The First Rule Of Survival (8 page)

Ledham’s speaking voice is precise and controlled, but his eyes don’t match the words.

‘Same friend both times?’

‘Same friend.’

‘You can give your Knysna friend’s details to my colleague in a moment,’ de Vries tells him. ‘Did you stop on your way there?’

Ledham’s tongue appears between his lips, wetting them. ‘I stopped at Tallons mini-mall, for some . . . snacks.’

‘Anywhere else?’ de Vries asks lightly.

‘I also visited that farm-stall place.’

‘MacNeil’s farm-stall?’

Ledham’s eyes stare straight ahead. ‘Yes.’

‘But you’d just bought snacks at the mini-mall?’

‘That farm-stall makes their own pies. I was buying them to eat later on in the journey.’

‘Where did you park?’

Ledham rolls his eyes. ‘In the car park, obviously.’

‘Where?’

‘I don’t know.’ He purses his lips, squeezes his eyes shut. ‘At the front, overlooking the road. It was busy.’

‘Did you drive around the back of the building?’

‘No.’

‘What time did you arrive there?’

‘I don’t know,’ he replies impatiently. ‘I was stopped by the road-block, spent ten minutes there, then drove straight up the pass and to MacNeil’s. You obviously know I was stopped; that’s why you’re here. So, work it out yourself.’

Don reads the report. ‘Stopped by Traffic Officer Jackson, at one thirty-five p.m.’

‘So, two o’clock then. Something like that.’ Ledham seems indignant. ‘It’s irrelevant anyway. I parked, went straight to the hot counter at the shop and bought two pies. There were . . . two people in front of me. I bought the pies, and then I got into my car and drove to Greyton.’

‘What car do you drive?’

Ledham sighs heavily, pushes up gold-rimmed spectacles. Sweat droplets enlarge on his bare scalp, begin to move to the thin white strands of hair, clinging to the sides of his scalp.

‘You know perfectly well what car I drive. It’s in that report.’ He points at Don.

De Vries keeps his voice low.

‘Why do you find answering questions so difficult?’

‘Because,’ Ledham starts, rising from his chair and then sitting back down, brushing down his thighs, ‘you know the answers to these questions. There is no point in asking them. It’s a waste of time.’

De Vries holds his defiant stare until Ledham backs down.

‘Shall we go and see it, sir?’Vaughn asks.

‘Yes,’ Ledham says. ‘You look at it. Only car I’ve owned in the last six years. It’s not very clean, I’m afraid – meaning I haven’t had it cleaned – but you look at it.’ He adds, pointedly: ‘Put your minds at rest.’

He gets up, takes keys from a china saucer on a shelf and hurries to his front door. De Vries and Don February follow him. Ledham approaches his garage, presses a button on a remote and watches the large white door rise. Parked more or less in the middle of the double width space is a small white Toyota with fading paintwork. Don checks that the numberplates match those in the traffic report.

‘Please open the boot of your car.’

Ledham walks around his car, finds the correct key and opens the boot. It is lined with newspaper. De Vries lifts the paper and looks underneath. The blue carpet is faded, but otherwise clean.

‘Why the papers?’

Ledham clucks. ‘I went to the garden centre. The man who carried my plants laid it in there. They always do that.’

De Vries nods, opens the passenger side door and peers in. The back seat is clean apart from a scattering of dead leaves.

‘All right,’ he says. ‘We’ll come back inside again now.’

‘Why?’

‘I haven’t finished my questions, Mr Ledham. You said you didn’t want to talk outside. We can talk here if you prefer?’

‘No,’ Ledham replies. ‘We’ll go back to the lounge.’ He locks the car, exits the garage and operates the electric door to close it. He re-opens the front door and walks in ahead of them, places his keys back in the saucer, and re-takes his seat as before.

De Vries sits down on the sofa, next to Don. There is silence, until Ledham twists around and faces them.

‘What now? I’ve answered all your questions. You’ve seen my car. You know full well I have nothing to do with your inquiry.’

‘Why do I know that?’

Ledham lowers his voice. ‘If you have read my file, you would have seen that my . . . proclivities used,’ he emphasizes the word, ‘
used
. . . to lie elsewhere.’

‘Where?’ de Vries asks blankly.

‘Girls, Colonel. I have always admired young girls. No doubt like half the male population of the country.’

‘But they don’t kidnap them and hold them against their will.’

Ledham narrows his eyes. ‘You would be surprised at the will of the young. Some of them know exactly what they want, and society feels very challenged by that, I can tell you.’

‘You have a computer?’ de Vries asks.

‘No.’

‘No computer?’

‘That’s what I said.’

‘Mind if we take a look around your house, Mr Ledham?’

‘Yes, I do. I have certain rights of privacy. If you want to search my house, produce a warrant with good cause, otherwise no.’

‘Fair enough. If you’d prefer we arrest you and take you into town for twenty-four hours, we can do it that way.’

‘Arrest me? On what charge?’

De Vries leans into Ledham’s face. ‘Because you’ve lied, Mr Ledham. Some of what you’ve told me is true, and some of it isn’t. When you tell me what I want to know, maybe we’ll leave you in the peace you so obviously desire. Until then, here in your home or in my cellblock, I’m right in your face.’

Vaughn looks at Ledham’s pale hands, liver-spotted and quivering. Ledham sees him watching, meshes them.

‘About what, exactly, do you think I’m lying?’

Vaughn snorts. ‘You want my party trick? It’s not very impressive when I am so good at sniffing out a big fat lie, and you are such a total godawful amateur liar.’

Ledham recoils in his seat, colour in his bland cheeks. De Vries takes up his stance facing Ledham, his back to the window.

‘When you drove to Greyton last Tuesday, where did you stop?’

‘I told you – the mini-mall and MacNeil’s. And at your road-block. I told you.’

Vaughn studies him. ‘What did you buy at the mini-mall?’

‘Snacks.’

‘What snacks?’

‘I don’t remember that.’

‘A drink, sandwiches maybe?’

‘Yes, I suppose so.’

‘A hot pie?’

‘Yes, a hot pie. A pepper steak pie . . .’ He trails off. ‘No – at MacNeil’s.’ Ledham stops suddenly, realizes his mistake even before de Vries spells it out.

‘You see, Mr Ledham, when you stopped near Tallons, it was for another reason, wasn’t it?’ de Vries stares him down. ‘Where did you go in Somerset West? You stopped somewhere near Tallons, but why?’

He sees Ledham quiver, then let go, deciding to come clean.

‘All right. I stopped at the mini-mall because I was thirsty and I wanted a cool drink, and . . . because there is an “Adult Fantasy” shop there.’

‘Oh, I see. I didn’t know there was a branch there. Did you, Warrant Officer?’

Don thinks de Vries knows full well about an ‘Adult Fantasy’ store there. Don, however, doesn’t.

‘No.’

‘What did you buy? Some magazines, DVDs . . . lingerie?’

‘That’s my business. I’ve told you I was there.’

‘I think you’ll find it’s my business too. Now, go and show Warrant Officer February your stash. Don’t worry, he’s quite unshockable. And give him your friend’s details too.’

Don gets up, but Ledham remains seated.

‘I wish to call my lawyer. I want to know what he says about this illegal search.’

‘Fine. You get one call before we lock you up.’

Ledham suddenly seems confused, disorientated. He looks at de Vries. ‘All right, all right. You don’t care how much you humiliate me, do you?’

‘No.’

Ledham leads Don towards the bedroom, glancing back at de Vries as he goes.

The moment they are out of sight,Vaughn walks to the opposite end of the house, opens a door onto a guest room with a pink carpet and an old-fashioned exercise bike by the French door. He opens the cupboards, checks under the mattress and the bed. He walks up and down the carpet, feeling for a hollow space. When he finds nothing, he leaves the room and opens the next door. It is a large walk-in closet, containing cleaning equipment. He hunts for a light-switch, but can’t find one. The third door he tries is locked. He trots back to the living room, opens every cupboard door he can find, searches an antique cabinet, containing only old half-finished bottles of spirits, and tracks back and forth over the carpeting. When he is satisfied that there is nothing obviously hidden, he goes to the window and stares out into the yard. There is a narrow deck, a short strip of grass, well-tended, and a narrow paved area. He can see where Ledham has planted some trees and climbers against the dominating wall.

He hears Ledham and Don returning. When they are back in the room, Ledham says: ‘Everything legal. Maybe not to your taste, but legal. Isn’t that right, Warrant Officer?’

Vaughn looks at Don, who nods, but looks disgusted.

‘There’s a locked room down there,’ de Vries says. ‘What’s in that room?’

‘You have no right—’

‘What’s in the room?’

‘My work is in that room.’

‘What work is that?’

Ledham straightens himself stiffly. ‘I’m an illustrator. For books.’

‘What kind of books?’

‘Children’s books. I create the illustrations for the
Davey and Pie
series.’

De Vries remembers the title. He wonders whether he has bought the books for his daughters.

‘Just show us that room, please. Then we’ll leave you.’

Ledham gets up and walks to the door. He produces a key from his trouser pocket and unlocks it.

‘If an intruder gets in, he can take everything but my work.’ There is a little pride in his voice.

He enters the room, de Vries and Don February following. Two walls are covered, almost floor to ceiling, with beautiful, intricate drawings. Vaughn immediately recognizes the work; knows that his daughters have been enchanted by these pictures. He sees one wall covered with detailed pen-and-ink drawings, almost as atmospheric as William Blake etchings, each rendered much larger than he has seen in the books, the other wall showing coloured scenes of mysterious misty woodlands, medieval castles guarded by men in shining armour, and an underwater scene of huge colourful fish partying while the heroes are thrown around on a giant waterlily pad on the surface above them. He has read these stories out loud to his girls, admiring the artist. His daughters have gaped at the pictures, probably dreamt about the adventures.

‘You write these too?’ de Vries asks.

‘No. I am sent the text. I have only met the author once.’

‘The publisher knows about your past?’

Ledham spins around to him.

‘No. I . . . I have no contact with anyone. I live here alone and mind my own business.’

De Vries thinks about it; there is something repulsive about the thought of Ledham enchanting his innocent children. He looks back at the man, drained and slumping now, his head lowered.

‘That seems reasonable.’

Ledham takes a deep breath.

Above the long desk which runs down the entire side of the room,Vaughn sees giant versions of the lead characters: Davey, Pie, Salsa and Squash. On the desk itself, sketches and unfinished designs.

‘There’s a new one?’

‘If I am allowed my peace, yes.’

‘Doesn’t everyone do this on computer nowadays? You don’t use a computer?’

‘No. All my pictures are hand-drawn, hand-coloured, as you can see.’

De Vries looks again at the pictures, and then at Ledham. He wonders how such a man’s mind works: to create pictures that delight children; to defile and humiliate and abuse them.

‘Thank you,’ Vaughn tells him, ‘for eventually cooperating. I hope that we won’t disturb you again.’

Ledham opens his mouth, but shuts it again. He gestures them out of his studio, along the corridor to his front door. They leave and he closes it on them, standing silently, waiting to hear the car start up and drive away.

*   *   *

De Vries finds a new guard on duty at the entrance, but he is not a supervisor. He salutes de Vries and opens the gate.

When they are back on the main road, de Vries asks: ‘What did he have in his collection?’

‘Just teen stuff, hardcore, but seemed legal. He had not unwrapped all of what he bought on Tuesday. It was still in a brown paper bag, with the receipt inside. Date and time shown. Fits.’

‘Not nice.’

‘I would not want my children looking at his pictures.’

‘Mine already did. I always liked those books.’

‘You would not like them so much if you saw what he really thinks about young girls, and what they should be doing to each other.’

‘My kids love his work; they don’t know the man.’

Don contemplates what he means. He says: ‘I am sorry, sir, that those two leads were a waste of our time.’

‘Had to be done. When Ledham started lying I wondered what we had. Problem for me was, the moment we entered his place, it didn’t feel right. He didn’t look right. Can you imagine him shooting anyone; lifting them into a skip?’

‘What was bothering you then?’

‘He lied to me. Twice. If he’s lying, then he’s hiding stuff, and I instinctively want to know what. I knew that he didn’t stop for “snacks” at that mini-mart. That was lame. You find out what it really was, and his evasion makes sense.’

‘You said twice?’

‘Oh yeah. When I asked him about a computer, each time he denied it, but the guy definitely has one, or uses one. Probably just Internet stuff, might be relatively innocent. I’ll go back sometime and find out.’

‘How do you do that?’

‘What? Catch them at it? There are so many clues: eyes, hands, saliva – a break in their voice.’

‘So, when we get this guy, you will know.’

De Vries turns to Don. ‘When I meet him? Instantly.’

Robert Ledham waits half an hour and passes through the walk-in closet to another door which leads into his garage. He takes the ladder from its place on the wall and leans it against a narrow beam on the ceiling. He climbs slowly, opens a trapdoor above him and clambers up into the roofspace. Stooping until he reaches the central part of the space, beneath the highest point in the roof, he moves to a trestle table supporting a laptop and a colour laser printer. He boots it up, enters multiple passwords and logs onto a forum. Then, he begins to type.