Daddy Long Legs (24 page)

About ten minutes later, Lerato returned and resumed her seat, smiling sheepishly. Human handed her the notes she had thrown to the floor. ‘Here, I put them in the right order for you again,’ he said tenderly.

‘Thank you,’ she said, without looking at him. She opened the sheaf of papers, looking for her most recent annotation. Human looked at her. Marvelling at her beauty. Transfixed by the force of her personality. After a moment he placed a hand on hers. She looked up. Fragile. Unsure.

‘When all this is done ... when we’ve caught this sick bastard ... we’ll talk. Okay?’ Lerato smiled. Hopeful radiant beauty dancing in her eyes. Exquisite bright anticipation sparkling in her smile.

‘Yes,’ she said. ‘I would like that.’

And there. Unformed. Inchoate. Was a sudden sharp resolution. An unexpected determination. Yes. Maybe. Just maybe. When all this was done. He would do the thing that needed to be done. The thing that should have been done a long time ago. Yes ...

But now. There was work. Now. They had themselves a killer to catch.

A few hours later, the world was turned upside down. Again. The call they had all been expecting. The call they had all been dreading finally came. And no-one was prepared for the form it would take.

He walked amongst them. The crowds milling around the stalls erected on the Hope commons. He was taller than most. Separate. And isolated. And yet no-one afforded him a second glance.

It was easier to move around. So much easier. Now that the little town’s population had swelled so dramatically.

He stopped. And looked at a young teenage girl’s t-shirt. It said DADDY LONG LEGS WAS HERE. He nodded at her and smiled. ‘Nice t-shirt.’

‘Oh thank you, hey.’ She beamed at the tall man. And popped a lollipop in her pretty little mouth.

He walked on. A moment of darkness in the crowd. At the street corner he smoothed his white long-sleeve shirt. And casually inspected his black trousers. It was a beautiful sunny day. The winter that was around the corner had not yet touched the mercury. And no-one could be blamed for thinking the seasonal cold was still a long way off. Oh yes. It was a good day. A good day for little boys to be out and about.

An old lady waddled past him. She looked up at the tall man and nodded a jovial greeting. ‘Good day,’ she said cheerfully.

He nodded and returned the smile. ‘You fucking old whore,’ he whispered between the clenched teeth of his forced smile. It has been such a long time, he thought. They had forgotten about him. They had all forgotten. But now they remembered. Now they understood. So much had happened. So much had changed. And now they understood what twenty years can do. He chuckled to himself. A deep, throaty rattle that made a passerby look at him with surprise. He had come back to reclaim Hope. To make it his. And no-one could deny that it was all his. And that everyone. EVERY FUCKING ONE. Belonged to him now.

Oh yes. He was their daddy. And they were all his children. And soon. Very soon. Oh yes! Very soon. He would take another.

He nodded cordially at an elderly couple. And adjusted the red band around his sleeve. He was, of course, expected to be neat at all times and to uphold only the highest standards.

He was – after all – a member of the prestigious Guardians.

Throughout that Tuesday, especially following the frenzied press conference, the phones at Eighteen Hill Street rang incessantly. Eventually, Human lifted his handset off the receiver. It was Joe Ndabane. He enquired about the investigation and gave Human great news. ‘Those subpoenas of yours have been approved. For the international chat servers.’ Human heard papers rustle as Ndabane consulted notes. ‘Erm ... Yahoo, MSN and Google. Who the hell names these things?’ Human stifled a smile. ‘You should have access to all the records later today.’ Human was struck with relief. And overjoyed. His mood didn’t last long. A few minutes after he ended the call with Ndabane, a detective stormed into his office.

‘Sir, I think you’re going to want to take this call.’

Human jumped up and trotted to the detective’s desk. The handset was lying next to the telephone. Human picked it up. ‘Hello,’ he said gingerly.

A torrent of hysterical screaming poured from the handset. Human tilted the handset slightly to spare his ear the onslaught. ‘I don’t understand. Can you please calm down ...’ Human paused, about to call the person ‘ma’am’ when he realised it was man. ‘Sir, this is detective Wayne Human of the South African police. Can you please tell me what the problem is?’ Human listened intently, trying to discern words within the frantic barrage. And then. His face grew ashen. His eyes widened. Those around him looked on with concern. A few detectives abandoned their desks and walked over to the circle growing around Human. Lerato stepped closer, a deep frown emphasising the worry on her face. Human held the handset right against his ear. ‘Yes, sir,’ he said gravely. ‘Yes, sir, right away.’ And then he replaced the handset. He stared at the ground for a moment, his face a bleak landscape. Then he turned to his detectives. ‘Premier Benny Joemat’s son has gone missing.’ There was an audible intake of breath. Lerato’s hand jumped to her mouth.

‘Oh my God,’ she said, barely above a whisper.

Human was pale and sombre. Of all the outcomes. Goddammit! Of all the outcomes he had ever expected, this was the only one he had never dare contemplate. For a moment Human stood impassive. Stunned. Thinking of all the implications of what he had just heard. There was an ominous silence in the room. Against the wall, the clock ticked a menacing rhythm, eating into the life of the world. Tick. Tick. Tick. Tick.

‘Maybe it’s just a misunderstanding,’ one of the detectives said. His voice sounded obscenely loud in the claustrophobic space of the moment. ‘Maybe he’s off playing somewhere.’ He paused. ‘It doesn’t mean ...’ He left the sentence unfinished.

Human collected himself. ‘You’re right.’ He turned to the detective who had called him, pointing at him. ‘Uh ...’

‘Detective Buckby, sir.’

‘Buckby, I need you to contact the
Hope Gazette
. Ask them if they’ve been contacted by the killer.’

‘Yes, sir.’ Buckby reached for the handset. As if reading his mind, the telephone rang loudly. Buckby jumped almost a metre into the air. Lerato gasped. In the awesome tension of the moment, everyone stared at the telephone. Doing nothing. Simply staring. Like an ugly blotch of dark ink, the black telephone gloated in the dumbstruck silence. Huge and taunting. Buckby turned to Human. He nodded. With great deliberation, Buckby picked up the handset. ‘Detective Buckby speaking.’ He listened for a moment, saying nothing. Then he dropped the handset into its cradle. His face betrayed his words. He turned slowly to Human. ‘The
Hope Gazette
has just received a call from the killer.’ He looked at some of the other detectives. ‘He left another nursery rhyme.’ There was a collective sigh. As if the entire room had been holding its breath all this time.

Little Alexander Joemat had just become Daddy Long Legs’s latest victim.

Alexander Joemat sat on a leather couch in the Mayor’s foyer, swallowed up by the lavish folds of the Italian-design piece. He shifted – for the umpteenth time – on the cold leather, deriving only the tiniest consolation from the farting noise his movements produced.

He hated being here. He hated this crappy little dusty town with its dirt roads and crazy people. He missed Kimberley with all his heart. And his mommy. And Oscar and Sheldon. So much. Kimberley wasn’t such a big place. It wasn’t Cape Town. Or Johannesburg. But
flippit
, at least Kimberley had traffic lights. And a bioscope. And an ice skating rink. This place had nothing. And little Alex hated it.

If it wasn’t for daddy...

If it wasn’t for daddy he would never have come here. His daddy had told him. It was important for his job. Little Alex had to be there. So he came. And said nothing. About his sadness. And about missing mommy and all the rest. Because daddy was so hard to please. Daddy was never satisfied with little Alex. He never looked at his drawings. He was never happy with his school report. And he never hugged him like the other dads. Daddy was so hard to please. And little Alex would do anything. Anything in the whole wide world to please daddy. Even come to a yucky place like this little crappy town.

Little Alex shifted again. This time he managed to produce a long protracted leather fart. It made him giggle. The chair was funny.

Up on the wall, a large clock ticked away, eating into the life of the world. Little Alexander looked at it, sighing. Pieter was late. It wasn’t the first time. But Alex didn’t care. No. He didn’t care at all. He didn’t even like Pieter. No. He didn’t care that Pieter was late. It was the waiting that was bad. Sitting around here. And waiting for the fat little white kid. Yeah. That was the bad part. He didn’t mind if Pieter didn’t even come at all. No, he decided on the couch. He definitely didn’t like Pieter. He was rude. And told dirty jokes. And worst of all he said Spiderman was stronger than Batman. What? No-one was stronger than Batman. Well, except for Superman maybe. But no-one else. How dare he? Pieter and little Alex would never have been friends back in Kimberley. No ways. Alex had the coolest friends ever. Oscar and Sheldon. Yeah! Together they were the Three Musketeers. Yeah! He was only friends with Pieter coz daddy said so. Coz daddy said it was important for his job. Pieter’s dad was an important friend of daddy. And that was that.

Little Alex looked at the clock on the wall. He would do anything to please daddy. Anything to make daddy love him. Anything.

Outside, the two Guardians standing guard outside the house were informed that their much anticipated lunch (prepared by the mayor’s personal chef) was ready. The two men eagerly departed for the kitchen.

A short distance away, a man who had been patiently waiting all morning, dislodged himself from the shadows and approached the house.

There was a knock on the door.

Inside, little Alex jumped at the knock on the door, startled. He had almost expected Pieter not to come anymore. At least then he could watch some Cartoon Network. But now the tubby kid was here. Little Alex was almost disappointed. He jumped up and ran to the window. He peered through the lace curtain at the porch area outside. He drew back in surprise. It wasn’t Pieter. Unsure of what to do, he lingered by window. There was another knock. Little Alex slowly went to the door and opened it. He stared up into the face of the gigantic man outside. ‘Yes?’

The man looked down at him. Emotionless. His face oddly blank. ‘Your father sent for you, Alexander.’

Alexander. That’s exactly what his father called him. Everyone knew him as Alex. Everyone except his father. Little Alex hesitated. The man made him feel awkward. And. Naked.

Naked?

‘I have a play date,’ Alex replied after a moment. ‘Pieter is supposed to come here.’

The man looked at Alex. ‘Yes, of course,’ he said after a moment. ‘You have a play date. With Pieter.’ The man paused for the briefest of moments. ‘The plans have changed. I am supposed to escort you to Pieter’s house. You must come with me.’

Little Alex looked at the man, uncertain. Why did he feel so unsure? Why did he feel so  ... so afraid? ‘I don’t know. I ... I don’t feel like going anymore.’

The man’s face changed. Almost imperceptibly. And yet. There was a cold unformed menace in his eyes. And a shadow passed over his features. A dark cloud that made the angles of his face even sharper. That made the darkness in his eyes even deeper. ‘You don’t want your daddy to be angry with you, do you now, Alexander?’

The little boy stepped back. And inhaled sharply. A cold hand reached for his heart. He was visibly afraid.

Yet. The last thing he wanted to do was make his daddy angry. No. He didn’t want to make his daddy angry. He stared down at the mat on the threshold with the word WELCOME on it. And then up at the man. ‘Okay. I am coming. Just wait a little.’

Alex closed the door. He stood for a moment with his back to its ornate wooden carvings. Then made a decision. On the arm rest was his Blackberry Curve. It was a present from his uncle Roy. It had been released the year before, his daddy told him. A very expensive gift. And he better take care of it, or else. Daddy had said. He didn’t need to be told twice. None of his friends had one. He reached for the expensive smart phone and walked over to the window. Outside, the man was lost in his own thoughts, staring into the void.

Pulling the lace curtain aside. Very. Very carefully. So that the man wouldn’t see. He pulled the lace aside. And positioned the phone. And snapped a picture of the man at the door. He looked at the high-resolution screen. It was a perfect picture.

He didn’t know why he did it. Why he took the picture. And why he now left the phone on the arm rest of the big leather couch. But something inside him made him do it. And so he did. He walked to the door, opened it and accompanied the man. Taking the hand that was extended towards him.

About half an hour later, the door opened. It was a yet another Guardian. He had missed out on the lunch call and was more than a little peeved. He looked inside, scanning the interior of the near palatial home. ‘Mavis,’ he shouted. But there was no answer. ‘
Dônner
,’ he said, cursing loudly. He took a step inside. And was about to call out to the portly Coloured chef one more time. When he saw the phone. He looked around surreptitiously. There was no-one. He sauntered casually towards the couch. And studied the expensive phone. He had no idea what a Blackberry was. But he didn’t need a degree in advanced telecommunications to know that it was a very expensive little toy. In one swift move. Learned from years of thievery. He snatched the phone. And neatly popped the back, taking out the battery and SIM card. He had stolen enough cell phones in his life to know you didn’t walk around with an active phone in your pocket. Especially if you were stealing the phone of the premier’s son. He jogged towards the entrance and quickly disappeared out of the yard.

In his pocket was at least three months’ salary. And the life of a little boy.