Dark Traces

by Martin Steyn

“The opposite side always looks better,” said Menck. “Until you get there and see that the dogs over there—”

  “Menck, come in?”

  “—shit just as much. Send.”

  “Reid turned off at Parow Center,” said Theko over the radio. It took Magson a moment to process, because in his mind the shopping center still remained the Sanlam Center.

  “Going to the center itself?”

  “Yes.”

  The Corolla passed the M16 and the railway tracks.

  “Okay, copy,” said Menck. “Is he parking, or what?”

  “He turned in at the parkade.”

  “Surely the meeting isn’t here?” asked Magson. Norman Reid might have wanted a public area, but surely Rheeder would have refused.

  “He’s parking,” said Theko.

  Again Magson had to stop at a traffic light.

  “Is there any sign of Rheeder or his car?” asked Menck into the mouthpiece.

  “No. Reid is getting out. He’s doing something in the boot.”

  “What?”

  “Can’t see. But he made sure no one was nearby.”

  “Copy. We’re here now. Where are you?”

  “On the second level.”

  Magson drove around the left side of the shopping center.

  “Reid is now sitting in his car,” said Theko.

  “What’s he doing?” asked Menck.

  “Nothing. He’s just sitting.”

  “Copy. Any sign of Rheeder?”

  “No. Wait. Reid is talking on his phone.”

  Magson turned at the entrance to the parkade. There was no boom or a machine spitting out tickets, because parking was free.

  “Reid is pulling out,” said Theko. “He’s leaving.”

  “What?” asked Magson, stepping on the brake and putting the Corolla into reverse.

  “Copy,” said Menck. “We’re down at the entrance. We’re waiting for him.”

  “Copy,” said Theko.

  There was a small Shell petrol station next to the entrance and Magson drove in there. “So why did he come here? Waiting for a phone call?”

  “Perhaps Rheeder is playing The Amazing Race.” Menck nodded. “Gold CLK. There he is.” He raised the radio to his mouth. “Theko, come in.”

  “Send.”

  “We have him.”

  “Copy.”

  Magson waited a while before following the Mercedes. Out of the parking area. Left to Voortrekker Road, then right, back in Bellville’s direction. It went well until they reached the M16, with only a dark gray Peugeot 308 between them and Norman Reid, but here the traffic light turned orange. The CLK slipped through the intersection, but the Peugeot’s brake lights glowed.

  “Fok!” spat Magson, forced to bring the Corolla to a stop. He glared at the red light, tapping the steering wheel.

  And the M16 was a wide, busy road. The cross traffic went on and on. Some turned into Voortrekker Road—yet more cars between him and Norman Reid. The gold CLK had disappeared. And still the light remained red.

  Menck informed Theko and Najeer of the situation. They had traffic problems of their own.

  The light turned green.

  “Ag, drive, man!” yelled Magson at the Peugeot, pulling away slowly.

  The bakkie in the right lane stopped to turn and Magson seized the gap, cut right past the Peugeot and accelerated.

  “Where the hell is that CLK?”

  They were stuck behind one of those large four-by-fours that simply refused to go out of fashion, and he couldn’t see anything ahead. There was a gap on the right. He floored the petrol pedal and passed the four-by-four.

  “There, there, there!” called Menck, pointing with his left hand. “He’s going to turn left.”

  Magson flicked on the indicator and pushed in front of the four-by-four, behind a Ford Fiesta. He received a hoot and raised his hand in apology, mainly to get the driver to stop drawing attention.

  The CLK turned, the Fiesta turned, and Magson turned. He breathed a sigh of relief.

  Menck updated Theko and Najeer. They had been caught out by several traffic lights and were currently trapped at the M16.

  “Looks like we’re heading back to Durbanville,” said Menck. “Or perhaps we’re going to all the shopping centers.”

  Norman Reid did not turn off at Tyger Valley, but continued on to Durbanville and, except for a moment’s delay due to a Golden Arrow bus, they followed without incident. At Eversdal Road he turned right. Up to this point, they had been following roads with two or three lanes, but Eversdal Road was a narrow, single-lane affair, and Magson maintained a greater distance between the Corolla and Reid’s Mercedes.

  “Where the hell are we going?” asked Menck.

  “Brackenfell?” offered Magson.

  “Into the heart of the murder zone.”

  At the first large intersection, the CLK turned left. Magson followed. On the right was open veld, to the left, houses with tall walls and trees. And then a construction site. Norman Reid stopped in front of the gate and Magson slowed. It looked like a new extension still in development. The site was fenced off with metal sheets. Magson could only see the higher floors of the partially completed buildings reaching towards the sky. There was no sign of any workers or activity.

  Norman Reid got out, opened the gate and drove into the site. He stopped and closed the gate. His cellphone was against his ear.

  “Probably talking to Rheeder,” said Menck.

  “Ja. But where is Rheeder? Is he here? Is he inside there somewhere?”

  “Darrington Village,” read Menck from the large sign on the corner. “New modern spacious duplexes in secure complex. Coming soon. Darrington Village ... Why does that sound familiar?”

  While Menck brought Theko and Najeer up to date, Magson phoned Captain Kritzinger, even though he was listening to the radio in the unit commander’s office.

  “What’s going on, Mags?”

  “We followed Reid to a construction site in Durbanville. He entered the site.”

  “Any sign of Rheeder?”

  “No. But he could be inside.”

  “What site is it?”

  “Darrington Village. Half-built duplexes. But I don’t see any construction workers.”

  “You won’t,” said Kritzinger. “That’s the site with the financial problems and the money that disappeared. Doesn’t matter. What’s your take on the situation?”

  “Difficult to say, Captain. We’ll have to go in to see. I don’t want to waste time.”

  “Okay. Be safe.”

  Magson switched his phone to silent and parked in the side street. He got out, closing the door quietly. Menck grabbed the bulletproof vests and they put them on while jogging across the street. Next to the fence was only dirt, dark brown and uneven. It was quite muddy in places. Magson took up position at the corner of the fence and peeked at the gate. He couldn’t see much from this vantage point.

  He heard the soft snap of fingers and looked over his shoulder. Menck beckoned, pointing at a hole in the sheets of metal.

  He peered through the hole. Stacks of building materials. Heaps of rubble. The skeletons of several double-storey duplexes. And on the opposite side, Norman Reid’s gold CLK. It wasn’t possible to see whether Reid was inside the car. He couldn’t see any other vehicle from here.

  “I can see Reid’s car,” whispered Magson. “No sign of Rheeder. Let’s go around this way. See if we can get over.”

  They followed the fence, until they reached the nearest duplex. Magson studied the fence. It was higher than he was tall.

  “Come,” said Menck, interlocking his fingers. “Old men first.”

  Magson stepped and Menck boosted him up. He scanned the area, saw no one and pushed himself high enough to get his right leg up. The toe
part of his shoe caught on the fence and he struggled to get it high enough. He yanked, a muscle pulling, but his foot was over. The action disturbed his balance and he started falling. The only option was to sit, one leg on each side of the fence, and take the pain. He tried to muffle the groan and swung his left leg over, dropping on the other side. There was no grace left in his body, he thought, but the paralyzing ache drowned that thought out as well. He pressed his hands where the pain was, bending over.

  It had not been as quiet as he hoped, but Menck made even more noise as he manhandled himself over the fence. Why did they have to use metal sheets anyway?

  “Both still intact?” asked Menck, grinning.

  “Too much pain to care.”

  “Remind me to tell you a story later,” said Menck. He looked down at the streaks of mud on his hands and rubbed his palms together.

  “Come.”

  They jogged to the nearest duplex. Each step hurt. Magson moved down to the corner, peeking around it. There was the CLK. And Norman Reid was at the car.

  He retreated behind the wall. Menck had drawn his pistol and covered the other corner.

  “See something?” whispered Magson.

  Menck shook his head.

  “Reid is next to his car, but he’s just standing there. Unless he’s waiting for Rheeder to phone, it doesn’t look like he’s supposed to leave the money here. We have to get closer.”

  “Well, we can work our way around here, between the buildings.” Menck pointed. “There is a good amount of cover.”

  Magson nodded. He drew his pistol, flicked off the safety and moved around the corner and along the wall. Looked left and right, saw no one, and jogged across the narrow tarred road to the partially completed duplex on the other side. Slowly, he followed the wall to the corner on the right and took a peek. No one. The road forked and the next duplex was along the other road, the one where Norman Reid’s car was parked. Magson couldn’t see it from here, but he knew it was at least two more duplexes further on.

  He jogged to the next building. The muddy ground made squelchy sounds with each step, extremely loud. This time he went to the left corner. Took a peek. Followed the wall to the corner, ensured it was clear and jogged to the next duplex.

  Voices.

  He looked over his shoulder at Menck, indicated that someone was talking. He moved forward. Slowly. Each duplex had two openings for back doors and he peered into the first, slipped inside and tried to step lightly on the cement floor to muffle the echoes of his footsteps. The mud sticking to his shoes made it more difficult and he grimaced at every crunch and scrape. There was a partially built wall, presumably to partition off the kitchen, which he used as cover to ensure the area further on was clear.

  The voices were coming from outside—there was no echo. And it sounded like the one was angry. “What is this?”

  The sound of his footsteps on the cement floor caused him to gnash his teeth. He pressed his shoulder against the inside of the outer wall, next to the opening for a window. He peeked towards the left.

  Two men were standing at the CLK, about three metres apart. One was Norman Reid. The one on the left had dark hair hanging onto his shoulders, a faded blue-gray cap on his head. He was wearing jeans and a camouflage jacket. It could be Rheeder. Wearing a wig. It was difficult to say from this angle, as Magson was seeing him from the back and side.

  The second man aimed a pistol at Norman Reid. “Do you think this is a fucking game? Don’t you want your daughter back?”

  The CLK’s boot was open. Was whatever Norman Reid had done in the parkade at Parow Center the cause of the second man’s dissatisfaction?

  “The money is there.” Norman Reid sounded calm. “As soon as I have Nanette, I’ll give you the code. I don’t care about the money, I just want my daughter back.”

  “Then give me the money!”

  “Not until I have Nanette.”

  “You’re not in a position to make demands. Either you open the safe, or I go and shoot your blonde bitch in the head! Do you understand what I’m saying?”

  “Then you won’t get the money. The safe is tamperproof. You won’t be able to open it without the code.” He looked the man with the pistol in the eye.

  Magson admired his composure. How many parents would be capable of such?

  “Maybe I should shoot you and screw the money. We can still have lots of fun together, me and the bitch.”

  Magson wondered if Nanette was here at all. Whether she was still alive. Or whether he had hanged her after she’d spoken with her father on the phone.

  “With this money, you can disappear,” said Norman Reid. “Before the police apprehend you.”

  He snorted. “The police can’t find their own arseholes, man. They’re like hamsters running in their little wheel.”

  “How certain are you? The investigating officer phoned me earlier today and said an eyewitness came forward and they’re on the verge of making an arrest.”

  If only Norman Reid realized how close to the truth his lie actually was.

  “What eyewitness?”

  “I don’t know, because they refuse to give me any detail. But he was very sure of himself.”

  The man with the pistol—it had to be Rheeder—was silent for a while. “Where’s your phone?”

  Norman Reid pulled it from his pocket.

  “Throw it over to me. On the ground.”

  The phone landed with a sharp cracking sound, sending a couple of shards flying. The man stomped on it, twisting his heel while the plastic crunched. He kicked it away. “Lie down on your stomach.”

  “Why?”

  “Do you want to see the bitch or not?”

  Norman Reid dropped down onto his knees and lay facedown on the damp tar.

  “Spread your arms and your legs.”

  Norman Reid obeyed.

  “Put your forehead on the road.”

  The pistol aimed down at the man lying spreadeagled on the tar.

  Magson suffered a fresh burst of adrenaline, like a sliver of ice, his heart beating faster. Was Rheeder going to pull the trigger? Should he intervene now?

  The pistol whipped up in silence, like a boy imitating the recoil with a toy gun. “When I come back, if you’re not lying exactly like this, I’ll shoot her dead right here.”

  Did that mean she was here? wondered Magson, breathing again. The new hope energized him.

  He looked around at Menck, nodded, moved through the duplex and out the back door. Along the wall to the corner. The man had walked in the opposite direction from where they’d scaled the fence, but could be anywhere by now. Magson peeked around the corner. The gold nose of the CLK was visible, but nothing more. He jogged over to the next duplex, pistol at the ready. All along the wall to the furthest corner.

  There was one more duplex on this side of the road. No activity there. Then there was a duplex across the road, the last one on that side. He looked at Menck, indicating that he should go around the left. Menck nodded. Magson ran across the road to the wall. Peeked around the corner. Nothing. Moved around and followed the wall.

  “Get out, bitch.”

  Magson peeked around the corner. The man was pulling a girl, presumably Nanette Reid, from the boot of the metallic red BMW. The car was closer to the furthest side of the duplex. There was another gate here, probably a temporary one for the construction vehicles, because there was no tarred road like the one coming from the front entrance, only wide muddy tracks. The gate was open.

  The man had the girl out of the boot now. He tugged her. She didn’t fight him. She seemed lethargic.

  Magson raised his pistol. “Frans Rheeder! You’re under arrest! Drop your weapon and let the girl go!”

  For a moment they looked into each other’s eyes. A shot exploded. Magson jerked backwards, hearing the bullet cutting through the air
very close to him.

  “Drop the weapon, Rheeder!” yelled Menck from the other side.

  Rheeder looked around and yanked the girl into the duplex.

  Magson rushed after him, while Menck went around the building to the other side. He stopped at the back door. Looked around the corner.

  “Stop, Rheeder!” yelled Menck from the other side.

  Rheeder shot in Menck’s direction and dragged the girl up the stairs to the second storey. She stumbled and fell to her knees, but he yanked her back up and around the hundred-and-eighty-degree turn halfway up the stairs.

  Magson followed, pistol raised.

  “Nanette!”

  He whipped around and saw Norman Reid approaching at pace. Menck grabbed him, but it quickly escalated into a scuffle.

  “Where is Nanette? Is she okay? Who was shot?”

  Menck tried to calm him.

  Magson moved further up the stairs, looking around the corner. Like the other duplexes, this one had no roof yet, and he saw gray sky. Slowly, he moved up to the top, ignoring the words behind him.

  Rheeder was standing near the edge of the building, Nanette in front of him. His left hand gripped her throat. The pistol was pressed against her right temple. The outer walls had not been finished and there was nothing behind Rheeder.

  “There is nowhere to go,” said Magson. “It’s over, Rheeder. Let her go.”

  Rheeder said nothing, but he seemed calm. Nanette was looking down. She appeared to have difficulty focusing, as if not completely aware of what was happening.

  Had he given her something?

  “Let her go. No one has to get hurt today.”

  Rheeder stared at him. No indication of panic. That was good.

  “Put down the pistol.”

  “You put down your pistol,” said Rheeder.

  “I can’t do that.”

  “Oh. So your plan is to get me to drop my pistol and then you can shoot me right here?”

  “No. I don’t want anyone to get shot. I want all three of us to walk out of here.”

  “So you can be the hero all of a sudden? So you can say you saved this bitch? Get your name in the paper? What a joke. After you were with me in my home on Saturday, chatting while she was just down the hallway.”