One Way Or Another You Will Pay (25 page)

“All
because I left you,” I say. “You’re obsessed with me!”

He
shrugs. “I’m sick,” he admits, his eyes bulging. “I’ll tell you that much.”

Bear’s
sigh is weary. “O…kay, tell you what; you make a death bed confession that you killed Sasha, and I will.”

“Promise?”
Tom asks.

Bear
nods. “But don’t fuck with me. Give me a proper confession, step by step with details, or I will shoot you in the nuts and in the back, right below the 7
th
cervical vertebrae, then send you back. I promise.”

A
confused looks flits in Tom eyes. “7
th
…?”

Bear
sighs. “I thought you’d know all this, given how intelligent and educated you are.”

Tom
drops his eyes, looking a trifle embarrassed.

“Shoot
or stab someone under their 7
th
cervical and they’re a cabbage, mate. Quadriplegic.” Bear holds up four fingers. “Quad. All four limbs and you’ll live the rest of your days in a wheel chair. When you are released from Remington, you will continue to live in a wheelchair. I learned that during my cop training.” Bear smiles. “We didn’t kill, we maimed. Less paperwork. Evil, huh?”

“Yes,”
Tom says, “it is evil. Very…”

“So
is killing your own defenseless baby girl and trying to rape my wife. That’s evil.”

Bear
takes out of his phone and scrolls to video. “Remember what I said, 'You fuck with me and leave out details, I will shoot you in the nuts and sever your spinal cord.' Trust me, mate, I’m not playing games with you.
Every
single detail. Start off with, ‘My name is Tom Botha.’” Bear holds the camera over Tom’s face, cutting out the background.

I
hold my breath. Would Tom actually confess?

I
doubted it.

Tom
begins to speak to my surprise.

“I
had a spare key to the BMW stashed away. When Arena was inside the shop, I snuck in through the boot, not the side doors. Each time she looked at the car, the doors remained closed and she assumed all was okay.

I
expected two children in the car and I was surprised to find just one, but it would have to do.”

It
would have to do.

“I
drove away to Wahroonga, where I parked the car in a side street. Behind a large camper van that hadn’t moved in a while. A few days earlier, I spotted the camper and decided it would be the perfect cover. Planned it all and it worked to perfection. Not a single hitch.” His voice is proud.

As
I listen, beads of sweat blister my brow and I shift in my seat.

I
need water.
Iced
water. To drink and to pour over me.

This
is how it must feel to face your rapist in court,
I’m thinking. This is how it must be when you’re in court listening to the killer of your beloved provide details to a jury.

How
the hell do they do it?

“I
didn’t go to South Africa, of course. Kobus did. Assumed my identity and left a paper trail on my behalf. It was a smart move, the cops bought it.”

Although
I fight for calm, to remain impassive, it’s almost impossible to be composed, when he sounds so proud of his plan to kill my children. I could easily drive a knife into his chest and watch him bleed.

“After
I parked the car, I walked down to the bus stop, took a bus to Kobus’ place, holed up there until the day I came off the plane. Or supposed to have. He has an attic that was lockable, so if anyone called…” He shrugs.

“She
didn’t wake up. Just slept throughout.” He looks at me. “I lied about her waking up.”

Tears
stream down my face as strings of barbed wire wind around my heart.

He
appears detached as he speaks, yet he is extremely thorough, providing minute details, specifics, at times, sounding like he’s lecturing to a group of psychopaths in training.

Sociopaths
and psychopaths will be astounded by his craftiness, his attention to detail, and later laud him for his sheer ingenuity.

I
got back at my errant wife. I had the last word. This is how I did it. Tom Botha’s brilliant plan. Never been done before, but hey, I pulled it off. Watch and learn from Tom Botha. I am a god.

No,
no, no; I am God!

When
he finishes talking, I sit with my head hung, my tears splashing onto Soong’s floral carpet, my old wounds and scars bare and exposed as salt is rubbed into them.

Bear
doesn’t move. Even though he says nothing, his body language speaks for itself – slumped shoulders, his head shaking from side to side, his forehead lined – the same look he sported when the detectives revealed the knife with Savannah’s blood on it.

Slowly,
he runs his hand through his hair.

Tom
confessing is more than we ever dreamed off. It’s a bonus to us. At last, the world will know who killed baby Sasha.

Of
course, he could later retract his statement, claim we coerced him into making a statement at gunpoint. But I’ll bet anyone watching this recording will believe Tom killed his child. With so many details he provides, how could anyone not believe this?

Remember,
Tom doesn’t know that Bear and I know about his part in Sasha’s murder. He suspects we somehow know, but he doesn’t know for sure.

We
have never confronted him about it because we couldn’t.

Bear
takes a long breath, then exhales. “Okay.” He fiddles with his phone, then looks at Tom.

“Now,
I want you to talk about Ingrid’s involvement in your escape.” Bear points to his phone, indicating that he will be recording this confession too.

“Hold
nothing back. If I have to hit end, it better be because you have told all. Get it?”

Again,
I have to ask myself, would he sell Ingrid out?

I
brace myself for his refusal.

To
my utter surprise, Tom launches into intricate details about his affair with Ingrid that covers years! He spares nothing. Sells her out with glee and hilarity, even corroborating diary entries.

“She
was my fuck buddy, that’s all,” he ends with a chuckle. “Weak, needy, dependent, and ugly.” He shudders. “'Fifty shades of Grey,’ she used to say, romanticizing our fuckfests. Our fuckfest marathons. I just laughed behind her back as I banged it.
Literally
behind her back. I had to. She was ugly. I’m not into ugly chicks. But I lied, told her she was beautiful, she was special.” More chuckling. “She bought it.”

Bastard!

“Hey, when Rodney and Rodgers asked, ‘Why Ingrid?’ I said, ‘’Cause she’s not that sharp up here.’” Tom screws his index finger to his temple, “And they said, ‘You’re right, mate. Good point.’”

Bear
pauses the recording. “You have two children with her,” he points out, before he continues the recording.

“How
do you know they’re mine? Huh? They don’t look like me. Fuck no! Have you seen them?” He twists his mouth, a look of distaste on his face. “They could be any of the prisoner’s children. She spreads for anyone, that dumb bitch!”

Bear
stares at Tom, his jaw sagging.

“What?
I’m telling it like it is.”

“Yet,
you were going to take her to South Africa and live happily ever after?” Bear mouths.

“Fuck
no! I wasn’t going to stay with her. I just wanted to use her to get out of the country. Needed someone on the outside to help me when I got out. My plans didn’t include her. She just thinks they do. Do you know when this shit hits the fan, she’s going down for rape?”

“Rape?”
I cock my head at him.

“Prisoners
can’t give consent, so it’s rape. She’s going down.” He says it with so much glee, I’m once again at a loss for words.

I
know that if Bear releases this confession to the cops, Ingrid will be arrested tonight.

“One
more,” Bear says, rigging up the phone for another recording.

“Tell
me all about Rodgers and Rodney.”

“You
know, it will be my pleasure to fuck over those cunts.”

For
the next fifteen minutes, he sings. Not only does he talk about the money he’s made for Rogers and Rodney, he tells about orgies in Remington and sex between staff, sex between staff and prisoners, staff turning a blind eye to what certain prisoner’s activities, gambling in prison, and corruption that will without doubt land Rogers and Rodney some serious prison time.

“And
you know what? I can even give you their bank accounts, user names, passwords for all three of them. I was keeping the money for myself but if you promise to kill me tonight, you can have it all.”

Before
Bear can answer, Tom rattles off websites and passwords. “I changed their passwords before I left.” He looks directly at the camera. “Fuck you, mother fuckers! I’ve got your money. You didn’t care how hard I had to work to win that money, you just demanded it. Fuck you for making me gamble for you, slave for you seven days a week. I stole from you. Siphoned money from day one.” He nods. “I only gave you a third each time. Bet you didn’t know that, huh, you greedy fucks?!”

Bear’s
head bobs.

Tom
looks at Bear. “I’m in pain, man. I need to end things quickly.”

Bear
stands up, reaches for the 9 mm from behind him, the magazine in his pants pocket, and readies the gun to fire.

“Arena,
leave the room,” Bear says.

I
look at Tom. “It didn’t have to …”

“Dad?!”

All three of us jerk our heads to the sound of Warren’s voice. He stands at the entrance to the lounge, looking at Bear, his eyes a mixture of sleep and fear.

For
a few moments, the place is so quiet, we can hear traffic in the distant.

Warren
moves his eyes over to Tom. I hold my breath.

What
will Warren say to Tom? I mean it’s been almost four years since they saw each other.

What
will Tom say to Warren?

“He’s
not your Dad,” Tom says. Those are the words to a child he hasn’t seen in years?

Warren’s
response is to sidle over to Bear. “Are you going to kill him, Dad?” Warren whispers, his eyes still on Tom.

I
cringe inwardly. What a question?!

How
does Bear answer that question?

Bear
looks at Warren, then at me, a bewildered look in his eyes.
What do I say?

I’m
at a loss for words, for thoughts, for everything. I manage a tiny shrug.

“N…no,
Warren,” Bear finally says, in a voice weak with confusion. “Son, eh, I need you to…to go up…stairs, okay? He’s going back to jail. That’s all.”

Warren
doesn’t move, he just stares at Tom.

“Warren,
go upstairs, boy,” Bear repeats. “It’s going to be okay, son.”

Warren
looks at me. I nod vigorously.

With
great reluctance, Warren slowly walks away. Bet he thinks he’s dreaming.

The
moment Warren leaves, Bear sinks into the chair again.

“What?”
Tom says. “Do it! What are you waiting for?”

Bear
looks at me and shrugs. “Now I can’t do it.”

Of
course, I understand Bear’s dilemma. Now that Warren saw Bear standing over Tom, gun in hand, it changes a few things. Bear can’t quietly shoot Tom and say nothing to Warren.

“Aw,
c’mon!” Tom says. “You promised.”

“Yeah,
but I told my son I wouldn’t and …I can’t.”

“Fuck
that shit. Of course you can!” “Tom’s voice is filled with panic. “You said you were going to shoot me! We had a deal!”

Bear
shakes his head. “I don’t care about keeping my word with child murders and rapists. I care more about keeping my word with my son. Besides, you deserve no mercy. You were just about to violate my wife.”

I
know that if Tom lives, he will come after us again. Dead certain of that and it

is
my biggest fear.

But
now that we can’t kill Tom, what do we do? Just send him back to prison and keep looking over our shoulder.