Daddy Long Legs (26 page)

Johannes Volkers stared at Human as if he were the Anti-Christ.

No-one spoke. The silence clung like wallpaper to the room. Human looked at the others with confusion, yet bemused. He turned to the bearded man behind the reception desk. ‘Look here, I –’

Johannes Volkers grabbed a wooden ruler and brandished it with a flourish, pointing it at Human. ‘Don’t come near me.’ As if to emphasise his point, he grabbed a small pair of scissors in his other hand. ‘I mean it.’ He stared at Human with terrified eyes.

‘Look here, son, I’m the lead investigator on this case,’ Human said, not entirely surprised by the visceral reaction the killer had produced in people. ‘I guarantee you I didn’t make that call. So why don’t you just relax and let us listen to the recording.’ Human indicated for one of the detectives to operate the highly specialised recording device, perched on the edge of the reception desk. The detective stepped forward. Johannes Volkers jumped up from his chair and backed into a corner, never once taking his eyes off Human. The detective occupied the empty chair. He consulted the digital LED display and adjusted a dial, pressing a button. He looked up at Human, who nodded.

‘Okay, here we go,’ the detective said, pressing another button.

With crystal clarity, they heard the ringing of a phone. Then a click as Volkers picked up the handset and answered the call with a crisp ‘Hello.’ To Human’s astonishment he heard his own voice issue forth from the recorder.

Johannes Volkers pointed with triumph at Human, waving his ruler excitedly. ‘You see, you see. I told you.’ With his finger on his lips, Human indicated for the young man to be quiet. But it was true. There – in crisp Dolby stereo – was the voice of detective Wayne Human. One of the detectives swore under his breath.

Human took a step forward and listened intently, cocking his ear. And then he understood. Betrayed by misplaced intonation, and faulty emphasis. Words that seemed to fall over each other. Under each other. Awkward pauses. And interrogative inflections in the middle of sentences. He understood. Human turned to the other detectives. ‘He recorded my voice.’ Several of the detectives nodded. It was a masterful job. But the trained ear could easily pick up the inconsistencies. ‘Press conferences.’ Human looked at Lerato. ‘He recorded my press conferences.’ Against the wall, Johannes Volkers looked around with confusion. His hunched shoulders relaxed slightly. He stared with dumb embarrassment at the ‘weapons’ in his hands and quickly shoved both hands behind his back.

‘
Good morning Hope I have. come ... to inject your empty? lives with ... my dark insanity. Did you. miss ... me? It’s been so long. But don’t ... worry. I am here? to stay. I. want ... to send. a special ... good morning to Joemat. I will be? enjoying your child ... tonight. And now? for a rhyme.
’ Human looked at the others ominously. The words that now came from the speaker were a pastiche of dozens of different recordings and sources, using TV programmes, adverts, news broadcasts and press conferences. The effect of dozens of voices mixed into an audio narrative was eerie ... and unsettling.

‘
Little Alex Joemat sat on a wall,
Little Alex Joemat had a great fall.

I took his name

I stole him from his house

We’re playing a little game

It’s called skin the mouse.

Don’t you dare insult me,

It’s your manners you must mind.

I’m gonna take your little boy

And eat him from behind.
How bad ... how sad,

All Joemat’s horses and all Joemat’s men
Couldn't put little Alex together again.
’

‘Oh my God.’ Lerato’s hand flung to her breast. ‘That’s terrible.’

Human turned to Brussouw. ‘I don’t care what he says, under no circumstances is premier Joemat to listen to any part of this recording.’ Human could only imagine what the words would do to an already perturbed father.’ Is that clear?’

‘Yes, sir.’ Brussouw indicated the device. ‘Should we have the recording analysed?’

‘I don’t see what good that would do.’ Human paused, frowning. ‘But right now we can’t ignore any evidence. We have a guy in
Wachthuis
who specialises in audio analysis.’ He turned to Lerato. ‘Lerato, please assist detective Brussouw in sending the material to Pretoria.’ She nodded.

Gerhard Volkers stepped forward. ‘Erm ... detective, before you do that, I just need some time to make a transcript of the recording for Wednesday’s issue. If you don’t mind.’ He wrung his hands nervously.

‘Of course I bloody well mind,’ Human said, his temper flaring up. ‘There’s no way you’re going to publish any of this rubbish in your newspaper.’

Volkers sputtered and wheezed, his hands flailing about. ‘What, what? You ... you can’t do this. You have no right. You ... you ... you’re obstructing the freedom of the press.’

‘And you’re obstructing justice. Do you want to spend a night in jail, Mr Volkers?’ Gerhard Volkers’s mouth twitched and jumped. ‘We’re talking about the life of a little boy, Mr Volkers. The son of the premier of the Northern Cape.’ Human bore down on Volkers. The editor-in-chief shrank into himself. ‘I am through with giving this sick bastard everything he wants. Everything ends right here. Right now. You’re free to report on the investigation. But if you print any of this message ... I will personally arrest you.’

Volkers’s nose twitched. His eyes darted from one person to the next. Feeling himself outgunned, he twirled around and huffed and puffed his way to behind his desk where he promptly sat down and grabbed the remnants of a KFC box meal. With narrowed eyes, he glowered at Human over a chicken breast.

‘Let’s get going,’ Human said to his team. ‘We’ve got a lot to do.’

Give or take a day, they had about a week before Daddy Long Legs took the life of little Alex Joemat.

As was to be expected, the media exploded into a veritable feeding frenzy at the news of Alexander Joemat’s disappearance. The boy’s abduction featured on the front pages of newspapers across the country, from Cape Town at the southern tip of South Africa all the way to the small city of Polokwane in the north. It was also the lead story in all the TV news broadcasts, across all of South Africa’s networks. All the major international news networks also picked up on the story. The disappearance of a high-ranking politician’s son was big news indeed. Included in that night’s broadcast was a joint press conference, hosted by Human and Joemat.

Standing behind the bank of microphones, wedged in between Lerato on his left and Joemat on his right, an uncomfortable looking Human announced that Alexander Joemat had indeed disappeared earlier that day. ‘It is with great regret that I inform the public of the disappearance and suspected kidnapping of Alexander Joemat.’ Although the abduction was already widely known, the troupe of reporters erupted into a flurry of sound, clamouring for Human’s attention. Hundreds of camera flashes strobed the detective in staggered light. ‘Since the disappearance of Alexander Joemat, we have been able to confirm beyond a doubt that the abduction was the work of the serial killer that has become known as Daddy Long Legs.’ Once again, the announcement resulted in a barrage of shouts and questions. ‘Following his established modus operandi, the killer contacted the
Hope Gazette
.’ Human did not mention the novel delivery method Daddy Long Legs had employed, using recorded samples of his own voice. ‘For the sake of the investigation, however, we have decided not to make the killer’s communication public.’ Several of the reporters booed Human, while others shouted ‘freedom of the press’ and ‘Big Brother government’. ‘I can guarantee you,’ Human continued, ‘that we have marshalled all the resources of the South African Police as well as those of the Northern Cape administration to track down the killer and rescue Alexander Joemat. At the moment we are following several promising leads.’ Human paused, his jaw fixed in steely determination. ‘As I have suspected right from the beginning, the key to this entire investigation lies in the past. If we can discover how the killer began his original rampage and why he stopped and then resumed his killing spree ... if we can discover these crucial particulars, then I believe we can learn the identity of the killer. At this very moment, I myself, and certain key personnel, are reviewing old case files and data from the past. I am confident that we are on the verge of a breakthrough.’ The press conference exploded. Pushing and shoving, shouting and gesticulating. The press demanded to know more. ‘I’m sorry, at this stage, due to the extreme sensitivity of the investigation, I cannot reveal anything more.’ Human pointed to his right. ‘Premier Joemat would like to say a few words.’ As if by prior agreement, a deep hush fell over the proceedings. And complete silence greeted the premier as he traded places with Human. For a few moments, Joemat stood at the podium, head bowed in silence. The very epitome of the grieving father. Gone were the bluster and the bravado. Gone too, the confrontational defiance, the vague accusations and the insinuations. In its place was a grief-stricken shell of a man. Deeply regretful. Destroyed by his own hubris. Joemat raised his head and stared dolefully at the media representatives gathered under the hot Karoo sun.

‘As Detective Human said earlier today, I learned that my son had been kidnapped ... by the heartless man that has been plaguing this area for more than twenty years.’ Joemat paused for what seemed an eternity, making a visible effort to control his emotions. ‘There’s not a lot I want to say. I have said too much already. I have spoken too much. Empty words, fuelled by ambition and conceit. Empty words that have done immeasurable harm.’ Joemat bit down on his lower lip. ‘I stand before you today. A grieving father. Concerned only for the safety of his child. His only child.’ Joemat’s lips quivered as tears rolled down his cheeks. ‘In the past, I said many things. I questioned the abilities and motives of the good men that were commissioned to catch this killer.’ He turned to Human. ‘Men like detective Wayne Human.’ He reached out and took Human’s hand. Human stood stiffly, looking awkward. Joemat addressed the reporters. ‘My statements over the last few days have been completely unwarranted ... my undeserved criticism of Detective Human and his squad has been totally without basis. I want to take this opportunity, right now, to affirm my complete confidence in Detective Human and his detectives and to state publicly that I believe in him, and that I trust him, unequivocally.’ Joemat again turned to Human. ‘Detective, I want to take this opportunity to apologise, publicly, for my egregious behaviour and for doubting your abilities and efforts. Please accept my sincere apologies.’ Human nodded stiffly. ‘If there is any man in this entire country that can save my son, then it is this man, standing right next to me.’ A fresh flood of tears welled up in Joemat’s eyes and washed over his cheeks. He turned to the media delegates, gripping the nearest microphone with an intensity that whitened his knuckles. ‘Oh dear God, please don’t hurt my little boy,’ he said, wailing. ‘I will give you anything. I will give you everything I have but please, dear God, I beg you, please don’t harm my little Alex. Please don’t harm my boy.’ Joemat sobbed painfully, his face contorted in open grief. The tears washed down his face, soaking his collar. His P.A. stepped forward and, cradling the premier in her arm, led him away. Human nodded at Lerato. She stepped up to the podium.

‘I will now take any questions on behalf of premier Joemat and the South African Police Services.’ And for the next half hour, Lerato fielded questions from dozens of publications and networks, both local and international. Human stood nearby, once again glad for Lerato’s presence. When they were done, the sun was already low in the sky, a dim orb sinking behind the western ridges that flanked the town of Hope. In complete silence, Human drove her to the guesthouse where she was staying. In the dirt road outside the B&B, they sat without speaking, each engrossed in respective thoughts. Eventually Lerato turned to Human. She tenderly placed a hand on his arm.

‘Do you want to come inside?’ She spoke the words with great care, averting her eyes.

Human looked at her, his heart beating inside his chest, awed by the clean lines of her beauty. ‘Tomorrow’s going to be a hectic day. I want us both to get as much rest as possible.’

She nodded mutely, trying her best to hide her disappointment. ‘Yes, of course.’ She hovered for a moment longer, unsure. And then, with such delicate subtlety that Human had to convince himself afterwards that it had even happened, she leaned forward and gave him a kiss on his cheek. She exited the car without saying a word and disappeared into the house while Human looked after her with. Surprise? Delight?

During the short drive to his own lodgings, Human tried to focus on the case and the work that lay ahead. But all he could think of was her words, the subdued and ambiguous invitation. Yes. Of course they all needed to have an early evening. The first one in a long time. Yes. Of course they needed to be fresh and wide awake for the challenges posed by the latest developments. Tired minds achieved little. And they were all, without exception, exhausted. Yes. Of course Human’s rejection of Lerato’s invitation had been professional.

But come now, detective. You’re too old to lie to yourself this blatantly. Surely. You knew that once inside her room. Once you were alone with Lerato. You wouldn’t be able to control yourself. You wouldn’t be able to trust yourself. And you wouldn’t be able to resist. Once you were alone with her. You knew you would have to feed the thing that had been growing inside you since that very first day.

But that was the problem. Not that Human wanted her. Not that she awakened something both beautiful and primal within him. It was that he was still a married man. And despite the awesome truth of his feelings for her. A truth he could no longer ignore. Despite all this. Human was too decent to cross that line. To cheat on a woman whose idea of love was needy and paranoid self-obsession. And as long as he remained a married man, Human would never be able to break his vows. Because that was exactly who Human was.

That night, turning restlessly in his bed, Human tried but couldn’t push Lerato Mathafeng from his mind. Eventually, swimming in agitated thoughts, he fell asleep. It was just as well. Before morning coloured the night, they would all face a fresh disaster.

***

Tense and corrosive dreams rolled around Human’s head all night. Like an oil slick upon pristine waters. Like congealed coffee in a mug. It coated his sleep. Thick and muddy. Preventing REM. Hindering rest. Floating just below wakefulness. Hovering just above true sleep. He tossed and turned. Blistering images searing his mind.

He was caught in a giant spider’s web. Spun between two towering skyscrapers. Sticky tendrils trapped him. Ensnared his limbs. Leaving him spread-eagled against the dirty sky. Exposed and vulnerable. Naked. From within the skyscrapers, reporters gawked and pointed at him. The strobe effect of a hundred camera flashes broke the darkness with intermittent brightness, like silent lightning.

And then.

He felt vibrations rolling like thunder through the giant web that trapped him. Violent and ominous, the quivering racked his body. Sending painful tremors through his prostrate frame. Something was approaching. Something huge and terrifying. Was creeping along the web. Crawling towards him. And with each terrifying tremor, it was moving closer.

With superhuman effort, he wrenched his head loose from the gooey, sloppy adhesive that glued his body to the massive strands of the giant web. With a snap, his head broke loose. And he turned. Just in time. To see. A huge, hairy insect pincer reach for him. As the thing bore down on him. He looked into its thousand eyes. And saw –

Bam. Bam.

Human broke free from

(the sticky web)

sweaty sheets. And escaped

(the monster spider)

his hot fetid bed. And fell to

(the earth a thousand kilometres beneath)

the floor next to his bed.

He sat up in dishevelled panic.

Bam. Bam.

What in God’s name?

At the same time his phone started ringing.

Bam. Bam. Bam.

Someone was knocking on the door. ‘Detective! Detective!’

His phone was ringing. Human picked up the mobile phone. And looked at the screen. It was a number he didn’t recognise. He answered the call, standing up and reaching for the door, clothed only in a t-shirt and boxer shorts. Amidst the confusion and the loud banging, he managed to pick out only disjointed words. ‘Detective Human ... house ... burning.’ Human twisted the door handle and opened the door.

What? Oh my God.

Frenetic thoughts flooded his mind.

My house is burning. My house is burning!

Blurred images of his modest middle-class house in Centurion flashed through his mind. He saw hot tongues of flame devouring his home. Angry towers of fire destroying everything. He immediately thought of his wife.

Oh my God. Magda!

Framed by the doorway, stood one of the task group’s detectives, a bulky man in his early twenties with a receding hairline and a huge ginger moustache. Human looked at him with shock. ‘My wife,’ Human blurted incoherently. ‘My wife.’

The detective looked at Human with confusion. He grabbed him by the shoulders as if to wake him up. ‘Detective Human. The house is on fire.’

Human shook loose from the man’s strong grip. ‘My house is on fire.’

The burly detective grabbed Human’s shoulder. ‘No detective. Our headquarters. It’s Hill Street.’ Human looked at the man with shock, for the first time truly comprehending. ‘It’s burning down to the ground.’

Human stood for a second, the last vestiges of the restless dream still haunting his mind. Then he snapped awake. ‘Oh my God. Oh my God.’ He rushed back inside, hurriedly searching for his clothes. A million thoughts, concerns and questions raced through his mind. ‘What about the fire department?’ he asked with mounting fear, wondering if Hope even had a functioning fire department.

‘They’ve been alerted,’ the detective said, watching Human jump around the room, trying to slip into his trousers and shoes with as much speed as possible. Without stopping to brush his thin dishevelled hair, Human rushed out the door, followed closely by the detective.

‘Let’s take your car,’ Human said, running towards the detective’s white Toyota Tazz. Moments later the hatchback was racing through Hope’s eerily deserted streets. Up ahead, hidden behind the houses of Hope’s residential zone, the night sky was lit by an angry orange-red. Human looked at his watch. It was a few minutes to three. A couple of minutes later they pulled up outside Eighteen Hill Street. Or what was left of it.

The house that served as the detective unit headquarters was entirely consumed by huge roaring flames. Curls of orange fire leaped out of windows. Exterior walls, once white-washed, were now blackened and crumbling. Even the corrugated roof was choking with flames, buckling and warping under the intense heat produced by the fire. In the quiet of the desert night, the flames roared and crackled with satanic intensity.

Human jumped out and surveyed the scene with growing despair. He rushed up to the entrance of the house, fuelled by panicked desperation, but retreated as the intense heat from fire blasted him like a furnace. On the lawn in the front yard, burning pieces of debris smoked and sizzled like beacons. Human stepped back, looking at the burning house with anguished gloom.