by Deon Meyer
Flint was a route planner for the Atlantic Bus Company, the giant firm whose buses, with their bright yellow ABC against a navy blue background, were such a common and irritating presence on roads of the Cape Peninsula. He was doing a part-time diploma in Passenger Transport at the University of Johannesburg - hard-working, enthusiastic, ambitious.
Back then she'd been marketing solar heating systems for swimming pools, knowing that it was temporary, a training ground before she began her own business.
A suburban love affair, unremarkable, unsensational. Thirteen months after their first meeting, he asked her to marry him. She had said 'yes' with complete certainty.
After the wedding they'd bought a townhouse in Table View. Later, with Danie's promotion to area manager at ABC, they'd chosen a small three-bedroom house in Parklands. Children, they agreed, would have to wait for now. He wanted to study, she had her dream of running her own business. 'I set up eighteen months ago in Montague Gardens. We manufacture plastic pool covers and leaf catchers,' she said, fishing a business card out of her handbag and passing it to Joubert. The black silhouette of a spy-like figure in a large hat superimposed over a kidney-shaped swimming pool icon. Undercover was the company name.
'My business was just starting to get off the ground when the economic crisis hit. But Danie carried us, with his salary. We worked so hard ... And then, on the twenty-fifth of November, Danie disappeared. He was at work the whole day. We spoke on the telephone, must have been about half past three. Then he said he was going to the gym when he left work at five. He'd usually be home by half past six after that, he'd try to go to the gym four times a week. I found his car at the gym, eleven o'clock that night, but he was just gone ...'
'Mrs Flint, I have ...'
'Tanya,' she said.
Joubert nodded. 'I need as much detail about that day as you can give me.'
She opened the notebook in front of her. 'I wrote everything down ...'
'That's good,' Joubert encouraged her.
She looked at her notes. 'I only got away from work at a quarter to six, then I stopped at the Spar for bread and milk and salad. I was probably at home by quarter past and wanted to get the food ready in time, because on Wednesdays we watched Boston Legal, it was Danie's favourite, it starts at half past seven. Supper was ready around seven, but he wasn't at home yet. But with Danie ... Sometimes he'd get talking to someone, he's just so spontaneous, so now and then he'd be late. But then I called him, ten past seven, and his cellphone just rang. I didn't leave a message, because maybe he was still in the gym. But at twenty-five past I started to get worried, because he never misses Boston Legal, he was crazy about it, he always said, "Danie Flint", you know, like "Denny Crane". Then I called again, but he still didn't answer. So I left a message. I just said, call me, I'll tape the show for you, because perhaps his phone was on silent, perhaps he'd forgotten to switch it on. Eight o'clock I called again. You know how a cellphone rings for a shorter time when you've had a missed call or a voicemail you haven't listened to yet? Then I thought maybe he'd had a call-out, if one of the buses had been in an accident, or something like that, then they'd call him, then he'd have to go. So I called Neville Philander who works with him, and Neville said no, Danie left work at five, he doesn't know about any call-out, he'll try to find out. Then I started calling Danie's friends, and his mother, she lives in Panorama, but no one had seen him. Then I called his cellphone again and I got in my car and I drove to the gym to look for him, but...' She made a shrugging gesture that said he wasn't there.
'The police station is right next to the gym in Table View. So I went in and I said my husband is missing and the guy said to me since when and I said he should have been at home at half past six, and he said, "Ma'am, it's nine o'clock now," and I said he hadn't let me know. Then he asked, "Did you have a fight?" And I said no, and he said, "Ma'am, you know men," and I said not my man. And then he said, "He's probably with his girlfriend." That's when I started crying.'
Joubert's first instinct was to defend the charge officers, who had to deal with every imaginable kind of domestic trouble every day. But he just shook his head and asked, gently: 'And then?'
'Then I went home again, because I was afraid that Danie was already there and wouldn't know where I was, maybe someone had stolen his cellphone, I thought it was something like that, I shouldn't worry too much, I must just stay calm, it's probably just something silly.. But he wasn't at home and he still didn't answer his phone. Neville from his work called back and said there wasn't any call-out. Then I phoned his mother again, because I wanted to be sure I wasn't being paranoid, but she also said Danie isn't like that. Then I got in my car and I drove and looked at all the places where he might be, maybe he'd gone to have a beer with his friends at Cubana or the Sports Pub, but he was nowhere. And then I drove to the gym again at eleven o'clock and then the parking lot was almost empty and there was his Audi, and I got out and looked through the window and his gym bag was in the back. And I tried the door and it wasn't locked, and then I knew something really bad had happened to him. I walked from there back to the police station. They sent this young chap in a uniform with me, and he came to look and then we walked back and the guy behind the counter took out two forms and said I must fill them in. The one was an indemnity. Since when have the police needed an indemnity?'
Joubert didn't respond. The indemnity was to protect the SAPS in cases where the missing persons report was malicious or false. Which happened quite often.
'And then he said if Danie hadn't turned up by the next day, then I must bring a photo, they'll put it up on the website and they'll see what they can do. But they didn't do anything.'
Joubert looked up from his notepad. 'What type of Audi is it?'
'An A3, a red one. He bought it second-hand. Here's the registration number ...'
He wrote it down. 'Did they check the car for fingerprints?'
'No. I took the photo the next day and asked if I could take the car home, and they said yes. I called once a day, every day, and went once myself to ask, but they just said, "There's nothing". How does that work? How can they not care? We pay their salaries, their job is to help us. But they do nothing. I made fliers and put them under people's windscreen wipers at the gym. I had to do that, myself.'
'The Audi is at your house now?'
'Yes.'
'Did they get a detective to handle the case?'
'A week later, yes. He came to my work and asked me all the things I'd already written on the form and he didn't listen, he just kept fussing with his fringe all the time. I never heard from him again.'
82
There were two possibilities when it came to missing persons cases. Foul play. Or someone wanted to disappear. For the loved ones who stay behind, both are equally hard to accept. So Joubert asked the easy questions first.
Were his wallet and cellphone in the car? No, they were gone.
Were his bank card and credit card normally in his wallet? Yes.
Were there any transactions on those cards after his disappearance?
No, she stopped the cards after three days.
What was in the sports bag?
Only Danie's gym kit.
Any clothes taken from his wardrobe?
Pain moving shadow-like across her face. No, she said.
Any of his possessions missing from the house?
No.
Anything else missing from the Audi? Not that she was aware of. No sign of the car keys?
No, she had to go and fetch the spare keys from the house, from Danie's cupboard.
Any strange calls in the week before the disappearance? No.
Were there any big arguments Danie might have had with someone during that time?
Not that she knew of. Conflict at work?
Nothing out of the ordinary. He worked hard, sometimes there was stress ...
What kind of stress?
There was a strike, last year. There's always staff stuff. The bus driver
s ... Sometimes they don't turn up for work, sometimes they're late, sometimes they crash into someone. Sometimes Danie had to fire people.
There wasn't any specific case that he spoke about more than others?
Danie didn't actually ever bring his work home. He hid his stress well, he was always so cheerful. So, no, she couldn't remember him mentioning anything in particular.
And then he said, gently, respectful: 'You must please understand, there are certain questions I have to ask, even if they're difficult...'
She nodded her head, but her eyes showed she knew what was coming.
'Were you happy?'
'We were!' For the first time with emotion, like someone trying to convince herself. She straightened her shoulders. 'We had our arguments, but only now and then, like any married couple. The usual stuff, but we always talked it through. Always. We had a rule, never go to bed angry.'
'The usual stuff?'
'You know ... I wanted a new lounge suite, he wanted a built-in bar area. He wanted to go to cricket at Newlands, I wanted to go to the movies ...'
'And he never came home late?'
'With his work he did sometimes. But then he would call, twice, three times. He was so considerate, always.'
'You said you looked for him at Cubana and the Sports Pub. Did he often hang out there?'
'Last year ... In July and August I worked very hard at Undercover, then I would call him and say I was going to be late, then he would say, "Don't worry, babe, I'll just grab something at the pub with the boys." Then I would meet up with him there and we'd have a few drinks together. He never went without telling me. He was the most considerate person ...'
'He didn't act differently in any way in the month or two before he vanished?'
'Not at all. Danie is Danie. Always the same. I... All this stuff, I wondered, could there be something I'd missed? In those first three weeks after he vanished ... I couldn't sleep, I went through his stuff, through his jacket and trouser pockets, through his wardrobe, through the bedside cupboard, through his car, through all the receipts and paperwork and there was nothing, absolutely nothing.'
'How were your finances?'
'My business ... We knew that it would be tough, but we believed that it would make a big difference one day. So we struggled a bit last year, but we always discussed it, we never, ever argued about it, he just always said, "We'll get through it, babe, you'll see". But now ... I don't know how long ABC will keep paying his salary ...'
'Does he have a computer?'
'He has one at work, at home we shared my laptop, we shared an email address for personal stuff.'
'Do you have his cellphone records?'
'I have. There was nothing. His last call was about quarter past three on die afternoon of the twenty-fifth, to Hennie Marx, one of our friends. Hennie said it was just Danie calling him back about plans for the weekend, we wanted to go out for sushi with him and his wife.'
'Did you list the cellphone?'
'No. What do you mean?'
'Did you report it as stolen or missing at all?'
'No, I... Not before I could find out what happened.'
'That's fine,' he said, reassuring. 'Can you give me the cell number and the IMEI number?'
'The aye-mee-aye number?'
'International Mobile Equipment Identity. Every phone has its own, it's usually on the box the phone comes in, or somewhere in the documentation. Every time a phone registers on the network, the IMEI is tested to see if the phone is on the grey- or blacklist.'
He saw her look of incomprehension. 'When a phone is stolen, the owner has the choice of putting it on the grey- or blacklist. The grey- list is when the phone can still be used, so you can plot it. The blacklist means the phone is cancelled and no one can use it.'
'Oh. What do you mean "plot"?'
'You can find out where the phone is, within an eighty-metre range.'
'How?' Hopeful.
'Through the cellphone provider. If it's your own phone, you can just request it. If it's someone else's phone, you need an Article Two-Zero-Five subpoena. There are other options too, freelance people who can track the phone.'
'Can we do it?'
'When last did you ring Danie's cellphone?'
'I call every day.'
'What happens when you call it?'
'It just says, "The number you have dialled is not available.'"
That could mean one of several things. 'If the phone still has Danie's SIM card in ...' he said. 'You have to understand, if the phone is off, we can't plot it. But we can find out if it's still being used.'
'Can we try?'
'If we have the IMEI number.'
She stood up. 'I'll look for it.'
'Tanya... I have to tell you, there are extra costs. A court order ... Using the freelance guys.'
She sat down again, slowly. 'How much?'
'I'm not sure. With the police we didn't have to pay for the subpoena. I will have to get you a quote.'
Her shoulders sagged again. 'The 30,000,' she said with despair in her voice. 'It's all I have, Mr Joubert. It's on overdraft, it's all they'd give me.'
'Mat,' he said. 'Everyone calls me Mat.'
She nodded.
'Tanya,' he said, with all the tenderness he felt towards her, 'you understand, it's three months already now ...'
'I know.' Her voice a whisper. 'I just... want... certainty.'
83
'What is justice worth to you, Mr Bell? Can you put a price on that?' asked Jack Fischer on the telephone, with his heavy Afrikaans accent, as he waved at Joubert to come and sit down.
Joubert looked at the pictures on Fischer's office wall, landscape oil paintings of the Bosveld and the Boland. Against the opposite wall was a bookshelf that covered the whole wall, filled from end to end with thick legal tomes. Which Jack himself admitted he only displayed for the impression they created. 'Perception, Mat, everything is perception,' he'd said when Joubert had sat here for the first time. 'You must understand they've just come from Green Point police station where it's total chaos, they're looking for order, they're looking for reassurance, they're looking for success. And that is what we give them.'
He hadn't changed at all, still the same old Jack who'd been Joubert's senior at Murder and Robbery, back in the day. Already a legend, a flamboyant success story. The suits were tailored now, the lines in the long face deeper, but the self-confidence, the extravagant verbosity, the emphasis on appearance, were unchanged.
'Of course the police are useless. That's our bread and butter,' said Jack into the phone. 'Look, you know what Jack Wells said?'
Clearly the person on the other end of the line didn't know who this was, because Fischer added: 'You know, Jack Wells from General Electric ...'
Then: 'That's what I said, Jack Welch. Anyway, he said, "Face reality as it is, not as it was or as you wish it to be". The SAPS is our reality. But Jack Fischer and Associates is part of that reality. It's your chance to get justice, Mr Bell...'
Fischer listened, then rolled his eyes at Joubert. 'I ask you again, Mr Bell, put a price on justice. What's it worth? OK. Well, think about it... Thank you, yes, we hope to hear from you soon.'
He put the phone down. 'Stingy bastard. The Nigerians stung him for one point four million, but now he says 40,000 is too much to catch them.'
'A four-one-nine?' asked Joubert, referring to the scam ironically named after Article 4.1.9 of Nigerian fraud law.
'A clever one. Rang him and said he's the primary heir of a man with the same name in England ... In any case, how's it going with our Mrs Vlok?'
'Flint.'
'Fanus says she's paid the deposit.'
'She has. That's why I'm here. Jack, the woman says that's all she has. We will have to cover other expenses out of that.'
'Oh.' Disappointed. 'Not ideal... What kind of expenses are we talking about?'
'I want to plot the cellphone.'
'Has she got the IMEI?'
'She t
hinks so.'
'Ja .. .You can ask Dave Fiedler for a discount, but I doubt it..
'Is he the guy you ... we use?'
Fischer nodded. 'He's here in Sea Point, usually charges one five for a plot if you can provide the IMEI, but we are one of his biggest clients, so you can try. Are you going to pull Vlok's bank statements?'
'I'm going to fetch them from her house this afternoon. Want to look around a bit.'
'Listen, ask her if she can get them electronically off Internet banking, then you give them to Fanus, he puts it all in a spreadsheet, can build you almost any kind of graph, great overview for spotting any funny business. And it costs us nothing, but it's double time, yours and Fanus's. Oh, and your laptop arrives this afternoon, should have been here yesterday. We have a central database with all the contact numbers and stuff. And ask Mildred to give the interior decorator a call, let her come and take a look, we have to tart up that office of yours a bit, you're in the major league now, my man.'
'I was thinking I'd ask Margaret...'
'No, man, use the decorator, we get it all off tax.'
The Atlantic Bus Company's Woodstock depot was in Bromwell Street, opposite the industrial area, next to the Metro railway line. Joubert had to stop at the gate and sign in with the security guard before he could drive in. The low office building was in the middle of the big, fenced area. Row upon row of blue buses, a workshop and giant fuel tanks behind them. A train rumbled towards Muizenberg as Joubert got out. Heat rose from the tar, the smell of diesel and oil heavy in the air.
There was no reception. He walked all the way to the end of the corridor before he found an office with Neville Philander, Depot Manager on the door. He knocked.
'Come in,' a voice called out.
Joubert opened the door. Philander held a hand over a telephone mouthpiece and said: 'I'll be with you in a minute,' and then, into the receiver: 'Recovery are on their way, Jimmy, just hang in there ... No, I've got people here, I have to go. OK, bye ...' He put the phone down, stood up, offered his hand and said: 'You're the private eye?'