by Kurt Ellis
Meyer reached into his jacket and pulled out his notepad.
‘It’s not an uncommon practice, I’m afraid,’ Buthelezi continued. ‘Drug-addicted and unemployed men, desperate to earn some money, will break into a morgue, desecrate an unclaimed corpse, and sell the parts to unscrupulous, amateurish traditional healers – those same charlatans who advertise on bins and poles claiming to give you a larger penis, a promotion at work or to help you win the Lotto.’
Meyer smiled wryly. ‘So, you’re telling me that doesn’t work?’
Professor Buthelezi returned the smile. ‘I didn’t say that. But what I will say is that your money would be better spent if you tore it up into confetti.’
‘Hey! What do you want here?’
Meyer turned.
One of the Occult Unit members, a man wearing a leather jacket over a black shirt rushed over. ‘This is not your case.’
Meyer slipped his notepad back into his jacket. ‘I was asked by Detective Mdlalose to come over and give him my thoughts.’
‘Well, it’s not his case either. It’s ours. So you, you scavengers, can leave. You’re not needed here.’
‘Sure. No problem.’ Meyer shrugged, then shook Buthelezi’s hand once more. ‘A pleasure to meet you, Professor.’ He turned and walked out.
He hadn’t yet reached the exit when Mdlalose called out to him. The officer caught up with him.
‘Those bastards,’ he said when he reached Meyer. ‘Sorry about that. The morgues always call the Occult Unit when something like this occurs. I told the assistant not to, not until I had you take a look. I guess the bastard didn’t listen.’
‘No need to apologise.’ Meyer hid his annoyance behind a tight smile. ‘From what Professor Buthelezi says, it looks like it should be their case.’
Mdlalose grimaced. ‘I thought as much.’
An awkward silence descended. Meyer said, ‘I need to get going.’
‘You remember how well we worked together in Cape Town?’
Meyer could have said that they’d hardly ever really worked together, but chose not to respond.
‘See here,’ Madlose continued. ‘You know me, Father. I’m good at what I do. Can’t you put a word in there for me with Major Grey? To get me into the unit?’
That was it. That was what Meyer had been waiting for since the call that morning.
‘I know you’re a good detective.’ Meyer said truthfully, ‘but it’s not up to me. Major Grey handpicked his team, and he’s working on a tight budget.’
‘Kak, man.’ Mdlalose dropped the friendly smile. ‘What tight budget? He’s spending money on that guy, Creed. What is that, hey? Hiring a consultant like there are no good cops in SAPS. It’s not right, Luke.’
‘The best I can do is to chat with Grey.’
Mdlalose smiled again. ‘That’s all I want, buddy.’
Meyer smiled and nodded. ‘Good, well, I’ve got another case I need to get on. I’ll touch base with you soon.’
23
Major Eli Grey studied his laptop screen. ‘You’re looking for a white male, thirty-five to forty-five years old. Maybe fifty. He’s certainly not younger than thirty-five.’
He looked up and gestured to Meyer to come in.
‘Give me a few minutes,’ he said. ‘I’m just Skyping Windhoek, helping Nampol with a profile.’ He handed a manila file to Meyer before turning back to the camera on his laptop screen. ‘The reports from the other Bassons are highly important. The unsub had probably seen the article about Liesl in the community newspaper, and began cold calling all the Bassons in the phone directory until he found the right one. This tells me he’s mature. Older. Confident.’
Meyer sat in the chair facing Grey. He opened the case file and read.
In summary, Major Grey was providing a profile on a case of rape and murder of an eleven-year-old girl. Three weeks before her murder, Liesl Basson had won seven gold medals at the National Junior Swimming Championships, an achievement that granted her front-page coverage in the local community newspaper of Hochland Park, a suburb of Windhoek.
On 21 May, her mother, Ms Mary Basson, received a telephone call from a Mr John Samuels who claimed to be a photographer from the Windhoek Chronicle, a large local newspaper. He informed Ms Basson that the newspaper wished to run an article on her daughter’s achievement and that he’d been assigned to take a few photographs of Liesl for the piece. The mother agreed to meet with him at the local swimming pool on Saturday 25 May.
Ms Basson was not feeling well that morning, so Liesl went to the swimming pool with her sister Margot, seventeen. The swimming pool wasn’t far from their home and they had often walked to it alone. Mr Lorenzo Xama, owner of a store on the corner across the road from the pool, reported that Liesl and Margot had purchased a packet of crisps and cigarettes from him at 09:22 that morning. Upon leaving, Margot had spoken to a few friends who were entering the store. The two girls then continued to the pool and briefly met with Mr John Samuels at the pool’s entrance. According to Margot, he was carrying photography equipment, and didn’t seem threatening at all. She described him as being in his early to mid-thirties, white, with curly black hair and stubble; average height, average weight. She left Liesl with him and returned to the store where she loitered outside, smoking with her friends. She had instructed Liesl to meet her there after the photoshoot, but her sister never returned. At approximately 11:00, Margot and her friends went to look for Liesl but found neither the girl nor the photographer. She assumed that Liesl had misunderstood her and had gone straight home. At approximately 13:30, a Mrs Suzette Fredericks, a vagrant, found the naked corpse of Liesl Basson behind a fast-food restaurant two streets away. She had been raped and strangled.
Meyer closed his eyes, laying his palm on the file as he said a silent prayer for her. Only eleven years old.
Grey continued. ‘This is his first murder, and he didn’t intend to kill her.’
Meyer heard a male voice ask through the speakers. ‘Why do you say that?’
‘He didn’t know she was going to be alone with him. He had expected Liesl to arrive with her mother. His intention was to probably take photographs of her in her bathing suit and to use those photographs for self-pleasuring later. However, when the sister left, he seized the opportunity.’
‘Are you saying he’s a real photographer? The newspaper doesn’t know a John Samuels.’
‘I don’t think he’s a professional photographer; I think he’s an avid amateur. He would’ve needed professional-looking equipment to fool the mother for the shoot. I don’t think this is his job, though. He probably works around children, indirectly. Not a teacher or anything like that, but his job may put him into contact with children quite often, like a bus driver in a school zone. He’ll also have a police record.’
‘But you said this is his first murder.’
‘It is. You’re looking for lesser crimes, and I only use that term as there is no other. He would have been arrested for voyeurism, maybe petty theft, like stealing girls’ underwear. Maybe even indecent exposure. He’s a paedophile, but I think this is also his first sexual assault. Before this, I believe he would have satisfied his urges with fantasy and the photographs he’d taken. But when Liesl arrived alone, he saw a chance to turn a lifetime of fantasy into reality.’
Grey held his hand out for the file from Meyer. The major continued, ‘Geographically, I wouldn’t be surprised if he lived in the area. How else would he have seen the community newspaper? It only goes to residents in Hochland Park. I also think he doesn’t live alone.’
‘What makes you say that?’
‘This was a crime of opportunity. If he had his own, private home, he would have spent more than a few hours with her. He would have kidnapped her and held her for as long as possible. He doesn’t have privacy. No, he doesn’t live alone, but I don’t think he’s married either. He probably lives with a relative, most likely an older female relative. He also has a large vehicle, like a minibus or even a bakk
ie with a canopy and blocked-out windows. That’s where the assault and murder happened.’
Grey paged through the sheets of paper until he came to a map. ‘The assault could have happened in Avis Dam Nature Reserve. It’s a twenty-minute drive from the pool and at that time of day it would have been quiet. It fits in with the timeframe. And there would have been little risk of being caught.’
‘But we need to catch him, Major. Tell me how to catch this son of a bitch.’
‘It’s a cliché that the unsub will always go back to the scene of the crime, but in this case, I think this is exactly what he’ll be doing. He will be going to one of two places, or maybe both. The first is Avis Dam Nature Reserve. Look for the vehicle there. He’ll either be masturbating, or even having sex, probably with a prostitute to relive the fantasy in the park or in his vehicle. The second place is the graveyard. He may visit Liesl’s grave as a show of remorse.’
‘Remorse?’ Meyer said, incredulous. ‘He just dumped her body behind a restaurant. He didn’t try to cover her up. I don’t see the remorse there.’
Grey looked at him. ‘The only injuries to the body were as a result of the sexual assault and the manual strangulation. Nothing else. He’s not a sexual sadist. He didn’t hurt her unnecessarily. What I think happened was that he took her on a whim because he lost control of his desires, but once he had assaulted her, once he had satisfied himself, he began to think of the ramifications. He didn’t bother to conceal his face. She had seen him and would have been able to identify him, probably his vehicle too. His only option, if he hoped to get away with it, was to kill her. Remember, I believe the assault happened in the nature reserve, a vast wooded area. He could have easily dumped her body, hidden it there, with a good chance that she wouldn’t have been found for a few weeks, maybe months. Maybe never. Instead, he took the risk of taking her back into the town, behind the restaurant with high foot traffic. He was giving her back to her family.’
Meyer could only nod.
Grey turned to the computer screen. ‘What you should do is have the local community newspaper run a piece on Liesl. We know he reads that paper. When he sees it, he will react. Either he will have the urge to relive the sexual release or the urge to ask for forgiveness. Either way, watch the reserve and the graveyard. He’ll turn up there.’
24
The Major closed his laptop and looked at Meyer. ‘Patel got a call from a journalist this morning, asking questions about our case. Her name’s Tracey Wilson.’
‘That’s unusual. I mean, it’s not a high-profile case.’
‘I know. The violence at the North West mine is dominating the news, so why is this woman interested in our murder?’ Grey didn’t wait for an answer. ‘I hear you were at Charlotte Maxeke Hospital this morning.’
Meyer felt the blood flee from his face. ‘How do you …’
‘Well, first I got a call from the head of the Occult Unit, complaining about us trying to steal their cases. Then a Detective Mdlalose called me. He said you two worked together this morning.’
‘Major, I …’
Grey raised his hand. ‘I have no problem with you helping out an old friend on a case. But I don’t need a recruitment specialist. He informed me that you advised him to give me a call about a position in the unit.’
Meyer was about to declare this to be a lie, but Grey raised his hand again.
‘Nonsense, I know. But it’s not something I want to be dealing with. The outside cops think this is a cushy job.’ Grey took a sip from the coffee mug steaming on his desk. ‘They know nothing. In this unit, we’ll be giving longer hours and working with the vilest of what South Africa can produce. Trust me when I say this unit will have the toughest job imaginable. But we need to make sure it has a future. So please, keep your mind on our case. Understood, Detective?’
‘Yes, sir. Understood.’
‘Good.’ Grey nodded as he leaned back. ‘I have Zwane looking into—’
‘Major,’ Meyer interrupted cautiously. ‘There is something else, though.’
‘Go on.’
Meyer swallowed. ‘I can’t help but agree with Mdlalose and a few others I’ve spoken to.’
Grey’s seat creaked slightly beneath him as he clasped his hands on the desk. ‘And what are you’ll in agreement about?’
‘Sir, we cannot understand why you feel the need to bring in a consultant to this unit. There are many good detectives in the SAPS who could add value to this team.’
‘I see,’ Grey took another sip of coffee. ‘Creed’s with us because he’s a fantastic profiler; one of the world’s best. No other SAPS detective can add as much value and experience to the unit as he can.’
Meyer ran his forefinger and thumb down the corners of his mouth. ‘May I speak frankly, Major?’
‘Of course.’
‘I believe you’re risking your career and reputation on a man with more demons than Dante’s Inferno. Besides the fact that he’s reeked of alcohol and marijuana every time I’ve been in his presence, the events that occurred in the US around the Rodriguez case should be worrying to all of us.’
‘Let me tell you a story, Meyer,’ Grey interrupted, ‘a personal story that I don’t usually like to share.’ He looked into the corner of his office, at a ghost only he could see. ‘My parents died in a car accident when I was sixteen. And do you know who was there to console me through that tragedy?’
Meyer shook his head.
‘No one. No one at all. I was alone. Oh, I had family: aunts, uncles and cousins. But they were more interested in trying to get access to my parents’ money than in helping me. I met Nick at university two years later. We were both members of the boxing club and we soon became good friends. Best friends. We did everything together. Studying, sports, chasing girls. At the time, I was dating Henriette Swanepoel.’
He reached across his desk to a picture frame and handed it to Meyer. The teenaged girl sitting on the steps of an old building was beautiful. She had a huge, toothy smile, an oval-shaped face with a sprinkling of freckles and sparkling blue eyes. Her blonde hair was tied in a tight ponytail, yet a lock of hair fell across her face.
Meyer had wondered who she was when he’d first seen the photograph many months earlier. The Major had a disarming number of picture frames around his office, each containing a newspaper clipping from the cases he had solved in his illustrious career. All but one – the one Meyer was holding in his hand.
‘She was beautiful, funny, smart, and I loved her. And then Nick met Megan and he too was head over heels in love. We both were incredibly happy. The world was waiting. I was studying business, but Creed already knew he wanted to hunt down monsters. He was a criminology and psych major.’
Meyer handed the photograph back to Grey, who fixed his gaze on the girl in the frame. His eyes glazed over for a second as he slipped into a memory.
‘A month or two after Nick had met Megan, Hettie left school to go home to Bloemfontein for the weekend. It was a last-minute trip. She said she was missing her parents and just wanted to see them. So she left on the Friday. On Saturday morning, the police came to the flat I shared with Nick to tell me that she’d been murdered.’
Grey stared at the floor for a minute.
‘They’d found her body on a road. Not in a ditch on the side of a street, but in the middle of the M38, for all to see. Nick was with me when I was told. He was with me when the police questioned me. And during her funeral and every time we went to the police for an update on the case, he was there. He was with me every time those idiots said they had no new leads. He was there when I decided to change my major so I could find that … person who’d hurt Hettie and others like her. He was there for me like no other person ever was. Not even my own family. That’s the type of person he is, Meyer. Loyal. Honourable.’
Meyer nodded. ‘Major, I’m sure he’s a great friend, but I still don’t see how or why we need someone like him in the unit. He has a substance-abuse problem. He’s arrogant. He display
s narcissistic, even psychopathic tendencies. He …’
‘He caught a serial killer when he was twelve years old. How many people can say that?’ Grey took another sip of coffee. ‘Meyer, you and I both know that there are monsters out there, those big, bad wolves constantly on the prowl. And everyone else is just sheep. Just dumb, helpless sheep, working nine-to-five jobs to pay the bond or the rent. Sheep, oblivious of the wolves around them. Oblivious of the wolves in sheep’s clothing that they greet at the office or in church; the wolves that take them out on dates and share their beds. They don’t know that every time they go to the mall, to work, to school, chances are they’re walking right past these wolves. These wolves are constantly watching them, stalking them, waiting for the right time, the right opportunity to strike. To pick one of them off the moment they stray too far from the flock. We have both seen far too often how brutal and vicious these attacks are. And that’s why we are here. We’re the shepherds who protect the flock. And just like shepherds, we need help to do so. So who do we get to help us keep the wolves at bay? Another sheep?’
He didn’t wait for Meyer to answer.
‘Of course not. You get yourself a dog – a big, vicious demon dog to give those wolves nightmares. You get a monster that’ll have other monsters checking under their beds for him. And that’s what Creed is. He’s a monster of a dog and he is on our side. If we want to stop these wolves, Meyer, we need Creed. He knows how they think and what they’re hiding. He knows how they’ll react. He’s the one who can see under their disguises. He’s the one who can sniff them out.’
Meyer scratched his chin. He thought of a verse from the Gospel of Matthew: Behold, I send you forth as sheep in the midst of wolves … He was tempted to continue with the analogy and say that, just sometimes, the dog you got to protect the sheep will turn on his flock, will turn on his master, even. What do you do then? Do you not put him down behind the shed?
A week ago, Meyer had been confident that Grey would do the honourable thing. But now, sitting in his office, doubt scratched at his throat like sandpaper. ‘I agree,’ Meyer started. ‘You can’t deny Creed’s impressive résumé, but look at yours.’