The Disappeared (22 page)

‘Oh Lindi,
Vlad is gone,’ said Katya through wrenching sobs.

‘Oh no. I am
so sorry, Kat. I am so so sorry,’ said Lindiwe pulling herself free and looking
the old woman in the eye, wiping tears from her own eyes. She didn’t want to
say it. She didn’t want to tell anyone that
gogo
too was gone too.
Saying it would make it too real and irreversible. ‘I wish –’

Her words were
cut short by a sudden commotion amongst the group. She turned around. And her
mouth literally hung open. Shock stung her chest.

Inspector
Coetzee walked into the Bishop Police Station. Immediately half a dozen people
tried to crowd him but they all froze. Their words locked in their mouths. The
cacophony disappeared and faded to a shocked silence. Inspector Coetzee had a
prisoner.

Lindiwe stared
into the face of the boy she had met that morning. He was in steel handcuffs
and was shuffling along next to Coetzee. A dark sullen look riding his face.
The burly Inspector had a hand on his neck and another gripped the chain that
linked the cuffs. The moment Joshua had seen the crowd he pulled his eyes to
the ground, his hair falling about his face. Now, as he entered the tight
confines of the room he looked up. He scanned the room. And saw Lindiwe. He
halted. Dead. Their eyes were locked into an electric current. For a split
second he saw only her. She saw only him. Lindiwe felt her stomach drop away.
Her chest constricted. The inertia of Joshua’s sudden stop had almost thrown
Coetzee off his feet. But he recovered and pulled Joshua along. Joshua stumbled
across the room falling into Mr and Mrs Lovisa. ‘I’m sorry everybody. Please
make way. I will deal with your problems in a moment,’ said Coetzee manoeuvring
his way across the tight knot of people. As if defrosted by his words, the
crowd suddenly came to life. Everybody clamoured and shouted all at once. The
noise was twice as terrific as before and twice as frenetic. ‘Please people.
Please. I have an escaped felon. I have to deal with this before I can do
anything.’ Coetzee glanced over the top of heads at an area behind the counter
as if looking for someone. He appeared irritated. As Joshua was pulled through
the bristling crowd towards the interior of the police station, he looked
around craning his neck trying to get a last look at Lindiwe but the impetus of
Coetzee’s motion made it impossible.

‘Do you know
him Lindi,’ Minki asked looking up at her older friend who was wearing a look
of silent shock on her face.

Lindi looked
after Joshua as Coetzee pushed him through the door next to which Robert John
Visser stood, looking with horror at the man in handcuffs. ‘No pumpkin,’ she
said absently. ‘Not really.’

The moment
Coetzee disappeared through the door with his prisoner, the noise shrank to
clusters of whispered speculation. Moira who had not seen the exchange between
Lindi and the stranger turned to Katya. ‘Who was that?’

‘Just a
stranger,’ Lindi said staring at the closed door, ‘... unlucky enough to be
passing through town.’

Josh found himself
in a long corridor. The one end of the corridor met a solid steel door. The
other end disappeared into a darkened L. To his left, the hallway stretched
past three rooms. Further down he could see a wide arched doorway. The big
heavyset cop pushed him to the left, walking behind him. The floor was typical
government polished red. The walls typical government puke green. They moved
along the corridor. Josh saw that the first of the rooms was a kind of
booking-meets-interrogation-room – where you were either fingerprinted or had
the shit beaten out of you. Or both. He expected the cop to bundle him into
this room but they carried on moving. The next two rooms were offices. The
first a large open plan with three desks and the next obviously the big chief’s
office. As they passed the large archway Josh caught a glimpse of the group of
raucous residents over the large wooden counter. For a brief second he saw the pretty
black girl looking down with a worried expression at the little girl who he
couldn’t see over the counter. And then she was gone. They reached the end of
the corridor. And turned right. Straight into a little kitchenette. Dirty
coffee cups. Spilled chicory. An open microwave with a stained glass plate
inside. Then the cop shoved him to his right.

Fucking
cop!

Decisions.
Decisions.

Earlier that
morning Josh had made up his mind. He had been strolling towards the town exit.
He had enough of this dead town.

Where the
hell was everyone?

And he had
decided. He was gonna head for the town perimeter. And if he couldn’t hitch a
ride by nine o’ clock he would head back and find out about that damn bus. So
far so good. Until he heard the crunch of tar under the tyres of a heavy
vehicle.

Shit! Don’t
tell me -

Ever so slowly
he had turned around. Casual as a hooker on the strip. And then he had seen the
white of the police van. And the whites of the cop’s eyes. There was no mistaking
that look. He threw caution to the wind and started sprinting like a maniac. If
only he could reach the river he could make a plan. He had sprinted like an
Olympic stud on steroids. In the indistinct behind he had heard something that
sounded like a car door slamming shut.

Good! The
cop was gonna give chase on foot. There was no way –

And then he
felt something solid connect with his legs. The cop’s baton. Explosive pain.
And then his legs gave way beneath him. With a blinding crash of injured ribs
and expelled breath he had smashed into the tar. And then rough hands were all
over him and he was dangling in the air and –

He was
standing in front of the Bishop prison cells, inside a little dingy dark
anteroom. There were two prison cells. The big cop pushed him forcefully into the
cold embrace of the iron bars as he unlocked the nearest of the cells. The
clang of the heavy lock, sliding open, rang in his ears and bounced loose
unpleasant memories around inside his head. The cop twirled him around, deftly
lifted his hands above his head, twisted him around and pushed him face first
into the bars again. He unlocked the cuffs, pulled him to the right and shoved
him through the open gate. He pulled the gate shut with a loud dull boom. He
was locked up. And he was once again a prisoner.

The cop headed
for the exit. Then stopped and turned around. ‘Listen. I have a lot of stuff to
deal with right now. Just now I will send someone to book and tag you.’

Book and
tag. Shit.

‘Maybe until
then,’ the cop said in his heavy Afrikaans accent, ‘you can think about your
life and the mess you have got yourself in.’ The burly Inspector latched the
heavy black door at the entrance to the anteroom. ‘I am going to keep this door
open, so I can keep an eye on you. Don’t try anything stupid.’ And then he was
gone. And Joshua was alone.

He surveyed
his surroundings. It was nothing new. Nothing spectacular. Same old same
fucking
old. At his feet lay a coarse standard-issue prison deluxe blanket with the
lice and stink of a thousand lost souls. He knew the stench well. It was unique
to prisons and prison life. It took two days of persistent washing to get the
stink out of your skin, your hair, your mind. Underneath was the little thin
weedy mat that was the closest thing to a Sealy Posturepedic these lodgings
would ever know. In the corner stood the only furniture. A stainless steel
toilet with no seat. Prison chic. Yeah, this was Hotel California, all right.

Joshua slumped
into a corner. He cursed loudly.

The door opened.
And the room exploded with sound.

Everybody
crammed Inspector Coetzee. A thousand questions.

‘Inspector
Coetzee.’

A thousand
concerns.

‘Inspector
Coetzee.’  

A thousand
fears. Some called him by name. Most used his title.

Inspector
Coetzee was floating like a tossed buoy in a sea of frightened people. Only his
bulk and his sense of command and authority saved him. ‘Everybody! Please! Calm
down.’ He was shouting to be heard. Bridgette Le Roux reached out and grabbed
onto his blue epaulette.

‘Inspector
Coetzee.’

‘Jan. Jan.’

‘She’s
disappeared ...’

‘I am aware of
the situation. It is imperative that everybody just remain calm.’ He gently but
firmly removed Bridgette’s hand from his shoulder decoration. Mr Sacks stood on
his foot. ‘I – we ... know about the missing people.’ Coetzee felt it was
important to use the plural. He needed to invest as much authority as possible
in his office right now. Even though it was only him and Jansen.

‘Inspector
Coetzee.’

‘ ... gone.’

‘ ... I can’t
find them anywhere ...’

Somebody
grabbed onto his trouser leg. ‘We know about the missing people. We are aware
of the situation.’ Some of the more insistent voices were starting to quiet
down. In pent-up frustration Coetzee felt like telling them there to shut the
hell up. That their loved ones weren’t the only missing ones.
Did they
realise that practically the entire town had disappeared overnight?
But he
restrained himself. Now was not the time for indulgent outbursts. Mr Jones
painfully knocked him on the knee. ‘We are busy formulating a plan. We are busy
–’ Someone stepped on the same foot that had suffered under the considerable
weight of Mr Sacks earlier. Coetzee sighed. ‘We are busy assessing the
situation. As soon as Sergeant Jansen arrives ...’ He pushed through the crowd
and looked at the entrance to the police station with annoyance. ‘The moment
Sergeant Jansen arrives I am going to organise search parties.’

Gibson Jones
inserted himself before Coetzee. ‘And exactly what are you going to search for
Inspector Coetzee?

There was a
moment as Coetzee considered his answer. More than a few of the residents eyed
Coetzee curiously waiting.

‘Survivors, Mr
Jones.’

                                                                        **

Lindiwe kept
her distance. She maintained a tight grip on Minki’s hand. The hysteria in the
room was starting to frighten the little girl. Moira was seated on the other
side of Minki, holding her hand tightly, watching the collective ugliness. Katya
Vladislavic was standing next to Lindi. With the strength bestowed by age and a
hard life, she looked on with disconnected quietude. While she silently mourned
the man she would never see again.

Inspector
Coetzee was doing his best to placate the madding crowd swamping him. Above the
yelps and whines of bloated self-interest Lindiwe heard the policeman mention
search parties. And then something caught her eye.

She bowed down
and spoke to Minki. ‘Angel, stay here with Moira, okay.’ Minki’s face contorted
into a mask of disappointment. ‘Don’t worry. Hey, don’t worry. I’m only going
over there.’ She pointed at the counter. ‘Okay? I’ll just be a second, you hear
now.’ Minki nodded stiffly. She gripped Moira even more tightly.

Lindi gently
pushed her way through the milling crowd and found herself at the counter. On the
back wall, on a brown notice board she saw a poster with Joshua’s face on it. WANTED.
In the distance that separated her from the poster she tried to discern the
details underneath the black and white photograph. She perched on her toes and
leaned over the counter.

ARMED ROBBERY

ACCESSORY TO
MURDER

She heard
herself gasp. She stood for a moment longer. Shocked. Disappointed. Uncertain. Then
she wove a path through the crowd of people. She smiled at Minki and took her
hand. She stood there against the bench. Fidgety. Restless. She looked at the
door to the interior of the station. Then she looked at the poster. She stared
down at her feet. Then at the door. The poster. She turned to Minki. ‘Poppet,
you wait here for me, okay?’ Minki was still tightly clutched to Moira and didn’t
protest quite as much this time. While the crowd clamoured and squealed and
threw toys at the beleaguered policeman, Lindiwe quietly slipped through the
door that lead to the interior. As she surreptitiously closed the door she saw
Minki look around with obvious guilt. As if the little girl was a part of the conspiracy.

Lindiwe knew
the police station well, thanks to frequent concessions by the Inspector. She
now easily made her way to the prison cells at the back. She rounded the
corner. And saw the young man sitting against the cold wall staring sightlessly
into the distance. For a moment she stared at him from the safety and privacy
of the darkness. She couldn’t believe this was the same person that had saved
her from a nasty fall not that long ago. And here he was. Incarcerated. Wanted
for murder. Accessory to murder? Oh, what was the difference? Earlier that
morning, he had had a boyish charm about him. Now he looked harder. Tougher.
Now he looked the part. Murderer. She decided to return to the front desk.
Suddenly she couldn’t understand why she came here in the first place. What was
she thinking? What did she hope to achieve? She backed away. Better leave now. Except.
Something crunched under her shoe. The prisoner looked up, trying to pierce the
darkness with squinting eyes. He couldn’t see her. But she froze in the
darkness. She was a deer caught in the headlights. Frozen. Better act now or
look like an idiot. She stepped forward into the light. He blinked twice hard,
not believing his eyes.

‘Hey,’ Lindiwe
said.
Oh God is that the best you can do?

He nodded a
few times slowly puzzled. There was an awkward silence. Too long. Lindiwe
stepped forward. ‘So ... Inspector Coetzee caught you.’
Oh boy this wasn’t
getting off to a good start.

The young man
stared at her intensely then looked away. ‘Is that his name? Yeah, I guess he
did.’