Daddy Long Legs (18 page)

Human and Brussouw stormed into the detective HQ. Galvanised by Brussouw’s urgency, Human had raced the short distance to the headquarters. All the junior detective said was that there was something on the Internet.

A small group of detectives was huddled around a computer monitor. They made way for Human. The detective seated in front of the computer pointed at the monitor. It was a Facebook page. ‘It’s the Daddy Long Legs page,’ the seated policeman said, clean forgetting that Human had instructed no-one to use the hated moniker. ‘Look here.’

And there it was. One of the postings. Human leaned in and carefully read the words.

Eeny meeny miny mo. Tomorrow. Nine oh clock. Ay Em. The water tower. See you there, Detective Human.

Human read the words again. Stunned. Then one more time. ‘When was it posted?’

The detective pointed to time signature. ‘Yesterday afternoon. 3:33pm’

Human frowned. He turned to Brussouw. ‘Get Joffe on the line. Now.’ Moments later they confirmed what Human had already suspected. John Joffe had fallen asleep about an hour after his shift started. Just before eight. The Venter couple discovered the body around 9:45am. It was not only plausible. It was more than likely.

The sick bastard known as Daddy Long Legs had crossed the barrier. And poked a dirty finger in his face. He was toying with them. Despite all the efforts. Despite all the precautions. He had been toying with them from the start. He had reached out across space and time. He had reached out and grabbed detective Wayne Human by the balls. Then yanked hard.

There was of course no way that he could have known that Joffe would fall asleep. It had been a fluke. The Devil taking care of his own. He had been brazen and arrogant enough to dump the body. Right under the noses of Human’s detectives. Knowing full well that the site was under surveillance. And he had succeeded. Human slammed the desk. He turned to the seated policeman. ‘Who posted it?’

The detective consulted the monitor. ‘René Matthews.’

Brussouw recoiled violently. ‘What? That can’t be.’ He looked shocked. ‘That’s Gert’s teenage daughter.’

Human pulled his gun from his shoulder holster. And cocked it. ‘Let’s go.’ Brussouw’s eyes widened in surprise. An awed silence hung over the room. ‘You lead the way, detective.’ Some of the others looked at Human, shocked. ‘I want four of you to join me. Make sure you’re armed. Now! Let’s go.’

Seconds later two unmarked police cars were racing to the address that Brussouw had supplied. Both cars ground to a halt in the dirt road outside the modest house. A billowing cloud of dust enveloped everything. Surely, anybody who had been watching the road from inside the house would have been terrified by the sight of six detectives, guns held aloft, charging out of an apocalyptic cloud of dust.

Not knowing what they would find, the group of detectives adopted a tactical, S.W.A.T. approach, with three detectives stationed on either side of the Matthews front door. Taking care to stay away from any windows. Human knocked loudly. ‘THIS IS THE POLICE. OPEN THE DOOR.’ Then after a moment’s pause. ‘NOW!’ After a few seconds there was movement behind the door. A latch was dislocated. The door was opened slightly. And a terrified face peered through the crack. Brussouw violently pushed open the door. Following strict tactical guidelines, the detectives stormed inside.

‘
Ooh, jiri, nee
!’ It was the Matthews domestic. An old Coloured woman. Brussouw pointed a gun at her. ‘Please get on the ground, ma’am,’ he said, trying to be as gentle as possible. ‘Now.’

‘
Ooh, Jiri, wat nou, wat nou
?’ She moaned as she obediently lay down on the thick carpet.

‘Is there anyone else in the house?’ It was Human.

‘
Net Renetjie. Sy’s in die kamer
,
meneer
,’ the terrified woman said, pointing down a long corridor.
Only
René
. She’s in her room.

‘Stay here, Brussouw.’ Human indicated with his head for the other detectives to follow him. They quickly moved down the corridor and stopped outside a door that indicated a teenage occupant, purely by way of the High School Musical poster. Human hammered on the door with the butt of his service pistol. ‘POLICE! OPEN UP!’

There was movement inside. Seconds later a tiny, terrified female voice was heard, right up against the door. ‘W-w-w-what?’

Human depressed the door handle and the cops charged inside. They found a young teenage girl, both hands instinctively in the air, palms facing the detectives. The force of the door had propelled her against the far wall. ‘Help! Help! Help!’ She screamed in terrified anguish.

‘Lie on the bed. On the bed. Now!’ Being a young, terrified teenager, Human didn’t have the heart to force her onto the floor. She complied immediately. And lay down on her single bed, hands shaking uncontrollably. All the while staring at the plainclothes detectives with their drawn guns. Realising that the girl was terrified Human told his detectives to holster their guns. He approached the girl. She shrank away. Human sat on the bed. ‘Look ... René, I’m sorry we scared you. It wasn’t our intention, I promise.’ He lowered his voice, speaking tenderly. ‘You know about ... Daddy Long Legs, right? The serial killer?’ She nodded vigorously. ‘You know that we’re trying to catch him. Before he strikes again.’ René nodded. ‘Good.’ Human looked over at a computer on a desk in the corner. ‘That’s your PC over there, right?’ She nodded. ‘Do you have a Facebook account?’

‘Yes, sir.’

‘Good. I think I should get one too. Maybe I’ll meet more people.’ She didn’t smile, unaware that Human was trying to make a joke. ‘Tell me René, did you post a message on the Daddy Long Legs page yesterday afternoon?’

She looked around at the various detectives with fright. ‘No, sir. No, I didn’t. Really, I didn’t.’ She looked terrified.

‘Don’t worry, René.’ Human placed a hand on hers. ‘We believe you.’ Human looked at the PC again. ‘René, can you switch on your PC and log into your account?’

‘Yes, sir.’ She nodded obediently as she slid off the bed and took a seat in front of the monitor.  Two minutes later the monitor displayed the contents of her Facebook page. Human, not being acquainted with social networking (online
and
offline), turned to the policeman who had originally discovered the posting, detective Enrique Gonzales.

The policeman leaned forward. ‘Show us your timeline.’ The teen clicked on a link and all her recent postings appeared on the screen. The detective scanned the monitor. ‘There it is.’

‘I didn’t do it, I promise.’ She started crying. ‘I didn’t do anything, really.’

‘Don’t worry, honey. We believe you.’ Human looked at the detective. ‘Somebody ... hacked into her account?’

He nodded. ‘More than likely.’

Human knelt by the girl who was wiping tears from her eyes. ‘Tell me, René, do you ever communicate with strangers online? You know, chat rooms ... erm ... instant messaging, that sort of thing?’ The girl instantly dropped her head, staring at her keyboard. She dug her toes into the carpet. Human exchanged a knowing glance with the other cops in the room. ‘René? Is there something you want to tell us?’ She looked at Human, a sheepish look on her face. ‘René?’

She blurted out her words. ‘Please don’t tell my father. Please, sir.’ She started crying again. ‘Please. He’ll punish me.’

Human embraced her and held her quietly. ‘He doesn’t have to know anything. I promise. It’ll be our secret.’ He released her and pulling a wad of tissues from a box on her desk, he wiped her tears. ‘Here you go. Nothing to worry about, okay? I’m a big bad detective. Nobody tells me what to do. Even your father’s scared of me.’ She smiled at Human’s words. ‘Okay?’ She nodded. ‘Good. Now tell me, tell me about these ... people you chat with on the Internet. Where do you meet them? On Facebook?’

‘Some. But not many.’

‘Okay, so where do you meet the others?’

‘Mostly in chat rooms.’ She sniffed. ‘There’s like, a million of them.’

‘Okay. Good.’ He smiled encouragement at her. ‘So tell me, how many people have you been chatting with, over the last ... few weeks?’ She immediately averted her eyes again. Human sensed trouble. ‘Listen, honey, you’re going to need to be honest with me.’ She looked at Human from the corner of her eye. ‘Okay? So tell me, how many boys you been chatting with? I assume they’re mostly boys, right?’

She nodded, guilt across her face. ‘Mostly, sir.’

‘So how many boys? Ten?’ She shook her head. ‘Twenty?’ Again. ‘Thirty?’ No, not thirty. Human was beginning to find it hard to hide his shock. ‘For God’s sake, René, do you know how dangerous this is? Do you realise that most of these ‘boys’ are fat old men in dirty underwear?’ She shrank back, staring in hurt surprise at Human. Realising he had spoken too loudly, he lowered his voice. ‘I’m sorry. But really, honey, you must be careful. Look at everything that’s been happening. This world is filled with sick people.’ She nodded in contrition. ‘Okay. So how many boys have you been chatting with over the last few weeks? Forty?’

She nodded. ‘Yes, sir. Probably about forty.’ Human sighed. He took her hand in his. ‘Listen, honey, we’re going to have to take your computer.’

Her head whipped back in shock. ‘No. Why? Why? I didn’t do anything.’

‘We know. Okay. We need to take it for evidence. To try and catch this evil man.’ She started crying yet again. ‘Look here, you’ll get it back. You have my word. I will personally deliver it to your door.’ Human’s words were little consolation. And she continued sobbing. He, of course, didn’t have the heart to tell her that, as an item of evidence and with the slow judicial process, her computer would remain in police custody for at least two years. ‘I’m sorry about it.’ She sobbed softly. Human sighed. ‘Okay, detective, you’ll take care of everything here,’ Human said, addressing Gonzales. He was eager to get back to the dump site. He squeezed the teenager’s hand. ‘Now listen, I want you to be careful. Stay away from these chat sites. There’s a lot of very nice boys in Hope. You don’t need to mess around with these people, okay?’ Human had a notion that, following the morning’s events, she wouldn’t easily enter another chat room. ‘I want you to take care of yourself, you hear me?’

‘Yes, sir. Thank you, sir.’

‘That’s fine. You be good, okay?’

Moments later Human was back at the dump site. He noted that a large number of little numbered beacons had been placed across the site. In a case like this, overkill was
de rigueur
. It was better to collect too much evidence than too little. Somehow though he doubted that the extremely organised Hope killer would be careless enough to leave evidence at a crime scene. Their best hope was the corpse of the little boy. And the pathology report that was to follow. Then, of course, there was always the profile.

He found Jan Potgieter still on-site. The profiler was bent over with a notepad, carefully surveying the immediate vicinity of the body; with the meticulous obsession that was one of the profiler’s greatest tools. Human took a position next to Potgieter, being careful not to disturb anything. After a few moments he spoke. ‘Any thoughts?’

The profiler righted himself slowly, placing his pen in breast pocket of his shirt. He ruminated for a moment before answering. ‘Well, I can tell you this, without a single doubt in my mind. There are significant signs of escalation.’ Human nodded. ‘Not only has your killer gotten older, he’s become more vicious and brutal.’ He looked down at the boy’s naked body. ‘And it’s just going to get worse.’

Following the discovery of the mangled and violated body of Kobus van Jaarsveld, the town of Hope exploded into a frenzy of madness.

All those who had left on that Wednesday morning made hurried preparations to return. The Goth convoy had received the news of the dump site somewhere around Worcester. They promptly turned around and headed back north again. Those media bodies who had abandoned the little town now sent additional delegates to Hope. Those networks who could afford it, like the feuding e-Channel News Africa and SABC International, rented entire houses for their news units. Overnight, Hope accommodation rates doubled.

On the other side of this coin, at least two families who had finally had enough of the twisted circus that Hope had become decided to leave for good. There were many others (long-time residents of the little town) who discussed doing the same.

Some of the residents, however, decided to take full advantage of the madness. Enterprising locals organised guided tours to various Daddy Long Legs locations, like dump sites and the houses of victims. The sale of t-shirts and various other commemorative mementoes skyrocketed. The new favourites were WHO’S YOUR DADDY? and DADDY LONG LEGS WAS HERE. The slogan featuring the unfortunate spelling was a close third. Another version featuring MY FRIENDS WENT TO HOPE AND ALL I GOT WAS THIS LOUSY T-SHIRT didn’t do as well as the manufacturers hoped and was soon discontinued.

After years of existing on the periphery of the South African economy (South Africa has the world’s twenty-seventh largest economy), Hope was finally seeing a turnaround in its finances. Daddy Long Legs had become a boom industry indeed. The sacred cow had become a cash cow.

On the dark side, many of the men of Hope now started wearing guns openly. A town that saw relatively little violence now exploded into open aggression. There were at least half a dozen fist fights reported on a daily basis. Mostly locals taking their frustration out on the strangers who had flooded the cramped confines of the Northern Cape town.

One particularly vicious incident escalated the violence even further. Jody, one of Hope’s only openly gay men, was beaten so violently he had to be hurriedly transported to Kimberley. Apparently he had ‘brushed up’ against a ten-year old boy while moving through the crowded aisles of the local OK supermarket. Using a bottle of Mrs Balls Chutney, an Addis mop and several other innocuous household items, a group of men had dealt out swift ‘justice’ to the unsuspecting man. It was an altercation that left a trail of blood all the way from the detergent aisle to the supermarket entrance. Using CCTV footage the ‘respectable’ citizens were rounded up within an hour. It seemed as if ‘justice’ was swift indeed. Unfortunately for Human and the people of Hope, this sort of event was merely a harbinger of the darkness that was still to come.

A curfew was set in place. In addition, the town council of Hope instituted the Buddy System for all little boys. And little girls, as an added precaution. No boys under the age of fifteen were to leave their homes alone. The boys of Hope were to be accompanied by a friend at all times. If this was not possible then an adult was to chaperone the expected targets of the vicious killer’s twisted lust. It was a good idea to be sure. But its practical application wasn’t always such a success. Parents could not be expected to guard their children around the clock. In a town where employment was often spotty at best, abandoning work to protect your children against a serial killer was simply not possible. Like all dubious enterprises fuelled by good intentions, the Buddy System soon became a historical footnote. School attendance fell to an all-time low.

In the Steynbrug township that bordered Hope, things were just as bizarre. It seemed the Steynbrug residents had not forgotten the tragic story of Benny Boonzaayer. A
sangoma
(traditional healer if you were in favour, witch doctor if you weren’t) made her appearance in the predominantly Coloured township. Although
sangomas
were a strictly African tradition, with Coloured communities veering more towards their European counterparts when it came to matters spiritual, the traditional healer suddenly found herself in great demand. For R100 the
sangoma
would bless your son as well as cast a protection spell. Business was good in the protection industry and soon more than one
sangoma
peddled their services. Just to be sure, however,
Steynbrug
parents also took their sons to the local Catholic priest for a blessing. It couldn’t do any harm to cover all your ecclesiastical bases, so the reasoning went. And at least the Catholic priest’s blessing was free.

That evening, as the sun dipped into the semi-arid sands of the Karoo, the people of Hope went to bed with the uneasy realisation that a disappearance had turned into a brutal murder. And that the mystical and dark figure of Daddy Long Legs had, indeed, resurrected himself to once again blight their soil. No-one could know that the next day would bring another disaster of epic proportions.

***

The next morning Human was up early. He showered, dressed and rushed to Eighteen Hill Street. The CSU photographer had contacted Human earlier that morning. He had been able to develop the crime scene photographs. They were on Human’s desk. The previous day, Human had requested a copy of the profiler’s notes. Now, with the aid of his own notes as well, he was able to undertake a detailed study of the latest crime scene. Engrossed in this intense endeavour he hardly noticed when the premises gradually started filling up as the various detectives arrived for the day’s grind. In fact, so pre-occupied was Human he didn’t even notice when a phone call produced a sudden flurry of activity. If it wasn’t Engelman who had answered the phone call, Human surely would have been informed right away. But as it turned out, immediately following the call, Engelman instead gathered his group of detectives and they – quietly – headed out. About half an hour later, the phone on Human’s desk began ringing insistently. At first he ignored it. But realising the disturbance wasn’t going to go away, Human picked up the handset. ‘’Lo,’ he said absently.

‘My
larnie
.’ Human immediately recognised the voice of his partner.

‘Saintes! Man, do I ever miss –’

‘No time for pleasantries, my
bru
. What the hell is going on there, Wayne?’

Human was taken aback by Saintes van Wyk’s brusque manner. ‘Uh ... what do you ... what?’

‘You mean you don’t know what’s happening?’ Van Wyk cursed loudly on the other end. ‘Wayne, you better switch on the TV right now. Do it. Now!’

Confused, Human dropped the handset into place. With a dark foreboding curled around his heart, he grabbed the remote and turned on the TV set.