Daddy Long Legs (33 page)

Human turned around and cast his face up to the heavens. ‘Fuck!’ The scream resounded across the empty veldt. Across the road, the crowd erupted into excited babbling. Captain Coetzee turned to one of his men and whispered something in his ear. Human turned to the driver of the X5 in which he and Lerato had travelled. ‘Are you even sure this is the right address?’

The detective stepped forward, apologetic. ‘I’m positive, sir. We double checked everything.’

In morose silence, Human eyed the growing crowd across the road. He pointed to the driver and another detective. ‘Go there and interview those people. See what they can tell us about the occupants of this house.’ The two detectives jogged across the road. Human rubbed his temples, a growing worry that they had all made a terrible – and very public – mistake looming in his mind.

Behind him, plumes of dissipating teargas wafted from within the house. Lerato stepped up to Human, a cloth to her mouth. She lightly touched his arm, smiling tenderly. An STF member, wearing a gas mask, emerged from the house. He held an envelope out to his leader. Coetzee handed the envelope to Human. ‘We have confirmation, detective. It is the Havenga house.’ Human took the envelope and studied it. It was a bill. In the little window the name A. HAVENGA was clearly visible. Human let out a sigh of relief and relaxed a little. At least they had
that
right. He wasn’t going to remain relaxed for long.

From the backyard of the modest but neat house, there was an audible commotion. An STF unit member came running up to the group. He addressed Captain Coetzee. ‘Sir, I think you’re gonna want to come see this.’ The STF leader and Human exchanged glances. Then hurriedly walked around the house towards the back.

About a metre or two behind the shed, within the dense bush veldt, a group of STF team members were standing in a semi-circle, their backs to the approaching group. When Human and the others neared the STF group, they parted, revealing what they were looking at.

Human felt his heart explode in his chest.

The Task Force members were standing around an elongated mound of earth, hidden by the yellow grass of the bush veldt.

It was a shallow grave.

Lerato’s hand flew to her mouth. Her eyes large with shock. ‘Oh my God. It’s Alex Joemat!’

Human looked down at the mound of earth, a deep frown on his forehead. ‘I don’t think so,’ he said softly. ‘It’s too large.’

‘What does it mean?’ One of his detectives asked under his breath.

And then. Just like that. Something in Human’s brain clicked. A deep suspicion. Something he had harboured since the beginning of the investigation. Something that had been bothering him since the very beginning.

Oh no. Could it be true?

Oh no! Oh no! Oh no!

He had to know. He had to find out. Right now.

He reached out a hand, addressing no-one in particular. ‘Give me a shovel. Quick.’ An STF unit member next to Human unlatched a small shovel from his backpack, made from a high-strength yet lightweight alloy. In raids like these, at least a third of the STF team would carry shovels like this on their person. He handed the detective the black shovel. Wordlessly and with grim focus, Human began digging up the mound.

‘Shouldn’t we wait for CSU, sir?’ One of the detectives asked.

‘Fuck the CSU,’ Human said, without stopping. Another two STF members plucked out shovels and helped the frenetic detective dig up the loose soil. After a few minutes they had unearthed a tall, tarpaulin-covered body. The stench of decomposition wafted from under the blue material.

‘Help me lift it,’ Human asked the STF policemen. Each grabbing one end, two of them lifted the body from the grave and carefully placed it next to the elongated hole in the hot earth. Human slowly unfurled the tarpaulin. Revealing the severely decomposed body of a grown man. The stench was powerful. And overwhelming. Several of the men gagged as the stink of rotting human flesh assailed their senses. Some took a few steps back, in an effort to escape the sickening stench of putrefaction.

‘Who is it?’ Someone asked.

‘Lerato, give me that folder.’ Human reached out a hand to Lerato. She gave him the file. He flicked aggressively through the hastily assembled file. And stopped.  Reading with a furrowed brow. He snapped the folder shut and handed it back to her. ‘Everybody stand aside,’ he said, motioning with both arms. ‘Stand back.’ The group mutely complied. Human lifted the shovel into the air. Then swung it violently down onto the corpse.

‘Jesus, what are you doing?’ Someone shouted.

Human ignored the question. Aiming carefully he swung the shovel again. And again. And again. There was a nauseating rip of decaying flesh. The sickening crunch of weakened bone. Lerato gagged violently. ‘Wayne, what in God’s name are you doing?’ Lerato asked, completely forgetting their agreement to never use his first name amongst their colleagues. One of the STF members stumbled backwards. Then turned. And disgorged the entire contents of his stomach onto the arid soil of the bush veldt. The Special Task Team was trained to deal with a great many horrors. This was not one of them. Next to Human, a detective took a brisk walk and a short distance away vomited violently. Bent over.

And still Human didn’t stop. He swung the shovel. Again. And again.

‘Dear God,’ somebody whispered.

Human swung the shovel one more time. This instance, instead of the hideous sound of splintering bone and tearing flesh. There was another sound.

Something metallic.

Human stood over the rotting corpse. Heaving with exertion. His breath coming in rasping bursts. Within the body’s fractured knee, something shiny gleamed in the hot sun. Human looked up at the crowd, gathered around him. He wiped his mouth, a dour look on his face.

‘Ladies and gentlemen. Meet Daddy Long Legs.’

***

They stood for a long time. No-one saying a word. Staring down at the decayed corpse of Arnold Havenga.

It was a massive anti-climax. A bitter disappointment. To have come so far. And yet, to have achieved nothing. In some ways, they were right back at square one.

Judging from the level of decomposition, Human guessed the corpse was around two months old.

‘I don’t understand,’ one of the STF team members said, shattering the silence. ‘What does it mean?’

‘It means we’re dealing with a copycat serial killer,’ Human said morosely.

A stunned silence greeted his words.

He felt drained. And defeated. He should have known. He should have been able to tell. And most of all, he should have listened to his intuition. It had been screaming at him almost from the start.

‘What now, detective?’

‘I don’t know.’ Human stared into dull empty silence. Feeling lost.

All this time they had been chasing a fifty-year old serial killer. A phantom. A bleak spectre. Resurrected from the past. All this time they had been focusing on the wrong person. Yes, that’s exactly what they had been doing all this time, Human thought. Chasing phantoms.

They had finally solved a twenty-year old crime. Hurray! But now they were left with a brand-new unsolved mystery.

And yet. How had the copycat been able to duplicate Daddy Long Legs’s signature and modus operandi so perfectly? How had he been able to fool an entire squad of detectives? An experienced profiler? And, of course, Human himself?

On one level, Human felt like they were right back at the beginning. Like they had made no progress at all. And yet. There had to be a connection. What could it be?

Human would soon have his answer.

The teargas had finally cleared from the house. And no-one had seen Lerato drift off. Now she was back at Human’s side. ‘There’s something I want you to see.’ Human looked at her, hopeful. He and the group of policemen followed her into the house.

As was clear from the outside, it was a modest house. But the interior was pristine. And immaculate. The style inside was minimalist. And sparse. It was neat. Yet somehow lacked a woman’s touch. Lerato led the team through the small sitting room, down a corridor and into a bedroom.

Human stood at the bedroom door in shock.

Walking into the room was like entering a time capsule. And going straight back to the 80’s. On the wall facing the door was a Bon Jovi poster. And one featuring Cindy Lauper. On the opposite wall was a Ghostbusters movie poster. The furniture was old and dated. A wooden bunk bed in the middle of the room. Between the bed and window was an old and weathered easy chair with a square design. But there was something else. Toys were arranged across the tiny room. Without exception they were all from the 80’s. A giant Rubik’s Cube was perched on a coffee table. Next to it was an iconic Simon memory toy. Circular and with coloured buttons that lit up when depressed, it brought back a flood of unpleasant memories to Human. Memories of an awkward childhood.

In the far corner of the room stood a beautifully preserved
Castle Grayskull
, populated with various figurines. Human recognised
He
-
Man
and
Skeletor
figurines. And
Skeletor’s
evil female companion.

What was her name again?

In a large crate in the corner there were more toys. Another iconic 80’s toy. A red
View-Master
. The hugely successful stereoscopic viewer that allowed children to view 3-D images using the distinctive circular reels. Inserted into the View-Master was one of these reels. The crate contained other items like
A-Team
figurines,
Transformer
models and an ancient Nintendo console. The toys were all ancient. But in pristine condition. As if they were there for demonstration purposes only. As if they had never actually been touched by a child.

‘It’s a boy’s room,’ someone said.

‘Maybe it’s a memento,’ someone else said. ‘Some kind of strange memorial.’

‘It’s a shrine,’ one of the STF’s said. ‘A shrine to his dead child.’

‘You would think so,’ Lerato said, stepping into the room. ‘But someone’s been living here.’ The men looked at her with shock.

‘Someone’s been living here?’ A detective asked. ‘A boy? But there was no record of any adoptions.’

‘Oh, it’s not a boy.’ Lerato opened the closet doors. Hanging from the railings, was a row of clothing. Shirts. Trousers. Jackets. But they were not the clothing of a child. She picked up a large pair of shoes. ‘I would say about size twelve.’ The detectives stared at her with surprise. ‘Our mystery tenant is a big boy.’

‘What if it’s Havenga’s clothing? Just a storage place for old clothes.’

Lerato shook her head. ‘I already looked. His clothing is in the main bedroom. He was a fat old man. And besides, he wears a size-ten shoe. This is not his.’

There was silence.

‘And look,’ she said pointing to an empty section of the desk. ‘The dust pattern shows that there was a computer keyboard and monitor here.’ She turned to Human. ‘That’s what he used to hack the girl’s Facebook account.’

‘And record my voice,’ Human said.

‘Jesus, this is freaky,’ Captain Coetzee said. ‘Why would a grown man live in a room like this?’

‘I don’t want anybody touching anything.’ Human looked at the other policeman to drive him his instruction. ‘Lerato, are the CSU guys on their way?’

‘Yes, detective.’

‘Good. Let’s vacate the house, guys.’

Human waited patiently while the policemen filed out of the house. The gloominess he felt earlier had lifted somewhat. There was no doubt that a great deal of work still lay ahead. And in some ways they were no closer to catching the killer – the copycat killer – than they had been almost two weeks before. But they had, at least, achieved something. They had discovered the identity of the original killer for one. No small feat after he had eluded dozens of investigators for over twenty years. But they had also succeeded in another sense. Human believed without a doubt that the copycat was in some way connected with Havenga. More importantly, he thought as he stared at the strange room, the person that had abducted and brutalised Kobus van Staden and now Alexander Joemat ... that same person had been living in this very room.

***

By the time Human reached Hope, it was already late, a dusky smokiness on the western ridges that surrounded Hope. He felt both invigorated and tired. Focused and restless.

When the CSU team had arrived, Human together with the other detectives had combed the inside and outside of the Havenga house. But they had found nothing of value. Two members of Human’s CSU team had arrived to transport the decomposed remains of Arnold Havenga to Kimberley where an autopsy would be done. More importantly the coroner would do a DNA comparison with the samples originally collected in the ‘80’s to verify that Havenga was indeed the killer known as Daddy Long Legs. It would be the final proof needed to wrap up a twenty-year old mystery.

Interviews with Orania citizens had provided something of use though.

In his own mind, Human had made a fluid and rapid transition since the discovery of the corpse of Arnold Havenga; the original Hope killer. Daddy Long Legs was dead. A copycat had taken his place. It was time to move on. And scrap virtually everything they had learned thus far. It was Human’s consistent ability to adapt that made him the consummate investigator he had become. Too often, detectives were unwilling or unable to relinquish key assumptions – sometimes with disastrous consequences.