Daddy Long Legs (36 page)

He turned and walked out of the bar.

For a moment, Lucinda and Kyle stared at each other. In shock. ‘That was the most terrifying thing I have ever heard,’ Kyle said. He turned to her. ‘You don’t speak a word of this. To anyone. Ever! You got me?’

Lucinda looked at him evenly and calmly. ‘I’m not saying a thing. That guy deserved it.’ Kyle stood up and turned to leave. ‘That was the most romantic thing I have ever heard,’ she said behind him. Kyle exhaled sharply as he exited the Horse and Hound. What do people say? We are all psychopaths to a lesser or greater degree.

He rushed out onto the sidewalk. In the distance, to his right he saw the detective. Walking slowly alongside a parked car. Kyle ran after him. Then stopped. The car was occupied. No. It couldn’t be. And yet, when he came closer he saw that it was indeed true. A family, yes. A man and woman in the front seats. Two children in the back. The woman and child closest to Human were shrinking away in abject terror. The father, frozen behind the steering wheel.

‘What the –’

When Human approached, he understood why. And he saw, to his utter shock, the source of their terror.

Human was walking slowly alongside the car. A coin was in his hand. And as he walked, he dug the coin into the body of the car. Leaving a deep and long groove in the car’s paintwork. The coin made a sharp screeching sound as it scratched the bodywork. A demonic and metallic howl in the quiet night air. ‘Oh shit.’ Kyle ran up to the car and the terrified family within. ‘Hey,’ he shouted drunkenly. ‘Uh ... everybody please just relax.’ He grabbed Human and dug into his jacket pockets. ‘I got everything under control.’ The family looked at Kyle with renewed terror.

What was the world coming to?

Kyle quickly found what he was looking for. ‘Don’t worry everybody. Just relax.’ He whipped out Human’s badge. ‘This man is a ...’ And then, with the presence of mind that only comes from years of drinking, Kyle quickly changed his story. Announcing that Human was a police officer would not be the wisest thing right now. ‘This man is a dangerous criminal, he announced, pressing the badge against the car window. Being careful to obscure Human’s ID photo. ‘Yes ... and I am ... I am an SA ... erm ... SAPS ... I’m a police officer.’ The family looked at the drunken Kyle, their terror hardly assuaged by his assurances. ‘I’m a police officer,’ Kyle re-iterated, drunkenly tearing Human from the car. ‘And this man ... this hardened criminal ... is going away for a very long time.’ He finally managed to pull Human from the terrified family. ‘So just relax. And don’t worry. And ... don’t press any charges.’ Stumbling along the sidewalk, Kyle tried to steer Human towards his car. He turned to face the family. ‘I’m throwing the key away. He’s going down, this guy.’ When they were a short distance from the car, he shouted over his shoulder. ‘Remember, don’t press any charges.’

A few seconds later, with smoking tyres burning up the road, the car with the terrified family inside disappeared down the road. Kyle propped Human against his car. ‘Holy shit, man. What am I going to do with you?’

And then. With all the stress from the last half hour or so exploding from his body, Kyle began laughing. At first a low throaty chuckle. Rising and rising. Until he was howling with hysterical laughter. ‘What’s so funny? Human mumbled.

‘Nothing man, nothing at all.’ Eventually, the laughter died down. And Kyle was able to shove Human into the passenger seat. A few minutes later they pulled up outside the guesthouse where Human was staying. With the help of the night manager, he managed to get Human undressed and into bed. Kyle gave the man a generous tip and left. He returned to the Royal Hotel and parked the car. He was on his way to the hotel entrance when a dark shape dislodged itself from the darkness. Kyle saw the shadow pass across the lit sidewalk. And turned. But he was too late. With neat precision, the dark shape swung a metal rod at the base of his neck. And Kyle fell to the pavement. Quickly swallowed up by darkness.

Detective Wayne Human woke up. A freight train pile-up between his eyes. And a small plutonium device detonating in the back of his mind. He groaned loudly. Trying to get the taste of two rotting cat corpses out of his mouth.

He never needed an alarm to wake up. But this morning it was the insistent screaming of his cell phone alarm that brought him back to consciousness. He sat up as quickly as his tortured head allowed him to. Which wasn’t fast at all. For a few moments he sat up in bed, rocking backwards and forwards. Slowly the previous night’s activities came flooding back to him. Fortunately for detective Wayne Human, the last thing he remembered was talking about psychopaths. And little girl killers. Under his breath he cursed Kyle Devlin.

Feeling like an old man, and moving like an even older one, Wayne Human managed to shower, dress and make his way to the dining room. Normally he would skip breakfast, choosing to resume the day’s activities as soon as possible. But this morning he decided to indulge in the biggest and greasiest breakfast he had ever had. And man. Was it good?

Human ate slowly. Struggling to keep his left eye open. Feeling the killer hangover only slightly diminished by the
Boere
Breakfast, apparently a speciality of the guesthouse. He used this quiet time to organise his thoughts. And plan the day ahead. He knew the media was ravenous for more information regarding the previous day’s raid. He would have to take care of that first. Before the real work could begin.

At the table, chewing with deliberate care, he felt both elation and disappointment. They had done stellar work. A masterpiece of detection. And yet, somehow they were right back where they started. Human only hoped that the forensics from the Havenga house would deliver something useful.

He spent the morning re-organising his team of detectives. And assigning new responsibilities. They had to move fast. Or lose any lead they had gained.

About three hours later, he and Lerato were standing behind the familiar bank of microphones, before a significantly increased corps of media delegates. Within the rowdy crowd of photo-, television- and newspaper journalists he recognised all the various local media bodies. And more than a few international ones. He had allowed Lerato to host the press conference. Once again, glad for her presence. And happy to take a back seat. Despite the protestations from the electronic media delegates, he had insisted that the press conference be held under the shade of a grove of large Eucalyptus trees. Who cares about the lighting, he thought, as he watched Lerato expertly manage the conference.

‘Yesterday, following leads gained from various avenues of investigation, the South African Police Services and the Special Task Force conducted a raid on a private residence in the town of Orania. The property in question belongs to a certain Mr Arnold Havenga. We can now reveal, without a shadow of a doubt, that Arnold Havenga is indeed the killer that has, over time, become known as Daddy Long Legs.’ Although the information concerning the killer’s identity had been released the previous day, the announcement nonetheless resulted in a flurry of activity and shouting amongst the press delegates. Lerato continued, ignoring the shouted questions. ‘After a cursory exploration of the premises, we were able to establish however that Havenga was deceased.’ More shouting. And questions. ‘His decaying body was discovered behind the house, buried in a shallow grave. We believe, in light of the advanced decomposition of the body, that Mr Havenga could not have been responsible for the abduction of Kobus van Staden, and his subsequent murder, or the recent disappearance of Alexander Joemat.’ There was now so much clamouring that Lerato was struggling to make herself heard. ‘Please. Can we leave the questions for afterwards?’ The cadre of foaming newsmen (and women) calmed down slightly. ‘It is our firm contention that we are thus dealing with a copycat.’ More shouting. And questions. Lerato trudged ahead. ‘A preliminary investigation has revealed that the copycat killer is more than likely associated with Arnold Havenga, although we still have to establish the exact nature of this relationship.’ Lerato finished the prepared statement. Human had specifically chosen to only reveal the bare facts. For one thing, he didn’t want to reveal that they were busy compiling a facial composite of the suspect. It was crucial at this stage to conceal the full extent of their knowledge. And hopefully give the killer a false sense of security. Lerato now allowed some time for questions. Once again displaying her full spectrum of skills, she handled the rowdy journalists with adroitness and seamless dexterity. Human looked at her with pride. And admiration. After a round of questions that seemed to last forever, Lerato wrapped up the press conference. That was when Human received the call. It was just after three. Kyle was missing. And the countdown had begun.

Human answered the call.

‘Hello, Detective Human?’

‘Yes.’

‘My name is Odette. You probably don’t know me. I’m a friend of Kyle.’

Human recalled something from the previous evening.  A dimly remembered snatch of conversation. ‘Yes, I believe Kyle has mentioned you. Can I help you?’

‘Detective. I think something is wrong.’ She paused for a moment. ‘Kyle never showed up for a lunch date today. And I can’t get hold of him anywhere.’

Human felt disquiet bloom inside him. ‘Have you tried his cell phone?’

‘Repeatedly. It doesn’t even go to voicemail. It just says subscriber not available.’

That meant the phone was either switched off. Or disabled. Human suddenly recalled the conversation about the message scrawled on the mirror. His uneasiness now sprouted into full anxiety. ‘Have you tried his hotel room?’

‘I can’t leave the shop right now. I phoned the hotel but they don’t want to disturb him. It seems he has acquired a bit of a reputation for partying. And sleeping late.’

‘Okay. I’ll go over there and have a look. Can I reach you on this number?’

‘Yes, detective.’

‘Okay. I’m going over there right now.’

‘Detective?’

‘Yes?’

‘Thank you.’

Human ended the call. And approached Lerato. ‘I want you to handle the team for a little while. Phone me the moment you get something.’

‘Where are you going?’

‘I’m just going to take care of something. It may not be related. But it could be.’ Lerato nodded, reaching out to squeeze his hand surreptitiously.

‘Please be careful.’

Human looked at her intently. He remembered something else from the previous evening. A declaration of love? And something else? No, it couldn’t be. It couldn’t possibly be.

He nodded, smiling.

A few minutes later he pulled up outside the Royal Hotel. The desk clerk was sitting robotically behind the reception counter. Staring into emptiness. ‘I need to see Mr Devlin’s room.’

The clerk hesitated. Shaken from his wakeful slumber. ‘Uh ...’

‘Right now.’

‘Yes, sir.’ He pulled a key from a hook on the wood panel behind him. ‘First floor, to your right,’ he said, handing the key to Human. A plastic disk attached to the key bore the number eighteen. Human ran up the narrow flight of stairs. At the landing he turned to the right. The corridor had a musty smell. The dust of a thousand nights. And a thousand guests. An ancient carpet lay under his feet. Worn down by a thousand feet. In parts it was tattered and frayed. Like Hope itself, it had seen better days. And unfortunately like Hope, there was little prospect of better days to come. Human stopped in front of room eighteen, inserted the key and entered. As he had expected, the room was empty. And the bed had not been slept in. There was a foreboding silence in the empty room. Slanting light revealed a shower of dust, floating in the light. Disturbed by Human’s entry.

Human stood before the mirror. And stared at himself through lipstick smears. The words were still there. The awkward rhyme. The threatening words. Not much of a rhymer, Human thought. Not like his predecessor. At the base of the mirror stood the tube of lipstick with its smudged tip. He dialled a number.

‘Lerato, get me a CS guy here at the Royal Hotel. I need some fingerprints to be lifted.’

Downstairs Human addressed the male receptionist, pointing up the stairs. ‘I don’t want anyone going into that room. Is that clear?’ The clerk nodded with a quick jerk. ‘When was the last time you saw Mr Devlin?’

The gangly clerk ruminated for a while, chewing his lips. ‘Aaah ... I don’t know, man. I wasn’t on duty last night.’

‘And his car?’

‘Aaah ... man, I don’t know.’ He looked at Human with sleepy eyes. ‘It’s the fancy one, huh?’

‘Yes.’

‘Aaah, I don’t know, man.’

Human stepped outside, onto the pavement. He had seen Kyle’s Mercedes more than a few times parked next to the kerb, outside the hotel. In a place like Hope, an SLK certainly stood out. But this afternoon, it was not there.

Human walked towards his own car, on his cell. ‘Lerato, tell Botha to put out a bulletin on Kyle Devlin’s car.’ He gave her the make, model, colour and the parts of the licence number he could remember. He stood outside his car. Worried. What did this mean? Why had the perky adman from Johannesburg suddenly disappeared? And the biggest question of all. Did it have something to do with the Daddy Long Legs murders?

The former forensics lab of the Hope police station – now the new headquarters for the Daddy Long Legs task force – was a flurry of activity. Phones were ringing. Calls were being made. Detectives were running around. Facts were checked. And re-checked. Reports were being studied. They were quickly running out of time. And the clock was ticking. At stake was the life of a child. And possibly the life of an ex-adman. Everything hinged upon the work that was now being done. And everyone knew it. The much-needed break in the case could pivot upon a small overlooked detail. Everything could change as the result of a tiny observation here. A word spoken there. Nothing was too small. Too insignificant.

The mood in the room was electric. The tension palpable. Hot and fetid.

‘I got it,’ the facial composite expert shouted behind his computer monitor. Everyone congregated around the screen. ‘It’s far from perfect,’ the policeman said, seated at the monitor. Despite having lived in the little town of Orania for several months, the eyewitness statements were vague and contradictory. Some said he was inordinately tall. Others said he was of average height. Some said he had a thick bush of dark hair. Others said his hair was light. Descriptions varied from deep-set eyes to bulbous. A big nose to a thin and aquiline. A square jaw or maybe not. It seemed that Havenga’s companion had done a good job of keeping a low profile for the period they had resided in Orania. ‘This is all we got at this stage.’ He hit a button. The screen filled with a composite image.

Give or take, they were looking at a picture of the Daddy Long Legs copycat.

‘Oh my God,’ Lerato said, ‘do you think that’s him?’

‘It’s all we got at this stage,’ Human said.

‘I also generated several alternatives, based on the variance in eyewitness testimonies,’ the composite artist said. He hit another button on the keyboard. Three more facial composites appeared on the screen. The composites were significantly different. But it truly was all they had at this stage.

‘Okay, good.’ Human addressed the composite artist. ‘I want you to distribute these images to all the police stations in the Northern Cape. You got that?’ The man nodded. ‘I also want you to send copies to
Wachthuis
.’ He turned to Lerato. ‘Detective Mathafeng, I want you to go back to Orania. Re-interview all the witnesses. We can’t afford to miss anything at this stage. Take a print-out of the composites with you.’

She smiled a secret smile at Human. In a corner of his mind, an image from the previous evening flashed through Human’s mind. A drunken confession. A declaration of undying love. He felt his heart constrict. ‘Done.’ She turned to the composite artist. ‘Can you get me those print-outs?’

‘Sure thing.’

Across the room, one of the CSU technicians drew Human’s attention. ‘I’m scanning the last print, sir,’ he said when Human was standing next to him. The Havenga house had yielded a surprising number of different fingerprints. Creating a great deal of work for the CSU team. Each print had to be dusted, carefully lifted, individually scanned, and then compared against the millions of prints in the electronic database. The CSU team had spent the entire morning scanning and comparing prints. And slowly eliminating suspects. ‘We got a couple of hits,’ the technician explained. ‘Havenga was there, of course. And others. Previous residents. We came up blank on a few, no records in the database.’ He looked at Human meaningfully. ‘This is the last print.’ He pointed to the screen. ‘I’m busy comparing it against the database, as we speak.’ Some of the other detectives abandoned their work and joined Human behind the technician. A hush fell over the room. Everyone watched the computer screen in tense silence. Seconds passed. Then minutes. The strain in the room was unbearable. Tangible. In the awesome silence, the computer whirred and buzzed. Scanning. Comparing. Human realised he was holding his breath. He released his breath in a staggered sigh. In the tense silence. Everyone waited. And waited.