by Kurt Ellis
When they eventually arrived at headquarters, Grey asked Creed to wait for him on the floor while he went in for a brief meeting with Brigadier General Richard Sindane, his direct superior.
‘The floor’ was an open-plan office area consisting of two pods of desks, a special annex set up on the premises specifically for the IPU team. Eli Grey had his own office in the far corner, beside a smaller office belonging to their public relations officer. To the right of that office was the Operations Centre. In this boardroom, the unit would meet and debrief regarding cases. That’s how Grey had described the setup to Creed when he had shown him these new offices a weekend earlier. The rest of the space was made up of two pods of four workstations, only three of them occupied.
Creed flopped behind the nearest desk – someone’s untidy work space. The computer monitor had a laminated strip of paper stuck across the top of the screen that read ‘Capt. A. Steenkamp’. Abandoned on the black computer keyboard was a single, brown manila folder with what looked like oily food drippings on the cover.
Creed opened it and scanned the pages. A robbery/homicide police docket. The first page was a statement from the police diary – that portion of the official docket used by the investigator to make notes of his actions, a summary of events and theories of the crime.
Creed read: On the evening of Friday, April 26, at approximately 22:00, Mr Albertus Stephanus Hendrik Erasmus, age 56, and Mrs Lillian Mari-Anne Erasmus, age 52, had returned home from dinner at a Spur restaurant. Mr Erasmus states that when they had entered their residence, two unidentified black males were in their house in the process of committing a robbery. Mr Erasmus and Mrs Erasmus were then threatened with a firearm and tied to the bed frame in the main bedroom. The home invaders proceeded to beat Mrs Erasmus to death before stealing jewellery and electronics from the home. At this point, the perpetrators fled the scene, leaving Mr Erasmus tied up. Mr Erasmus was found by his son, Mr Ronald Johannes Erasmus, age 24, three days later, still bound but largely uninjured.
The rest of the docket consisted of statements, reports and an inventory of the stolen items. Creed went through the list of goods and a small, knowing smile crept across his face. He searched the file for a name and found it at the end of the docket. First Responding Detective was listed as Detective Dumisani Zwane. Below that was the name of the assigned investigating officer, Captain A. Steenkamp.
Grey reappeared from his meeting with General Sindane just as Creed closed the docket. His jaw was clenched and his hands balled into fists.
‘You okay?’ Creed tossed the docket back onto the keyboard.
‘Apart from having to deal with bureaucrats?’ Grey replied calmly. ‘I’m great.’
Nothing else was said. The two men made their way down the centre of the floor and into the large briefing room. The rest of the team were already seated around the table.
‘Good morning. Sorry to keep you waiting.’
‘That’s fine, Major,’ responded a young Indian woman in a sing-song voice. ‘How was the competition, sir? Did you win?’
‘Unfortunately not,’ Grey said. ‘But I’m satisfied with a third-place finish.’
Grey had won a local bodybuilding competition a few months earlier, with part of the prize being an entry into an international competition in Canada. He had only returned to South Africa the previous week, enough time to convince Creed to consult with this team and to show him the offices. ‘Thanks for asking, Reshmee.’
Was she blushing?
‘Now, I’d like to introduce you all to Nicholas Creed,’ said Grey. ‘I’ve known Nick here for over fifteen years. As I’ve mentioned to you before, he’s here to assist and advise us on advanced profiling techniques, and to consult on our cases until further notice. A short piece of history: we were at university together and joined the Police Service together. Nick holds a master’s degree in criminology and bachelor’s degrees in developmental psychology and sociology. Besides being an inactive member of the SAPS, Nick has also been a member of the FBI’s famed BAU for almost seven years as a profiler. He’s worked with some of the world’s top criminal profilers, and he’s regarded as one of the top profilers himself. He has a wealth of knowledge and experience. We’re incredibly lucky to have him.’
Creed felt somewhat like an old item being talked up for auction. A little worn, but a classic piece of history. We will start the bidding at … He nodded a greeting to no one in particular before walking to the back of the room, where he stood in the corner.
Grey began introducing his team members.
‘Nick, this is Detective Dumisani Zwane. Zwane finished top of his class at the academy and has been with SAPS for six years now. Promoted to detective a few weeks ago, his record in uniform though is impeccable. ‘
Zwane smiled widely and leaned across to shake Creed’s hand. ‘Pleased to meet you, sir.’
Creed knew that look on his face. It annoyed him. All because of those bloody books and that damn movie. Damn you for this, Red, he thought. Damn me as well.
Grey reintroduced Professor Stephen Cho, the forensic pathologist he had met that morning in the field. The professor looked up from a report he was reading just long enough to give Creed another nod in greeting. Grey moved on to Captain André Steenkamp. Ah – Creed thought – the dirty Capt. A. Steenkamp, currently messing up the Erasmus case.
Steenkamp was a fat man. His round stomach put the buttons on his stained shirt under tremendous pressure. Steenkamp simply stared at Creed with bloodshot blue eyes.
After Steenkamp, Grey pointed out Detective Luke Meyer. In his mid- to late twenties, maybe early thirties. He had boyish good looks with green eyes, feathery brown hair and the willowy build of a jogger. He gave Creed a slight smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes.
The last member of the team was the young Indian woman – the public relations officer and spokesperson for the unit, Reshmee Patel. She had recently graduated from the University of the Witwatersrand, apparently – the alma mater of both Creed and Grey. Early twenties, slight, short and inexperienced, she seemed less than ideal to him for a police media liaison. She wouldn’t have been his first choice for the role, but he guessed that a recent graduate with no work experience, starting on the lowest possible salary grade, would be regarded as a bargain for a unit with a limited budget.
‘Okay,’ Grey continued. ‘One more thing, Nick. Please hand your cellphone to Zwane so he can install the SAPStar app on your device.’
‘SAPStar?’ Creed furrowed his eyebrows.
Zwane answered, ‘It’s an application we’ve developed to track cellphones of SAPS staff.’
‘It’s for safety purposes,’ Grey added. ‘In case you’re in need of assistance and we need to find you.’
‘Or more like a long leash so you know where your dogs are at all times.’ Creed meant it to sound like a joke, but it didn’t.
‘Nick, it’s a requirement. We all have it, and only I’ll have access to the monitoring dashboard, which I’ll only use as necessary. If you have …’
‘I’ve no problem with it at all. You already know all the seedy places I go to.’ Creed slid his phone across the table. It came to a rest in front of Zwane, who began typing away furiously on the screen.
‘Now that the introductions are done,’ Grey continued, ‘just a reminder for your benefit, Nick, of what we’re trying to achieve here. The Investigative Psychological Unit was established fifteen years ago, a few years before you left for the States. Our mandate is the same as that of the FBI’s Behavioral Analysis Unit, which you’re familiar with, and that is to assist and advise investigating officers in psychologically motivated crimes. Advise and assist, but not to investigate. Basically, the IPU began as a handful of criminal psychologists giving advice to cops. This is what we’re now trying to change. The purpose of our team, this team, is to combine active police work with criminal psychology to investigate these crimes ourselves; to give real detectives the skills and insights of criminologists by form
ing a single investigative team. This test programme is the first of its kind in South Africa and we need to ensure that it’s successful. Because if it is, we’ll be able to grow the unit. We have carte blanche regarding the cases we’ll investigate and how we’ll investigate them. This morning, I believe I’ve identified our first case.’
6
Grey nodded at Patel and the young woman got to her feet. She hurried around the table handing out folders to those seated before giving the final copy to Creed, who was leaning against the wall. The pages looked fresh from the printer when he opened them.
‘We need to get the ball rolling here, quickly.’ Grey looked down at the folder in front of him.
‘This morning, the body of a black female was discovered abandoned in a field along the Golden Highway, close to Orange Farm. Her lips, tongue, hands and feet had been removed.’
‘Vagina too,’ stated Cho, matter-of-factly.
Reshmee hissed, as if Cho’s words had caused her physical pain.
‘Do we know the COD?’ asked Meyer.
‘Manual strangulation,’ Cho replied.
‘Signs of sexual assault?’
‘We can’t tell yet. It is hard to say with the genitals removed, but my assistant is now preparing the body for full post-mortem. I can say though that liver temperature and lividity tell me she died between midnight and four in the morning.’
Meyer nodded. He scribbled in a small notepad he had pulled from the inside pocket of his jacket.
Zwane slid Creed’s phone back across the table, then raised his hand as if in school. ‘Do we have an ID?’ he asked when Grey turned to him.
‘Not as yet. That’s what we need to do today. The fact is, we have very little at the moment, apart from a green T-shirt as evidence. Do you have anything you’d like to add here, Nick?’
Creed, who was slipping his mobile device into his pocket, was taken off guard by the question. He had expected to spend this first day as a fly on the wall.
Closing the file, he cleared his throat. ‘It’s too early to do any serious profiling yet.’
‘Still, share what you know with us. What are you thinking?’
He shrugged, annoyed that Grey had put him on the spot. ‘We should be looking for a man who knows the victim well. Probably a boyfriend or husband, or ex-boyfriend or ex-husband. Twenties or thirties, physically fit. He would have his own vehicle. All we need to do is ID the body, and we should have our killer.’
Steenkamp snorted. ‘So, Mr Hollywood Man, you’re pretty sure about all that, after five minutes at the crime scene?’
‘I simply get that from victimology, Steenkamp. From the fact that the body was dumped off the freeway, carried over the cement barrier and into the veld. Firstly, the unsub would need a car to get the body to that particular dumping site in the first place. It’s not a place one could walk to lugging a dead body and not be noticed. The reason I say he’s young and physically fit is that he carried the body. He didn’t drag it, but carried the dead weight over the barriers and a good distance before dumping it. That took some strength.’
‘And the boyfriend or husband part?’ Zwane asked, sitting forward in his seat.
‘What’s the latest stat on this now, Eli?’ Creed looked at Grey. ‘More than half of all women killed in South Africa are murdered by a current or former romantic partner?’
Grey didn’t respond, encouraging him to keep going.
Creed turned to Zwane. ‘He also put clothes on the body before dumping it. Giving her some dignity; not wanting to expose her to the elements and to people. That shows me he felt some remorse for what he did. If the victim was unknown to the unsub, it’s unlikely that he would’ve been interested in trying to retain her modesty after such brutality. He wouldn’t have cared.’
‘Then what about the brutality, hey?’ prodded Steenkamp. ‘Explain the tongue and hands being cut off. Where was the remorse and tenderness there?’
‘The mutilation tells me that perhaps infidelity, or perceived infidelity, may have been the trigger for the murder. He thinks she kissed someone else so he took her lips and tongue. Or she touched someone else so he took her hands. Or she screwed someone else so he took her vagina.’
Steenkamp laughed hard; an ugly, dismissive cackle. ‘I’ve been a detective for over thirty bloody years and what this oke is saying seems a lot like bloody guesswork to me.’
Creed gave Steenkamp a cocky smile. ‘Just like this oke is guessing when I say that the husband killed his wife in the Erasmus case that you still have open?’
‘What?’ Steenkamp’s face was washed scarlet with fury. ‘How do you … were you going through my shit!’
Steenkamp stood and the chair beneath him groaned loudly with relief.
Grey slammed his hand on the desk. ‘Captain! Sit down.’
The two men glared at each other from over the table for a second before Steenkamp settled back into his seat.
‘Nick,’ Grey started. ‘Tell me what you know about the Erasmus case.’
Creed remained silent a moment longer. Finally, he said, ‘Zwane, according to the report, you were first detective on the scene when the ambulance took Albert Erasmus away. Is this correct?’
‘Yes, it is.’
‘What did you smell in the bedroom?’
‘Come again, sir?’ The detective’s eyebrows creased.
‘Smell, Zwane. What did you smell? In the air. What did you smell?’
Zwane shrugged. ‘Nothing, sir. I smelt nothing.’
‘Nothing?’ Creed confirmed. ‘What did Erasmus smell like?’
‘What the hell …’ Steenkamp was about to interrupt, but Grey gave him an icy scowl.
‘Body odour. Rather foul, actually. The man hadn’t bathed for three or four days. He stank badly.’
‘But only of body odour?’ Creed prompted.
‘Only body odour, I think.’
‘According to his statement, Albert Erasmus said that he and his wife were out at a restaurant for dinner, and when they came back home, they were surprised by home invaders. He then said that after the criminals strangled and beat his wife to death, he was tied up for four days, unable to move, before finally being found and freed by his son. So my question is this,’ Creed paused for effect. ‘Where did he relieve himself?’
They stared at Creed, dumbfounded.
‘From the credit-card receipt and Spur receipt in the docket, it’s clear that Erasmus had a big meal on the night of the incident and a hell of a lot to drink as well – almost a half a dozen beers and then three rum and Cokes. So after drinking five Castles and three rum and Cokes, and after eating a three-hundred-gram steak with a baked potato, he was tied up for three days. After three days, he would definitely have needed to relieve himself in that time. His bladder and gut would have been bursting, yet he didn’t. He didn’t soil himself at all.’
Steenkamp still had a snarl on his face.
‘Have you ever tried to shit yourself on purpose, Captain? Almost impossible. It’s amazing how the human brain will do everything it can to prevent embarrassment. Think about it. If you were to trip and fall in a mall, in front of complete strangers, in front of people you’ll never see again, you’d still get a surge of embarrassment.’
He saw Reshmee Patel nodding from the corner of his eye. ‘And the biggest embarrassment for any adult person would be shitting and pissing themselves. The fact that Erasmus was found unsoiled tells me that he couldn’t bring himself to soil his pants. So what else could he do to relieve himself but go to the toilet? He went to the bathroom. Not something you could do if you were tied up, now is it?’
Steenkamp forced out a dismissive laugh. ‘Fucking hell. Because a man can control his bladder and bowel, then that makes him a killer? Come on.’
Creed ignored the comment. ‘Tell me, Captain Steenkamp, did you see the doctor’s report? The doctor who’d examined Erasmus for injuries once he was rescued?’
‘You’re interrogating me? No, no, no. I’m
not going to play these games with you, Mr Hollywood Man.’
‘That’s fine,’ Creed responded. ‘I saw the report in the docket myself. There were no injuries caused to Mr Erasmus’s wrists; no fractures, no rope burns, no cuts, no bruises. Fuck-all. Nothing. But let me tell you something. No matter how old they are, or how weak they are, if a person is tied up and is left for dead, they’ll always try to break their bonds, as if they were Hercules or Samson. Always. Even if they’re handcuffed, they will try to pull the links apart. I worked on a case in Albuquerque a few years back where a woman was handcuffed in the basement to a water heater. She tried to pull her hands out so hard that she broke four carpals in her wrists. Not only that, but she almost skinned her hands just to get free. Erasmus didn’t even have rope burns. He didn’t try to get free. Some years ago an American man cut his right forearm off with a pocket knife after it was trapped by a boulder, but this man doesn’t even give himself rope burns when his wife is being beaten to death? That smells like bullshit to me. Then there are the items that were stolen. The jewellery and electronics.’
‘Yes, sir, but that’s what you’d expect to be stolen in a robbery,’ Zwane stated.
‘True. But I went through the inventory of items taken, and most, if not all of the items that were stolen, belonged to Mrs Erasmus. Almost nothing belonging to the husband was taken. Not his wallet, his cell, his watch. Nothing. Not even the wedding ring he had on his finger at the time. You see, it’s a common mistake made when a spouse murders the other and tries to make it look like robbery homicide. They fake the robbery by stealing the victims’ belongings, but they forget that in a proper robbery, thieves would’ve stolen their shit as well.’
Creed was met with silence.
‘So if you add this all up, you’d see that the scene was staged. And the only person capable of staging the scene like this … would be the husband.’
The room was as quiet as midnight.