The First Rule Of Survival (21 page)

De Vries says, ‘You were very quiet.’

‘I was amazed, and I was writing, trying to understand her. So was Mr Hopkins. I think she silenced everyone.’

‘And what did you learn?’

‘I want to reread my notes, but the matter of the phones stood out. She said that he called her from Rooiels, because there was no landline at their house, and the cellphone reception was bad, sometimes non-existent.’

‘So?’

‘Ralph Hopkins said that Steinhauer called him at midnight from his Betty’s Bay house. That does not sound right now, does it? Perhaps we should check Marc Steinhauer’s cellphone and see if that call was made?’

De Vries nods thoughtfully. ‘Yes.’

‘Mrs Steinhauer said that she read all about Steven and Toby’s bodies being found; had watched the television reports. When we asked Marc Steinhauer why he did not react to appeals for information, he said that they never read newspapers or watched television.’

‘Indeed.’

‘But,’ Don says sadly, ‘maybe it is nothing. Maybe she reads the papers and watches the television and he did not. I think it is only more of what we have already.’

De Vries turns towards the driver’s seat and states: ‘Marc Steinhauer knew about the murders; maybe he was responsible. Either way, he dumped their bodies. He was probably involved from the start, and I think his wife suddenly realized it, too. That must have been a terrible moment.’

‘But to tell us all of that, so calmly, so factually.’

‘I think,’ de Vries says, ‘that she felt betrayed. And ashamed, that she had not noticed anything before. That’s why she spoke out.’

De Vries lets Don concentrate on pulling out from the Gordon’s Bay turning onto the N2 freeway.

Then he says: ‘I believe her when she said that Marc Steinhauer was not in Cape Town when Steven,Toby and Bobby were taken. Why lie about that? That means there are others involved. We have to speak to Nicholas Steinhauer, because I think he is implicated in this. I think he played us all for fools seven years back, spouting that crap on television. I remember what he said very clearly: child-trafficking; “the children will be out of the country”. That’s what he said, and I think he said it for my benefit, to throw us off.’

‘We have not located him.’

‘Johannes Dyk said that whoever was responsible was trying to make a point; to prove his psychological superiority. Maybe that’s what Nicholas Steinhauer was doing.’

‘According to the reports, Dyk also said that the children had been trafficked and were no longer in the country. Maybe he too tried to put brakes on your investigation?’

De Vries turns to Don. ‘You’re right. Does that implicate him? You see what I am saying? Everything and everyone seemed to be working against us then.’

‘I set up a meeting for us with Dyk at two-thirty. But I spoke to a nurse who looks after him. He is very ill. Cancer, Alzheimer’s Disease. She says that he is not always able to speak, that he is not . . .’

‘Compos mentis?’

‘I do not know what that is. She said “lucid”.’

‘We’ll deal with that. Jesus. Where does this thing begin?’

‘What do you mean?’

‘How many people were involved? Look at what we have: Nicholas Steinhauer and Johannes Dyk – two experts – and they both give us opinions which were diametrically wrong. Were they deliberately misleading us? Could one have been pressurizing the other? Whatever it was, it served to distract from a trail that led to those boys.’ He shakes his head. ‘All right, whatever state he’s in, we find out what Dyk has to say, and before that, I want to locate the sister too. I want to hear what she knows.’

‘I will find her.’

‘This is messy, Don. Marc Steinhauer is dead; Nicholas may be in the wind. We may never learn what really happened.’

‘Surely we only want to find Bobby. If he is alive, he tells us everything.’

‘That’s why I’m worried they won’t have left him alive.’

‘What about the Fineberg olive farm?’

‘The moment we get back, find it on a map and get teams out there straight away. Tell them to take dogs, to look for a cellar, some completely secret or underground building. Tell them to take armed officers. We don’t know if someone was guarding them. If those brothers visited the boys, that would be the obvious place.’

‘You do not sound excited?’

‘I’m not. The logic seems faulty. What was Marc doing with the bodies in his car at Sir Lowry’s Pass if they were kept out at Riebeek? And to find Bobby there, to find him alive . . . It seems too simple and, so far, nothing about this business has been simple. Nothing at all.’

‘She thinks he’s guilty?’

De Vries looks at Director du Toit’s disbelieving expression.

‘Incredible, isn’t it? But after twenty years doing this job, I know that you can never tell with the public. Never predict anything.’

‘All the same . . .’

De Vries briefs him on the meat of the interview, his plans for a full search of the farm, his concerns about Nicholas Steinhauer.

‘Somehow,’ du Toit says, ‘that doesn’t surprise me so much.’

‘Abuse cases, paedophilia – it all goes back to the family. That’s what I was telling you before. I’m going after them. There’s a sister too. We have to find her. I want the teams that were canvassing everyone in the Riebeeks to take a photograph of Nicholas Steinhauer, re-question everyone. See if he was there regularly.’

‘Be careful with Nicholas Steinhauer. Your run-in with him back then plays just too well for the press to ignore. They’ll root it out and broadcast it to everybody. We cannot let it look like revenge.’

‘He’s either involved, in which case I don’t care what the press say, or he’s not, and maybe we’ll find out what the hell is going on.’

‘All right, this is good,Vaughn. But don’t forget. Whatever we know, we have to prove it to the media, or this thing isn’t over.’

‘We have to find Bobby Eames. To hell with the media.’

As they reach the house of Johannes Dyk, Don takes the call that tells him that teams have arrived at the Fineberg olive farm, thirty kilometres north of the country town of Riebeek-Kasteel.

‘Ben Thambo suggested contacting the architect of the olive farm, to see if the plans included cellars.’

‘Good idea.’

‘He is doing it now. He will relay any information to the search teams.’

They ring the bell on the wall guarding the tall Victorian house in Kenilworth. There is a sharp buzz, and they push open the heavy gate, enter a lush garden. On the open stoep, sitting in the shade with a blanket over his knees, they see an old man with straggly white hair, seemingly asleep. Vaughn realizes that this is Dyk.

They are met by a rotund white woman, and a young black woman in a dark blue nurse’s uniform.

Vaughn proffers a hand. ‘Colonel de Vries, SAPS. Mrs Dyk?’

The white woman’s voice is clipped and precise.

‘I am Nancy Maitland. I look after Dr Dyk.’ She turns to the black nurse. ‘This is Beyonce, one of Dr Dyk’s carers.’

Beyonce smiles grimly, remains several paces back.

‘I think,’ Nancy Maitland says, ‘you should come with me.’

They follow her around the house to a side room, its doors opening onto a small parterre garden. They take seats under the pergola.

‘Dr Dyk is a very sick man,’ she says. ‘He has lung cancer, which we hope radiotherapy may have caught in time. However, he is very weak, and the treatment seemed to bring on what the doctors call Alzheimer’s. To me, it is senility, but it leaves him very confused.’

‘But he still lives here, at home?’

‘Dr Dyk is wealthy enough to be able to have care at home. If the cancer comes back, he will only have a few months.’

‘And you?’

‘I have looked after Johannes since he moved to Cape Town over thirty years ago. I ran his home for him. He is a very brilliant man, a fine man to work for. I was not going to abandon him in his time of need.’

‘That is good to hear,’ de Vries says.

She shifts in her chair.

‘Why do you want to speak to Johannes? Am I permitted to know that?’

‘Dr Dyk helped the police with some psychological profiles a few years back. We want to ask him about the case – if he remembers – to see if he has thought any further about it.’

‘I doubt he will be able to help you. I am afraid that the treatment has affected him very badly.’ She brushes her lap, sits up straight. ‘When you talk to him, be patient. Sometimes he seems lost and then, suddenly, he will remember everything.’ She rises, gestures at the nurse. ‘Beyonce will take you.’

They sit alone with him. From one moment to another, he does not seem to remember they are there. It is almost as if he is dropping into a momentary deep sleep, waking anew, unaware of reality only seconds before. First Vaughn, then Don, try speaking with him, but each time he looks up he sees them with surprise, asks them their names, over and over again. De Vries just stares at his bleached pink face, the sagging skin, tiny claw-like hands.

Don asks: ‘Do you remember the boys who were taken? Steven Lawson, Bobby Eames and Toby Henderson?’

Dyk’s expression changes; his eyes open more fully.

‘Yes,’ he says. ‘Those boys were taken, but nobody ever found them. The police never found them.’

‘We think we know who was involved now,’ Don tells him.

‘Oh, good. That’s nice.’ Dyk seems unconcerned, his attention waning.

‘Two of them were found dead, shot only a day before, last week. Do you want to know?’

‘Those boys?’ Dyk says. ‘Did you ever find who took them?’

Don glances at de Vries, turns to Dyk, enunciates slowly.

‘We think Marc Steinhauer. Nicholas Steinhauer is his brother. He is a psychologist, like you. Did you ever meet him?’

Dyk looks blank.

‘Steinhauer,’ de Vries repeats.

‘I am a doctor,’ Dyk tell them proudly. ‘Not in general practice. I work with the human mind. That is what I do.’

Don’s voice is calm, and soothing. ‘Did you ever work with a Nicholas Steinhauer, sir?’

‘No,’ Dyk tells them positively. ‘I came from Kenya in 1979, and I have been here ever since.’

De Vries closes his eyes, stands up, begins to wander away down the stoep.

Don leans forward in his chair, touches Johannes Dyk on the back of his hand. The little man jumps.

‘Hello,’ he says.

‘Marc Steinhauer?’ Don repeats.

‘No.’

‘Did you know his brother, sir? Dr Nicholas Steinhauer?’

‘Oh yes,’ Dyk says, quite brightly. ‘I like Marc. He is a gentle man. Not very strong, mentally or emotionally, but kind.’

‘Marc?’

‘Yes, Marc.’

‘You met him?’

‘Yes.’

‘When?’

Dyk shifts uncomfortably. ‘I lived in Kenya. Then I moved to South Africa, but Kenya is in my blood. I knew I would come back.’

‘Where did you meet Marc, sir?’

‘Marc?’

‘Marc Steinhauer.’

Dyk thinks deeply for a moment, says: ‘No.’

Don smiles at him, nods. ‘I go now, sir. You rest.’

Don walks the three steps down to the garden, pauses and looks back at Dyk. Dyk waves at him, almost smiles.

‘I like Marc,’ he calls out weakly. ‘A kind man. Not like the other two.’

Don turns back to him, hops up the steps. ‘What other two?’

‘There were three boys . . . three boys. Then there were only two. Three then two? Three or two? I know that I liked one and I didn’t like the other.’

‘When was this?’

‘Oh, a long time ago. When we were all young.’

‘You knew the Steinhauer family a long time ago?’

‘Oh yes. I knew the boys’ father. Herbert, Hubert? He was a doctor, like me, and we worked together with children . . . Hubert?’

‘The father’s name?’

‘The father? Never trusted him.’

‘Sir? You worked with Marc and Nicholas’s father?’

Dyk tilts his head. ‘Is that what I said?’

‘Did you, sir?’

‘Steinhauer – the old man. Didn’t like him.’

‘Which man?’

Dyk blinks, frowns, his eyes blank once more. ‘How did you find me?’

As Don walks around the house, he peers through the ground-floor windows into the darkened room at the corner. He assumes it to be Dyk’s bedroom. He sees that there is an oxygen tank next to his bed, a mask hanging from a hook on the stained metal pillar, and a high table with bottles of pills. He squints, cupping his hand around his eyes to block the reflection of the afternoon sun, sees a long counter at the other end of the room, facing the bed. On it, there are maybe fifty model aeroplanes of varying sizes and eras. Beneath the counter are books, piled roughly in stacks. There is something about them which intrigues him. He walks back around the house, past Dyk, who seems now to be sleeping, up to the front door. He turns the solid brass handle and the heavy door swings open onto a wide, cool hallway, the floor and ceiling clad in dark yellowwood. He walks in, almost on tiptoe to stop the floor creaking, turns to his right and finds Dyk’s door open. In the distance, he can hear Nancy Maitland’s imperious voice talking to de Vries about Dyk’s medication. Don walks over to the counter, glances at the aeroplanes, and then squats down by the books, lifting five large-format volumes from the top of the pile.

When Don retraces his steps, de Vries is shaking hands with Nancy Maitland. Don holds up the books.

‘Ms Maitland. These books. I think that they were in Dr Dyk’s room.’

She looks suspiciously at him. ‘Yes?’

‘Does Dr Dyk have grandchildren?’

‘No. Johannes has no family. I bought them. He asked me to. Very specifically by title. Why are they of interest to you?’

‘They are children’s books.’

Nancy Maitland smiles. ‘Yes, indeed they are. Life’s great circle. Johannes has reverted to childhood.’

When they reach their car, they get in silently.

‘I know what you’re going to say,’ de Vries announces. ‘Those books.’

‘She said he asked for them very specifically,’ Don replies. ‘Books illustrated by one Robert Ledham.’

‘It’s a nasty coincidence.’

‘And there is more,’ Don says. ‘After you left, Dyk said some things. I do not know how reliable they are, but they are interesting.’

‘What did he say?’