front door to number four.

  Magson flicked his pistol’s safety off and folded the fingers of his left hand around the doorknob. His tongue was probing the hole between his molars and there was a sharp sting as it got nicked.

  Menck held the keycard next to the sensor. He looked at Magson and nodded.

  From somewhere came a seagull’s lamenting cry.

  Magson nodded back.

  Menck pressed the card against the sensor.

  The lock clicked open.

  A wave broke on the other side of the building.

  Magson turned the knob and slowly pushed the door inward. He peered through the growing opening. Everything was bright and white. The kitchen section came into view, a metal table and chairs, then a couple of pillars, a white couch and chairs. No people.

  He moved in, pistol at the ready. On the other side a passage led to the bedrooms. Quietly, he made his way across the tiled floor to the corner.

  A girl giggled.

  He frowned and glanced at Menck at the opposite corner. Nodded.

  He moved around the corner and into the main bedroom. Two naked bodies, a man on top of a girl.

  “Allan Norton! Police! You’re under arrest! Get off her and put your hands in the air!”

  The man jolted and began to swing around. The girl screamed and jerked in the opposite direction. She kicked a tub of ice cream off the bed and it tumbled to the floor. Light brown ice cream plopped onto the tiles. She snatched at the sheet—arms, blonde hair and huge eyes. Magson recognized Anja Heyns from the photo.

  Norton had rolled off the bed and was sitting against the wall, his legs drawn up, his arms raised in the air. He looked quickly from Magson to Menck.

  “Allan Norton?”

  Anja Heyns turned to the man. “Who? Brian, what’s going on?”

  He did not answer her.

  She clutched the sheet to her breasts. A wet spot was seeping through the white sheet, the same color as the ice cream on the floor. Next to a bottle of Moët & Chandon on the night table were half-filled champagne flutes.

  “Anja, get your clothes, go to the bathroom and put them on. Your mother is worried about you.”

  They searched the apartment. Norton’s weekend suitcase had only clothes in it. His toiletry bag contained a toothbrush, toothpaste, soap, shampoo, aftershave and a host of skincare products.

  “Check out all the labels,” said Menck.

  Magson opened the closets, only to find empty coat hangers.

  “Sometimes I think weapons and greed are the only reasons we’re at the top of the food chain. We pay four times as much for the same blue T-shirt because it’s got Levi’s or Jeep or something written on the front. What we’re really doing is paying four times as much so we can walk around advertising Levi’s. It doesn’t say an awful lot about our intelligence.”

  Magson shut the closet door. “And everything is Made in China.”

  “But, hey, if my T-shirt’s got Levi’s printed on it and there’s nothing on yours, then I’m a better person than you are. So it’s cheap at the price.”

  Magson really couldn’t care less at this moment about how much people spent on clothes with brand names. He was more concerned about the bottle of champagne and tub of ice cream next to the bed instead of a length of rope.

  “People are like crows,” observed Menck. “We work ourselves moer toe so we can collect shiny things we actually have no real use for.”

  They moved on to the living area. All they found was the
key on the Avis fob, lying abandoned on the kitchen counter.

  Menck opened the fridge and whistled. “Four more bottles of French champagne. Do you know what these things cost?”

  “Doesn’t look like they were planning on eating.”

  “Just a bit of ice cream. There’s nothing here, Mags.”

  Magson sighed. “Let’s have a look in the car.”

  He grabbed the key on the counter and they went outside to the parking area. He pressed the button to unlock the car and opened the boot. Inside was a medium-sized camera bag. Menck zipped it open.

  “Video camera. Tripod.”

  “So Norton was planning on making a movie.”

  Menck switched on the video camera and pressed a couple of buttons. “Memory card is empty.”

  Magson lifted the carpet. Only a spare wheel and tool bag. No rope. No weapon.

  Menck slipped a John Rolfe between his lips. “I get the feeling we broke up a different kind of party here.”

  Magson shook his head. “Let’s go and hear what Anja’s story is.” He shut the boot.

  Anja Heyns was sitting on a chair in Magson’s office, her legs pressed together in the short black dress, her school shirt on top to cover the revealing low cut and straps, her school dress folded in her lap. Her mother was sitting on the second chair, her eyes cast down at the floor. The chairs were little more than a meter apart, but the distance seemed much further.

  “Anja.” Magson waited until she looked up with a flip of her head. “How do you know Allan Norton?”

  “He said his name is Brian, so I probably don’t know him at all.” She looked at his desk.

  “When did you meet?”

  “Today.”

  “That is, this afternoon after school.”

  “Yes.”

  “You’ve never seen him before?”

  “No.”

  “Why did you get into his car?”

  She shrugged.

  “Did he force you? Threaten you?”

  No reaction.

  “Anja,” said her mother, “he just wants to help you.”

  Anja shot a glance at her mother, rolling her eyes as she turned away.

  Magson wondered what was going on in their relationship.

  “Yes. He threatened me.”

  “How?” asked Magson. “What did he say?”

  “He said he had a knife.”

  “What kind of knife? What did it look like?”

  “He said it was in his pocket.”

  “What happened when you got in the car?”

  “We drove.”

  There was something hard about her, someone who had learned to form a scab when she got hurt and keep everyone out.

  “Where did you get that dress?”

  “From him.”

  It was what she had chosen to put on, not her school dress.

  “Anja, are you sure you didn’t know Mr. Norton before today?”

  “She already said so.”

  Magson ignored the mother and maintained his focus on the daughter. “The thing is, Anja, it didn’t look like you were there against your will.”

  “How can you say that to my daughter?”

  Anja snapped towards her. “Why not? Isn’t that what a woman does, Mom?”

  Her mother turned away. “That’s unfair.”

  Magson could barely discern the words.

  “This is a strange police station.” Allan Norton looked around the interrogation room.

  “Have you been to many police stations, Mr. Norton?” asked Menck.

  “No.” Norton seemed very relaxed. “It’s just a strange building. It doesn’t look like a police station.”

  “It’s not a normal station,” said Magson. “This is the SVC Headquarters in the Western Cape.”

  “What’s SVC?”

  “Serious Violent Crimes.”

  Norton’s eyes widened and he raised his hands, palms to the front. “Hey. There was no violence involved. She was there because she wanted to be there. If she—”

  Magson raised his own hand. “Wait, wait, Mr. Norton. Let me first read you your rights, then we can talk.” He went through the recitation. “Do you understand these rights?”

  “Yes, and I’m telling you if she’s saying I forced her to do anything she didn’t want to, she is lying.”

  “She’s still at school, Mr. Norton.”

  “She told me she’s at college.”

  “She was wearing her school uniform when you picked her up.”

  Norton’s eyes didn’t waver. “We all have our fantasies. She told me she still had her uniform, she would wear it.”

  “You’re thirty-six, aren’t you?”

  He sat back, interlocking his fingers on the table, rubbing his thumbs. “What about it?”

  “Why did you pick up a schoolgirl and take her all the way to Bloubergstrand?”

  “I wanted to have sex with her. And I told you I didn’t know she was still at school.”

  “But you wanted her to wear her school uniform.”

  “So what? Besides, she’s older than sixteen, isn’t she?” Norton’s smirk and the challenge in his eyes annoyed Magson.

  “So you came all the way from Joburg?” asked Menck.

  “Broke away for the Easter weekend.”

  “It’s a nice time in the Cape. Just before the cold and the rains come. What kind of work do you do?”

  “I’m a manager. Marketing.”

  “Is it a good job? Do you like it?”

  “Yes.” Norton’s smile was beaming and smug. “In a couple of years I’ll be a director. The board deems me the natural successor of one of the members who’ll be retiring.” He straightened his fingers and pressed the tips together. “I’ll be the youngest director in the firm’s history.”

  Menck whistled.

  “When did you ask Anja to wear her school uniform?”

  Norton’s eyes shifted to Magson. “When did I ask Anja to wear her school uniform?”

  “Ja. When?”

  Norton looked to the right and touched his earlobe. “Yesterday.”

  “What were you talking about when you asked her?”

  “About the weekend.”

  “How did you meet?”

  Norton’s fingers interlocked again, tighter than before. “Online.”

  “How?”

  He glanced at the wall. “A social website. I can’t remember which one.”

  “When was this?”

  “February.”

  “February,” said Magson. “How many times have you seen each other now?”

  “This weekend was the first time.”

  “Oh.” Menck was nodding. “You had one of those online relationships. How does it work? My wife sometimes has to go away on business for a month at a time and I’d like to try it.”

  Kathy was a pharmacist who, as far as Magson was aware, had never gone on a trip on account of her job.

  “I mean, you and Anja probably did some stuff over the internet?”

  “There are websites where you can meet someone,” said Norton.

  “Any you can recommend?”

  “Google is your friend.”

  “So you’ve had a relationship with Anja since February?” asked Magson.

  “It developed over a period of time.”

  “Why would she say she didn’t know you before today?”

  “Because she’s lying.” There was a twitch at the left side of Norton’s mouth. “And I can prove it. Look on my phone.”

  The elevator’s doors clattered open on the ground floor, and Magson walked to the right. He opened the door to the tea room. Anja Heyns and her mother were sitting at the table, several chairs apart.

  “When can we
go home?”

  “Soon, Mrs. Heyns. Thank you for staying. Can I get you something else to drink?”

  “No, thank you. We just want to go home.”

  “I understand. There are just a few more questions.”

  A cellphone started ringing. It was Anja’s. As she looked at the screen, her eyes widened, her lips got thinner and it seemed as if her skin was stretching tighter over her face.

  “You’re welcome to answer it,” said Magson.

  She looked at him, quickly, and declined the call. “No, it’s okay.”

  “All right. We have spoken to Mr. Norton and there are a few—”

  Her phone started ringing again, startling her.

  “Maybe you should just answer,” said Magson. “It might be important.”

  “It’s not.” She grabbed the phone, but it stopped ringing.

  The door opened and Menck entered. “So what did she say? He’s lying, isn’t he?”

  “I haven’t had a chance to ask yet,” said Magson.

  Anja’s head was bowed, but she was watching him from beneath her eyebrows.

  “Ask what?” her mother wanted to know.

  Menck took a seat at the table. “I’m sure he’s lying.”

  “About what?”

  “Mr. Norton claims you met on the internet,” Magson told Anja. “He claims you’ve been in a relationship for a couple of months now. But you told us you didn’t know him before today. Is it like you told us?”

  She nodded slowly.

  “The problem is, how do we know who is telling the truth?”

  “My daughter is telling the truth! That man forced her into his car—”

  Anja’s phone started ringing and this time she jumped.

  “Who’s phoning you the whole time?” asked Magson.

  “Nobody,” said Anja. “Just a friend. It’s not important.”

  Menck raised his hands from his lap and placed a cellphone on the table. He pressed the screen and Anja’s phone fell silent. She stared with wide eyes at the phone in front of Menck.

  “What is going on?” asked her mother. “Whose phone is that?”

  “That is Mr. Norton’s phone,” said Magson.

  She looked at her daughter. “Why is your number on his phone?”

  “He took my phone in the car—” the girl began.