The First Rule Of Survival (43 page)

De Vries feels all the momentum, all the expectation drain from him. He feels himself flushing.

‘Your client will remain in custody while we reflect on his decision not to cooperate with us in interview.’

Hopkins leans over to Steinhauer and whispers something in his ear. Then he says to de Vries, ‘Inform me the moment you wish to speak to my client again.’

De Vries turns slowly to Don February.

‘Warrant Officer. Take the prisoner back to the cells.’

Don dictates the time of the interview termination for the tape recorder, rises and goes to the door of the interview room. An officer enters and, together, they escort Steinhauer away, down the corridor.

Hopkins rises, checks his wristwatch.

‘It’s make your mind up time, Colonel,’ he says to de Vries. ‘And time waits for no man.’

Then he leaves the interview room, pulling his cellphone from his jacket pocket. As de Vries listens to his footsteps, he hears Hopkins speaking; the voice and the footsteps moving away from him. De Vries, aware that both camera and gallery are behind him, clenches his fists under the table, bares his teeth and screams silently.

Don knocks tentatively on de Vries’ door. He hears nothing, but he has already seen him slumped over his desk, head resting on interlocked fingers. He opens the door, closes it quietly and walks over to the desk. De Vries looks up.

Don says, ‘It was always a possibility that he would refuse to talk. It is not our fault.’

De Vries sighs. ‘No, Don. It’s
my
fault.’ He shakes his head. ‘I was so certain that the one thing he wouldn’t do is clam up. I know this guy. He wants to speak. He wants to take me on, to fight me, to beat me. It’s Hopkins. He knows we have nothing concrete and he’s not going to let Steinhauer give us anything.’

He sits up, looks out at the almost empty squad room. ‘Where is everybody?’

Don glances behind him, even though he has just walked through the room to reach de Vries’ office.

‘Just out.’

‘Three boys, two more men. All dead because of what Nicholas Steinhauer managed to do. No one cares. They’re not even here.’

‘They care,’ Don says quickly, ‘but right now, there are another five deaths, just today. And yesterday, there was a mother, father and five-year-old child all burnt alive in their shack in the camp above Hout Bay. Maybe a thousand people within two hundred metres and no witnesses. Not one.’

‘All right, Don.’

‘I am not trying to play down—’

De Vries snaps: ‘Okay!’

Don February stops, waits, sits down in the visitor’s chair. Waits some more. In the silence, he hears strides across the squad room, drumming footsteps which herald nothing good. The door opens and du Toit comes in, followed by Norman Classon. Don stands up, and de Vries pulls himself half out of his chair.

Du Toit looks at both of them and then around the office.

‘Warrant Officer,’ he says quietly to Don. ‘Please fetch two more chairs from next door.’

Don February walks out, takes the two chairs nearest to the office and carries them back in. Du Toit motions with his finger.

‘Put them around the desk there.’ He looks up at de Vries, frozen in his crouch. ‘Sit down,Vaughn.’ Du Toit and Classon sit opposite de Vries with Don a little way back, lower in the visitor’s chair.

‘I’m sorry it went like that,’ du Toit starts. ‘I suppose we should have expected that they might take that route. I am afraid Ralph Hopkins has plenty of experience dealing with clients who do better saying nothing.’

‘We can hold him,’ de Vries says. ‘Maybe we’ll see if he feels like talking at two in the morning.’

Du Toit takes a deep breath.

‘No,Vaughn. It’s over. We have to release Steinhauer, close the case and wait until we get a breakthrough from DNA or some corroboratory witness.’

‘Over? We can hold him for another . . .’ he consults his wristwatch ‘. . . twenty-two hours.’

‘I have received instructions that Nicholas Steinhauer is to be released immediately,’ du Toit states. ‘That is the position.’

‘Instructions? From who?’

Du Toit looks at de Vries darkly, his palms flapping slowly in a calming motion.

‘Listen to me. I have orders from the Provincial Commander which, he tells me, emanate straight from the Police Minister’s department.’

‘On what grounds?’

‘There’s no debate, no argument,’ du Toit snaps. ‘We just do it. The case is closed officially and the press will be informed that Nicholas Steinhauer has helped us with our enquiries and that no charges have been laid.’ Du Toit looks over at Classon.

‘It’s revolting,’ Classon says. ‘But I cannot find a way to lay charges against Steinhauer which have any chance of sticking even before they reach court. Put simply, what we have isn’t enough to go to trial. If we are seen to present charges which the press might describe as “trumped up”, and then we go on a fishing trip, we will lose the media high ground and come out of this with nothing.’

‘As opposed to what?’ de Vries says bitterly.

‘As opposed to leaving open the possibility of later action,’ Classon temporizes. He lowers his voice. ‘I think that we, here in this office, are all agreed that Nicholas Steinhauer is involved in some measure in the conspiracy which led to the events seven years ago, and then again, this month.’

‘While the case may be closed officially,’ du Toit says, ‘unofficially I am sure that time can be found for further forensic work and, in due course we may be able to identify the other three men – we assume men – whose DNA was recovered at the bunker scene.’

De Vries says nothing; he stares at his desk.

Don February says: ‘May I ask one question, sir?’

‘Of course, Warrant Officer.’

‘Is it usual for the Police Ministry to be involved in the investigation of murder cases by the SAPS? I mean, even before a suspect is charged?’

Du Toit smiles. ‘What can I say, Warrant Officer? The answer is no.’

‘So . . . why . . . ?’

‘Because a voice very high up has decreed it. You must judge what his, or her, motives might be. I prefer not to try to doublethink these people. Gives you an ulcer.’

Don raises his right hand to ask another question, can see du Toit would prefer that he didn’t, asks anyway.

‘Is Nicholas Steinhauer being protected?’

Vaughn laughs; du Toit shoots him a look.

‘We can’t know that.’ Du Toit sits up. ‘Chances are, this is politics, plain and simple. The Police Department is a department of civilian politicians. They have come to the conclusion – and you may well ask why they should have deliberated on this matter at all – but they have decided that, politically, everyone is best served by the conclusion of this case.’

‘You see why I hate politics, Don?’

Du Toit turns to de Vries.

‘I know you don’t want to hear this, Vaughn, but you have identified the murderer of Bobby Eames and Steven Lawson, you have saved Joe Pienaar from a probable fatal threat, identified Trevor Henderson and . . . dealt with him. Your actions, Warrant Officer,’ he says to Don February, ‘undoubtedly saved the life of Colonel de Vries and have, though neither of you may see it in such a way, saved the SAPS a great deal of adverse publicity and a further demotion in respect from the general public. The outcome of this case, the past few days, cannot be described as a disaster.’

De Vries sighs again, mutters.

‘You may feel,’ du Toit continues, addressing de Vries, ‘with your personal connection to the case, as I do myself, that there is a major piece missing. However, sometimes not everything is achievable. We have done our best.’

‘We have, sir,’ de Vries says. ‘But it is not enough.’

Ralph Hopkins walks with Nicholas Steinhauer to the front entrance of the building. At the bottom of the concrete and steel staircase at the back of the lobby, they pass du Toit and de Vries. Du Toit steps out in front of them.

‘I don’t imagine that the people out there will be satisfied by “no comment”. You wouldn’t prefer to leave by the back entrance?’

Nicholas Steinhauer looks down on du Toit, says quietly, ‘Get out of my way.’

Hopkins puts his arm on Steinhauer’s, but Steinhauer shakes him away.

‘Enough now. Enough of my time has been wasted.’

Du Toit steps back; de Vries says, ‘Whatever you do say, I’ll be listening.’

Steinhauer smiles. ‘You will find that
everybody
will be listening to what I have to say. Don’t worry about that.’

As he passes him, de Vries says, ‘Don’t make a mistake.’

Steinhauer stops, turns, smiles calmly at De Vries, totally at ease.

‘I haven’t yet.’

He and Hopkins walk briskly to the entrance and, as the door opens, the flashguns blaze and the shouted questions form a cacophony like a firework display. De Vries watches the media form an amphitheatre of attention around both men, microphones poised, straining to hear what they have to say. He waits on the spot, totally still, staring but not seeing, the flashes of perfectly white light stinging his eyes until he simply stands there and closes them.

General Thulani’s office is blizzard-cold. Du Toit wonders whether this is to keep interviews short or merely to penetrate the depths of Thulani’s waistline.

‘It’s over, Henrik,’ Thulani says. ‘That is the best part of it.’

‘Perhaps not in everybody’s minds, sir.’

‘Then make it clear to Colonel de Vries that this is so.’

‘Yes, sir.’

‘Good.’ Thulani relaxes again. ‘You see how it must be. The media: they require a beginning, a middle and an end – and this we have now provided.’ He folds his arms. ‘I assume that you now have de Vries’ mind occupied elsewhere?’

‘Vaughn is having some marital difficulties. I suggested a few days’ leave to get these matters under control and then, as you know, we have more than enough to keep us all occupied indefinitely.’

‘The long-term problem you have with that officer is that he may be motivated and effective, but he is the opposite of the image we in the new SAPS wish to project.’

‘But perhaps there is room for some unorthodox methods?’

‘No, Henrik, there is not. You retain him at your own peril and you are responsible for policing him but, be aware, you jeopardize your own standing by continuing to support his behaviour.’

Du Toit feels his jaw tighten.

‘I support the man, not his behaviour. And whatever you think of him, sir, we need men like de Vries. Not only because there are precious few senior white officers remaining in the force – and we do, supposedly, represent the “Rainbow Nation” – but because there are now so few who have served in the ranks and have risen on investigative merit.’

‘That could be taken as a racial slur.’

‘As could any comment which does not unconditionally praise a particular group. We have too much work to play games.’

‘We live and die in the media spotlight, Henrik. Watch yourself. As for your implied criticism of some black officers, does that include me?’

‘Obviously not, sir.’

‘Obviously not?’

‘We have worked together for many years, sir. Of your experience and qualifications for your role, there can be no doubt. There remains, however, a question over the experience of some officers, those who have been promoted rapidly . . .’

‘There will be time for officers of all races to gain experience. Right now, we have a representative body of men and women. You – and your small group of older officers in your department – would do well to recognize that this is the future. It will be no other way.’

Du Toit smiles wanly back at General Simphiwe Thulani.

David Wertner marches briskly to his car, salutes two police officers walking towards the building’s underground exit. As he reaches his vehicle, he sees Vaughn de Vries appear from behind a wide concrete pillar.

‘You’re very predictable,’ de Vries says.

Wertner stops. ‘What are you doing, de Vries?’

‘A few words with you before I go on leave.’

‘You know where my office is.’

De Vries saunters towards him. ‘But I understood that you favoured private conversations below ground.’

De Vries watches a tiny pulse of pink colour on Wertner’s tightly shaved cheeks, rise towards the dirty shaven skull. Wertner makes for the door of his car, but de Vries blocks his way.

‘Do you have the special key for this lift too?’ de Vries smiles, but does not move.

‘I have technical rank, de Vries.’

‘You can’t bully me,Wertner, and you can’t catch me out, however hard you try. I will do what I do and face anything you try to throw at me. And you know what? Whatever you think of me, my men are loyal to me. You want to undermine me to my team, next time do it officially or better still, be a man, and say it to my face . . .’

‘Move out of the way.’

‘. . . instead of threatening my Warrant Officer, claiming you control the future of his career.’

‘Every man in this province is under scrutiny which can make or break him. Without such sanction, there is anarchy.’

De Vries laughs. ‘There is more anarchy in the new South Africa than you can control. Spend your time rooting out the corrupt and the incompetent, and leave those of us who understand the job alone.’

‘The job description’s changed – that’s what you don’t get.’

‘Why don’t you, just for once, listen to something somebody tells you.’

‘Why should I do that? You don’t register on my scale. I don’t value your outdated opinions and I don’t respect your failings. I am sick of reward for failure in this organization.’

De Vries steps still closer to him.

‘Ask yourself who has links to the Police Ministry. Ask yourself why they intervened to stop further investigation into Nicholas Steinhauer.’

‘Why should I do that?’

‘At the very least, question their motivation.’

‘All I hear from you is Nicholas Steinhauer. What about Ledham, and your unfinished enquiries there?’

‘You know by now that the insert to the original abduction report was just that – inserted later. It was never there.’

‘I do
not
know that.’

‘But I do, and I’m telling you. Read the full report and you’ll see how Robert Ledham was nothing. He had as much to do with this case as Iraq had with Nine/eleven. That was added to the file to discredit me. It was a stupid, blunt instrument, but you bought it long enough to consider delaying me.’