The First Rule Of Survival (13 page)

Steinhauer pauses; de Vries shifts in his chair, his smile weak, his stare hard.

‘No. I stayed in my car.’

‘You stayed in your car?’

Steinhauer looks across the table at each of them.

‘Yes.’

‘At what time did you reach your home in Stellenbosch?’

‘I don’t remember. As I say, I had made lunch for my aunt, but not eaten myself. I was hungry when I got home.’

‘What did you eat for your supper?’

Steinhauer is about to answer, but Hopkins interrupts him.

‘Is this germane, Colonel? I appreciate your desire to have a casual discussion with my client, but surely his diet is irrelevant to your enquiries?’

De Vries shrugs; he asked the question to observe Steinhauer talking about something irrelevant compared to, perhaps, the disposal of the bodies of two dead teenage boys. He is frustrated to have been interrupted.

‘Where do you have your car cleaned?’

‘There’s a hand-wash, valet service at the new shopping centre at the end of Annandale Road, on the main road into Stellenbosch. I take it there every week. It’s a new car. A present to myself. I drive a great deal for my work: to markets, fairs. We are adding olive oil to our range. We own twelve hectares of olive groves; I am supervising the crop. I like my car clean: it presents a good impression of me and my business.’

‘You have the full valet every time?’

‘Up till now, yes. They steamclean the upholstery, the underside of the vehicle, the tyres, everything. It’s a very good service.’

‘And when was it cleaned last?’

‘Yesterday. I did the family shop while it was being done. As usual.’

‘Your wife works?’

‘She runs the business side of the estate. I am front-of-house. The face of Fineberg, you might say.’ He manages a little smile; seems more relaxed.

‘I need to take you back to the farm-stall, Mr Steinhauer. Where in the car park did you turn around? It was, as you said, crowded.’

Steinhauer sighs a little. ‘I’m not sure. Is there a turning circle at the end of the car park?’

De Vries shakes his head.

‘No, Mr Steinhauer. I want to hear what you remember.’

Steinhauer looks over to Hopkins, who says: ‘Colonel, Marc has told you that he does not clearly recollect where he turned his car in this car park. It sounds to me as if you have a witness who recalls seeing Marc’s car. Perhaps you could tell us what he, or she, thinks they saw, and we can discuss that with you?’

‘You were seen turning your car left at the end of the car park, around the back of the farm-stall.’

Steinhauer blinks and shakes his head.

‘I may have turned left – I didn’t go behind the farm-stall. If I did, it was only to turn the car.’

‘As opposed to what?’

Steinhauer freezes. ‘I – I don’t – What do you mean?’

‘You said, if you did, it was only to turn your car. What else would you be doing in the back yard of the farm-stall?’

‘If,’ Hopkins interjects, ‘you question every unassuming word in my client’s replies, it’ll be a long morning.’

Vaughn’s eyes never leave Steinhauer. Ignoring Hopkins, he moves on smoothly.

‘Did you read about, or see the reports on this murder investigation, currently under way?’

‘I’m too busy to read the rubbish in the newspapers and we discourage our children from watching television. So, no.’

‘You were not aware that we are actively seeking witnesses from MacNeil’s farm-stall on that date?’

‘No. I’m sorry, no. If I had, I would have contacted you.’

Snidely: ‘
If
you had remembered that you had been there.’

Steinhauer askance; Hopkins asking, ‘What does that mean?’

‘Merely that, when we were talking with Mr Steinhauer at his home, he claimed to have forgotten that he had been there.’

‘I should have thought,’ Hopkins pronounces, ‘that if you went somewhere where you merely drive in and out of a car park, it is not something that will remain at the forefront of your mind.’

‘Perhaps.’

‘Do you have any further questions for my client?’

De Vries gets up. ‘A few minutes more, gentlemen.’

He exits the suite, enters the observation room.

Du Toit says: ‘What have you got forensically?’

De Vries, his cellphone at the ready. ‘I’m checking now.’

Du Toit: ‘I mistrust his manner.’

De Vries is listening to Steve Ulton. His phone snaps shut.

‘Nothing. Ulton says he’ll need all day to fully process it.’

‘Damn. It’s not him, is it?’

‘It’s his car. The colour, the make, the blinds at the back, the Fineberg label.’

‘But Ulton has nothing. We can’t prove it.’

‘I don’t know yet.’

‘Get him out of here,Vaughn. Tell him we’ll hold the car for twenty-four hours, offer to have it driven back for him. He’s not going anywhere; he’s got his wife and family there. If he’s got nothing to do with this, you see how it’ll look?’

‘Look?’

‘The case reopened. Nicholas Steinhauer publicly criticized you back then – both of us – all of us. Now you drag his brother into the station. The man’s well known now, well respected. You know how Hopkins will work the press. They’re supporting us for now, but you can imagine how this could play?’

De Vries takes a deep breath; he feels energy draining from him.

‘Very well, sir. He’s hiding something, though; he’s a completely different man when he’s with Hopkins. Whatever it is, he’s afraid that his wife and family will find out.’

‘Unless you can tie that car to those two bodies, it’s nothing. Probably cheating on his wife, that’s all. And Vaughn – tell February that there is zero leak on this discussion. No one from the department is to mention a word about having him here. If it gets in the papers, we’ll know who leaked it.’

De Vries nods, leaves the room, his shoulders down, prepares to let Steinhauer go.

Vaughn hands Don a DNA swab kit.

‘DNA? Why?’ Steinhauer released, then asked for one more cooperation.

De Vries: ‘So that our lab can eliminate your DNA in comparison to any other traces found.’

Steinhauer glances at Hopkins, who nods once.

A huff. ‘What do I do?’

Don takes an oral swab from Steinhauer’s gums, places the cotton bud in the test-tube provided, seals it. Steinhauer makes a point of rubbing his tongue over his teeth, as if, somehow, a cotton bud had been displeasing to his system.

De Vries opens the door to the suite, ushers Steinhauer and Hopkins out ahead of him, offers Steinhauer a lift back to the Fineberg Estate.

‘That won’t be necessary,’ Hopkins tells de Vries outside, standing between him and Steinhauer. ‘I will drive Marc home myself. He’s been under quite enough stress for one day. An early-morning raid, an interrogation . . .’

‘That’s not what happened.’

‘I’m sure it won’t be in your report. Make sure you call Mr Steinhauer this evening and let him know at what time his vehicle will be returned. He has cooperated fully. And, Colonel, if you wish to speak with him again, have the courtesy to permit him his legal right of an attorney –
before
you start your questioning.’

Hopkins turns away, leads Steinhauer towards the exit. Vaughn watches them go, his teeth gritted.

Don February, silent again, sitting in de Vries’ office. Outside, scalding afternoon sun on the windows. He wants to be working; wants to be doing something. De Vries enters, slams the door.

‘We wait. Steve Ulton says he’s finding stuff. Nothing standout, but possibles.’ He sits at his desk, struggles out of his jacket. ‘What did you think?’

‘Nervous, particularly when you spoke about MacNeil’s; evasive. But he was jumpy anyway, when I first visited him. He had certain answers worked out but, other times, he stutters while he thinks of what to say. I think he is lying, or not telling all of the truth, but if we cannot link him to the bodies, I suppose we do not have anything.’

‘That’s what du Toit said.’

‘You, sir?’

‘I think that he worked out why we were questioning him; maybe Hopkins told him we had to have a witness, and then he covered everything perfectly. Two key reactions: where he turned his car; he didn’t know what the witness saw or didn’t see, and that unnerved him. Second one, same thing: when I asked him if he got out of the car. It was such a simple question but he wasn’t sure what he could say. If he’s our man, then of course he did – unless there’s an accomplice, but Sarah Robinson is pretty certain that the driver was alone. None of this fits his story, so he lied, knowing that he was risking contradicting the witness.’

‘You think he is the man?’

Vaughn pauses.

‘Yes, but with reservations. Something seems wrong . . . I don’t know what. He didn’t seem frightened by us.’

‘He
looked
frightened.’

‘But not of us . . .’ de Vries trails off.

‘Two more little things I noticed, sir. His wife gets the Fineberg Estate number-plate; he drives around in a car with an anonymous registration. I looked up his registration history – his last car was a silver-grey 7-Series too.’

‘He certainly wouldn’t want a memorable plate if he’s visiting those boys.’

‘The other thing,’ Don continues. ‘I tell him that his cheese is found on the heel of a murder victim. He never asks about it – never, so he claims, reads up about it, or watches the television news?’

De Vries nods. ‘That’s what I mean. There’s too much there for it to be nothing.’

‘If I had the SAPS at my home saying I might be involved in murder, or my product is involved, I would read the papers, look up on the Internet. It does not ring true.’

De Vries smiles to himself; he and Don are so different and yet now, when it matters, they are beginning to think alike.

‘Get what you can on Marc Steinhauer. I want to know as much as possible about him. Even if we get a forensic break, I still think he and Hopkins will fight it like crazy.’

Don nods, starts to leave. ‘I will find you if I hear anything.’

De Vries waits for his door to close, picks up his cellphone, presses a speed-dial.

‘If I wanted to find out about someone’s history, maybe his current circumstances, and I wanted to go beyond Google, or the usual channels, how would I do that?’

‘Give me the name.’

He does. He disconnects the call, questions whether he has made a mistake involving John Marantz; dismisses it, sits up straight and thinks.

Just after 5 p.m., Steve Ulton summons them to his lab. Du Toit is already there, and Vaughn realizes that he probably has Ulton reporting everything to him first. Don is standing quietly behind the Director.

‘It’s only partially good news, I’m afraid,’ Ulton says. He gestures to a large computer screen: an image, magnified greatly. ‘Wheat chaff, pollen and seed have been recovered from the interior filter of the air-conditioning unit. Not much, as you can see, but it is a new car. They are certainly similar to the wheat particles recovered from both inside and outside of the polythene covering which wrapped the two victims. This is obviously only coincidental, and I can’t tell you at what point in time these deposits arrived in the car. They appear to be present regularly, but not continually. In other words, I hypothesize that this car is driven into the countryside routinely, where it picks up wheat detritus in its air-treatment unit.’

Ulton taps a button on the keyboard and a new image is displayed. ‘A small blood smear on the interior of the boot-lid. We revealed it as blood, but it’s almost negligible. It’s been superheated and diluted, obviously by a steamclean.’ He looks up at the three policemen. ‘Who has the underside of their boot-lid steam-cleaned in a brand new car?’

No one answers.

‘I can’t even confirm that it’s human,’ Ulton continues. ‘All I would say is that it’s only sustained one cleaning – or it would have disappeared. So, if the owner can prove he has the car cleaned this way every week, you could say that the blood is recent.’

Image three: ‘The best news. From inside the boot-lock: a small fragment of polythene of the same chemical type that wrapped the victims.’ He turns to du Toit. ‘You’re going to ask me, can I be one hundred per cent certain that this is the same material used to wrap the bodies? I feel that it
is
, but my judgement is clouded by knowledge of other corroboratory factors. Objectively, to you I say, I am ninety-five per cent certain that this is the same material.’

Du Toit and de Vries both shake their heads in unison.

Ulton continues: ‘We’ve already discussed that this type of plastic is no longer manufactured. I made enquiries and this seems to be the case globally. We can’t say if some factory in China might still be using it, but it is very rare and, according to records, we haven’t seen it before.’ He stands back to judge their reactions.

‘How big is it in reality?’ du Toit asks, pointing at the image on the screen.

‘Approximately one centimetre square, rhomboidal shape. I hoped that we could match it to part of the wrappings recovered but, as you may be able to see, the material has become milky and distorted. This is because it was trapped in the boot-locking mechanism, stretched and torn from the main sheet. I don’t see any way of making a direct match from the source material. I can confirm a chemical match to the wrapping for the victims. It’s the same material, likely to be from the same batch. But, for the purposes of evidence, it is disputable.’

Du Toit turns to de Vries, ‘It’s not enough. I don’t think it’s enough.’

De Vries says, ‘Alone, no, but we’ve got him at the dump-site. We have his damn cheese on the heel of one of the victims. We have matching wheat on the bodies, in his car. We have blood on the boot-lid, and we have the same polythene material. That adds up to enough.’

‘This is exceptionally good, Steve,’ du Toit says. ‘Is there anything more?’

‘Not yet, sir.’

‘You have further tests?’

‘Particulate material in the carpets, the last places to search. Not much, I’m afraid.’

Du Toit hesitates, says: ‘Wait there, Steve. We may need some clarification from you.’

He walks away from the bench, towards de Vries and Don February.