by Martin Steyn
“My client was in constant fear for her life, Warrant,” said the attorney. “Her life was a living hell of abuse and murder she could not escape from.”
“I understand,” said Magson. “I just want to get all the facts. Let’s talk about Nanette Reid. Was Sarisha Uys still alive on Friday evening?”
“Yes,” said Jeanine Rheeder.
He tried not to show the cold spreading through his chest. “Why did Mr. Rheeder want another girl if he already had Sarisha Uys?”
“Because he could. Frans doesn’t need a reason. He went to get pizzas on Friday evening and came back with Nanette.”
“Where was Sarisha Uys while Mr. Rheeder went to fetch the pizzas?”
“In the house.”
“With you?”
“Yes.”
“Did Mr. Rheeder often leave you alone with the girls?”
“Warrant Magson,” interjected Jakob Mouton, “it takes a lot of courage for my client to talk about these events. She is traumatized enough without these kinds of questions aimed at incriminating her.”
Was there anything more annoying than an attorney? “I am not trying to incriminate Mrs. Rheeder. I just want to be sure of the facts.”
“The facts are that Frans Rheeder gradually pulled my client into his perverse world, cut her off from her family and friends, broke her down emotionally and morally, and ultimately involved her in abduction, rape and murder. She did not want to be a part of these activities. She did not want these innocent girls to be murdered. But she knew better than anyone what Frans Rheeder was capable of. He frequently told her he would kill her if she ever turned against him and described to her in detail how he would do it. And there was no one she could turn to for help.”
“But you were not held captive,” said Magson. “You have a job, your own car. Why did you never go to the police?”
“Because Frans knows people in the police,” said Jeanine Rheeder. “They’ve been at our house. If I went to the police, they would know and tell him.”
“Who are these policemen?”
“I don’t know their names. Frans brought them and said, ‘There’s the slut. Take her away.’ They handcuffed me and read me my rights and put me in the back of their car. We drove around for a while and then they asked me if I had a criminal record or whether this was my first offence. Then they said I had a choice. Either they would take me in and I would get a record for prostitution and lose my job, or I could pay a fine and go home. The fine was not money. When they were done with me, they took me home. Frans thought it was a huge joke. After they left, he told me what would happen if I ever decided to go to the police.”
“Would you be able to recognize these policemen?”
Jeanine Rheeder looked down, shrugging. “They weren’t the only men Frans brought home.”
As she recounted the things she’d gone through, she revealed little evidence of the “traumatized” woman her attorney was so fond of describing. But people, those who learned to survive in extreme circumstances, developed a hardness. Like street children, or prostitutes who had spent years on street corners. Emotion was suppressed, dulled, often with drugs or alcohol but also naturally. Jeanine Rheeder didn’t look as if she was on anything strong, perhaps a mild sedative. And one thing Magson had learned about women over the years: they had an inner strength that enabled them to survive unimaginable circumstances.
“What made you decide to contact me?” asked Magson.
“Hope. There was something in your eyes. When you gave me your card. I could see you’d been hurt. I thought you would understand.”
“I am trying.”
Jeanine Rheeder stood up. She turned her back to Magson and pulled up her jersey, above her shoulder blades. She was not wearing a bra. Her back had bruises in several places and marks caused by some kind of long, thin cylindrical object. The blue discolorations looked as if they had bled out of the dark-blue jersey. She turned around. More welts from lashes across her stomach and one across her left breast going straight through the nipple.
She stared at him. “Do I have to take off the rest of my clothes so you can see it all? It’s okay, I’m used to it.”
Magson looked away. “That won’t be necessary, Mrs. Rheeder. Please sit down.”
She pulled her jersey back down and took her seat again.
“Mrs. Rheeder came forward of her own volition, in order to help stop a dangerous serial killer,” said the attorney, “not to be further victimized. Warrant, surely I don’t have to remind you that it is largely thanks to my client that Frans Rheeder is currently behind bars.”
“And I appreciate it,” said Magson. “All right. I’d like to go back to the events of the past weekend. When did Mr. Rheeder kill Sarisha Uys?”
“Frans didn’t kill her.”
He looked at her. “What was that? What do you mean, Mrs. Rheeder? You said before that he killed Sarisha Uys.”
“No. I said she is dead. I didn’t say Frans did it.”
“So who then ...” He turned to the attorney.
“Frans decided to play a ‘game’ with Nanette and Sarisha on Saturday,” she said. “That was after you left.”
It was as if everything in his body ground to a halt. And then his heart started beating with such ferocity that he could feel it thudding against his ribs, the sound in his ears.
Jeanine Rheeder looked him in the eyes. For a moment she reminded him of her husband, on top of the partially built duplex, as he’d removed the pistol from Nanette’s temple and turned it on Magson instead.
He blinked and saw Jeanine Rheeder looking at the photos on the table.
“He showed them the newspaper reports of Rykie and Danielle. He told them that’s what happens to bitches who upset him. Then he put the noose around each’s neck and pulled it tight until they were standing on their toes. He said he was going to tell them what to do and give them points depending on how well they do it. And the one who lost he was going to hang that evening.”
Magson swallowed. “What did they have to do?”
“All kinds of sex things. With each other, with themselves, with me, with Frans. It went on the whole day. Frans wrote down the score so they could see it. They tried really hard. Then he wiped it out and said he was giving them one final challenge and the one who lost would hang right after.”
He didn’t want to, but he had to ask. “What was the challenge?”
“They each had to think of something and do it and the one Frans liked best, would win.”
“Who won?”
“Nanette. Sarisha cried. Begged. Frans took both of them to the rope. He tied Sarisha up. Then he told Nanette to hang her. She wouldn’t do it. She begged him to let them go, they had done everything he asked, they wouldn’t tell anyone. They all say that. ‘I won’t say anything.’ But Frans doesn’t let anyone go. And he likes it when they beg. Frans grabbed Nanette and said then he’s hanging her and put the noose around her neck and started pulling her up. Eventually she did it. After that she wasn’t the same again. She was like a zombie. I thought Frans would hang her on Sunday, but he kept her longer. He was very proud of what he had achieved with her.”
Magson stared past the woman, to the recording equipment, the TV screen. He tried to find a place inside him where he didn’t feel, because that was for later. For now he just had to be a detective and obtain the information. He looked at the knobbly gray foam on the wall that aided with the acoustics. He took a breath.
Jeanine Rheeder was watching him.
“Did Mr. Rheeder ever tell you to hang one of the girls?”
“No.”
“So the girls were held captive in the house for a couple of days. Where were they kept?”
“When Frans wasn’t busy with them?”
“Yes.”
“Frans has a huge sexual appetite. He ties them
up in different ways, takes photos and m—”
“And?”
“And movies. He makes them do things. Me, too. Frans likes watching and likes doing. And he doesn’t get tired. But when we sleep, there is a room with a Trellidor. Frans ties them up and locks them in there when he’s not using them.”
“Where did the sex acts take place?”
“Mostly in our room.”
“Where were they hanged?”
“Also in our room. There is a pulley on the wall. He pulls them up with that.”
“You mentioned photos and videos. Where are these items kept?”
“In the study.”
“Where in the study?”
“There is a computer. And DVDs.”
The computer had been collected for analysis, but there had been no DVDs. Only the suspicious gap on the shelf. “Where are the DVDs kept?” asked Magson.
“On the bookshelf.”
“There were no DVDs on the bookshelf.”
“Oh.” She shrugged. “That’s where they’ve always been.”
“All right. I think that’s enough for now. But we will have to go through everything again, in detail, so we can compile a complete statement.”
Jakob Mouton nodded. “My client wishes to give her full cooperation.”
Sarisha Uys had been alive.
She had still been alive.
Menck and he had walked out of the house—Thank you for your time, Mr. Rheeder—and left the two girls there.
He went into the bathroom.
How could he have stood right inside the man’s house and not notice anything?
“Thank you for your time, Mr. Rheeder.” His voice choked on the words and he hit the wall with his fist.
Had the girls known they were there? Had they thought they were being rescued, only to hear ...
“Thank you for your time, Mr. Rheeder!”
He kicked the door of the nearest stall and it crashed into the wall. He kicked it again. “Thank you for your fucking—” he hit the door as hard as he could “—time!” Another punch. And another. There was a dent in the door and the top hinge had been ripped from the wood.
He turned around and placed his hands on the washbasin, dropped his head, breathing hard.
Sarisha Uys was dead. They didn’t even know where her body was.
He glimpsed himself in the mirror, wanted to smash it, but he didn’t deserve to.
And Nanette Reid was hiding somewhere inside herself. How long would it take before she emerged again?
He should have put a bullet in Frans Rheeder’s head on top of that building. Kept on pulling the trigger until the magazine was empty.
Menck was smoking an illicit cigarette out the window while waiting for the percolator to utter its final gurgle. “I’m brewing fresh coffee. I’m sure you could do with a mug.”
“Ja.” Magson’s hand was aching. Afterwards, when he had become aware of the pain, he’d wonder whether he might have broken something. He would have to replace the door.
“You okay?”
“Everything Jeanine Rheeder has said so far corresponds with the evidence. She hasn’t tried to hide anything. I think her attorney’s plan is to milk her ‘complete cooperation’ for a plea bargain.”
“It is an interesting tactic to provide cooperation without trying to get something in return.”
“I think he’s trying to present her as someone who wants to do the right thing, regardless.”
Menck nodded. “It’s not a bad idea. Refreshing, to say the least.”
“She says Rheeder made videos. They’re supposed to be in the study.”
“So that’s the weird gap on the bookshelf.”
Magson nodded. “But where are they now? And that’s not all. I phoned. The computer’s hard drive was removed.”
Menck frowned and forgot to blow the smoke out the window. “So Rheeder hides his movies somewhere, but leaves the victims’ belongings in the closet? Why?”
Magson shrugged and leaned against the counter. He held his right hand.
“Did you get anything about Sarisha?”
“No. The woman says she never went with Rheeder when he dumped them.” He pressed his thumb and index finger against his eyes. “She was still alive, Colin. She was there.”
Menck did not reply.
“And everyone is congratulating us on getting him.” A laugh escaped Magson’s mouth, ugly and devoid of any humor. “The SAPS is proud of us.”
It was not often that Menck had no response.
Magson took a deep breath, exhaling slowly. “Nanette still hasn’t said a word. She just wants to sit outside the whole day. At night she sleeps with her mother.”
“The one positive thing is that her parents have the money to get her the treatment and counseling she needs.”
“It’s our fault. Ours.”
Menck shook his head. “No, Mags. It’s Frans Rheeder’s fault.”
“We should’ve known. We should’ve done something.”
“We hadn’t slept in two days, Mags. We talked to so many people. By the time we knocked on Frans Rheeder’s door ... And even if we did suspect something, unless we actually saw or heard one of the girls, we would not have been able to search his house. It’s easy now, in hindsight.” He sighed. “The two of us will carry this. Because yes, we could’ve stopped it. But it’s not our fault. The guilt is all on Frans Rheeder.”
It didn’t change how Magson felt.
The percolator sputtered and hissed. Menck poured two mugs.
“Do you think she will ever be normal again?” asked Magson.
“Nanette is a survivor. It’s going to take time, therapy, support, but she will recover.”
“She killed Sarisha.”
“What?”
He told Menck about the “game.”
“Shit like Rheeder should just be taken outside and shot. And dumped somewhere in a deep fucking hole.”
“I would just really like to be able to return Sarisha to her mother.”
“Yes,” said Menck softly.
Behind his desk Magson looked at the cactus. The crown looked greener—getting some water on a weekly basis was having an effect. The brown thorns seemed a little redder as well.
He looked up the number in his notebook, picked up his phone and dialed.
“Warrant Officer Magson!” The pleasure in her voice touched him.
“Hello, Karlien. How did you know it was me?”
“It says so on my screen.”
His name and number were saved on her phone, he realized. Still. It made him smile. “How are you?”
“Okay. I’m at home today, studying.”
Of course. It was June. “How are the exams going?”
“Okay. Math was a slasher movie, but the rest wasn’t too bad.”
“The new school?”
She hesitated. “I miss my friends. It’s just Gerhard who still puts in the effort. But there’s a girl here who was in a car accident on Easter weekend. Her leg was broken and her older brother was in hospital for a long time. We clicked. The Lucky Escape Club.” The last sentence contained a note of sadness, hinting at something that had been lost forever.
“We got him, Karlien.”
Silence.
“He will never be able to come near you again.”
There was a small, shrill sound, followed by a sob.
“You don’t have to be afraid that he’ll come back anymore.”
“I heard you arrested the man who hanged those girls.” Her voice was just a whisper. “Was it him?”
“Ja. He will be locked away for the rest of his life.”
For a while she just cried. The girl with the long brown hair, thought Magson. The one who got away.
“I’m s
orry,” she said finally.
“You have nothing to be sorry about, Karlien.”
“The girl, the one who was rescued, is she okay?”
Once again he saw Nanette Reid’s head against her father’s shoulder, the silent tears. “Physically there is no permanent damage. But she is very traumatized. She will require a lot of therapy.”
“Were you there?”
“Ja.”
“I knew you would catch him, Warrant Officer Magson. Now I am safe.”
Frans Rheeder stared at him. The gray-blue eyes were relentless. They never turned away.
Magson looked at the man sitting across him in the interrogation room. Neat brown hair. Cleanly shaven. This was clearly a man who spent time on his appearance.
There was no emotion in his eyes. Rheeder’s stare made Magson uncomfortable, but he refused to show it.
“Who?”
“Sarisha Uys.”
“I don’t know who that is.”
“It’s the girl you forced into your car on Thursday afternoon at a park in Bellville.” Magson held the photo in front of Rheeder’s face.
“Are you going to try to dump every missing girl on me now? I have never seen her in my life.”
“Mr. Rheeder, we know you killed the girls. Lauren Romburgh. Dominique Gould. Maryke Retief. Danielle Ferreira. And Sarisha Uys. We found their underwear in your house. Their jewelry. The sex objects you used on them. The rope you used to tie them up. The noose you hanged them with.”
“If any of those things are in my house, you planted them there.” He smiled. “Except the sex toys.”
“What did you do with Sarisha Uys’s body?”
“Have you ever used a sex toy, Magson?”
“What did you do with Sarisha Uys’s body?”
“There are few things as fun as shoving a large dildo up a bitch’s arsehole. It always impresses me how large you can get their holes to go if you just put in a little effort.”
Magson pressed against his damaged knuckles. Frans Rheeder was the reason why the death penalty was necessary. Some people simply had to be removed from society. Permanently. He pressed harder. Rheeder wanted him to lose control, perhaps only for his enjoyment, perhaps in the hope that Magson might do something stupid. Magson focused on the pain.