The First Rule Of Survival (12 page)

The unmarked cars wait at the entrance to the drive up to the estate. Don drives de Vries up the track to the gravel car park under old oaks. Theirs is the only car there. The winery and shop are dark and deserted. Don swings the car around towards the Cape Dutch manor house and stops outside the front door. Outside two garage doors is a white Range Rover, with vanity plates:WP FINEBERG. Vaughn exits, climbs the steps, ignores the bell-push and raps five times loudly with the heavy bunch-of-grapes brass knocker. The sound echoes around the courtyard, back again from the thick, dark trunks of the oaks. As Don reaches the door, it opens onto Marc Steinhauer, dressed but dishevelled.

De Vries says: ‘Marc Steinhauer?’

‘Yes.’

They show their warrant cards. Vaughn tries to push inside, but Steinhauer stands his ground.

‘We need to speak to you inside, Mr Steinhauer.’

Steinhauer bustles out of the door and closes it.

‘Whatever it is you want, we can discuss it out here. My children are getting ready for school.’

Don says, ‘Sir, do you own a silver-grey BMW 750iL?’

‘Why?’

Don, seeing de Vries clench his fists, calm: ‘Just answer the question, please, sir.’

‘Yes, I do.’

‘We would like to see that car.’

‘Why?’

Don does not break his calm rhythm.

‘This is an official matter, sir. You must show us now.’

Steinhauer twitches minutely, but his composure is retained.

‘I’ll get the remote to the garage and my car keys.’ He turns back to the house.

‘Go with him, Don.’

Steinhauer says to de Vries, ‘They are just in the hall. You can watch me. Please do not disturb my family.’

De Vries nods at Don, and Steinhauer lets himself back in, leaves the front door open and collects his keys from a basket on a heavy wooden chest. He comes back out.

‘What is this about?’

‘Have you lent your car to anyone recently?’

‘No. I mean, my wife has driven it, but no one else. Is there something wrong? This man . . . Inspector . . . ?’ He gestures at Don.

‘Warrant Officer February.’

‘Yes. You were here a few days back, asking about our cheese. You said that there had been a murder – those boys – and now you are asking about my car. Why?’

Don ushers him towards the garages. ‘Let us look at your vehicle, sir. We just need to check certain things.’

Steinhauer operates the electric doors and the left-hand garage door opens onto his car.

‘What things?’

He sees de Vries putting on gloves.

Flustered, repeats: ‘What things?’

Vaughn takes the car keys from Steinhauer’s hand, unlocks the car remotely. He opens the driver’s door, reaches down and releases the boot-lid. He edges around the car and pushes the boot open wide. He peers inside. Says loudly: ‘Have you had this car cleaned?’

Steinhauer leans into his own garage.

‘Yes. I have it cleaned every week. It’s my pride and joy.’

Vaughn sniffs the boot, examines the tyres, walks around the back of the car, checks the rear-windscreen for a sticker, and looks inside the back seat.

‘I can bring the car out if you wish,’ Steinhauer ventures.

‘Do you ever visit MacNeil’s farm-stall, up past Sir Lowry’s?’

Steinhauer looks at de Vries, confused.

‘I think we have. Yes, possibly.’

‘Recently?’

Steinhauer thinks. His eyes roll up and to the right, then back at de Vries.

‘Yes. I did go there. I quite forgot. A few days ago.’ He looks around for de Vries. Finds him right behind him.

‘Monday afternoon, was it, Mr Steinhauer?’

Steinhauer steps back from de Vries, brushes his shirt down.

‘Yes, it may have been. Why?’

‘Wait there for a moment.’ Vaughn gestures to Don, walks him away, stops so that he is looking at Steinhauer over Don’s shoulder. Vaughn speaks quietly.

‘Call Ulton. Find out how far away he is. This guy has had the car cleaned – very thoroughly – but it would be easy to miss something. It’s got the label at the back, and the built-in blinds. That’s the car Sarah Robinson saw, and she said it drove around the back of the farm-stall. I want the car taken to the lab, so tell him he’ll need a tow-truck. I want to bring Steinhauer back in voluntarily, unless he refuses to come or release his car. I get the feeling he might run for a lawyer straight away, but we might as well try to get him alone first.’

Don nods, asks, ‘What do you think?’

‘I don’t know. He’s very wary, but his reactions are off. I don’t like it that he’s admitted so readily to being at the farm-stall. He’ll have a good excuse why he didn’t answer our appeals, and then, if the car gives us nothing, we don’t have much.’ He chews on some imaginary gum for a moment. ‘All right, he won’t have his car, so we’ll drive him. I’m going to put him in the front, so he feels important. Small talk only in the car. Let’s go.’

Vaughn, smiling now, almost warm.

‘Your car was seen at MacNeil’s farm-stall in the afternoon before the bodies of two murder victims were found on site. We need to take your car to be examined in our labs. I’d like you to accompany us, and make a statement. Are you prepared to do that?’

‘Now? No, I couldn’t.’ The man runs his hand over his brow. ‘I have a business to run. My wife has to take our children to school and I must open up.’

Low-voiced, compelling: ‘I must insist, I’m afraid. You can let your family know that you are assisting us. Come with us now, or it will be necessary to arrest you.’

‘Arrest me?’

‘In front of your family. It’s up to you.’

Steinhauer stares nowhere for a few seconds, makes up his mind, and turns back towards the house. Don follows him. Vaughn looks around the idyllic courtyard, hears nothing from the house, shifts his weight from foot to foot.

After an hour’s silent journey, Steinhauer’s lawyer is waiting for them at the headquarters building. He takes Steinhauer to a private room, away from de Vries.

De Vries gestures at their backs. Says, ‘I thought so.’

Don says: ‘He spoke to his wife out of my earshot. It is his right. We cannot stop him.’

‘I know, Don.’ Vaughn twists his left wrist, glances down. ‘I’m calling du Toit. If they come back, put them in the suite. If he changes his mind, tell him to wait for me.’ De Vries trots towards the escalators.

Don waits down the corridor from the consultation rooms. He has eaten no breakfast, slept uneasily. Minutes pass. No one ventures near the corridor. He can’t hear any voices from the consultation room. His stomach rumbles.

De Vries returns.

‘Du Toit wants to be the other side of the glass.’ He tilts his head down the length of the corridor. ‘Nothing?’

Don shakes his head. The door opens at the far end of the corridor, and he sees Ralph Hopkins walk slowly towards them. He is red-faced and silver-haired, lavishly attired in a dark blue suit, white shirt and silk tie: moneyed good taste. He speaks with a low, deep voice, little eyes behind circular gold frames and thick lenses.

‘My client feels that he has been intimidated into this interview, against his will. I have advised him to decline your invitation. My client has, however, agreed to allow you to survey his car.’

De Vries says, equally conspiratorially, ‘Your client will be arrested if he declines my invitation.’

‘On what charge?’

‘Suspect in a double murder, possible suspect in abduction, child abuse and false imprisonment.’

Hopkins smiles knowingly. ‘I don’t think so, Colonel de Vries. If he warrants arrest on those charges, you would have arrested him already.’

‘If you want your client arrested, Mr Hopkins, I can arrange it. Tell him that and let me know his thoughts.’

Hopkins raises an eyebrow, turns and saunters back down the corridor.

‘I’ve dealt with that asshole before,’ de Vries tells Don, maintaining his
sotto voce
. ‘He negotiated a plea bargain; got his client a minimum sentence. He goes out and rapes again six days later. The sick bastard was a wealthy white guy, separated from his wife, son at Bishops’. Hopkins is old-school; all his clients are rich – and guilty.’

Hopkins reappears, followed by Marc Steinhauer, who is walking very slowly:

‘Marc has agreed to your interview, Colonel. Of course, I will be present. Then, he hopes that you will allow him to return to his business and family. Are you ready to proceed?’

De Vries looks at Steinhauer, nods.

Don encourages them down the corridor towards the interview suite. Vaughn waits until they are inside the room, and then calls Steve Ulton.

‘We’ve run prelims,’ Ulton tells him. ‘The car’s been very well cleaned. Professional steamclean too, underside also. I’ve run ultraviolet and show-up sprays and there’s nothing, but we’ve only just started.’

‘Take it apart,’Vaughn tells him. ‘Call me with anything.’ ‘Vaughn. Can you get his DNA? Could be useful.’

De Vries ducks into an adjoining door; the room behind the mirror. Director du Toit is sitting on a high stool, sphinx-like eyes staring at Steinhauer. A technician supervises a video camera and recording machine.

He walks up to du Toit, stands next to him, examines Steinhauer through the window.

Du Toit says: ‘He looks more angry than nervous.’

‘Anger is usually a front.’

Vaughn stares at Steinhauer. He watches him tap his left foot on the thin carpet, his knee rocking up and down. He sees him glance at his watch, ask Hopkins if he can call his wife, Hopkins murmuring that he should wait, Steinhauer complying. He studies the man’s face, which is tense, but no more so than he might expect in an interview room, in a police station. Steinhauer has a pudding-basin haircut, a weak nervous smile, soft pink hands. Vaughn sees him count the heartbeats he feels in his head. Something feels wrong.

Vaughn ducks back out, straightens himself, enters the interrogation room. Steinhauer looks up at him almost, de Vries thinks, hopefully.

‘This interview will be recorded and a copy made available to you at the conclusion.’ De Vries indicates the tape machine to Don, and he switches it on.

‘Nineteenth March 2014, ten thirty-five a.m. SAPS headquarters, Suite One. Present are Mr Marc Steinhauer, his legal representative, Mr Ralph Hopkins, Colonel Vaughn de Vries, Warrant Officer Donald February.’

Vaughn sits next to Don, opposite Steinhauer. He relaxes in his seat, takes his time.

‘To confirm for the tape: you are Marc Steinhauer, residing at Fineberg Estate, Fineberg Road, off Annandale Road, near Stellenbosch?’

Steinhauer leans towards the tape device.

‘Yes.’

‘Mr Steinhauer, you have agreed to make a voluntary statement to us regarding your visit to MacNeil’s farm-stall on—’

‘No.’

De Vries opens his mouth to continue, is taken aback by Steinhauer’s negative.

‘I was pressured into attending this interview, under threat of arrest in front of my family. I was left no choice.’

De Vries watches Steinhauer’s little mouth moving, pink lips fluttering; finds him sanctimonious and annoying. He smiles, almost to himself, continues calmly, ‘But you nevertheless consent to speaking with us on these matters?’

‘Now that my client’s objection is duly noted,’ Hopkins interjects. ‘Yes.’

‘Very well. Can you confirm that you drive a silver-grey BMW 750iL, registration . . .’ He looks to Don.

‘CA 785454.’

‘Yes. That is my car.’

‘Please describe how you came to be at MacNeil’s farm-stall last Monday at approximately four forty-five p.m.?’

Hopkins leans forward again. ‘I don’t believe any specific time has been mentioned or agreed.’

De Vries nods at him, conceding the point. He turns back to Steinhauer.

‘At what time did you visit MacNeil’s farm-stall on Monday this week?’

‘I don’t remember exactly. I intended to go there for a snack, so approaching tea-time, I suppose. I found the car park full and the place busy. I changed my mind, turned around and continued home.’

‘From where had you been travelling?’

‘I had been away for the night, visiting my aunt in Riebeek West. I left after lunch and was planning to drive to Betty’s Bay, where my wife and I have a beach-house.’

Don asks, ‘Why not take the coast road via Gordon’s Bay? Is that not more direct?’

‘I do sometimes. In fact, I usually do, but that day I . . . I don’t know. I decided to drive the longer but faster route over Sir Lowry’s Pass.’

Don follows on: ‘What was the purpose of your visit to your beach-house?’

‘It is our holiday home.’

‘But you just told us that you had driven from the Riebeek Valley. You would have driven close to your main home. Why did you not call in there first?’

‘Why should I?’ He looks childlike and petulant.

‘Did you, in fact, visit your house in Betty’s Bay that day?’

‘No. I changed my mind. I had been planning to collect some books I had left there and, as much as anything else, to drive my car, but I decided that perhaps I was tired and would go home after all.’

‘So,’ Don says, ‘you decide to bypass your home to travel to your beach-house, but something makes you change your mind?’

‘Yes – no. Not anything in particular. I realized I could collect my books another time and perhaps I was being selfish and should get home to my family more quickly.’

Steinhauer looks towards Hopkins and then back again at de Vries and Don February.

De Vries just watches, waits.

Don says: ‘Just run us through what you did at the farm-stall, Mr Steinhauer?’

‘What I did? I told you. I drove up the driveway, came into the car park, saw how busy it was, and decided not to bother.’

‘So, what did you do?’

‘I turned around and left.’

‘Where?’

‘Where?’

‘Where did you turn around?’

‘In the car park.’

‘You did not drive around to the back of the farm-stall?’

Steinhauer frowns, thinks. Says, ‘I may have turned at the back. I’m trying to picture it.’ He closes his eyes; his lids flicker. ‘I can’t really remember.’

‘You did not get out of your car?’

‘No – no, I don’t think so.’

‘Well, surely you can remember that?’ de Vries’ voice echoes in the small room; Steinhauer jumps. ‘Did you get out of your car or stay inside and just turn around?’