by Arno Joubert
“Nope. I’d like to do some background checks.”
“Leave that to me,” Neil said and started punching a number into his phone. “While we’re here, we should visit the beach, don’t you think?”
Alexa smiled and hailed a cab. “You took the words right out of my mouth, Sergeant.”
Neil held the door open. “There’s a lot more I want to do with that mouth of yours, Captain,” Neil said with a devilish grin.
Alexa closed the taps of the tub and lay back in the bubbles. She heard her cell phone ring and called out for Neil to answer it. A moment later he strolled into the bathroom and held it out to Alexa. “It’s the general.”
She took the phone and glanced at him appreciatively. He was wearing only a towel. “Bonjour, General.”
“Bonjour, Captain. I read your report. It seems as if there are some underhanded dealings going on at Happy Sunshine.”
“Yes, General. What do you want us to do?”
“Nothing, we’ve wasted enough time on the CDC’s request already. Let the Thai police deal with their own scoundrels. I can hardly justify this as a case of international importance.”
Alexa nodded. “OK, General, we’ll catch the next available flight up to Lyon, then.”
“Not so fast, my girl. I have something else that may be of interest.”
“Yes?”
“A case where you get to see your dad as well.”
Alexa sighed. Laiveaux was stretching this out for effect. “Yes, General?”
Neil sat on the edge of the tub and started massaging her shoulders.
“Strange things have been happening in Cape Town; sneakers have been washing up on shore, and now a certain Inspector Moolman has found about thirty shoes floating ten miles offshore.”
Alexa chuckled. “Now, now, General. Since when have we become investigators for the lost shoe brigade?”
“There’s more.”
Alexa closed her eyes, enjoying the massage. “What else, General?”
“The shoes contain human feet.”
Alexa sat up straight in the bath, spilling water on the floor. “What?”
“You heard me. They all contain skeletal remains of human feet.”
“When can we leave, General?”
“Tonight, if possible.”
Alexa nodded. “Certainly, General. We’re on our way,” she said, standing up in the tub.
“Send my regards to Bruce. He’ll pick you up at the airport.”
“I will, General. Au revoir,” Alexa said, stepping out of the bath and grabbing a towel.
“Good-bye, my girl. Keep safe.”
Neil watched her with an appreciative grin. “You’re in a hurry.”
“Yes, we need to go. We have a new case,” Alexa said, gathering her cosmetics into a vanity.
Neil dropped his towel. “So soon?”
Alexa glanced at Neil over her shoulder then smiled. She walked up to him and put her arms around his neck. “I guess we could spare a couple of minutes,” she whispered huskily.
Neil chuckled and led her to the bedroom by the hand. “If that’s all we have, I’ll need to make them count.”
Dr. Thak Wattana closed the door firmly after Police Colonel Wakaido exited his office. He removed his glasses and rubbed his eyes with the back of his hands, sighed wearily, and slid into his chair. That was too close for comfort; it felt like the whole situation was spiraling out of control. And Wattana didn’t like not being in control.
First Nice screwing up, now these damn Interpol agents snooping around. He touched the tattoo on his wrist. He needed help.
“Are you scared, little boy?” the Voice asked him.
Wattana shivered involuntarily. The Voice was brilliant, but he reminded Wattana of a snake or an eel. Something cold and slithery. “You have caused quite a stir, Voice.”
The Voice kept quiet for a while. “What do you mean, Dr. Wattana?”
“Nice is dead, but you already knew that.”
“Why, Doctor, is that an accusation?”
Wattana sighed. He didn’t have time for the Voice’s games. “Three entry wounds, meticulously placed, severed coronaries. Please don’t play games with me, Voice.”
“Nice screwed up,” the Voice hissed. “He deserved what he got.”
“Like the others deserved what they got?”
“They were . . .” the Voice hesitated.
“Collateral damage, yes, yes, I know,” Wattana said with an irritated wave of his hand.
“I had to clean up the mess in your absence; the cops will never trace the murder back to us.”
“I hope you’re right, Voice.”
The Voice chuckled. “Oh, but I’m always right, dear Doctor, aren’t I?”
Wattana stood up and sauntered to the window. The twinkling lights of squid-fishing boats dotted the dark ocean surface. Specks of bright hope in the vast, dark abyss of ignorance. “Interpol has gotten involved.”
“How?”
“Two agents visited my offices today.”
“Names?”
Wattana glanced down at his notepad. “Captain Alexa Guerra and Sergeant Neil Allen.” He could feel the Voice mull the names over in his head.
“OK, I’ll call my contact, find out what they know.”
“You do that.”
Wattana touched the tattoo and the Voice crept back into his dark confines. He lay back in his chair, staring at the ceiling. He guessed the Voice was right; he had never let Wattana down before. He shrugged then bounced up. He needed something to eat and then a girl. He felt better already.
Everything was going to be all right, he murmured to himself as he locked the office and headed into the night. The Voice was on the case. And they were on the side of righteousness and understanding. And that would conquer all.
Yumi scraped the last piece of rice off the palm leaf then licked it clean. Today’s meal was better than yesterday’s; they had added something oily to the weak broth, probably chicken skins. The doctor walked between the rows of other girls, demanding that they eat faster, he was tired.
He slipped on one of the girl’s unfinished meals and swore, then he stepped on her hand and clobbered her against the head. She whimpered but took the punishment in silence, like a dog that was abused into obedience.
Yumi froze as the doctor spun around and pointed. “You.” At first she thought he pointed at her, but then he said, “Three One Three.” She breathed a sigh of relief. The older girl next to her stood up and gathered her plate. Three One Three obediently shuffled to the kitchen to go wash up, the plate and cutlery rattling in her hands.
The guards banged against the bars of the gates with their batons. Bed-time. The girls stood up and walked in single file through to their cells, a guard clanging the gate shut behind them. Yumi looked over her shoulder and saw Three One Three following the doctor to his office. She was crying.
CHAPTER TWO
Slander’s Peak
Cape Town, South Africa
Eben de Vos was becoming frantic. He pulled his beanie from his wild mop of hair and scratched his head. He needed to stay calm; it wouldn’t help anyone if his emotions overwhelmed him now. He breathed deeply and took a swig of whiskey from his hip flask.
He examined the map against the wall of the Howling Moon pub. The dining area had been transformed into a makeshift search and rescue center and was empty, save for himself and Henry. They had already covered the entire town and half of Slander’s Peak but had found nothing.
The entire community of Slander’s Peak had been mobilized to help search for his daughter, Alida. Police had brought their sniffer dogs from Cape Town, and they had meticulously searched most of town. The Mountain Club was up in the peaks, but he didn’t expect them to find anything. Still, he had to keep up his hopes, stay strong, for Mitsu’s sake; his wife was devastated.
As mayor of Slander’s Peak he had expected some townsfolk to help with the search, but he was surprised when more than three hundr
ed volunteers from the surrounding villages joined them.
Alida was only eighteen, and when Inspector Moolman from the Police Services asked him if she could have run away, Eben answered instinctively. He knew his daughter better than anyone. She would never leave her home. She was an introvert; some townsfolk called her a loner. But she was a loving, talented child. She loved to paint and listen to music, the kind with lots of guitars and drums and young men shrieking at the top of their lungs.
His wife said Alida was a goth. Apparently goths dressed in certain ways and used a lot of drugs. He dismissed the notion. Alida was finding her place in the world, and he knew for sure that she wasn’t using anything illegal. A bit of pot, maybe, but nothing more.
Since she had met that boy, she had changed. Dr. Petzer’s son, what was his name? He racked his brain before snapping his fingers at Henry. “Henry, have you checked out the doctor’s place yet? Alida and that boy had something going on.”
Henry Theron looked up from the map he was studying. “You mean Jake?”
“Yes, the scrawny kid.”
Henry nodded. “Yes, said he last saw her three days ago. He has no idea where she could have gone.”
Eben scratched his beard. “What about the harbor?”
Theron shook his head. “We’ve been over it with a fine-tooth comb, Eben.”
Eben de Vos sighed. “You think we should get the NSRI involved?”
The sinewy barman stood up straight, massaged his lower back, then ambled closer. “We could. You think she drowned?”
Eben pursed his lips then sighed. The guy was a barman, not a psychologist. “It’s been three days, Henry. I’m running out of answers.”
Theron nodded slowly then patted his pockets. “OK, I’ll notify them.” He fished out an old Nokia and started punching in a number. “What should the search radius be?”
Eben closed his eyes. “Fifty miles.”
Theron nodded, then he turned around and spoke into the receiver.
Eben fumbled in his pocket as his phone vibrated, then he pulled it out and read the message. It was from Inspector Moolman.
We found Alida’s schoolbag at Dr. Petzer’s home.
Eben read the message again, trying to find some meaning in the short sentence. What could it possibly mean? Why would Petzer’s boy have her bag?
He punched a number into the phone and waited for the inspector to answer. “Dawid, did he say anything? What’s the bag doing there?”
“He doesn’t know, Eben.”
Eben suppressed a curse. “OK, I’m on my way,” he said gruffly.
“Now wait just a moment, Eben. I don’t want you to come rushing in here like a bull in a china shop.”
“You can’t keep me away from the kid.”
“OK, come, but I’ll do the questioning, you hear me, Eben?”
“Fine, but—”
“No buts, Eben. You keep your mouth shut and your temper in check.”
Eben disconnected the call with a curse then jogged toward his Land Rover, slid his brawny frame into the car, cranked the ignition, and spun away, spraying gravel as he accelerated toward the suburbs.
Dawid Moolman studied the young Jake Petzer as he sat in the large leather sofa in his parents’ home. He looked terrified, his eyes darting from his father to Moolman. He was tall, probably six four, but thin as a rake, a pimply-faced teen with a mop of curly black hair, and at this moment he was scared shitless. He clutched a cushion to his chest as he answered their questions. “I . . . I don’t know why her satchel was in my room,” he stammered. “She must have forgotten it here, I guess.”
Moolman looked up from his notes. “When last did you see her?”
Jake bit his lip. He was close to tears. “Tuesday afternoon, at about four.”
“What did she say? Was she unhappy? Did she mention anything about running away?”
Jake shrugged nervously. “No, not at all. We talked about music, she suggested that we go up to Mueller’s Dam sometime.”
“Why? To use drugs?” Eben barked.
Moolman glanced at Eben then shook his head. “Eben, please . . .”
Eben de Vos stared at him with wild eyes, then his grizzly face relaxed. He nodded and looked down at his feet.
Moolman liked Eben. He was a black-and-white kind of guy; things were either right or wrong. They had gotten into heated exchanges fairly often. Once, Eben had caught a township kid stealing bread, and he brought the kid to the police station in a huff. He wanted to teach the boy a lesson. “Beat the black off him,” were the words he had used.
Moolman had explained that he was a minor. Eben insisted on joining Moolman to escort the kid home. He wanted to give the parents a piece of his mind about them raising criminals and all. His attitude changed as soon as they drove into the squalor of the squatter camp. The boy directed them to his home, if you could call it that. The kid lived beneath pieces of tin metal balanced against a rock. He had a sibling. His parents had died—AIDS.
Eben scooped the kids up, put them in the back of the police van, and rushed home with them. They’d been members of the de Vos household ever since. He was a good man, but he was stubborn at times.
He turned to face Jake again. “Did you have a sexual relationship with Alida, Jake?”
Dr. Hannes Petzer strode to his boy and stood in front of him with folded arms and a scowl on his face. “I cannot see what this has to do with anything, Inspector,” he growled, his eyebrows twitching beneath his spectacles.
Jake’s mouth dropped open, then he looked at his lap without answering.
“Was Alida pregnant, Jake?” Moolman asked softly. From the corner of his eye he saw Eben wince, but the big man kept quiet.
“No, no, not at all,” Jake said, looking around the people gathered in the living room. “We were very careful,” he said softly.
Eben’s eyes narrowed, and he stepped toward the boy. “Why you little piece of shit, I’ll wring your damn—”
“Eben,” Moolman said in a low voice.
The man blinked, as if awoken from a stupor, then just stood there, his fingers clutching open and closed.
Jake started sobbing, hiding his face in his hand. “I love her so much.”
Marie Petzer, the boy’s mother, rushed forward and sat next to her son. She took him in her arms and rocked him gently then looked up. “I think that is quite enough for today, gentlemen. Unless you plan on arresting my boy with no evidence whatsoever, I suggest you leave us alone. I’ll bring him down to the station once he feels better.”
Moolman nodded. It would be pointless to question the boy unless he could calm down. He picked up Alida’s leather satchel and pulled Eben by the arm. “Let’s go, Eben.”
The man resisted for a moment, but then he allowed himself to be led out of the house.
Moolman paused at the door to shake Dr. Petzer’s hand. “I’m sorry about this, Doctor. He’s the only person who knew her well.” He cast a sidelong glance at Eben.
Petzer pursed his lips, then he sighed and removed his glasses. “Look, Moolman, my boy is a good kid.” He leaned forward then spoke in a whisper. “The girl was . . . weird. With her black lipstick and black nails.” He shivered. “She creeped me out sometimes.” He sighed, a tired look on his face. “But my boy liked her, and once we got to know her better, we enjoyed her company.”
Moolman nodded thoughtfully.
Dr. Petzer glowered at Eben, pointing his finger over Moolman’s shoulder. “And you tell that oaf to stay away from my boy.”
Moolman nodded then shook Petzer’s hand. “I will, Doctor. Please bring Jake to the station once he feels up to it. I have one or two questions that I’d still like to ask him.”
Dr. Petzer nodded curtly, gave Eben a final glare, then slammed the door shut.
Moolman’s two-way radio hissed and crackled on his belt, and a metallic voice said, “Inspector, you there? Over.”
Eben de Vos looked up hopefully.
“I’m here. Y
ou found anything yet? Over.”
The two-way hissed and crackled for a second then the voice said, “I think we found her body, Inspector.”
Inspector Dawid Moolman drove Eben de Vos all the way to the morgue in Cape Town. He knew he would have to make the lengthy return journey back to Slander’s Peak, but he wasn’t willing to let the man drive on his own. Eben needed some company.
They hardly said a word during the twenty-mile trip. Moolman’s questions were answered with curt nods and grunts by the large man. They sat in silence as they drove.
They arrived at the police headquarters an hour later, and Moolman signed them both in. At the entrance to the morgue stood a solemn-looking Pierre de Kock, the station commander. He nodded to them both and then led them into the mortuary.
Pierre de Kock opened a large metal door against a wall. He pulled out a metal drawer to reveal a set of feet laying on an aluminum table. He pulled it out all the way and unzipped the green plastic bag that covered the corpse, revealing a pretty face. The young girl had dark hair. Her lips were covered in smeared black lipstick, and dark lines ran down her cheeks, like black tears. She looked like a fallen angel, her pale face beautiful and serene. He had seen the girl less than three months ago at her father’s home, and it definitely was Alida.
Moolman looked to his left as he heard a sob. He had forgotten about Eben for a moment. His large bucket-like hands covered his face, and his body jerked as he cried inconsolably. Moolman touched the man’s shoulders, but Eben slapped his hand away.
Eben de Vos leaned against the wall, his head on his arm, slamming the palm of his hand against the surface. “Oh, dear God, dear Jesus, why? How could you do this to me?”
Moolman and de Kock stood next to the big man, their hands on his shoulders, patting his back awkwardly. They had never seen Eben in such a state.
Eben de Vos sank down on his knees then rested his head on the ground, slapping his palm on the floor as he cried. They let him be, not knowing what else to do.