Daddy Long Legs (23 page)

Kyle shook his head. ‘It’s one of those things.’ He looked at the pretty detective who was staring up at Human. ‘I believe in you. You’re going to get him.’

‘Well, as long as I have people like Detective Mathafengworking for me, he doesn’t stand a chance.’ Lerato beamed at Human. Kyle looked on, smiling. They stood for a moment, silent.

‘Uh, well, actually, I just wanted to invite you for a drink some time,’ Kyle said. ‘On me.’ He smiled at Human. ‘I’m sure you could use the break.’

‘Thank you,’ Human said, surprised. ‘I’m a bit busy at the moment, but I may just take you up on that. Soon.’

‘Good. I’m gonna keep you to that.’ He smiled at Lerato. ‘Okay then, officers.’ He mock saluted them. ‘I’ll leave you to it then.’ He shook both Human and Lerato’s hands. ‘See you soon,’ he said, pointing a finger at Human. And then he was gone.

Human had no way of knowing. But their paths would soon cross again. In a profound way. That would change both their lives ... forever.

Over the next two days, Human and Lerato and the other detectives of the squad busied themselves with their various avenues of investigation. Human wasted no time in immersing himself in the profile compiled by Potgieter. Unfortunately, Potgieter indicated – to Human’s great disappointment – that his profile was severely compromised by a tainted crime scene. Although the autopsy had been useful, the profiler suggested he could only arrive at a practical profile once he had investigated a second dump site. The thought of yet another dead boy disgusted Human and inspired him to even greater efforts.

The profile did confirm a few crucial points though. There were significant indications of marked escalation. The profiler stated that the killer’s ‘cooling-off’ period had most likely shrunk to a few weeks, instead of a few months. Ominously, Potgieter indicated that this cooling-off period may even be shorter. It confirmed Human’s worst fears. And heightened his concerns that the killer could strike at any moment. As a precaution, Human hooked up a recording device to the Hope Gazette’s telephone system. He could only hope that he and Lerato’s frenzied investigations would yield results before another boy disappeared.

Human also held another press conference, assuring the media that they were investigating solid leads. Next to him, featuring prominently, was Lerato. He introduced her as the latest member of the team. And allowed her to field several questions from the press. As Ndabane had promised, she was a media star. At least three publications ran a sub-story on the latest addition to the Daddy Long Legs squad.

True to his word, Joemat expanded the ranks of the Guardians to around fifty. In addition, added to the crowds that thronged the town of Hope, were added three separate camera crews, filming Shanghai Mohale’s reality TV show. Human expressly forbade his detectives from speaking to the crews.

As Human had feared, the Guardians – a very visible presence in the town – soon started causing problems however. There were widespread reports of intimidation. And at least two complaints regarding sexual harassment. Others complained that the so-called protectors of Hope were rude, arrogant and self-righteous. The Goths, who were still milling around Hope, complained that they were being unfairly targeted by the Guardians. More than one gathering had been rudely broken up and several members of this sub-culture reported that they were being stalked. They were unfortunately an easy target.

In one case, a Guardian detained a man who was dating his ex-girlfriend. In another, a member of the Guardians conducted ad hoc searches of a former employer who had dismissed him some months earlier.

It was ‘tit for tat’ and Human wasn’t surprised. Most of the members of the Guardians came from the ranks of the unemployed and the economically destitute. These were people who had been at the wrong end of justice their whole lives. People who had been at the blunt end of an economic pyramid their entire existence. It was a world that offered no escape whatsoever. No possibility of financial upliftment. And now. Suddenly, they were awarded positions of prestige. Tasked with an important duty. And more importantly, granted power. A vindictive attitude was not surprising. Neither was the widespread abuse of power. The oppressed had finally become the oppressor. Human nature is an hour glass.

Over the next few days, many citizens called for the disbanding of the Guardians. Others demanded that the police become involved. Unfortunately, because the directive had come from the Premier’s office, there was nothing they could do. For now – at least – the Guardians were here to stay. Although many residents and visitors had an extremely negative experience of the Guardians, the media spin was overwhelmingly positive, however. With the help of Shanghai Mohale, of course. Here, the Guardians were being portrayed as noble and self-sacrificing heroes. Gallant knights of justice. One interview depicted Gert and Gatiep Booysen (two Guardian brothers) giving tearful testimonies, lamenting their hard, unfortunate lives. Despite the unfair treatment that they had often experienced at the hands of society, they were now – altruistically – willing to give back. Gert and Gatiep became minor celebrities, appearing on an SABC breakfast show and at least three radio stations. Nobody – however – bothered to mention that Gert spent six years in prison for sodomising his thirteen-year old daughter and that Gatiep had given his wife permanent brain damage after violent and repeated beatings.

At the same time, Human re-introduced the daily curfew, to be strictly enforced by the police. Human realised that Daddy Long Legs kidnapped his victims in broad daylight. And that the curfew itself would do little to keep the children of Hope safe. It was therefore purely a psychological measure – meant to calm the rampant paranoia in the little town. And to make people feel safe. It was a small gesture. But an important one.

Of course, the curfew immediately became the object of a brand new game amongst the boys of Hope. It was called Daddy’s Boy and involved the following. During the day, pre-teen boys would leave little items for each other in various locations across Hope. After the curfew came into effect each night, they would sneak out and race across the town with their BMX’s to collect the items. The following day they would parade their souvenirs in front of all their friends to prove their bravery. Soon, all the boys of Hope had such souvenirs. Parents reacted with outrage when the game became public knowledge. But it did little to stop it.

During this time, Premier Joemat held another press conference. The main objective of the media session was to punt the success of the Guardian system. He also minced no words insulting the Hope killer as a coward and ‘pathetic deviant’, preying on defenceless children. He left the best for last, however. Citing the poor results of the task force, and the general ‘lack of leadership’, Joemat proudly announced the introduction of a public tip line. ‘The fact that no tip line has been introduced thus far is a clear indication of the poor leadership of this task force,’ Joemat said with undisguised disdain. ‘Does Detective Human not trust the input of the very people he is meant to protect?’

Human reacted with anger. The very thing he had been trying to avoid had now been forced upon him. As the result of political manoeuvring. Human was enraged. The tip line would exert a massive drain on his precious resources. Resources he couldn’t afford to spare. Especially now. When the killer was poised to strike yet again.
Goddammit
!

Human immediately contacted Joe Ndabane. But received a shock. Ndabane said there wasn’t much he could do. He had no real jurisdiction. The Northern Cape was Joemat’s domain. Besides, Ndabane added, there were many in Pretoria who had been questioning Human’s decision not to instigate a tip line. The Director for Priority Crime Investigation reassured Human, however, that he had Ndabane’s full support. And that Ndabane had every confidence that Human would achieve success. Human ended the call, angry and deflated. He stared at the outside world, a view afforded by the filing room’s tiny window. Outside somewhere, a vicious killer was getting ready to harvest his next victim.

On that Tuesday morning, the media dropped another bombshell.

Human was eating a hurried breakfast in the dining room of the guesthouse. He felt tired and stressed. And hardly tasted the
boerewors
, toast and eggs breakfast. As he had expected, the tip line had resulted in a barrage of information from the public. And not surprisingly, most of it was utterly useless. From ‘sightings’ (yes, sightings) of the perpetrator in places as far afield as Bloemfontein, to residents identifying their neighbours as the killer, to psychics offering to solve the case. And exactly as Human had expected – and dreaded – the massive amounts of data generated by the tip line was forcing him to assign an ever increasing number of his detectives to these ‘leads’. Managing this latest disaster – and trying to control an increasingly fragmented investigation – was giving Human nightmares. Dark terrifying dreams where he was a little boy again. Running desperately from a dark man. Whose soiled breath was searing his neck.

And all the time Human’s mood darkened. As the clock on the wall of Eighteen Hill Street was ticking a desperate rhythm. Reminding them all that the next abduction was just around the corner. And that another boy would soon become the victim of the dark man’s insatiable and twisted lust. Although both he and Lerato were investigating promising leads – and his squad of detectives were working around the clock – Human felt a growing helplessness. It was not something he could ever reveal to the world. But it was no less true for being a secret. And now, as Human watched the morning news, he felt his desperation spike sharply.

On the TV screen, attached to wall opposite Human, a pretty field reporter was standing in front of the detective headquarters. Human recognised her as a local reporter. She was pointing to the building behind her. ‘And in the latest development,’ she said, assuming a grave expression so well practised by TV reporters, ‘we were given access to the profile compiled by the IPU, the Investigative Psychology Unit of the SAPS.’ Human slammed his knife and fork down on his half-empty plate. An elderly couple across the room looked at Human with disapproval. The reporter then began reading from the profile, highlighting certain sensational sections, focused mostly on escalation. She pointed to the building behind her again. ‘It seems the task team neglected to inform the public that the killer is likely to escalate his reign of terror.’

Human pushed his chair away and walked out of the dining room, dialling Lerato’s number. She answered after two rings. ‘Meet me at the office, right now.’ He killed the call without waiting for her answer. With anger bubbling in his blood, Human drove the short distance to Eighteen Hill Street. His car screeched to a halt outside the detective unit building. A few minutes later, Lerato was standing in front of him. Human slammed shut the door. ‘Did you see the report?’ he asked her. She nodded gravely. ‘You know what that means?’ Lerato nodded again. ‘Not only do we have a leak in our unit.’ He stared at her, a grim look on his face. ‘We have a mole. Somebody is trying to sabotage our investigation.’ Human looked at the closed door and lowered his voice. ‘Somebody here does not want us to catch the Hope serial killer.’

Human’s words hung like dirty smog in the air. A sensational accusation. A dirty indictment. ‘Oh my God,’ Lerato said, shock in her eyes. ‘Why would somebody do something like that? It doesn’t make sense.’

‘It makes sense if somebody wants this investigation to fail.’ The two detectives stared at each other, the unspoken names hanging between them. Human’s enemies, it seems, were numerous. From Engelman and his team to the Premier of the Northern Cape.

Human opened the door and walked out into the main area, followed by Lerato. Despite the early hour, the room was already crammed with people. ‘Gentlemen,’ Human said, raising his hand, ‘can               I have your attention?’ The detectives suspended their activities and looked at Human. ‘I’m sure you’re aware that this investigation has suffered yet another leak.’ He looked from one face to another. ‘I’m sure, as seasoned detectives, you are aware of the incredible damage that these leaks inflict on our investigation. I don’t have to tell you that these leaks can cause permanent harm. And that, if they continue, we can forget about ever apprehending this ... sick MOTHERFUCKER.’ Lerato recoiled from Human as his anger finally boiled over. The other detectives stared at Human with shock. ‘Goddammit!’ Human kicked a desk. Then turned his head. Remaining for a moment silent as his chest heaved under the effort of trying to compose himself. After a few seconds he again turned to face the roomful of people. ‘From today, I am going to re-locate our files to a secure premise. If you wish to see any files, you will have to do so under my supervision.’ Several of the detectives in the room groaned while others protested loudly. Human realised his measures were draconian and would place additional constraints on their time and energy, but right now he couldn’t see any other solution.

‘What about her,’ one of the detectives asked, pointing a resentful finger at Lerato.

Human looked at her. ‘The same rules apply to everyone,’ he said, lying. Although he could never admit it to the rest of the detectives, Lerato was the only one he could trust at this stage. It was a sorry state of affairs. ‘Also, I need all new items to be tagged by the relevant detective’s name. I want to know exactly who investigated what. Is that clear?’ Only a few detectives bothered responding. Resentment infused the heavy air.

Dreading this very move, Human had made enquiries following the previous leak. He had learned that the Royal Hotel, where Kyle stayed, had a walk-in safe. He now instructed some of the junior detectives to help him load the most important files into his car so that he could transport them to the Royal Hotel. As he worked, Human’s mind reeled under the logistical nightmare he had now created for himself. However, as it turned out, very soon detective Wayne Human would thank his lucky stars that he had instituted this difficult move.

As Human looked at the scores of boxes in the filing room that comprised the physical evidence, he decided to move them at a later stage. This was, on the other hand, a decision he would soon come to regret.

At the hotel, the owner was waiting for the detectives. Human had his junior team members carry the files into a dusty and dirty safe that was obviously never used. Human was re-assured, however, by the sturdy nature of the walk-in safe with its huge lumbering steel door. The owner, a short balding man with a huge paunch, assured Human that only he and Human himself had keys to the safe. Human also made sure the owner understood that no-one was allowed access to the safe unless accompanied by either Lerato or Human himself. The owner indicated that he understood and expressed his excitement at being a part of the investigation. Human ensured the safe door was properly locked. Taking with him only his own voluminous deck of notes.

Next, Human announced an ad hoc press conference. He had to do damage control. About an hour later he was standing in front of a bank of microphones, Lerato once again next to him. As always in these situations, Human felt a cocktail of anxiety and self-awareness. The day the media would no longer be a part of his life would be a glorious one indeed. Standing behind the cluster of microphones, Human began by giving a quick run-down of the investigation thus far, hinting vaguely at new ‘exciting and promising leads’ the police were investigating. Trying to be as subtle as possible, Human made an oblique reference to the profile, referring to ‘false reports that had been leaked to the media’. He left it at that, feeling that any more references to the leak may highlight its true importance. The last thing he needed at that stage.

A few minutes later, Human and Lerato were back at the detective headquarters. The mood was sullen. And heavy. Human went to the middle of the room. It was time to do damage control of another kind. He apologised for his outburst earlier. And for the severe measures he had taken. But he reminded them again of the damage the leaks were causing their investigation. ‘It’s more than likely one single policeman that’s causing the leaks,’ he said. ‘One single person ... sabotaging all our careers. I don’t mean to impose a blanket punishment, because that’s not what it is. It’s merely a way to safeguard our hard work and our combined efforts. Please see it for what it is. I need every single one of you. You are all important to me, to this investigation.’

Some of the detectives responded with magnanimity, others didn’t. There was little more Human could do. He had to accept the consequences of his decisions.

Human spent the rest of the morning, busying himself with his work, all the time regretting that things had come to this. His only consolation was Lerato. When they were seated at his desk again, she reached out and lay her hand on top of Human’s. ‘Don’t be too hard on yourself,’ she said. Despite his best efforts, her touch electrified him. And made his heart beat in short powerful strokes. He looked at her. ‘You had no choice in the matter.’ Lerato looked over her shoulder at the other detectives. ‘You’re absolutely right. Someone
is
sabotaging this investigation.’ Human smiled at her. Glad for her presence. Wondering how he had managed this far without her. He made a mental note to thank Joe Ndabane the next time they spoke. ‘You didn’t come here to make friends. You came here to catch a killer.’ She squeezed his hand again. ‘And that’s exactly what you’re going to do.’

‘That’s exactly what
we’re
going to do.’ Lerato smiled at him. The mid morning sun dancing in her eyes. In a small filing room, serving as the office of a lead detective in a major serial killer case, the universe gasped. Then held its breath. He reached out and grabbed her hand forcefully, suddenly seized by a moment of radiant insanity. ‘You make me feel like I can do anything ... everything. Like nothing is impossible!’ He stared at her with great intensity. He leaned forward, into her. Lerato stared at him, breathless, her eyes dancing with expectation. ‘In a different world –’ He paused, uncertain. ‘In a different world I would ... I would –’

Human stared at the ring on his finger. And averted his eyes. He withdrew his hand. In his mind he heard Magda’s voice.
Gallivanting ... with your filthy black whores.
He felt a rush of shame. And sensed his face growing red. ‘I’m sorry. I shouldn’t.’ He pulled his notes closer and opened the heavy sheaf of papers. ‘I’m a married man. Please forgive me.’ Lerato looked down at her own notes. Hurt. Disappointed. There was a moment of tense silence. Then Lerato shoved her notes across the desk. The large wad of papers flew off the edge of the desk and in a fluttering of flapping papers flopped to the floor.

‘I’m sorry, Wayne.’ She whispered her words with fierce passion. Trying to keep her voice low so as not to catch the attention of the other detectives. She looked at him with sizzling anger. ‘No. You know what. I’m not sorry.’ Human looked at her with shock. ‘I’m not sorry that I have feelings for you. I’m not sorry that you seem to have the same feelings.’ She spat out her words, laying vitriolic emphasis on each syllable. ‘But I am sorry that you have a bitch for a wife.’ Human’s mouth hung open. He was stunned into silence. ‘And I am sorry that she doesn’t appreciate you. I am very sorry that she doesn’t see the amazing beautiful man you are.’ Despite the vehemence of her words, she had still not raised her voice above a gnarled whisper. Tears moistened her beautiful – exquisitely beautiful large beautiful heavenly beautiful – eyes. She stood up, knocking her chair backwards, sending the sturdy government-issue item of furniture crashing to the floor. Now she had attracted the attention of everyone in the room. But she didn’t seem to care. ‘Now, detective,’ she said, struggling to maintain a civil tone through the tears that streaked across her face, ‘I am going to work outside, where I can concentrate.’ She grabbed her little purse and walked through the desks that crowded the main room, ignoring the stares that followed her. Human buried his eyes in his notes. Normally he would have been outraged at the spectacle. Normally he would have resented the public outburst. But now, Human felt an intense urge to jump up and run after her. To grab her and hold her in his arms and never let her go. Ever again.

But of course Human didn’t. Because that’s not what Wayne Human does. Wayne Human does not make public scenes. Wayne Human does not do public displays of affection. But most importantly, Wayne Human does not break the sacrament of marriage. And he does not cheat on his wife. That’s not what Wayne Human does. Whatever the nature of that dreary, loveless thing that Wayne Human called marriage ... he would not betray it.

Now instead of running after her, he sat in his chair, stunned by the intensity of his feelings. Shaken by the power of his emotions. Her words and the force of her conviction had enlivened something deep and fragile within him. Something he had every reason to believe was no longer alive inside him. Something – that he believed – had died on that day, under the dirty cardboard, inside the dirty abandoned synagogue. He didn’t know what to call it. Or how to describe it. But a dark buried part of his soul had suddenly been illuminated with a thousand glorious lights. And for the first time in so many years – Oh God, so many, many years – he felt alive again. Radiant. And brimming with electricity.

Human allowed himself a few minutes to calm down. Despite everything he felt, he
was
a married man. And more importantly, they had themselves a killer on the loose. Despite what the future may bring, this was now. And now was all that mattered. After a few moments he reached for his cell phone and began typing a message to Lerato. YOU ARE RIGHT. YOU HAVE NOTHING TO BE SORRY ABOUT. I AM THE ONE WHO IS SORRY. BELIEVE ME. WHEN YOU ARE FEELING BETTER, PLEASE COME BACK. He typed I NEED YOU, but considering the present situation, thought better of it and deleted. Instead he ended the message with, I CANT DO THIS WITHOUT YOU.