Dark Traces

by Martin Steyn

  Rheeder was smiling now.

  “She was in the next room. Ten steps from where you stood. And you had no clue. And I sat there and I couldn’t share the joke with you.”

  “Let her go.”

  “You probably wouldn’t have got it anyway. You don’t really look like someone with a sense of humor.” The smile disappeared as if a switch were flicked. “Okay, Magson, here is your chance to be the hero. Drop your pistol, or watch me blow this bitch’s brains out right in front of you.”

  Magson didn’t look away from Rheeder’s eyes for a second, but he noticed that Nanette had no reaction to the threat made against her. What had he given her? “Don’t make things worse.”

  “Doesn’t look like you want to save her.”

  Rheeder pulled the hammer back with his thumb. But that was not what convinced Magson that he was not bluffing. It was his eyes. Staring at him. There was nothing in them. He knew Rheeder would do it, regardless of the consequences. And what was the alternative? Even if he trusted his own ability more than it deserved and he took the chance of shooting Rheeder, he would fall backwards, taking Nanette with him, two stories to the ground below.

  “Say bye, Nanette.” The index finger started to curl.

  “All right.” Magson raised the pistol and his left hand. “All right.” He lowered the pistol.

  “On the ground.”

  He pressed the safety back on and dropped the weapon.

  It clattered on the screed.

  “All right, Rheeder. I’ve done what you asked. Now let her go.”

  Rheeder removed the pistol from Nanette’s temple.

  And aimed it at Magson.

  “This is not the road you want to take.”

  “How do you know which road I want to take, Magson?”

  The shot erupted. Magson saw the flash. Felt the violence smashing into him. Fell backwards on the hard floor. It was cold. Damp. He smelled the cement. He stared up at the sky. Gray clouds. Winter. And silent. Everything was silent. His life seeped from him onto the cold cement.

  He saw it all in his mind and thought of Hannes. Perhaps you can ring again. A month ago he would have begged the bullet to come to him. But not today. Not here.

  Magson closed his eyes and opened them, returning to reality.

  Frans Rheeder was smiling behind the dark hole of the pistol’s barrel. How much time before he actually pulled the trigger?

  Nanette moved backwards. Rheeder had to take a step back and his foot was on the edge of the building. He lost his balance and started falling. His left hand still gripped Nanette’s throat. Her face was like wax. She was still pushing backwards, as Rheeder’s right arm waved wildly in an attempt to regain his balance.

  Magson rushed forward, grabbing Rheeder’s arm with both his hands. His right hand was around Rheeder’s wrist, but the left had only gotten the jacket’s sleeve. He pulled, and for a moment there was equilibrium between Rheeder and Nanette falling backwards and Magson trying to prevent it. The sleeve slipped and the balance shifted. The faded blue-gray cap tumbled to the ground.

  “Take my arm!” yelled Magson.

  But Rheeder was still clutching the pistol. He looked into Magson’s eyes.

  Magson pulled. His front foot was scraping across the cement, but he tugged harder. Rheeder’s fingers gripped his wrist. Magson felt the power in the man’s arm and had to bolster his stance, but they started coming, more, and more, and then too much and he lost his balance. His head hit the cement, hard, and Nanette and Rheeder collapsed on top of him. Fingers curled around his throat, strong fingers that squeezed, and he couldn’t breathe. His right arm was trapped under the weight of the bodies. He managed to wrench his left arm free, but a second hand was now around his throat. He couldn’t breathe. He tried to get the hand away, clutching at the fingers, but with only one hand he didn’t have enough strength. His lungs were burning. He needed oxygen. He clawed desperately with his left hand, scratching off skin, but got no traction.

  The fingers loosened around his throat and he sucked the cold winter air into his lungs in scraping gasps. It was at once painful and wonderful. A man’s voice was yelling.

  Magson saw Menck pulling Rheeder off him, pistol against his head. Rheeder’s face was contorted with rage, but even that found no reflection in his eyes.

  “Are you okay, Mags?” asked Menck.

  “Ja.” His voice lacked power. He pressed against his aching throat. Najeer and Theko were also at the top of the stairs, but Magson was looking at the girl.

  Norman Reid hugged her to him and touched her face. He studied her as if he wanted to make sure that it really was his daughter. He talked to her, but she did not respond. Again he folded his arms around her and clutched her close to him. Her face was turned towards Magson. She was crying. Without a sound. Without any emotion on her face.

  Menck cuffed Rheeder’s hands behind his back.

  Magson got up.

  There was movement on the right. Norman Reid had a pistol in his right hand, aimed at Rheeder. With his left he was keeping his daughter behind him.

  “What the hell did you do to her?” he screamed.

  “No, Mr. Reid,” said Menck. “Don’t do this.”

  “Look at her!” There were two wet trails down his cheeks.

  “Mr. Reid,” said Magson. It hurt to talk with any volume and the hoarse voice remained low. “Norman. He deserves it. But Nanette doesn’t. She will need you. If you pull that trigger now, you won’t be able to give her the care and love she needs.”

  “Look at her,” he said again, his voice broken.

  “I know. I know. That’s why you must not do this. She will need you now more than ever.”

  Norman Reid’s hand quivered. His face was shattered and tears flowed freely from his eyes.

  “Come, Mr. Reid.” Magson placed his hand around the pistol and removed it from Norman Reid’s. “Nanette is all that is important now.”

  “She will never forget all the things the two of us did together,” said Rheeder.

  Magson stepped forward and punched him. “Shut up!”

  Rheeder raised his head. His face was twisted and he licked at the blood at the corner of his mouth. His cold eyes glared at Magson.

  Magson thought of photos against a wall in a police building. Three girls with dark brown hair—one with a shy smile, one with a slightly mischievous expression, one with exceptional eyes. A blonde girl with a lock of hair hanging down the side of her face. Another brunette with delicate features. And a sixth one, wide smile and blonde ponytail draped over her shoulder. All of them young. All of them pretty. All of them smiling, with dreams for the future. All of them taken and used for this man’s pleasure, and discarded once he was finished. Only one had survived, but how long would it take her to smile again?

  “Frans Rheeder, you are under arrest for the abduction of Nanette Reid.”

  Rheeder just stared at him.

  “You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say or do will be placed on record. You have the right to hire an attorney of your choice. If you can’t afford a private attorney, you can apply to the court for a legal aid attorney. Do you understand these rights?”

  Rheeder said nothing.

  Nineteen

  Magson left the house. The night air was chilly against his face. It smelled of smoke and something thick and heavy. He looked up at the gray clouds, the dark spaces between. Here, at the back of the house, it was quiet. At the front there were cameras and reporters and neighbors and uniforms. He walked over to the Vibracrete wall and peered over the top. Squares of light in the house next door. The light reflected dimly on the black ripples in the swimming pool. Nobody had had any idea what was going on inside this house. The Trellidoor at one of the bedrooms. The additional burglar bars in front of the window. The next room containing the large double bed
and the mirrors on the walls. The closet. Dildos of various sizes on one shelf. A collection of rope in neat coils. Panties and jewelry. And two metal rings on the ceiling, a pulley system on the wall.

  After you were with me in my home on Saturday, chatting while she was just down the hallway.

  Every time he thought of Nanette Reid, his chest closed and he struggled to breathe.

  Ten steps from where you stood.

  In the study they’d found several notebooks. Some were written in some kind of code. Others were filled with sketches and descriptions of fantasies, activities Rheeder had undoubtedly performed on the girls.

  Ten steps from where you stood.

  They had been there and they had walked out of the house and left her there. Three days. He couldn’t get that image of her against her father’s shoulder out of his head. The emotionless tears. The dead eyes.

  He gripped the top of the wall, pressed his forehead against the cold cement.

  And thus far all they had been able to determine regarding Sarisha Uys was that she was not here.

  Her face like wax. Dull eyes without expression. Tears flowing silently.

  Look at her!

  He had been so close; how could he not have noticed something?

  She will never forget all the things the two of us did together.

  “Mags!” Menck’s voice.

  He let go of the wall and walked back to the house. His hands were cold. It was only in the light that he noticed the blood on them.

  June 18, 2014. Wednesday.

  The young blonde woman sat with her legs pressed together and her hands neatly in her lap. Outwardly, she was handling the situation extremely well. She was dressed plainly but nicely, in gray trousers and a dark-blue jersey stretching down below her middle, the sleeves hanging over her hands. Her hair was tied back neatly. She was wearing make-up. She looked like a young woman on her way to buy groceries at Checkers or Woolworths. Perhaps it was because she knew she was free.

  “The date is June 18, 2014. The time is thirteen minutes past nine A.M., at the Serious Violent Crimes Unit in Bishop Lavis. Present are Warrant Officer Jan Magson, Mrs. Jeanine Rheeder and her attorney, Mr. Jakob Mouton. Mrs. Rheeder, I want to thank you for coming forward. Yesterday we arrested your husband, Frans Rheeder, for the abduction of Nanette Reid. You claim he was also responsible for the disappearance of Sarisha Uys on June 12, 2014. Is that correct?”

  She nodded. “Yes.”

  “And that is the girl in this photograph?” Magson slid the photo across the glass table.

  She looked down at it. “Yes.”

  “Do you know where Sarisha Uys is now?”

  Her head tilted to the right and she looked up at him. “No. Frans took her away after she was dead.”

  “Do you know for a fact that she is dead?”

  “Yes.”

  “How do you know this?”

  “I was there.”

  “You have no idea what Mr. Rheeder did with the body?”

  “My client never went with her husband when he disposed of the bodies,” said Jakob Mouton.

  “Were there other girls besides Sarisha Uys and Nanette Reid?” asked Magson.

  Jeanine Rheeder nodded. “Yes.”

  “How many girls were there?”

  “Five or six. I’m not sure.”

  “I have more photos. Would you identify those you recognize?”

  She nodded.

  Magson started placing the photos on the table. Lauren Romburgh.

  “Yes. She was the first. I remember her well.”

  “What happened?”

  “Frans brought her home one evening. She was completely freaked out. Frans kept her blindfolded the entire time. She didn’t have a lot of sexual experience. And Frans is very specific with what he wants. I had to help her to do some of the things.”

  “This is a photo of Lauren Romburgh. She disappeared on April 26, 2013. Did your husband kill her?”

  She nodded. “Yes. I wasn’t there, but I know he strangled her with rope.”

  “How do you know this?”

  “Frans told me. And I saw her. After.”

  Magson placed the next photo on the table. Dominique Gould.

  “Frans selected her. He came and told me about her. He wanted me to help him to get her.”

  “Did you? Help him?”

  “I couldn’t say ’no’ to Frans.”

  “Frans Rheeder abused my client physically, sexually and emotionally,” said the attorney. “If she failed to comply with his wishes, he punished her. And after he murdered the first girl, her worst fear became a reality: she knew Frans Rheeder could kill her at any time he wished.”

  “This is Dominique Gould,” said Magson. “She was last seen on October 16, 2013, at hockey practice.”

  “Yes,” said Jeanine Rheeder. “She was wearing a hockey uniform. There was a massive bruise on her hip where a ball had hit her.”

  “Tell me what happened.”

  “Frans stopped by the side of the road. I had to get out and ask her something. Frans walked around the back of the car and forced her inside with a knife. She was English. Very quiet. Said very little. This one—” she tapped Lauren Romburgh’s photo “—kept asking when we would let her go, when we would let her go. But she—” her index finger pushed Dominique Gould’s photo about a centimeter towards Magson “—was just quiet. Frans didn’t blindfold her. He knew it didn’t matter that she saw us.”

  “Did your husband kill her?” asked Magson.

  “Yes. He hanged her.”

  “Why did he choose this method?”

  Jeanine Rheeder looked at him, then at the knobbly gray foam on the wall. “He said he’d rather just watch. Frans often ‘hanged’ me. He would tie me up and put the noose around my neck. Pull me up until only my toes touched the floor. Frans has a thing for rope. He’s always tying me up. In different ways. Them, too.” She nodded towards the photos in front of her.

  “What about her?” asked Magson, placing a photo of Maryke Retief on the table.

  “Yes. We did the same thing to get her.”

  “As with Dominique Gould?” Magson also pointed to the photo.

  She nodded.

  “Maryke Retief. February 27, 2014. Did Mr. Rheeder select her, too?”

  “No. He was just looking for a new ‘bitch’—that’s what he calls them. I had to drive with him. Frans saw her walking and stopped. She really tried to do everything he wanted. Right until the end she still believed he would let her go.”

  She sat very still while she was speaking. Sometimes she turned her head away but, except when she’d been pointing to the photos, her hands remained motionless in her lap. Her voice was normal, as if describing a work project.

  Magson didn’t know what to make of this woman.

  “Frans has this whole speech when they get to the house. She’s here now and she can’t get away and he’s going to do what he wants and she can’t stop him, but if she cooperates, it will be easier on her, and in a few days’ time, he’ll let her go. Before he hangs them, he lets them take a bath. He tells her he wants to let her go now, but first she has to be completely clean, so there’s no evidence. He puts her clothes on the bed, because they are naked the whole time they’re there. They scrub until they’re red. Frans does an inspection. Then he tells her he just wants to take one last photo to remember her by, and then he’s going to blindfold her and drop her off somewhere. This one still believed he would let her go as he put the noose around her neck.”

  He slid the next photo across the table. Danielle Ferreira.

  “Danielle.” The left corner of Jeanine Rheeder’s mouth turned into a half-smile. “Frans picked her up. She was hiking or something. I was surprised, because Frans always wants a brunette—he says it looks good with my blonde
hair. I liked her—she had spunk. Frans was hard on her, because she refused to cooperate. Frans has these things he wants you to say, and she wouldn’t say them. He would tell her to do something, and she just refused. It didn’t stop him. But he had to take everything—she gave him nothing.”

  “Danielle Ferreira, May 16, 2014. Before we get to Sarisha Uys and Nanette Reid, were there any other girls?”

  “I know of one. Frans tried to take a girl—I think it was before Danielle. I wasn’t with him. She got away. Frans was so angry. Went on and on about how she almost broke his foot. He brought her school bag home. Found out where she lived. He was planning to go back to get her ...”

  “Ja?”

  “I managed to talk him out of it. I said the police were obviously watching her, because they knew he had her bag. I had to pretend I was the girl who got away. Finally, he let it go. Frans likes role play.”

  “All right,” said Magson. “Sarisha Uys.” He placed her photo next to Danielle’s.

  “Frans chose her. He drives around in the afternoons. Sometimes he’d see a girl and watch her for a while. She often took her dog to a park to play. I talked to her. I told her I wanted to get a dog and how cute her dog was and we played with it a while. Then I asked her if we could show the dog to my husband, to convince him. When we got there, Frans forced her into the car.”

  “How did he do it?”

  “At first he talked to her about the dog, asked if it fetched the ball when she threw it. When the dog ran after the ball, he took out his knife. He got in with her, on the backseat, and I had to drive.”

  “Couldn’t you keep Sarisha Uys from going to the car?”

  “Frans doesn’t like it when you don’t do what he says. Do you know what he did to Danielle? In the beginning he only raped her and used the bottle. But by Sunday he was so pissed, he couldn’t perform anymore. So he tied her up and got the iron and told her she was going to beg to be his bitch. He wanted to hear her scream until her voice was gone. He stuffed a rag into her mouth so the neighbors wouldn’t hear and burned her on the back with the iron. She did scream. He got stiff and raped her and hanged her. She didn’t bathe. While he hanged her, he spat on her and cursed her. I had to clean her afterwards.”