by Martin Steyn
“I’m assuming it’s a bit more sophisticated than that, but yes.”
Magson shook his head. “Rather you than me. I have enough fun with my bloody prostate exams.” Another thing he probably should get around to at some stage. At least the dentist had been crossed off the list last week.
“It’s just unnatural. And don’t think Kathy has any sympathy. She simply reminds me of what she had to go through to bring my—my—children into this world. I might accept responsibility for Ben, but I distinctly remember her telling me how much she wanted another baby. Sliding up against me with Ben’s baby album, telling me how cute the little fingers and toes were, and just look at that little mouth laughing.”
“I suppose just telling her you don’t want to go is not an option.”
Menck raised his hands. “It’s too late. She has decided.”
Magson grinned. “So when is the big day?”
“I don’t know. It takes almost an entire day and the worst of it is that I have to pay for this torture. And I don’t want to think how much, because anything that claims to be good for your health is more expensive. As if they’re really trying to convince you not to lead a healthy lifestyle.”
“That’s true.”
“Except of course for cigarettes. Doesn’t matter how bad that is for you, it’s the first place the tax budget hits you every time.”
“Which is a good reason to stop.”
“I need it, okay? With all the shit we have to deal with every day, I need something.”
“And rather cigarettes than alcohol,” conceded Magson.
“Precisely.”
A new set of headlights reached up the street. The beams approached and turned in at the Rheeders’ house.
“It’s him,” said Magson, watching a man getting out of the car to unlock the chain on the gate.
“Well, it is a BMW,” said Menck. “Pity we couldn’t see the bumper properly.”
The man pushed the gate open, got back into his car and drove in. He returned to close the gate and lock it.
By the time Youth Day was over, the house was dark.
There was no further activity.
June 17, 2014. Tuesday.
Despite the winter’s best windy effort outside, Magson was overcome with a desire for a glass of ice-cold milk. The result of the sandwich with apricot jam he’d had for lunch. His tongue was still digging out the remains between his molars when his cellphone rang. It was an unknown number. “Magson.”
“Warrant Officer Magson, my name is Jakob Mouton. I’m an attorney. I have a client with information about Nanette Reid, as well as a couple of other cases I understand are unsolved.”
Magson’s heart quickened. “What sort of information?”
“Information of quite an incriminating nature.”
“Then I would very much like to talk to your client, Mr. Mouton.”
“Yes. This is, however, a rather unique case with extraordinary circumstances.”
“What do you mean?”
“Well, Warrant, the person who is responsible for these acts is known to my client. She is, however, severely traumatized and fears for her life.”
“We can protect her, Mr. Mouton.”
“I’m afraid the situation is somewhat more complicated. My client is married to this particular person.”
Magson’s heart picked up more pace. “We can place her in protective custody if she has nowhere else to go.”
“Warrant, her husband has abused her over an extended period of time. Broke her down psychologically and emotionally.”
“I am sure we can get her the help she needs. Is she afraid to testify against her husband?”
“It’s more than that, Warrant. My client was forced by her husband to be complicit in his crimes.”
“I see. Well, Mr. Mouton, I’m not a law expert, but if her husband abused her, that has to qualify as mitigating circumstances. And if she shares her information with us, it would certainly count in her favor.”
“Yes. I just want you to understand her circumstances. I am well aware of the importance of the situation and my client wishes to give her full cooperation. But as her attorney it is my duty to prioritize her interests.”
“I understand. And if your client helps us to arrest her husband, I will do what I can to help her. I give you my word.”
“Thank you, Warrant. We would like to meet with you as soon as possible.”
“I’m available any time.”
“Good. I think my client would be less uncomfortable if you could come to my office?”
“All right.”
“She is here now.” He gave Magson the address.
“Then I’ll see you soon, Mr. Mouton.”
“There is just one more thing, Warrant. The girl who went missing the day before Nanette Reid’s disappearance ...”
“Sarisha Uys?”
“Yes. My client’s husband was responsible. I am afraid she is dead.”
Magson closed his eyes, recalling the weight of her mother’s head against his chest.
“But Nanette Reid is still alive.”
He drove entirely too fast, but the adrenaline had kicked in. Perhaps they could remove one girl’s photo from that wall without adding one of her body.
He parked across two spaces in front of the building in Durbanville and they got out, jogging up the stairs to the entrance. They identified themselves via the intercom and waited an age to be granted access. Halfway towards the receptionist, he saw a man coming down the stairs, walking directly towards them.
The man extended his hand. “Jakob Mouton.” His hair and beard were gray, but his eyebrows and moustache were still mostly black. He was not particularly tall and his stomach was testing the thread holding his jacket button in place.
Magson shook his hand, flashed his identification card and introduced them.
“Please come to my office.”
They followed the attorney up the stairs. He opened a door and waited for them to enter.
There was a large table in the center with six chairs. Jeanine Rheeder was sitting on one of them, her hands in her lap. Like yesterday, her blonde hair was tied back. Like yesterday, she didn’t look “severely traumatized.” But Magson had learned that human beings had a remarkable ability to adapt and live with all sorts of things.
And to put on masks when they opened the front door.
“Mrs. Rheeder.”
She met his eyes, but said nothing.
The attorney shut the door and took his seat next to his client. Magson and Menck sat across from them.
“Thank you for deciding to come forward, Mrs. Rheeder. We would like to talk to you later in detail, but right now we just want to concentrate on one thing. Mr. Mouton said that Nanette Reid is still alive.”
She nodded.
“Where is she?”
“She was at our house, but I don’t know where she is now. Frans took her.”
“What is he going to do to her?” Magson asked quickly. “Is he going to kill her?”
“No. He wants the reward. It was in the newspaper yesterday.”
“So he wants to return her to her dad?” asked Menck.
She nodded. “But he won’t phone the number that was in the newspaper. He said that would just be stupid. He is going to contact her father directly.”
“How?” asked Magson.
“I don’t know.” She had strange eyes. One moment it seemed she was peering straight into him, and now it was as if the eyes had turned a light blue and stared right through him.
“Do you know when?”
“I just know it’s today. But Frans will phone me when it’s over. He hasn’t phoned yet.”
“All right. So we still have some time. What is his number?”
She read it of
f her phone and Magson jotted it down in his notebook.
“Does your husband have a firearm?” He didn’t have a licensed one, but ...
“He has a pistol. And several knives.”
“Thank you, Mrs. Rheeder. Mr. Mouton, I will contact you.”
“There is something else,” said Jeanine Rheeder. “Frans has a wig and a couple of false beards. He won’t look like when you saw him.”
While descending the stairs, Magson dialed Norman Reid’s cellphone.
No answer.
They exited the building and got into the Corolla. Magson drove to Norman Reid’s house, again entirely too fast. Meanwhile, Menck was on the phone.
“It is Rheeder, Captain ... Yes. His wife confirmed that Nanette is still alive. Rheeder is apparently planning to return her for the ransom ... Yes ... Today ... She doesn’t know, Captain, but according to her, it still has to happen. We’re on our way to Norman Reid’s house as we speak ... Yes ... Yes ... As soon as we know anything.” He ended the phone call.
Magson had to stop at a red traffic light. He watched the green light for the cross traffic, annoyed, tapping on the steering wheel until it turned orange.
Menck reached for the mouthpiece and tuned the police radio to an open channel. “Azhar and Theko are on their way. And we have a chopper ready to take off. The captain has already begun arranging potential roadblocks.”
At last the traffic light turned green.
“This thing bothers me,” said Magson. “I can’t believe that Rheeder would just let her go. He wasn’t wearing a wig or anything in Debonairs. And I doubt whether he would bother with wigs and beards once he has them at home, because he knows he’s going to hang them. He can’t afford to let her go—she knows what he looks like.”
“The question is, will Reid just leave the money somewhere, or will they meet for the exchange?”
“I think Norman Reid is the type of man who would demand an exchange. It’s his only chance to get Nanette back.”
“Parents don’t think clearly when their children are in danger.” Menck slipped a cigarette between his lips. “But if he goes to meet Rheeder alone, things can turn really ugly.”
“I think that is precisely Rheeder’s plan.”
Magson parked in front of the Reids’ house. They got out and he pressed the button at the large iron gate.
“Ja?”
“Mrs. Reid?”
“Yes?”
“It’s Warrant Officer Magson. May we speak with you, please?”
Silence from the speaker. “I’ll open the gate.”
The gate slid to the left and as soon as the gap was wide enough, Magson squeezed through and jogged to the front door. It opened when he was a few steps away.
Mariëtte Reid did not look good. The dark bags beneath her puffy eyes were prominent in her pale face. Her hair had most likely just been combed with her fingers. Her shoulders sagged.
“Mrs. Reid, time is a factor, so I’ll get straight to the point. Do you know where your husband is?”
She hesitated. “I’m not sure.”
“We have reason to believe that the man who abducted Nanette contacted your husband today.”
She looked away.
“Where is your husband, Mrs. Reid?”
Her eyebrows drew together and her lips grew thin.
“Mrs. Reid?”
She looked up at him, her eyes wet. “We just want her back.”
“I understand.”
“She’s alive, Warrant! My husband spoke to her.” She looked so desperate.
“I can’t imagine the hell you must be going through. But, Mrs. Reid, this man is not someone who leaves loose ends. If your husband meets with him on his own, I doubt whether you’ll see him or your daughter alive again.”
“He said if he sees any sign of the police, he’ll shoot—” she had to swallow “—shoot Nanette dead right there.”
“Mrs. Reid, this man is not a kidnapper, he’s a murderer. He is now exploiting a situation he couldn’t foresee. Nanette can identify him. She may even know where his house is. He can’t afford to let her live.”
She made a sound, covered her mouth with her hand and closed her eyes. Magson didn’t enjoy being so tactless, but he was fighting for Nanette’s life and every minute he had to spend arguing with her mother was one less to find her father.
“Mrs. Reid, your only chance to get Nanette back is to help us to talk to your husband. If he tries to do this alone ...”
“He is at the bank,” she said. “He came to get all the money in the safe and he’s at the bank to get more. We just want her back!”
“Will you phone him? Please. I have tried, but he doesn’t answer.”
“Norman told me not to. The line has to be open.”
“Try. Please. You have to convince him to include us.”
“Norman said—”
“He is going to kill Norman as soon as he has the money. He is going to hang Nanette. Help us. Help your family.”
She turned around and fumbled for her cellphone on a small table in the foyer. Pressed the phone against her ear. Her knuckles were white. “I know, but the police are here ... They already knew. They say you can’t trust him.” She shut her eyes. “But Norman—Norman? Norman!” She looked at Magson, shaking her head. “The line is dead.” Her face was pale, too pale.
She sank to the floor. Magson reached for her, grabbing an elbow and arm. The cellphone clattered onto the tiles. She was like a ragdoll. He lowered her to the floor, propping her against the wall.
“Mrs. Reid! Mrs. Reid!”
The whites of her eyes were showing. He patted her cheek and kept calling her name. He needed to know which bank her husband had gone to.
Menck splashed water from a vase onto her face. Her eyelids fluttered and she looked around, startled and confused.
“Apologies, Mrs. Reid,” said Menck, “but we have no time.”
Water dripped from her face, hair clinging to her forehead. Her eyes rolled slowly in her sockets.
“Mrs. Reid.” Magson took hold of her face and turned it towards him. “Look at me. Which bank did your husband go to?”
“Standard.”
“The branch here in Durbanville?”
“No. Bellville. Norman knows the manager.” Her eyes regained focus. “Well.”
“How long ago did he leave?”
“Maybe twenty minutes before you came.”
“We’ll do everything we can.”
He didn’t like leaving Mariëtte Reid in this condition, but her life was not in danger. Menck pressed the button on the intercom to open the gate and they ran to the car.
Magson took out his phone. “Captain, Norman Reid went to the Bellville Standard Bank to draw money. We’re on our way there.”
“I’ll let Azhar know,” said Captain Kritzinger. “They are closer.”
“All right.”
Magson pushed the Corolla out of Durbanville towards Bellville. After the lanes rejoined on the other side of the N1, the police radio crackled, “Call sign Magson, come in.”
Menck grabbed the mouthpiece. “This is Menck. Send.”
“We’ve found the vehicle outside the bank,” said Theko. “We think Reid is still inside.”
“Copy. Where are you?”
“In Kruskal Avenue. Just before the circle.”
“Copy. Give me a description of the vehicle?”
“Mercedes CLK500. Gold. Licence plate November-Golf-Romeo-five-zero-zero-Whiskey-Papa.”
“Copy.”
“What do you want us to do when Reid comes out?”
Menck looked at Magson with raised eyebrows, holding the mouthpiece to his lips.
“Just follow him,” said Magson. “Don’t lose him. We’re almost in Voortrekker.”
&nb
sp; “Copy,” said Theko.
Of course every traffic light was red. At least the next street was Voortrekker Road. Magson tapped the steering wheel.
The radio crackled. “Menck, come in?”
“This is Menck. Send.”
“Reid just came out,” said Theko. “He has a briefcase with him.”
Magson tapped harder on the steering wheel, tried to stare the traffic light green.
“He’s in his car. We are following.”
“Copy,” said Menck.
At last the traffic light changed and the cars began pulling away. Slowly. The traffic was bumper to bumper.
“Reid is turning right into Durban Road,” said Theko.
That meant Norman Reid was now approaching from ahead. They were heading towards the same crossing, from opposite directions. The traffic bunched up quickly and there were at least ten cars between the Corolla and the traffic light where Durban and Voortrekker roads intersected.
“Reid is turning left into Voortrekker. He’s going in the direction of Parow. We are following.”
“Copy,” said Menck. “We’re at the same intersection. Traffic is bad.”
“Copy,” said Theko.
They inched forward, but the traffic light changed too quickly. “Ag, donner, man!” Magson hit the steering wheel with his palm. At least he was in the correct lane to turn right. Two cars ahead.
The light remained red.
“Come on, come on.” He was now rapping his knuckles on the steering wheel.
Menck exhaled loudly.
The light turned green. “Finally,” said Magson.
They were halfway into the intersection when the radio crackled again. “Menck, come in?”
“Send.”
“Reid is past the M16, entering Parow.”
“Copy.”
“He’s far ahead,” said Magson. But they were moving in the same direction now. “Just look at this bloody traffic. On a Thursday afternoon.”
Except for the blood-red Alfa Romeo that turned off in front of him, Magson could not make any headway. The traffic couldn’t flow, because there was one traffic light after the next. Almost every one was red and then there were the pedestrian crossings to contend with as well.
“Nobody is ever on the side they want to be on.”