Dark Traces

by Martin Steyn

  “She was my wife. And I ...”

  “... loved her very much.”

  He nodded. “I do.”

  “That is why you could help her. When she needed you the most, you took this burden on yourself. But you don’t have to carry it for the rest of your life. It’s okay to let it go.”

  The psychiatrist doubled and the two images shifted across each other through the tears in his eyes. “How? I don’t know.”

  “The first step is to accept that it is okay. Is it what Emma would want for you?”

  He shook his head. “The last thing she said to me was ‘I am sorry.’”

  “You have carried this thing long enough. What you did for Emma was an act of love. You released her from her suffering. Freed her.”

  Emma had been free. After the last of her life had left her, she’d looked peaceful. Beautiful. She had been Emma again.

  “Now it is time for you to be free, too. I will help you.”

  May 31, 2014. Saturday.

  It was Saturday morning. Magson stood outside his house, looking up at the sky. The weather forecast had been accurate. The sun might not be shining with wild abandon, but the rays were trying to bring the color out of the world.

  Rommel stood beside him. Doctor Hurter hadn’t said anything. Magson neither, but he had begun to suspect her, although he hadn’t figured out how the psychiatrist would have entered the yard to leave the dog and his food here.

  “All right. Let’s fix things up a bit around here.”

  He unlocked the garage and pushed the lawnmower outside. Rommel followed him every step of the way. Magson uncoiled the electric cord and connected it to the power. For a moment he just stared at the lawn. When had the grass grown so extremely long?

  It was going to require two runs, the first one with the lawnmower set to its highest position and without the cuttings bin. Rommel ran from side to side in front of the lawnmower, barking at its roar. When he was finished, Magson started raking the grass into heaps. It didn’t take long before he had to stop for a while, to straighten his back.

  Rommel watched him with a protruding tongue.

  “Raking grass and an old man’s back are not friends.”

  Eventually, he had raked several heaps and he stuffed the grass into an old burlap bag.

  “It’s looking a lot better already, hey, Rommel?”

  Rommel just wagged his tail.

  “Hey, Rommel!” He clapped his hands against his thighs.

  The dog barked, jumping up against his legs.

  “All right. Phase two.” He attached the bin and set the lawnmower lower. The second cut went much quicker and easier, despite Rommel’s continued efforts to intimidate the lawnmower.

  After everything was put away, he stood and observed the fruit of his labor. He was rather tired and his back ached, but he felt a sense of satisfaction. The winter sun. The smell of freshly cut grass. The layer of sweat from physical exertion.

  Rommel went on reconnaissance expeditions, returning to Magson between missions.

  “All right. Now you don’t have to fight your way through the grass anymore.”

  Sixteen

  June 12, 2014. Thursday.

  He would never have believed it, but he could not deny looking forward to his session with Doctor Hurter. Last week they had only spoken about Emma, his favorite memories, her little habits. Later he had realized it had been the first time he’d really talked to someone about her since her death.

  He took his seat and gave her a short summary of his week.

  She smiled. She had a dark sea-blue scarf around her neck, contrasting against her skin, and then the dark brown eyes and eyebrows. “Is there anything in particular that you want to talk about today?”

  He shook his head.

  “Then I think we should talk about the cancer.”

  “All right.”

  “The sicker Emma got, the more everything revolved around her. Because it was her body that was under attack, it was she who needed care. Your body was healthy, but the cancer was yours, too.”

  He nodded.

  “But you pushed your experience away, what you were going through, because she was the one who was ill.”

  “The worst was knowing there was nothing we could do to heal her again. This thing was inside her and we couldn’t stop it.”

  His phone rang. He took it out and saw it was Captain Kritzinger. “I’m sorry, Doctor, but I have to answer.”

  She nodded.

  “Magson.”

  “Mags, a girl is missing. It looks—”

  “I’m on my way.”

  Magson parked at the house in Bellville, got out, opened the gate and walked up the path to the front door, Menck following. The doorbell was still vibrating somewhere in the house when the door opened. A Jack Russell barked at the security door.

  “Have you found her?”

  Magson looked at the anxious face. “Mrs. Uys?”

  “Yes,” she answered quickly.

  “I’m sorry. We don’t have any news yet. I’m Warrant Officer Magson and this is Warrant Officer Menck. May we come in?”

  She nodded and unlocked the security door. The Jack Russell grabbed Magson’s trouser leg and the woman yelled at it. The dog’s name was Lady. She let go and lowered her body to the floor.

  Mrs. Uys led them to the sitting room, where she sat down, fidgeting with her nails. Lady took up position at her feet, head lowered, suspicious eyes intent on Magson. He wondered if it was Rommel’s scent that had cast him in the role of enemy.

  “Mrs. Uys. We’re from SVC.” Magson used the abbreviation to avoid further upsetting her. “I know you have already spoken to the other policemen—and they are searching—but we would appreciate it if you would tell us everything from the start.” He took out his notebook.

  She looked down at the carpet. “Sarisha took Lady to the park. She always goes there to jog and play with her. A while later, Lady was barking outside and Sarisha wasn’t with her.” The tears came. “I know something terrible has happened, because she would never leave Lady on her own.”

  “Did Sarisha walk to the park?”

  “Yes. It’s only a few blocks away.”

  “Do you know at what time she left here?”

  “I’m not sure. I think it was around half past three, maybe. It was almost twenty past four when Lady returned. I sent Simon to go look for her.”

  “Who is Simon?”

  “My son. I phoned her dad. And I phoned her friends. She wouldn’t have gone without telling me. And Lady. But I hoped ... And it’s exams. But no one had heard anything from her. Simon came back later. He couldn’t find her. And when Werner arrived, he phoned the police.”

  “That’s your husband,” said Magson.

  “Yes. He and Simon are still looking for her.” She started crying again. “It’s dark now and she is still out there. Somewhere.”

  “Doesn’t Sarisha have a cellphone?”

  “It’s charging in her room.”

  “Is it at all possible that Sarisha may have run away?”

  She stared at him, her face rigid. “No. And even if she did, she would never leave Lady. Especially not out in the street. When she was younger, her first dog was run over by a car and killed. She was heartbroken. For a long time she didn’t want another pet. And she takes care of Lady as if she’s made of gold. She always walks her on a leash. Sarisha always puts on the leash, only takes it off at the park. She has a ball she throws to Lady. Lady had her leash on when she came back. I took it off. That means she was with Sarisha when—somebody had to—Lady would never ...” She looked at Magson, her eyes wide with anguish. “Someone has her! Someone took my child!”

  Magson went to her and placed his hand on her shoulder. “We will do everything in our power to get Sarisha back. But
right now we need information.”

  She nodded, shut her eyes tightly, pressing her fingers against her eyelids. She took a couple of breaths and opened her eyes. “Okay.”

  Magson sat down again. “Do you have a photo of Sarisha we could take with us?”

  She nodded, got up and left the sitting room.

  “Teenage girl,” said Menck under his breath. “Walking alone in the afternoon. Sounds familiar so far.”

  “If the dog had the leash on, that means the girl could have disappeared anywhere between here and the park. If the times are correct, probably on the way back.”

  “The dog must have made a hell of a racket.”

  “Ja.” Magson looked at the Jack Russell still eyeing him with distrust. “But these dogs are so small, they don’t mean much more than an alarm system.”

  “Could still be helpful if someone heard something. Saw a car drive away maybe.”

  “Unless the dog knew him, of course.” Magson glanced at the dog again, clicking his tongue. “If only you could talk.”

  Lizl Uys returned, giving Magson a photo. He looked at the girl. Pretty, delicate features. Dark brown eyes smiling along with her mouth. Dark brown hair tied back, perhaps in a bun, or a sort of braid against her head. He showed the photo to Menck and their eyes met.

  “Did Sarisha have a boyfriend?” asked Magson.

  “No,” replied her mother.

  “Did she say anything recently that might be important? Like a stranger who approached her. Maybe a car following her. Someone watching her at the park. Anything you can think of.”

  “No. Things were just the way they always are.”

  The phone rang and she started, jumped up and ran out of the room, bumping a small table as she went.

  The table toppled and Magson got up to fix it. Lizl Uys’s part of the conversation drifted in from the next room, “Hello? ... No. You? ... The police are here. Two other detectives ... I don’t know ... Werner, it’s dark and someone has our daughter. How are we going to get her back? ... I’m trying ... Okay.” There was the sound of the phone being replaced in its cradle. Followed by sobbing.

  Menck met Magson’s eyes momentarily before turning to the carpet.

  Magson walked to the kitchen. Lizl Uys was standing with her back to him, her upper body shaking. At first she shrank away when he placed his hand on her shoulder, but then she turned around, pressing her hands and face against his chest.

  He hesitated, but put his arms around her.

  “Where can she be?” she asked into his jacket. “Who’s got her? And what does he want with her? What if he ... She’s a good girl. She’s only sixteen.”

  “We will do everything we can to find her.” He felt so ham-fisted, the words empty.

  “We argued,” she sobbed softly, her face still pressed against his chest. “She left here angry. What if that was our last conversation?”

  He didn’t know what to say.

  “Please find her. Please. I would give anything to get her back.”

  Captain Kritzinger placed the street guide on the Corolla’s bonnet, directing his flashlight’s beam to the page, pointing with his finger. The group of detectives huddled closer. “Okay. So Sarisha would’ve followed this route as she walked home. Uniforms will be going door to door around the park. We’ll start here and work our way to her house.”

  “It happened around four o’clock,” said Magson, “but take that only as a guideline. And remember the dog was most probably with her and would have barked.”

  “I don’t need to tell you what is at stake here. If it is the same killer, she’s got maybe two days if we’re lucky, but you know what the girls look like when we find them. Be thorough, but don’t waste time. She is sixteen and her name is Sarisha. She is afraid. She is alone. Let’s get her back alive.”

  They started knocking on front doors, ringing doorbells and pressing intercom buttons. It was going to be a long night.

  It was just before four in the morning. Magson was drinking black coffee, too strong, too sweet. Menck had bought ten cigarettes from a uniform when his pack had been depleted. He drew on one while massaging his eyes. The street interviews had failed to produce anything of significance. A woman had heard a dog barking, but thought it had been a larger kind and she hadn’t bothered to go outside and look, anyway. A primary-school boy had seen Lady running alone, leash dragging behind, which at least helped to narrow down the area where Sarisha had been abducted. Finally, there was a woman watering her garden who had seen Sarisha and Lady jogging in the park’s direction. The uniforms had fared no better. Either people had not been at home during the afternoon, or they hadn’t see anything. And how would they? Everyone was entrenching themselves behind high walls and security gates.

  Magson took another sip of coffee, swallowing it with a grimace.

  We argued. She left here angry. What if that was our last conversation?

  He severed the thought.

  He despised stranger crimes. Often the victim’s history and personal life led you to the guilty party—a spouse, lover, family member, partner. You could dig and chances were somewhere in the victim’s life you’d unearth someone with a motive. But not when it was a stranger crime. Particularly when the crime had been the first contact with the victim. Success in solving a case was too dependent on mistakes by the offender. Or luck.

  What if that was our last conversation?

  He shook his head violently to shut the voice out and poured more coffee. Here he stood, drinking vile coffee, wishing for luck, while Sarisha Uys was possibly being tortured somewhere. Where was she at this moment? In a room, bound, alone, afraid? While he was sleeping? Was she awake, or had the fear and emotional exhaustion overwhelmed her? She was trying to free her hands, but the ropes were too strong, the knots too tight. She only managed to chafe more of her skin off. She jumped at every sound in the strange house. Opened her eyes wide in a vain attempt to see in the dark. Wondering if the sound was him returning. To do more things to her. She was still sore from earlier.

  He would have been busy with her till late. Young. Pretty. Fresh. His to use as he pleased.

  He would wake up early. Excited. So much to do ...

  June 13, 2014. Friday.

  The sun was up. It was Friday morning. Magson looked around the park. It could be divided into several generous properties and bordered on three streets. The grass had been mown sometime during the last month. The few trees looked as if they’d been handed out for free, growing at an angle with twisted branches. A trail cut diagonally across the width, probably the result of many years of domestic and garden workers coming and going. There was a jungle gym in the shape of a dive bomber, with a slide at the tail, and two swings fashioned from tires. The bright colors remained, but the paint was losing its footing in several places.

  There were houses all the way around. A high-risk area. Had he noticed her here and followed her home?

  Menck was leaning against the Corolla, smoking from a new pack already threatening to be closer to empty than full. The other detectives were elsewhere, engaged in aspects of the search, but Captain Kritzinger had stayed. Now that there was sunlight, the scene could be properly searched. Magson watched the members of the Local Criminal Record Center as they prepared their equipment. They would cover the park first, before following the streets Sarisha Uys would have walked home.

  Almost two hours in, the search was well underway. There had been a couple of used condoms and a wrapper at the slide, which LCRC had collected. At one of the trees they had found several cigarette butts and shattered beer bottles that had obviously been there for quite some time. The rest of the area covered so far had yielded the usual litter: potato chips packets, sweet wrappers, cooldrink cans, cigarette packs and a plastic Spider-Man presumably missed by a little boy somewhere. Everything, including the lost superhero, looked rather sun ble
ached and weathered.

  The media had arrived piecemeal. Fortunately, it was not Magson’s responsibility to talk to them. Of course, some journalists did try to get a sound bite or two from the detectives, particularly one young reporter from the Cape Times who had already earned herself a bit of a reputation as a bulldog.

  Several bystanders had accumulated to observe the police activity. Magson studied them unobtrusively. An elderly man in walking attire. A woman with her dog. Three workers in overalls. Two boys in exercise clothes. A few women from the surrounding houses, speculating about what had happened. Where had they been yesterday afternoon, wondered Magson, his eyes returning to the young man. He was standing on his own next to a tree on the corner, a red beanie on his head, his hands stuck deep into the marsupial pocket of his tracksuit top. Something about his demeanor, the way he was watching the proceedings ...

  Magson walked over to Menck.

  “Don’t draw attention, but have a look at the bystanders.”

  “Anyone in particular?” asked Menck, pretending to watch the LCRC members.

  “Red beanie.”

  Menck observed him for a while. “Hmm. Seems a bit nervous. Shifty.”

  “Maybe he came to see if we find anything.”

  “Or he wants to get a kick out of the show he’s set in motion.”

  Magson thought for a moment. “All right. If it’s a show he wants, let’s give him one.”

  He walked around the outside of the park, leisurely, trying to look preoccupied while he was actually watching the man in the red beanie from the corner of his eye. The man was shifting his weight from one foot to the other.

  “Captain!” called one the LCRC members, raising his left hand.

  A ripple of excitement washed through the media. Photographers raised their cameras, while uniformed officers tried to prevent them.

  LCRC’s performance was now in full swing, the members looking extremely excited about their discovery. Magson’s attention was already back at the man with the red beanie. He was swaying now, appearing uncomfortable, looking around.