The First Rule Of Survival (24 page)

She takes his hand, squeezes it. Says quietly, ‘You never know what will happen next.’

He feels embarrassed at first, but he smiles back at her. He does not want to talk about Suzanne de Vries, would prefer not to ask about her family, questions which will bring the frown back to her clear, tanned face; her inquisitive eyes. He would happily stay where he is all afternoon and just converse with Caroline Montague.

‘Have you the energy to walk back now?’

‘Yes,’ Vaughn tells her. ‘Thank you for lunch. This certainly makes a change from my desk and the corridors. My building is all corridors.’

He hands her his empty beer bottle, and she packs it away in her backpack.

‘On the Internet, it says that Marc took his own life,’ she says. ‘Are you sure about that?’

‘I am,’ Vaughn tells her. ‘I was there.’

She looks up, surprised.

‘I was the officer who went to arrest him. His lawyer was there too, and colleagues of mine. We couldn’t stop him. He jumped into the sea, a deep inlet of jagged rocks. It was blowing a gale and there was no way anyone could rescue him.’ He turns to look at her, but her face is blank, her gaze straight ahead.

‘If Marc was involved with those children,’ she says, ‘it wouldn’t have been his idea. It would have been Nicholas. I think he could influence Marc to do anything he wanted. Marc was frightened of him back then, and I’m sure he was still afraid. Have you spoken to Nicholas?’

‘He’s abroad. I have no idea if he will come back.’ De Vries stops her. ‘I need to ask you something.’ She looks back at him. ‘You said that your father bullied and manipulated his sons.’

‘Yes.’

‘Do you think he abused them, sexually?’

He expects her to recoil, to be shocked at such a question, but she merely pauses to consider her answer.

‘I wouldn’t have said so. I think he bullied them, perhaps abused them physically, but I had never considered . . . But then, I don’t know. Maybe that’s why they were how they were when they came back from the Orange River. There were things they could not face, could not discuss. I guess I was very young and naïve when I was at home. Perhaps he did.’

‘And when you talked about your brother Michael’s death, do you suspect now that it was not an accident?’

‘Now? Thinking back . . . I couldn’t be sure at the time, but there was something strange about the way my father and Nicholas became so bound up together afterwards. Somehow, it was as if they had, if not planned it, then . . . expected it. I thought about it again after my father passed away. He had seemed relieved that Michael was gone. I can’t tell you any one thing that led me to believe that. He never said so, but I got an impression, and I remember I was shocked at myself when I thought it.’

She sighs sharply.

‘You see now why I needed to get out of there; to leave as soon as I could. All my life, I have tried to forget my name: Steinhauer. So much . . . evil. I don’t think that’s too strong a word. Even saying that name brings back so much hurt, so much unhappiness. I am not a Steinhauer, that I can tell you.’

‘Your brother, Nicholas. He never married?’

‘Not that I know about. He always struck me as asexual, somehow. I couldn’t imagine him with a woman. He was so immature about that part of life. The boys I met at school would boast and brag, but I never heard him even mention girls, let alone talk about a girlfriend. He seemed above all that; considered himself superior.’

‘I’m sorry I have brought back all those memories.’

‘Do you believe that those three boys were taken by my brothers all that time ago?’

De Vries glances at her, thinks that she is gritting her teeth; sees her fingers and thumbs flicking off each other nervously.

‘I think it is a possibility. If there was a pattern of abuse at home, that might explain why they would do such a thing.’

She turns to him. ‘I have fought all my life to escape from my childhood, to drown those memories out with happiness in my adult life; to look ahead, and not back. Maybe Nicholas did the opposite; he evolved from his childhood, and became like his father, only with other people’s children?’

‘It’s possible.’

‘Were those two boys locked away, mistreated? Abused?’

‘I’m afraid so.’

‘Was Marc involved?’

‘It looks like he was. We know he dumped their bodies. We don’t know if he killed them, whether he was involved earlier.’

‘Whatever he did, it would have been because of Nicholas.’

‘You said that before.’

‘I know Nicholas. Or rather, I knew him. I don’t know him at all now.’

‘You think he had that much influence?’

‘Oh yes,’ she says, very certain. ‘It frightened me when I read that he had become a psychiatrist. Did he – does he – ever work with children?’

‘I don’t know. I have people researching his work.’

‘And the third missing boy?’

‘That’s one of the reasons why I am here. I need to ask you. Your family: did they own any property in the Western Cape? A farm, a country house?’

‘Not that I ever heard about. My father left me nothing in his will. He left what he had to Nicholas, maybe something to Marc, I don’t know, and that was it. I don’t think there was any property apart from the house in Constantia, although that must have been worth a lot of money seven years ago—’ She stops. ‘Seven years. That’s when those boys were taken, wasn’t it?’

‘Yes.’

‘My father died at the end of 2006. When did those boys disappear?’

‘March 2007.’

‘Four months later. Oh my God . . . You know what I’m thinking now? It’s too awful. He could have made himself a father by proxy, by force. Is that possible?’

‘For seven years, all I have had is theories and speculation. Even now, the facts are sparse, and I have to keep guessing.’

‘But perhaps it fits? I hated that part of my life. I thought of it like a Grimm’s fairy tale: all big dark rooms and booming men and frightening things happening. But now, it feels different. As if there was evil in that house.’

They walk on, Vaughn beginning to tire. Eventually, he can see Caroline Montague’s homestead, and he feels new energy in his legs.

When he reaches his car, she says: ‘If you need to contact me again, please call me personally. I would rather speak to you, now that I have met you.’

‘I’ll make a point of it,’ Vaughn tells her. ‘And if you were to hear from your brother, I hope you could call me? And tell me anything else you think might be helpful?’

‘I haven’t seen or heard from Nicholas for seven years; haven’t spoken to him for half my life. I doubt he even remembers that he has a sister but, as I say, I don’t care. I have a completely new life now. I had to escape. I had to get away to survive. I don’t know how I will sleep tonight, thinking about those children.’ She turns to face him, meets his eye. ‘Should I have known? What could I have done?’

Vaughn puts his hand on the side of her shoulder.

‘Nothing. You couldn’t have told anyone what you suspected. There was – is – no proof. What you’ve told me now – it may help.’

‘I hope so. I’m glad we don’t have television here. There is so much ugliness. I can’t take it any more. I have to hide away. I feel happier that way.’

He says to her, gently and slowly: ‘Don’t tell yourself differently. You were not – are not – responsible.’

She steps closer, hugs him. ‘You are a kind man.’

‘It’s only the country air. It won’t last.’

She smiles. ‘Are you sure I can’t offer you some Rooibos tea . . . or another beer?’

De Vries smiles back at her. ‘I would like that very much, but I must get back to the office. I have a lonely, terrified teenager to find.’

‘Of course.’

‘But another time, if I’m passing this way . . .’

She leans forward, kisses him on the right cheek.

‘Thank you for the walk,’Vaughn says. ‘It was beautiful.’

‘You’ll be stiff tomorrow,’ she says. ‘And remember, if you ever need to round up your women, you must just roar down the valley.’

‘I’ll remember that.’

He gets into his car, lowers the window.

‘Goodbye. And thank you, Caroline.’

She purses her lips, nods at him. As he drives away slowly, she calls out: ‘Go well.’

Don February listens to de Vries recount his meeting with Caroline Montague. This time, it is Ben Thambo who stands at his door, listening from afar.

When he has finished, Don comments, ‘That fits. Ben’s teams canvassed all over Riebeek West and Riebeek-Kasteel, and the surrounding villages. There was positive identification of Nicholas Steinhauer from people in Riebeek West – where you expect, since he visits his aunt there. But two workers at the olive farm say they saw him too. That places him somewhere he has no reason to be.’

‘So why can’t we find where he kept those boys?’

‘I’ve arranged for a helicopter to fly there and then over the whole area of the farm, as well as surrounding fields. I had to appeal to Director du Toit, but when I explained, he agreed pretty quickly. It will not be until late, maybe tomorrow.’

‘That’s good work, Don.’ De Vries looks over at Thambo. ‘And you, Sergeant.’

Don continues: ‘Dr Matimba called me about an hour ago. She says she will meet us tomorrow morning. She plans to work late tonight, and give us what she has.’

‘Matimba?’

‘Dr Matimba, yes?’

Vaughn trances for a second, then smiles at Don. ‘Good. Anything more on Nicholas Steinhauer?’

‘Unless the SAPS has a contact in Argentina, or we can get in touch with the police there, I cannot imagine how we will find him.’

Vaughn frowns. ‘I think he’s the man behind this,’ he says. ‘I think he got his brother doing deeds for him and I think he got other people to take those children. We have to find out how far this thing goes.’

‘If we find Bobby . . .’

‘Yes, I know. If we find Bobby Eames, maybe we’ll know everything. You are a lot more optimistic than me, Don.’ He addresses Thambo. ‘That’s not for public consumption, by the way. None of it is. Unless it contributes to this investigation, it doesn’t leave this room. Yes?’

‘Yes, sir.’

De Vries turns back to Don. ‘Have any of the teams in Marc Steinhauer’s wine estate, or at his house in Betty’s Bay, found anything at all?’

‘Not anything to interest us. Steve Ulton was looking for you, but he told me there is nothing to suggest that the boys were ever there. Director du Toit asked me to close the scenes at both properties and let the family back in. I did not think you would object?’

‘No. Fair enough. Marc Steinhauer’s phone?’

‘Still no sign. I asked the network to look in his account, but without a warrant, they refused. I am working on obtaining a 205, and expect to hear first thing tomorrow.’

‘What have you told Director du Toit?’

‘Just kept him up to date. He left the office early: an official meeting with General Thulani.’

‘All right. It’s time we all went home. Things are accelerating. We need to rest. Early morning for us, Don.’

Ben Thambo follows Don out. He collects a backpack and Don a briefcase. Vaughn watches them trudge down the corridor to the elevators. He sits back in his chair, reflects on his day; the revelations which slowly open up a case begin, agonizingly slowly, to cast light on what has been dark and featureless for so long. He thinks about Nicholas Steinhauer on television at the time of the abductions, and judges that if he is the ringmaster, then he has no shame, no remorse. A taxi honks repeatedly in the street below. He looks down but sees nothing, glances up at the sliver of sea visible between the skyscrapers. He watches as a gas-container ship passes between them, its three silver domes each catching the sun. He closes his eyes, tries to imagine the warm smell of Rooibos, the magnificent canyon, and the echoing bark of the baboon. He thinks about Caroline Montague and realizes that this is the first time he can remember – the thought strikes him: probably for seven years – that he has appreciated beauty. His life has been to bludgeon his way through the ugliness; stare ahead to the end . . .

He wonders whether he should pour himself a small drink. There is no one in the squad room now, so he pulls out his pale blue beaker, pours some Irish whiskey in it, up to the halfway point. He raises it to his lips but, almost subconsciously, senses a change in the light in his field of vision. He looks up to the corridor ahead of him, sees a figure he does not recognize. He puts the beaker down, squints. The silhouette is short and squat, shaved head domed. Then, he realizes: David Wertner. He opens his desk drawer, drops in the bottle and the beaker, shuts the drawer hard, hears the beaker fall, smells the whiskey aroma seep up from his desk.

Wertner knocks on his door; opens it before de Vries has answered.

‘You have a minute, Colonel?’

‘I suppose so. What do you want?’

Wertner sits down, flips a thin file onto de Vries’ desk, says tersely: ‘You recognize this man?’

De Vries glances at the picture.

‘It’s Robert Ledham, convicted child abductor. We’ve spoken to him.’

‘I know you have. But you seem to be ignoring him. Why is that?’

‘He has no direct involvement in either the original abductions, or in the murders of Steven Lawson and Toby Henderson.’

‘Despite the fact that the original inquiry files suggest that he was in Claremont at the time of the second kidnapping?’

‘That item was never in the files,Wertner. That has been added later. Someone is fucking around with my inquiry.’

‘Is that so? It’s in both the original and the authorized copy. Looks to me like it’s always been there.’

‘Well, you’re wrong. It was never there until those boys’ bodies were found last week and we reopened those files. Anyone could have added those pages.’

‘Added them?’ Wertner chuckles. ‘Sabotaging your inquiry?’

‘For whatever reason. What business is it of yours?’

‘It’s precisely my business. You are under scrutiny, de Vries. No one thinks that you and Brigadier du Toit did a good job seven years ago, and no one is impressed now. There will be questions to answer. Why are you so focused on this man, Steinhauer, when Robert Ledham fits the profile so perfectly?’