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A quiet suburb is disturbed by some bizarre happenings.Will Detective M solve the mystery? |
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Prologue In the small, quiet town of Krugersdorp, lay a cemetery located in the very heart of this sleepy community. All was still, except the occasional croaking of frogs. Row upon row of grey, cold, sad looking head-stones dotted the ground. The cemetery was guarded by ancient trees, dark and menacing, their branches casting crooked finger-like shadows across the ground. At one end of the Cemetery was a large, still pond, its waters deep, and dark. It was not teeming with life, as most ponds are. At the edge of the pond, nestled in amongst a few sparsely growing Willows, stood a small, stone footbridge. It almost looked quaint, and one would be forgiven for thinking the people of this town were peaceful, simple folk. An eerie silence prevailed, except for the odd rustling of leaves in the trees as a chilly breeze blew. Suddenly a shrill sound pierced the thick quiet night. It was a choked scream, high pitched, almost strangled. A single figure sat at one of the tombstones. Her appearance was ghostly. She was shrouded in a black cloak, and except for the black hair, there seemed to be no colour in her. No warmth that would suggest life. Her skin was pale…almost translucent. Her dark, vacant eyes stared straight out in front of her, and there was no expression on her stony face. Then, unexpectedly, she threw her head back, and another thin, feeble wail, pierced the night. Suddenly a loud train roared in the background just behind the cemetery. The screeching of metal on metal seemed to have intruded on her grief filled trance. She suddenly shot to her feet and fled, cape flowing, long black hair streaming out behind her as the hood slipped off her head. Her feet pounded the grass and dead leaves. She was terrified. Chapter 1 It was a bright, crisp morning. I was a bit groggy from lack of sleep and too much Bourbon, but coping in my usual fashion. I was on my way to the office, planning my day in my head. I searched for my flat keys and eventually found them down the side of the couch. I headed quickly for the door, stopping to stoop down and glance at my tall reflection in the mirror by the coat stand. A 5 o’clock-shadowed face reflected back at me. My thick, dark hair was greasy. I ran my hands through it, attempting to smooth it down. I looked like I needed a good night’s sleep. My usually blue eyes looked dark, sunken, my tanned face, sallow. As I opened the front door to my second storey flat, Bingo, my Burmese companion, immediately, darted between my legs and made a beeline for the open doorway. As I grabbed the morning paper off the step outside my door, cell phone and brief case in hand, I managed to place an obstructing foot in Bingo’s planned escape path, grabbed him and tossed him back inside the flat. I fumbled clumsily with the lock with one free hand while holding onto my newspaper, cell phone and briefcase with the other. I had recently moved here from a garden cottage on a large plot on outskirts of town, right near the prison. I had figured that being closer to the centre of things was more convenient. Work was a couple of blocks away and take-out restaurants were in walking distance of my building. As I headed down the stairs around the side of the building and rounded the corner, I slammed into someone who was tearing up the stairs. My old, battered cell phone flew out of my hand and slid across the passage tiles. The girl didn't look back at me, or apologise...she turned her face away and kept going up the stairs. But I did manage to get a quick look at her face. Strange looking girl…I was certain I'd seen her somewhere before. Where had I seen her? She was pale skinned with long, dark hair, dangerously thin. She could have been beautiful if she got some colour and put on a few kilo's. She must have been in her early twenties. I found it bizarre, the way she didn’t apologise, or stop to help me retrieve my cell phone and deliberately tried to avoid eye contact with me, and it had me thinking. To my mind, these were the actions of a guilty person…or had my old detective instinct begun working overtime again? Paranoia. I suffered from it a bit. But I found it useful in my job. It made me take notice of insignificant things, which sometimes proved significant. Her eyes seemed so familiar. I sat down to some paperwork after the first few calls were made for the day. I placed the newspaper on my desk, intending to read it later that morning. It was hard to keep my mind still. Something was nagging at me…and I just couldn’t put my finger on it. In this very ordinary town, there was hardly ever any reason for unease. I reminded myself of that as I tried to concentrate on the multi-coloured files in front of me. Yet by lunch time, I had still not achieved very much. I just couldn’t figure it out…a growing sense of restlessness. I tried to focus on the cases on my desk. A cheating wife. Her husband had called me the week before. Really distraught. The kind of man women just didn’t cheat on…well, so you would think. Happened a lot in the bigger cities, so nothing surprised me, but in small towns, people talk. He was the loving father, attentive husband, in church with his family every Sunday. Got involved in kid’s school plays and did volunteer baseball coaching on the weekends. He wanted pictures. I had been following her every night after her classes. So far, she was squeaky clean, but I had a hunch this little fox was going to lead me to her den of secrets soon. A mother, checking up on her teenage son. She was willing to pay to have him followed and observed every night that he was out of the house. Nothing major going down here, I just reported what I saw. So far, the mother seemed happy nothing illegal was going on. A house break-in handed to me by the Police Department, a runaway child who eventually turned up a week later at his fathers place in Johannesburg… ...a lost child... …what was… …those eyes… Just then it hit me. Unexpectedly, the memory flooded my mind. A case I’d taken just after I moved out to Krugersdorp eight years ago. I’d almost forgotten about it, oddly enough, as this was probably the most real case I’d ever worked on in this uneventful town. I probably blocked it out because the case had never been solved. One more failure I’d just as soon forget. I had to write a ‘missing persons’ report and thankfully never heard from the mother of the missing girl again. I reflected back, remembering the mother...her face…so pale. Ghostly, black eyes….staring out at me as if there was nothing behind them…just hollow emptiness. Her fiery red hair pulled back into a demure bun at the nape of her neck. She invited me inside and sat staring out with her hands neatly folded in her white apron, answering my questions directly, but without much emotion. The only crack in the brave facade appeared when she showed me out and thanked me. Her hand suddenly flew up to her mouth and those huge, empty eyes welled up with tears. “Please Detective Morris….please find her. She’s only thirteen……..she’s nowhere to go”. They’d had a fight. Something petty, usual ‘mother-daughter’ stuff. She hadn’t remembered if the girl had said anything about running away, or leaving. She had been out in the back yard, potting plants. She hadn’t heard her go. She kept insisting the girl had nowhere to go. Gone…she was just gone. Her name was Millie…something or other. I would have to look that up or it would plague me for a long time. Back at home that night I had another problem. Bingo was gone. He was not used to being cooped up in a flat, and the little bugger did this often when I worked late. He usually escaped through the kitchen window I left open a fraction, for air circulation. Tonight I had worked very late trying to catch up on paperwork I had attempted to get done that day, which proved irritatingly unproductive. I was not going to go looking for him this time. Let him come back on his own when he was hungry enough. After several shots of whatever leftover whiskey I could find in the liquour cabinet, I was warming up to the idea of going to find him. I grabbed my keys and pulled on my threadbare, brown tweed jacket and buttoned it tight. There was a stiff breeze blowing with an icy chill just coming on. On my way down the stairs I stopped abruptly on the first floor. I heard a strange sound. Strangled sobbing. Faint music coming from behind a door of the flat directly below mine. I walked up to the door, straining to hear. What was that sound…eerie. A choked, wailing coming from inside. I leaned in and put my ear to the door. The sound seemed to stop, the music still faintly audible. I walked over to the window which faced the corridor. It was news-papered up. Odd. I stood there for a few moments and then turned to go, shoving my hands deep into my worn pockets when…there it was again…howling this time. Was she crying? I noticed a hole in the news-papered window, and peered in. The room was bare, but with my restricted vision I could just see beyond the doorway of the room which looked into the sitting room, where I could see a form. It was that girl. Her face had been haunting me since this morning. It swiftly occurred to me now, as I felt the hairs on my neck began to rise while I observed the forlorn figure on the floor…this is why I had been feeling ill at ease all day. She looked like Millie’s mother, the exact same eyes. Could this possibly be the missing girl? She looked approximately the right age…that would make her about twenty one… She sat in the middle of the bare floor of a sparsely furnished living room. There were no lights on but she had a large, black candle on the floor in front of her. The candle flickered and appeared to eerily glow through an intricate carving on the side of the candle, of what appeared to be skulls. She was rocking backwards and forwards, her long black hair draped over her pale face. Her hands were folded neatly into the lap of her ankle length black dress. She tipped her head back and wailed…choked sobbing followed. There was something strange about the scene…disturbing. Like she was…possessed. Then I realised there was something very disturbing about a man peering into the home of a young, obviously grieving woman. I turned quickly to go, hoping that no-one had seen me and I braved the cold to go and look for Bingo. But my search was in vain, as I did not find Bingo that night. Bingo had vanished. ****** The next morning, dog tired, I drained the last morsels of strong, black coffee out of my super-sized mug. The office was quiet at six thirty in the morning. I had decided to come in early and sort through the file on the teenage kid, hoping if I could present all the paperwork from the last three months to his mother, she would finally realize she had the ideal teenage son and drop the case. Not that I didn’t need the money, but it did waste a lot of my Friday and Saturday nights trying traipsing around after a lovesick teenager, when I could be spending time widening my network of contacts at the bar. I flipped through the files on my desk. Where was that blue file on the teenage kid? Just then I remembered something else I had to do. I made my way over to the grey steel cabinet against the wall to pull an old file. I spent the best part of an hour trying to find the file on the case of that missing girl from some eight years back. Where was the confounded thing? I never threw files away. I never archived or stored anything. There weren’t enough files enough to store. The file was simply not there. “Good morning Mr Morris”. It was the receptionist. She was young, blonde girl, a school leaver who was hired by the Admin Manager about six months ago. She was either petrified of me, or had a severe crush. Either way, she just irritated me. “Good morning” I retorted. “Lydia, has anyone re-arranged the files in these cabinets?” I asked, irritated.. “Not that I know of Mr Morris” she responded, cautiously. “I need you to search through this cabinet. There’s a file on a case I took about eight years ago, a missing girl. Don’t remember the names. See what you can find”. “Yes, Mr. Morris” she replied, turning to answer a ringing phone. I discovered my unread newspaper from the previous day, just under the blue folder on the teenage kid, unread. I hadn’t even picked up this morning’s paper yet. Yesterday’s news…I hated being behind on the latest happenings. Might as well give it a glance. Nothing much in the headlines, someone got arrested for animal abuse. I knew them, a gay couple that owned a clothing store a few blocks from here. That would be some fuel for the gossips talk for the next few months at least. Paging through the newspaper, I suddenly stopped…page three caught my eye. The picture had my attention. I couldn’t take my eyes off it. I read the headline: ‘Evidence of a cult in Krugersdorp‘. What? A cult right under our noses, and I’d known nothing about this? Who could possibly be involved, I wondered. I thought about the unruly ‘gang’ at the local high school. The ringleader was a rough sort of guy. Came from a very bad family. Always starting fights all over town. That picture had my attention again…‘The remains of ritualistic activity found under the bridge at Cemetery Pond’, the caption read. There were all kinds of symbols and signs painted on the side of the bridge. There was obviously evidence of a fire, around which looked like the bones of something…something small… And black candles. Black candles with intricate designs of skulls carved into the side of them. ******** Later that night, a little after seven, I was parked behind a tree across the street from Krugersdorp University, finishing off the cheeseburger I had picked up at the local drive-through. Junk-food was my staple diet. I occasionally ate out at one of the few restaurants Krugersdorp boasted, but fast-food was definitely my preference. I had no reason to eat healthy anyway, and certainly no woman in my life nagging me about it. I shoved the burger box back into the paper bag and tossed it into the back seat, wiping my mouth with the back of my hand. The stubble on my chin was getting to that itching stage. I glanced back up to the door of the University. I was looking for a certain foxy lady, sure that tonight she was going to reveal her dirty little secret. I had been watching her most nights for just over a week now. Fate had to smile favorably on me soon. There she was…flipping her long blonde hair over her shoulder, books in her arms. She was strikingly beautiful. Emerald green eyes, and a gorgeous figure. She was locking up and apparently having some trouble holding on to those books. She dropped a few, cursed, dropped her keys and retrieved them, and fumbled with the lock to the door. She bent down to pick up the books and a breeze lifted her skirt at the back to reveal her stark, white underwear and a cheeky flash of skin. I grinned. Sometimes, this job had its perks. She stood up and looked around, surveying the street and all the cars on it. It was as if she’d sensed someone watching her. She looked towards the tree which was supposed to present a crude camouflage for my old Ford. I slid down slightly in my seat, but not in time. She looked straight at me. She seemed to be…smiling? She couldn’t know…could she? I sat and waited until she reached the locked gate behind which her car was parked. At this, I hurriedly started my car and drove away. The camera I had conveniently positioned on my lap to take pictures, should the opportunity present itself, fell between my feet onto the floorboards as I was driving. I was a little shaken by the fact that Mrs. Evans seemed to know I was watching her, and thought it amusing to have caught me in the act. I hated being caught off guard. I got home a little after 8:30 and poured myself a stiff one. Where was Bingo? I had to get my mind off the unsettling event that had occurred earlier. I grabbed my warmest jacket – the leather one. The weather had really turned nasty. It was freezing. I stopped on the floor below mine…silence. No lights on, apparently no-one was home. I took a long walk up my street, heading towards the restaurant block. Maybe Bingo would have smelled food and headed this way. I walked past two coffee shops, the local sushi restaurant, and there she was. The girl who lived in my building. She looked different. She was smiling. Her eyes didn’t quite look lively…but they had something different about them…a sparkle maybe? I hid myself behind a pillar and stood there and observed her for a moment. Tonight she had substituted her long black dress for a deep blue velvet one. This one had a plunging neckline revealing her protruding collar bones and throat. Around her neck hung a gleaming silver pendant, a horse shoe with a black snake entwined around it. I had seen that symbol somewhere before…where…where had I seen it? I racked my brain. Suddenly someone bumped into me and I nearly fell over my own feet. I shouted “Hey watch where you’re going you crazy…” I didn’t get to finish my sentence. He turned and shot me a death stare. It was the stocky, bald-headed bouncer from a local night-club nearby, “Hellraizers”. I quickly looked away, remembering the stories in the papers about unruly drunkards getting thrown out single handedly by this guy, an ex con. Who gave this guy a job anyway? I looked back at the restaurant. I tried to catch a glimpse of the guy she was with but his back was facing me. He had a tribal tattoo on the back of his neck, black hair, graying at the temples. What was she doing with a guy like this? She suddenly turned and looked at me. She had a terrified look on her face, her black, gleaming eyes which I suddenly realized looked high, widening. She got up and stormed towards what I imagined was the ladies room. As she stood up her sleeve rode up her arm a little, and I noticed slashes on her right arm, a little above the inside of her wrist. Self mutilation…it was obvious. Before the guy she was with turned to look at me, I was out of there. I didn’t find Bingo that night either… Chapter 2 Friday It was Friday night. I’d had another rough week with not much to conclude except that the teenage boy case had finally been dropped. Man it felt good. A case solved! Well, technically…not solved. But I liked to imagine I had played a rather important role in his mother finally being convinced of the fact that she could trust her kid. It felt good, and I was celebrating down at the local pub, and ran into some old friends, mostly cops. But I couldn’t celebrate for long. The good feeling was soon replaced with a feeling of sadness for Bingo, who seemed to be gone for good. I had long since mourned the loss of the family I once had. Sometimes the disappointments of life overwhelmed me. I had learned not to care. Solitude was safer. I threw back the third Jack Daniels on the rocks. Good ol’ Jack. Around the bar were a few couples sitting at tables and a group of giggling, tipsy, students at the corner table, obviously celebrating something with tequila shots. My attention was quickly drawn to the door when it opened and a gust of icy wind blew in. A couple hustled to get inside where it was warmer, a very attractive blonde and a stern looking older guy. He was graying, and wore an inappropriate frown considering the beautiful girl on his arm. He donned a long, black, leather trench coat. He turned to close the door behind him and I noticed a tribal tattoo on the back of his neck. I slammed my whiskey glass down, quietly excused myself from my friends and headed, unseen towards a quiet corner table, slightly hidden behind a large pillar. This was him, the guy that accompanied ‘Ghost girl’ as I had fondly begun to think of her, at the Sushi restaurant. I hadn’t seen her all week and her flat had seemed deserted. Here was a lead. The blonde was all over him, clinging to his arm. Obviously drunk. She seemed familiar. I tried to focus on her face through the hazy Jack Daniels fog. It was her! It was Mrs. Evans! This was good. I was going to crack this case tonight. But I didn’t have my camera with me. They sat at a corner table and ordered. He had a red wine and she, a white. They were engrossed in conversation. He reached out his hands and she grasped them. Would they kiss? No…his hands folded over hers and his grip tightened. The look on her face was pained, and unpleasant. She was staring up at him, tears filling her emerald eyes. He was saying something to her and whatever it was, it wasn’t warming her heart. I gulped down the last of my Bourbon, having observed the scene for some time now. Mrs. Evans was getting progressively drunker and ‘Mr Tattoo’ was pacing himself. He had made a few calls during their little outing and she had stared morosely, arms folded, at a speck on the table. Finally, they got up and left. I followed as close as I could behind them without being conspicuous. They arrived at his car, a two-seater, late model, black Porsche. As soon as they got into it, I broke into a swift run towards my Ford a block away. I had lost them momentarily, but followed in the general direction they were headed, and caught up with them just in front of the University. They were stopped at a traffic light. I kept the distance of a couple of cars between us, but I could see that he was on his cell phone, and she was staring out of the window. They drove on a few blocks and turned right towards the plots. I wondered where Mr. Evans was, since his wife was out on the town with another man! They pulled up in front of a large, looming, grey stone house on a sizeable piece of property. Quite an elaborate security system. He had electric gates and motion-sensor cameras facing every direction. I parked in a dark spot across the street from the entrance to his house. I watched them get out of the car and silently make their way into the stone house. It was about two hours later when Mr Evans called. He was informing me that his wife had been out all night and was curious as to what I had done about cracking the case. I assured him I was close to answers, and he hung up…Satisfied. At 3am, Mrs. Evans left the house. Her car had been parked around the back of the garage. She pulled off at a breakneck speed and headed home. Okay, I had no pictures, but I knew where the guy lived, and I knew that he was involved with more than one woman at this stage. On Monday morning I would go into the office and do a scan of his plates and see what came up. Sunday On Sunday morning I heard the church bells ringing, and knew that Mrs. Evans was arm in arm with her husband, three kids in tow at the church. Smiles all around…all was ‘well’. As I picked up the Sunday paper outside my door, I took a glance around for Bingo, still missing. No sign of him anywhere, no stray cat sounds to be heard. I scanned the paper. Nothing noteworthy in the news today. I thought about the article I had read on the cult activity, and the girl in my building who I suspected might be involved. I suddenly had an irresistible urge to visit the bridge at the pond and see the site of the rituals for myself. I got there shortly before 10. Obviously the candles and bones had been removed. The symbols on the bridge were still there though. And there it was…I couldn’t believe I hadn’t realized it before. The horse shoe with the snake curling around it, looked like it had been primitively painted on the wall in blood. What the hell was going on in this town? Note to self: have a meeting with Lieutenant Brown of the local district precinct, first thing on Monday morning. ************* Monday By Monday I knew that ‘Mr. Tattoo’s’ real name was Reginald Black. He was a new age Scientologist… and involved in some questionable organizations. He was also involved in the University, apparently, he lectured there. An out-of-towner, he had lived at his current address for the past 6 months…about as long as Mr Evans had suspected his wife of cheating. He had no criminal record. I had some paperwork to do, and that afternoon I met with Lieutenant Brown. He seemed to know as much about the cult as I did. Someone had accidentally stumbled upon the ritual spot, and once the reporters and photographers arrived on the scene, it was no longer visited. He knew there were some questionable characters from out of town involved, and that it was larger than a high school gang. Something told me not to divulge too much just yet, so I didn’t give him Black’s name and address. That night, as I was coming up the stairs to my building, scanning the parking lot downstairs for any signs of a stray cat…there it was again. The howling. The choked, strangled wailing. I stopped outside her door. The same music was playing faintly in the background. Then sobbing. I scanned the vicinity, there seemed to be no-one around. I made my way over to my spot at the news-papered up window. She was sitting on the lounge floor, legs crossed in a meditation position, rocking, black candle positioned in front of her. Her back was to me this time. She threw her head back and let out a loud howl. My first instinct was to bash the door in and find out what was wrong. But I waited…and watched. She raised her left hand, and clenched in her fist was a sharp knife…it looked like a medieval dagger. She appeared to be…cutting herself. It was all I could do to keep myself from smashing in that window and stopping her. But this girl was elusive. If I was ever going to find the truth about her possible involvement in cult activity and her identity, I could not intrude on her ritual now. I needed to see this. The howling and slashing went on for about 5 more, painstaking minutes. Then there was silence. Eventually she got up…head bowed low and turned off the music. She quietly walked right towards my viewing spot and turned on a light switch at the wall. Her right arm was covered in blood. This was sick. This girl needed help. What was I to do? Call the authorities and have her dragged off to some sanitarium? Maybe for her sake, that was the decent thing to do. But what about this whole picture was decent? I had to find out how she was involved in this whole thing first. I had to know. ******** Tuesday The next morning I received bad news from Lydia. “Mr Morris, I have searched the filing cabinet, and I can’t find any missing girl file from eight years ago” she said, nervously twiddling her fingers. “What do you mean you can’t find it?” I said, anger rising. “I never throw files away. It’s got to be here. It was one of the first cases I took on in this town. What do you mean, you can’t find it Lydia?” I asked again. “Well, there are some cases from eight years ago, there was the file on the stakeouts at the high school and…” “Missing persons Lydia, a young girl. It has to be there, I never take files home. I work on everything in this office. Who has been rummaging around in my office? Do I need to put a lock on my filing cabinets now?” The walls began to close in on me. “I can search the archives Mr Morris, I…” “Don’t bother about the archives!” I cut in, irritated. Nothing is ever archived in my office. My files stay in my office. For purposes of referencing, I never archive anything!” Beads of sweat began to prickle on my forehead. Why did a missing file bother me this much anyway? “Mr. Morris if you could give me a file reference or a name…” “I told you already, I don’t remember the details, that’s why I employed you! You are supposed to keep files on these cases! Just leave my office now, just get out!” I shouted, slamming my fist on the desk. She began to sob and slipped quickly out of the open door where curious ears were listening in. I was shaking. Maybe I had been a bit hard on her. But where was that file? Files didn’t just go missing. Not unless you had a useless filing clerk, or worse…unless there was some kind of a cover-up, or an inside job. Could this be the case? Could there be more going on here than a mere missing persons report and a suspicious looking girl who had the hair on the back of my neck standing on end? I had to get out of there. What I really needed was a stiff whiskey to calm my nerves, but first I needed to find a house I had visited some eight years ago. If the file was gone, I would pay Millie’s mother a visit myself, and get the details I needed. I would tell her I was doing a follow up, just to see how she was holding up. I tried to remember where she lived. It was on the other side of the railway tracks, I remembered that much. I drove my car slowly up and down the street, scanning the houses. Not much had changed. Not much ever did in dreary towns like Krugersdorp. The houses only looked a little more run down. Most needed work. Paint jobs, roof jobs. Just then I saw it. It was all coming back to me now. White picket fence, crooked stone path, patio door. Very typical, but recognizable. I parked my car a little way off and observed the house for a moment. I was just about to get out and go and pay the lady a visit when a car came careering around the corner and stopped right outside the house. It was the black Porsche. Two guys hopped out hurriedly. I immediately recognized the shiny dome of the bouncer, reflecting the sunlight, and Reginald Black. I observed the scene for several minutes, and just when I was about to leave to do some formal investigating, the front door opened. There she was. Millie’s mom. She had aged somewhat in the eight years since I had last seen her. Her hair was graying, but still mostly red. There were those eyes…the same hollow, lifeless eyes as ‘Ghost girl’. She appeared to know these guys really well. Black handed her an envelope and waved them goodbye as they headed back to the car and sped off. Everything proved to be more confusing and mysterious by the day. I needed answers. I headed back to the office and thankfully, Lydia was on lunch. I did a residence check on Millie’s mom. Her name was not listed. The house was in the name of one Mr Reginald Black. Imagine that! I picked up the phone and called Lieutenant Brown. I told him all I knew. He thanked me for the information and said he would give me a call later that night. I was getting closer to answers and I needed a drink. It was shortly after four when I headed for the pub. I ran into an old cop friend of mine. We sat there and talked about arbitrary things for a while. His kid had passed away about a year ago, and he often drowned his sorrows here. His marriage was on the rocks as well, so he had a lot to talk about. I never gave advice. I was no good at advice anyway. If I wanted to be a shrink I would have become a barman. He was happy to ramble on; I suppose I was just a ‘sounding board’ to air his troubled tales of woe. I never discussed my past with him. This was strictly a one-way friendship. My divorce and the embarrassments of the big city were something I preferred to keep to myself. Dead and buried. Small town life suited me just fine. No-one knew who I was. I could hide here. At the end of the evening, however, I managed to ask him something that I had been toying with all night. “What do you know about cults Harry?” “You talking about the shit going down at Cemetery Pond?” he drawled. “I guess”… “Well”, he went on, “I do know that there are people at the University involved. I suspected it from the start, before they found the sodding evidence…” he drawled, before gulping back the rest of his beer and quickly ordering the next. “That out-of-towner that arrived on the scene…Rich bloke. He knew too many people here to be a real ‘out-of-towner’ – if you know what I mean”. “What do you mean, Harry?” I probed. “He knows too many women Vince….Beautiful women. He didn’t need much time before he was hooking up with them. I think he used to live here…years ago, before he went overseas, and decided to settle back down here again…” “And what makes you think he’s involved in this cult business?” I asked. “He’s into that weird Voodoo shit he picked up in the States. I overheard him, Vince…And I’ve watched him with the ladies. They seem to be spellbound by him”. I found it fascinating that Harry seemed to have so much information and so many thoughts on the issue. Then again, he was out there every day, on the streets. Small town. I should use him as a source of information more often. As I threw back the last of the golden liquid in my glass and stood up to go, Harry was slurring something about the cats that had gone missing in Krugersdorp in the last month. “…you watch Vince…it’s them” he slurred, swaying back on his barstool then hovering over his beer. “I know a bunch of weird Satanists when I see them…” I left him there and I wondered if he was right. I couldn’t make much sense out of him now, but I would have to get hold of him during office hours tomorrow. Cats. Could Bingo possibly…? I thought about Ghost girl, living directly below me in my building, and how I had seen her with Black at the Sushi restaurant with that pendant around her neck. I needed to pay her a visit, ask her some questions about my cat. She had had plenty of opportunity to nab him since he was always wandering around. Maybe I could get some answers on some other things too…like Reginald Black; how she was involved with him. She would probably not admit to much…I wondered how her mother was involved. If indeed, this was Millie. Did she know her daughter was in town, right under her nose? I walked the block to my car, I liked to park a little away from the pub…gave me a chance to stretch my legs and walk off some of the booze before driving home. I suddenly developed an eerie sense that I was being watched. It felt as though a pair eyes were smoldering into my very soul. The hair stood up on the back of my neck. I glanced around scanning the street. I turned around and made a mental note of the people around, while walking backwards. It was a Tuesday night, certainly nothing much going on. A couple of cars parked outside the pub, not many people on the street, the cold weather was forcing people to stay indoors. As I turned back around, there they were, just out of nowhere. There were three of them, all masked. They moved towards me, side by side. I stopped, dead. “What!” I demanded. The middle guy lifted his hand, holding something black. A gun? I raised my arms to protect my head and the guy on the left fisted me in the stomach. I doubled over, feeling the air rush out of my lungs. Something hard crashed into my skull. The pain was indescribable. My vision blurred and I felt a warm liquid trickling down my face. The ground suddenly rushed up and I felt myself hit the pavement, hard. Everything went black. *********** I heard loud screeching sounds, strangely echoing…like I was in a tunnel. I tried opening my eyes but the light split my head in half. I thought it would be better if I just kept them shut for a bit. Just until I could bear to…I closed them again, drifting off… Chapter 3 Wednesday “Vincent?” A voice intruded loudly on my frantic, crazy dream. I wasn’t ready to wake up yet. I drifted off again. “Vince!” the voice intruded again…”Here, sit up, take a sip of this”. I opened my eyes just enough to see a fully clothed cop standing above me, lifting my heavy head up. I sipped the cool liquid and it burned my throat going down. I tried to open my eyes, they seemed heavy and swollen. “Vince, are you okay?” the voice asked again. I looked up at his face. It was Neil Whitley, Harry’s partner from the local precinct. “What…what happened…” I mumbled. It hurt to breathe. “I was hoping you could tell me. Do you remember anything?” He sounded genuinely concerned. “I…I remember three guys…” “Can you sit up Vince?” He asked. I tried to sit up. My head hurt like hell. At that point I noticed the wetness of the icy cold grass I was laying in. Someone had draped a large, beige coat over me. “I think I can…try” I heaved. “Where the hell am I?” I croaked. “Right next to the train tracks, we were doing the usual Wednesday rounds and noticed you laying here. How long have you been here?” he asked. “Wednesday? Last night…left the pub, three guys…beat the crap out of me, I guess” I said, reaching my hand up to my aching head. I felt like I was made of lead. At that point, Harry came running up to us. “You okay there, Vince?” “I’ll be alright” I mumbled. “I checked out the area, nothing unusual around”, he stated, more at Neil than at me. “We gotta get you to the hospital Vince” he directed at me. I nodded, too exhausted to argue at this point. I wondered if my car was still parked where I had left it, but I was in too much pain to ask. The two of them hoisted me up, and held me on either end as I staggered to their patrol car. ********* Three broken ribs, a black eye, a fractured skull, a concussion and a couple of nasty bruises later, I lay in the hospital bed, my mind unable to settle. Who would do this? What was I close to uncovering that I was beaten to within an inch of my life to try and keep covered up? Harry came around that night and asked some more questions about the attack. I told him all I could remember, and that it had occurred just after I had left the bar. I discovered that my cell phone was gone, but my car had been towed to the police station. I confided in Harry at this point. About the girl in my building, what she did to herself, who I thought she was and who I had seen her with. I told him about Mrs Evans being out with him too. Harry knew that Mrs Evans knew Black. He told me that they had met at the University, that Black apparently gave ‘motivational speaking’ sessions and taught ‘relaxation therapy’ classes to some of the students there. He said he could do some fishing around for me about the girl in my building, where she worked, how she was involved. I told him about Millie’s mother, and my discovering that she was involved with Black, after seeing him hand her an envelope at her house. I remembered then that I had spoken to Lieutenant Brown about what I knew the day of the attack, and had given him Black’s address and registration plates. I told Harry, hoping Brown could assist him with finding some answers. Harry seemed angered by what had happened, and determined to get to the bottom of it. “I sure appreciate this Harry, I should get you on my team” I smiled weakly through swollen lips, my face aching through the bruises. “You get some rest now Vince”, he said standing up and buttoning his jacket. “You’re gonna be just fine. And we’re going to find out how these son’s of bitches are involved and nail them for what they did to you” he said. I nodded and closed my eyes for a moment. I guess I must have slipped into unconsciousness again after that. I slept a lot over the next two weeks. Fractured skulls, it seemed, gave one a real desire to do nothing but sleep. It could also have been the antibiotics and painkillers pouring consistently through the drip in my left arm. I supposed I was lucky that I got away with only a concussion and not a coma, or worse. I was sure those guys had meant to beat me to death, probably only stopped because they assumed that I was dead, or close to it at least. This had to be the most thrilling event this town had ever seen. Why did I have to be dead centre in the middle of all the action? Harry probably spent most nights in the bar, but thankfully, he came to visit me every day, bringing the daily newspaper for me to keep me up-to-date with the latest goings on. He also gave me an update of what he had managed to uncover. He had found out that Ghost girl was a student at the University and had her own business making candles part time, selling them on the Campus. Her name was Mildred James. Mildred James…Millie? He had her tailed for a few days and although she kept to herself a lot, there was nothing unusual, or anything out of the ordinary about her comings and goings. “That’s because you haven’t watched her insane little ritual in her lounge”…I exclaimed, attempting a smile, although my face ached. “What about Black, seen him around?” I asked. “Just the University” he responded. He had a hunch that after the failed murder attempt on me, Black was laying low. “Have you seen him around Mildred or Mrs Evans?” I asked. “Only at the University Vince…and here’s the thing. Mildred attends his ‘motivational classes’. And he seems to have some very weird, ‘out there’ methods. Remember I told you about that Voodoo shit? I have done some digging around about the stuff he’s teaching at the school. Spoke to one of the students, and my wife knows one of the lecturers. He believes in trance-hypnosis methods, and it is suspected he’s using Neuro Linguistic Programming, disguised as meditation and relaxation training.” “That’s quite a mouthful! Relaxation?” I laughed, holding onto my aching ribs. “That sounds like some kooky relaxation to me”. “And Vince…” He said, hesitant to tell me the next bit of news. “Lieutenant Brown wants me to stop digging around”. “What?” I exclaimed. “Is he insane? These guys practically killed me! What’s his problem?” I said, getting annoyed. My head started to throb. “Look don’t get upset up Vince…it’s just that…” “Well? What?” I demanded. “Well, he reckons that what this cult group are doing is technically not illegal, really. It’s a form of religious expression, and we have laws about freedom of religion. He doesn’t think it warrants any more valuable police time fishing around. They’re not making human sacrifices”. “But animal sacrifices are okay?” I shouted. “Those bastards, they beat me to a pulp! They tried to kill me” I repeated. “Well, Brown reckons there’s no real proof of that, it’s just speculation at this point”. I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. I held my head which was really throbbing at this point. “No proof? Look at me lying in this hospital bed, recovering from being nearly beaten to death!” “He reckons there’s no proof it was an attempt to kill you…Vince, he reckons we should write it up to…a robbery”. “Is he truly out of his mind?” I was shouting again. A tall, slender nurse walked past and poked her head into the room, asking if everything was okay. “Fine, fine!” I snapped back, just wanting her to get out of there. “Mr Morris you really shouldn’t be getting worked up” she said, stepping into the room, checking my drip. “It’s not going to help you recover from that head injury” she said. I admired her curvy shape through her nurse’s uniform. “Okay, I’m sorry nurse, I promise I’ll calm down”, I said, attempting a smirk. She shot Harry a stern look and went on her way. As she left I watched her wiggle towards the door. She closed it I turned to Harry with a sly, lopsided smile. “A nice looking piece of ass hey, Harry?” He grinned and looked down sheepishly. Then my mind turned back to our conversation and the anger welled up inside me again. I repeated, lowering my voice this time. “Is Brown insane?” “Well, the thing is Vince, there really isn’t any proof that Black and his crew were involved. In fact we don’t know who it was since they wore masks…and your cell phone was taken”. “My cell phone was taken because they thought I was dead! They obviously wanted to make it look like a robbery. People get killed in this country for less!” I said getting louder again. He shushed me and nodded soberly. “Well, between you and me Vince, I’m not going to stop probing. I told you I was going to get to the bottom of this, and I will”. He left shortly afterwards. I struggled with this new information all night. Lieutenant Brown didn’t seem too eager to expose this creepy cult, and what they were involved in. Reginald Black was a teacher at the University, and getting young students involved and he wasn’t concerned? People were getting hurt. It was obvious I was close to discovering something and that’s why I was lying here in the first place. It didn’t take a genius to figure this out. Why was he backing off? Could they have threatened him? Bribed him? Or worse, could he be in on this? On some kind of a payroll maybe? Damn this godforsaken hospital bed! ******* Hospitals are interesting places. There is always a daily drama in amongst the mundane routine of things. I had a good room with view in this small hospital. Right near the front emergency desk. I saw most of the comings and goings. Plenty of sick infants, probably the cold weather, kids with broken bones, one, or two pregnant mother’s in labour, their frantic husbands at their sides. An old man, who had suffered a heart attack. I don’t think he made it, poor guy. He looked really bad when he arrived, and the way the staff seemed to be panicking, rushing him down the passage, looked serious. His family were very distraught. One unusually quiet night, while watching TV, and enjoying my solitary dinner, there was a commotion at the entrance of the hospital. I heard staff running from the other side of the passage, shouting out to other staff members. There was a young girl who had been admitted and she was obviously in some kind of pain. She was howling. I recognized her voice…that howling. I’d heard it before. It sounded distinctly like the howling of Mildred James! It was her, I was convinced of it. I sat forward in my bed, but my dinner tray was restricting my movement. I saw a crowd of nursing staff around a gurney at the front desk, setting up a drip and checking the patient’s blood pressure. One of the nurses moved and I caught a glimpse of long, black hair draped over the edge of the crisp, white hospital sheets. That was all I saw of her until they rushed her gurney past my door, holding the drip and shouting instructions ahead. She probably slashed her wrists for the last time, I thought. I didn’t feel like eating much after that. I asked the cute nurse about it when she came to check up on me later that night. “Sister, what happened to the young girl who was admitted earlier?” I asked. “Miscarriage” she said quickly, busying herself with my blood pressure. Miscarriage! I was shocked. Mildred James was pregnant? “How sad” I said, trying to sound unemotional about it. “How far along was she?” “We aren’t sure Mr Morris” she said dismissively. “The doctors probably know more. You should get some rest.” Wednesday (2 weeks later) Chapter 4 It was two full weeks before I was released on the Wednesday morning. My head and rib-cage were bandaged, and thankfully the bruises had begun to subside. I was given strict orders by my doctor to get bed rest. “No excitement for a couple of weeks now Mr. Morris”, he said. Of course I agreed whole-heartedly. This would normally be a welcome break for me. Orders to take it easy and do nothing. But I had several things I was going to get worked up about on my agenda. The first of which was a trip to Lieutenant Brown’s office. The office had sent over a driver who picked me up from the hospital. I gave him the address and told him to step on it. He shook his head, but dutifully drove in that direction. Thirty minutes after my official release from the hospital, I was standing in Lieutenant Brown’s office, demanding to see him. His beady eyed secretary was giving me a hard time. “I’m sorry Mr. Morris…” “That’s Detective Morris” I cut in sharply, already extremely irritated. “I’m sorry Detective Morris, Lieutenant Brown is unavailable at present. May I make an appointment for you?” “Screw the appointment” I said through clenched teeth, leaning over her desk. “Do I look like I’m here for an appointment? I should be home in bed. Now I am here on official business, you get him out here!” I shouted. She abruptly stood up, her spectacles almost sliding off the end of her long, pointy nose, and briskly walked over to a door at the end of the office. I followed closely behind her. “Mr. Morris if you would just take a seat…” “Detective Morris!” I shouted at her, my head beginning to pound. She paused, screwed up her mouth tightly and scowled. She huffed, and lifted her spectacles up to the appropriate place on her nose and indignantly opened the door. “Lieutenant Brown, Detective Morris is here to…” “Well hello there Alan.” I pushed past her and into the spacious, well furnished office. “Detective Morris! You are looking well, considering,” Brown said nervously, as he stood up and walked over to the scene at the door. “That’s okay Henrietta, please go and get us some coffee” he said, voice lowered, at the scowling secretary who was most annoyed that she had lost the battle. She quietly shut the door as Lieutenant Alan Brown showed me to a comfortable looking, dark brown leather arm chair opposite his executive’s chair at his large, wood and leather desk. “Surely you should be home in bed resting Detective?” he smiled at me, his round, podgy face crinkling up. “Lets cut the crap here, Alan” I said sharply. “What is the deal with you telling Harry to back down on digging into this cult?” “Well, there’s no evidence of…” he immediately rushed into the defense. “These are the guys that almost killed me!” I quickly interjected. “I know one of them had the same body type as that bouncer that’s always hanging around Black, did Harry tell you that?” “Vince, these are speculations” he informed me. “It was dark, they wore masks, you couldn’t give an accurate description and frankly, we have no reason to go…” “Did you know about Mildred James?” I cut in abruptly. He looked down at his desk silently, pushing a piece of paper around with his podgy, freckled fingers. “What about her?” he asked. “Well, she’s bloody possessed, for one!” I said. “How is she involved in this cult Alan?” I asked. “She’s a student at the University, Vince. That’s all. Now I think you’re getting a little ahead of yourself,” he said. “A little ahead of myself,” I repeated. “She makes candles too doesn’t she?” I asked. “Sell’s them on Campus? Would Black be one of her biggest clients then?” “What the hell are you getting at Vince”, he said. “Does she make black candles?” I asked. “The same as the black candles at the scene of the ritual activity? The same as the candle I saw her slashing her wrists in front of at…” “Now wait a minute here” he interrupted me quickly. But I continued. “Did you know” I continued “that she was admitted to the hospital after having a miscarriage? Who’s baby do you suppose that was Lieutenant? How many young girls has Reginald Black roped in at the University?” My voice was getting louder. “Look Vince, I think you’d better calm down,” he said, visibly annoyed. “Calm down…” I laughed. “Look at me! I am lucky to be alive! And why? Because I was close to uncovering something? If they’re involved in anything illegal, it would take some investigating to uncover the truth, don’t you think?” I said, trying to contain my anger. Why was he being so damned uncooperative? The pounding in my head was reaching mammoth proportions now, almost unbearable. “Are you going to help these guys cover up murder the next time someone gets too close to the truth?” I spat the words out at him. “Vince, you don’t know what you’re getting involved with here”, he said, looking down at the piece of paper on his desk again. “And it’s your job to tell me what I can and can’t get involved in?” I said, beginning to lose my grip on my tightly wound self control. “Let me tell you something” I said , “and let me assure you, I will have the full co-operation of the police; I am opening a full investigation on this cult, and I’m going to expose Mildred James’ mother, however she’s involved, and Black is going down”. I stood up to leave. I had to get out of there, I could feel the blood pounding through my skull, a high pitched ringing sound accompanied the pain now. Lieutenant Brown hastily stood up and walked around the desk, blocking my exit. “Vince” he said, a warning tone penetrating his voice. “I strongly advise you back off. People are going to get hurt.” “People have already been hurt” I pointed out. I turned to leave. “Harry is dead, Vince.” I stopped, frozen by his words. I couldn’t even bring myself to turn and face him. The high pitched ringing had reached an excruciating crescendo in my ears. My palms felt clammy. “What?” I said, sucking my breath in, almost dreading the reply. “Harry was getting involved in something he shouldn’t have…just like you are Vince” he said, his tone now threatening. “You are a big town, failed Detective. You’re on my turf here. I suggest you get back to your high school stake-outs and leave the real stuff to the people who know what they’re doing” he said. I spun around and gave him a murderous look, my insides twisting. My head felt like it could explode. I felt nausea rising up, the burning taste of bile at the back of my throat, both for my worsening condition and for what I’d just heard. “Is that what you had me brought out here for Alan?” I asked, out of breath. I had to fight the burning desire to punch his fat face hard. He must have recognized I was on the verge of completely losing it, because he took a step back. Just then the door opened behind me. Henrietta stood there scowling, two coffees balancing on a tray she held in her bony little hands. She observed the scene before her and astutely sensed the atmosphere was explosive. She opened her mouth to say something and I shoved past her, the delicately balanced tray flying out of her hands. I didn’t turn around to look at the calamity I had caused. I was trying not to gag as I dry swallowed a handful of Myprodol. I heard cups smash, a shriek from Henrietta and gasps all over the office. I stormed out of there and ordered the driver to take me to my office. ******* By the time I arrived, the pain had subsided, but I was fuming. I waved away the greetings and concerned questions. I stormed into my office and Lydia stared at me, mouth agape. She didn’t say anything, a small piece of good fortune right now. I slammed my door behind me and got on the phone. I called the local precinct, wanting answers about Harry. The admin person on the other end of the line wasn’t very helpful, but he gave me Neil Whitley’s cell phone number. Neil was not just Harry’s partner, but his best friend. He agreed to meet with me at the pub later that night. I was desperate to get hold of Harry’s wife, Janine. I thought I should probably offer some kind of condolences. I couldn’t believe Harry was gone! How had this happened? This was my fault. I could hear my ex-wife’s voice in my head now…’this is your fault Vince. We rely on you and you let us down time and time again…I’m leaving’. I seemed to have a knack for screwing things up. Maybe I should just retire, sell surf boards in East London or something. I managed to get hold of Janine. They had lost their 6 year old son to cancer a year ago, so this had to be hard on her. Real hard. She was crying on the phone. I offered my condolences as best I could. She asked me how I was doing after my attack. I told her I was holding up. She invited me to Harry’s funeral at 12:00 on Friday, at Krugersdorp Cemetery. Her parents had been staying with her since the Saturday after Harry’s death. At least she wasn’t alone. I put my head down on my arms on my desk, and stayed like that for what seemed like hours. It was only thirty minutes later when I sat up, enraged again. My head hurt, really bad. I fumbled in my old, tweed jacket pocket, pulled out another handful of Myprodol and quickly swallowed them. I needed to get hold of Millie’s mother, right away. I wanted to get over there and demand the answers I needed. This whole debacle was out of control. Did these guys own the city? Had they even bought the police force off? Did they think they could just kill off anyone who didn’t fit in with their plans? I called information, asking for a number on a Mrs. James and gave her address. After a pause on hold, they came back with a number. “Hello?” “Mrs. James?” I asked, surprised that I had got hold of her this quickly. “This is Detective Morris”, I said hastily when there was no response on the other end. “Mrs. James I was wondering if I could ask you a few questions…about the case of your missing daughter, eight years ago? Can you talk?” “Well…Err..” I didn’t give her a chance to refuse me. “Mrs. James, have you heard from your daughter recently? Or at all, in the last eight years?” I interjected, trying not to sound too frantic for the answers I needed. “Mr. Morris, I can’t really talk right now…It’s a bad time” she said unconvincingly. “Mrs. James, this is important. I can make an appointment, but I just need to know if you’ve heard from Millie…Mildred” I corrected myself, making a point of using the name she was currently known by. “I don’t know what you’re talking about Mr. Morris” she retorted sharply. “If you’ll excuse me, I have something on the stove and its burning”. At that she slammed the phone down. Maybe I had sent her into alarm mode, and she would avoid me at all costs now. If she was involved with Black, and if she knew anything about the goings on in Krugersdorp lately, she was probably well aware of my investigations anyway. Whatever she did or didn’t know, she was lying on to me. She knew full well where her daughter was. I requested that the driver take me to the police station to retrieve my car after that. I was feeling weak and exhausted from all the excitement. Back at home, my flat felt bare and painfully empty. I really missed old Bingo right now. He would always greet me at the door purring like a tractor and provide some company in the emptiness and solitude of my life. I went straight to bed, so spent I barely managed to set my alarm so that I could get up at six to meet with Neil at the pub. **************** I met with Neil at our agreed spot that night shortly after six thirty. He gave me the dirty details on Harry’s tragic end while I slowly sipped my ever companionable, and much needed Bourbon. It had been a while since I’d had a drink, and even though the barman frowned at my order, eyeing the bandage around my head, to my relief he poured the double without much fuss. Harry had been asking questions at the University on the Friday he died. He had spoken to the Head of Faculty, a Professor Arnold Brass. Neil did not know all the details of the interview, but knew that Professor Brass had been un-cooperative, especially when Harry asked if he could speak to Reginald Black. Harry then unthinkingly confronted Brass with accusations of a cult operating under the guise of ‘motivational classes’ at his school. Harry had threatened to go to the Dean of Education of Gauteng. Neil had met with Harry that fateful Friday night at the very bar we were sitting in. They talked about the interview, and Harry even mentioned he was going to see me the next morning to discuss the latest developments. Only Harry never made it that far. He wrecked his car on the way home that night, crushing his head against the bridge his car had slammed into. “Of course this won’t be chalked up to a homicide” I said gloomily, staring at the glasses stacked on the shelves behind the barman. “It’s a DUI, open and shut. His wife will never know he was murdered, and these bastards will have succeeded in making it look like Harry was simply a foolish drunk, who rammed his car into a bridge after one too many beers!” I threw the rest of the drink down my throat. At that point I felt like surrendering to defeat, and skipping town. Neil looked down at his glass and held onto his beer with both hands. “But isn’t that exactly what happened Vince?” he asked, his voice choked up. “Harry was a drunk! He just overdid it for the last time, that’s all”. I made sure I had another Bourbon in front of me before I tackled his gullible statement. “Let me tell you something Neil”, I said staring at my double. “I spoke with our Lieutenant Brown this morning, and he basically threatened my life”. At that I turned to look at Neil to gage his response to my words. His head whipped around to face me, disbelief on his face. “No”, he said, still in denial. I continued to look him right in the eye and gave him the gravity of the situation as he shook his head. “He told me to my face to back off of these investigations or I’ll end up like Harry…Oh yes” I said firmly. “This doesn’t make any sense” he exclaimed horrified, looking as if he was about to burst into tears. “Why, why would they do this? What are they willing to kill to cover up Vince? Some candle burning and cat skinning? This is bullshit!” And with that, Neil got up and stormed out of the bar, and I was left alone to my heavy thoughts, slowly drowning in a whiskey induced haze. ******** Thursday First thing the next morning, I got myself another cell phone and SIM card, retaining all my old contacts and my old cell phone number. I set it up at the office and not twenty minutes later, I got the first call. It was Mr. Evans. “I have been desperately trying to get hold of you Detective Morris” he breathed heavily into the phone. “What’s going on? You told me you were close to answers?” I had to explain to Mr. Evans that my job was a risky and dangerous one, and went into the details of what had happened, leaving out my suspicions about who was involved. I also had to divulge that I suspected that his wife may be involved in something a little more serious than a flippant affair. “What do you know about the people who your wife works with Mr. Evans?” I asked. “The people she works with?” he repeated. Well, they’re professors and teachers, a boring bunch. Never really had my attention, why? Is the guy a colleague?” He said, beginning to sound hysterical. “Mr. Evans” I responded, “like I said before, this may be deeper than a candid affair. I’m going to have to ask you for your patience and your trust on this one. I’m getting to the heart of it, and I promise you, when I have answers, you’ll be the first to know”. I hoped that would be enough to appease him. It wasn’t. “Just tell me Detective. Who is the guy? I have to live with this woman, share my bed with her every night. She is the mother of my children! I can’t go on living this sham! Who’s the guy?” “Mr. Evans, I…” “I pay you for answers Detective! Now either you tell me what you know or I’m going to tell her myself that she has been under investigation”. “She knows, Mr. Evans”, I said tentatively. “She knows? How the…” “She spotted me watching her. She looked right at me. The traditional methods of following her around taking pictures are just not going to suffice in this particular case”. There was silence on the other end of the line. “Now you are going to have to trust me Mr. Evans. I am working on this case with my fullest attention, and I will have the answers you are looking for soon. Until then, I can’t divulge much more, there’s too much at stake here. Can you accept that?” “Sure” he said, after a pause. “It’s not like I have much choice, now is it”? “Mr. Evans, I can refer you to a counselor in the meantime.” “No, no. I’ll be fine. I’m just beginning to feel like I’m married to a stranger, that’s all”. I hung up after that, thinking that Mr. Evans was probably more right than he could possibly have imagined. The conversation had also started me thinking: If Mrs. Evans knew I was following her, did Black know? Could that be why he was giving her hell at the bar that night? Was that what triggered the attack on me? Or was that Brown’s doing? The attack had occurred the night I had spoken to Brown, and told him what I knew. Black and Brown. How are you tied together, I mused. ************* The day was an extremely productive one. Despite a slight headache for most of the day, I had succeeded in contacting one of my associates from Johannesburg where I was previously stationed, Detective Thabo Mabiletsa. As it so happened, he was a specialist in ritual murders, serial killers and the cult scene. He was going to get back to me later that week to let me know if he was available to fly up in a week or two. I also managed to get an appointment for the next day with the Dean of Education of Gauteng, Professor Talisha Maharaj. If Arnold Brass wasn’t going to co-operate, I would simply go straight over his head. Later that afternoon, unwinding the bandages from around my head in the office bathroom, I thought about Mildred. I wondered if she was released yet. I decided I would leave the paperwork for another day and go and pay her a visit. I arrived at the hospital at around three that afternoon, flowers in hand. “I’m here to see Ms. Mildred James?” I said to the lady behind the desk in admissions, hoping I didn’t run into any of the nurses who, from my stay in hospital, knew me quite. I couldn’t risk anyone having wind of me doing anymore investigating into this matter. “Well, you’re just in time to give her those flowers” smiled the clerk. “Doctor is going in at four to sign her release papers.” Good. I had an hour. She showed me down the corridor, past my old room, past the desk where the sisters were busily chatting and getting meds ready for the evening. I hid precariously behind my feeble flowers. At the end of the corridor and to the right, was a dimly lit, small room. No TV here, just one lonely bed and basin. And there she was, perched at the edge of her bed in a blue, floor length night gown, her long, black hair falling forward over her face. Her right wrist was bandaged. She looked up at me with dark circled eyes and fiddled with her hair, looking down immediately. I noticed the pendant around her neck, the horse shoe with the serpent slithering around it. “Do I know you?” she said sharply, looking out the window. “My name is Vincent Morris” I said carefully, a little unnerved at being faced with this mysterious girl. I instinctively tried to put her at ease. “I live in your building. I was here when you were admitted…I was concerned…” my voice trailed off. I didn’t really know what to say next. “I know who you are,” she said looking me in the eye with her large, dark eyes, a pained expression on her face. “You’re that detective that’s been snooping around, following me.” She seemed so young, so vulnerable. “I know what happened,” I said, trying to bridge the gigantic gap between us, hoping she’d trust me and maybe, confide in me. “I know…about the baby.” “For gods sake is nothing private in this town?” she snapped back, her eyes burning with anger. “I saw you coming in” I carried on, ignoring her anger, “and I asked one of the nurse’s on duty. I’m sorry for what you’ve been through.” I tried to sound as genuinely concerned as I found myself feeling. She looked away, hugging her body, and began to rock gently backwards and forwards, as you would expect a mother to rock a troubled child. “What do you want?” she eventually said through her tears. “I came to bring you these.” I held out the now very small looking bunch of violets and daisy’s I’d picked up at the hospital gift store. She didn’t respond. I reached out and touched her arm and she flinched, pulling away. “Mildred…I need to ask you some questions,” I eventually said, as gently as I could. She scoffed at my revelation. “I knew it. Feigning concern when you’re just here to dig.” She didn’t sound as angry as she had before, so I pressed on. “I need to know what you’re involved in Millie, I want to help you.” She immediately spun her head and looked at me at the mention of her childhood name, and her eyes welled with tears. “I…I have nothing to say to you.” She said as the tears rolled down her face. I could hardly stand the aching in my heart for her anymore. I put my arms around her and held her tight. This time she didn’t flinch or pull away. She kept her arms hugged tightly around her body, but she let me hold her…and she wept. By the time my tweed jacket was soaked, she pulled away, mumbling an apology and dove next to the bed for a black bag, from which she retrieved a scrunched up tissue and blew her nose. “Who was the father Mildred?” I asked gently, careful not to use the name ‘Mille’ again, fearing it would set her off. “What does it matter?” she asked, the anger returning to her face. “Why do you want to know anyway? What do you think you are going to do with the information when you get it?” “I’m not sure…I just…care…” “You care? Why do you care? Because you have a case you need to solve? Or let me guess…you have a basic, human desire to see suffering end and save mankind and let us all live happily ever after?” I didn’t respond. I sensed she was about to let a load off her chest. A load that would probably contain information I needed. “You think you are doing us a favour by interfering?” Her eyes were blazing, she looked different, not at all innocent any longer. “Let me tell you something, detective. For your own sake, and for ours, leave us alone!” “I’m afraid I can’t do that.” I said, quietly. “I’m afraid you have no choice” She said, sounding almost sly. “Detective I believe you have reached the end of this interrogation, now leave.” Her voice was calm and detached. “I know it was Reginald Blacks baby” I said, trying to turn the failed attempt at consolation around in my favour. She didn’t respond. “I know that you’re involved in this cult, somehow. I know that Black is a lecturer at your University, and I’m going to get my answers, one way or another.” She began to rock again, staring straight out at the wall in front of her, her eyes glazed. “Mildred, you don’t have to do this anymore,” I said, my compassion beginning to take hold again. “Whatever he’s done to get you involved, you don’t have to carry on with it. I can help you, I can offer you protection, I can get you back to your mother…” “Ha!” she laughed. There was that smile again. She was really quite beautiful under that expressionless, pale mask she wore. “My mother…” she repeated, rocking more vigorously, the blank expression returning. “My mother gave me away”…She sounded so dead inside. “Your mother gave you away?” I repeated, trying not to betray my shock in my voice. She suddenly took on a very strange composure, a sweet smile curved around her lips, but eyes were lifeless, fixated. She sat up straight and looked me squarely in the eyes. “Detective” she said demurely. Her voice had even changed. “You just need to understand. I’m not doing anything against my will. I love Reg. He found me at the most unhappy time of my life…and he saved me”. She sounded like she was hypnotized, but the shy smile lingered on her mouth. She closed her eyes and I let her continue. “It’s like…I’ve always been an extremely intuitive person. I have a gift, ESP” she went on. I tried not to roll my eyes, taking mental notes of everything she was saying. “I feel things long before I know what they mean. When I first met Reg, it was like a light went on inside of me” her smile widened and she opened her eyes and rolled them skyward, rocking back and forth. “He totally awakened my spiritual self” she went on. I could hear things…Things in the universe, things I’ve never heard before.” She giggled like a child and went on. “He has showed me the answer to life’s deepest questions. Things regular folk spend their whole lives searching for…And I just know…I know to the core of my being he has shown me truth”. She lifted her legs onto the bed and folded them under her, in a mock ‘levitation pose’, as she took on the very same stance she’d had while rocking in front of the black candle in her flat. The coy smile still played on her lips, her eyes stared forward. All I needed to complete the scenario was to hear the howling. I almost expected her to pull the dagger out from under her sleeve. “I knew him you know…in a past life. We were lovers then too. That’s why we gravitate so naturally, and magnetically towards each other” she explained. I tried not intrude on her obvious trance, but I had to guide her to the answers I needed. “Don’t you ever get hurt?” She abruptly stopped rocking and her smile faded. She looked like some real emotion was about to break through the façade, and then she smiled again, that faint, timid smile, the rocking resumed while she stared forward. “If you look at your life from an eternal perspective…detective,” she giggled at that, “spirit is stronger than reality. Everything I’ve been through has brought me to this place, made me who I am. I am enlightened.” Then the smile completely left her face and her pale, dead look returned. She whispered as she repeated “I am enlightened.” Then she began to moan, almost as if she were in pain, but nothing on her face belied any emotion. She sounded tormented. The moaning grew louder until I couldn’t stand by and watch anymore. I reached out and put my hand on her shoulder, shaking her and saying her name to try and jolt her out of her dream-like state. Just as she began to howl, the doctor walked in. “Ms James!” The doctor rushed towards her grabbing her wrist to inspect it. I presumed he thought she’d slashed herself again. “Ms James!” he repeated loudly. Mildred looked towards him, slid her legs out from under her and she looked at him, confused. “Ms James, are you alright?” he asked. “Are you in pain?” She stared up at him, wide eyed and shook her head. He looked at me, a questioning look on his face. “What happened?” he asked me. I shook my head, still reeling from the scene that had played out before me moments before, not about to tell the doctor what I had just witnessed. “I…I think she’s just upset,” I said, backing off to the wall so he could examine her. The sister came into the room and closed the curtains around her bed. I left quickly, recognizing her as the nurse I’d fancied during my hospital stay. I felt stunned as I drove home. I didn’t remember how I got there, but when I did, another rude shock awaited me. Chapter 5 As I headed up the stairs to my flat, Mildred’s words were playing in my head over and over again like a recording. I could still not quite believe them. Suddenly my feet stopped moving. Something just didn’t feel right. It was as though something unwelcome was present, and it had left a stench in the air. I remembered having this feeling just before I got beaten to a pulp. Fear slowly slithered up my spine. I scanned the area around me. Out here it was quiet. Behind the closed doors of my neighbours, the muffled sounds of lives going on, regardless. The evening news on TV, children squabbling, conversation around a stove while cooking dinner, laughter. I reached my floor and stood there, carefully observing the corridor for any signs of movement. Every shadow looked like a potential masked figure, lurking, waiting to lunge. I fumbled for my keys in my pocket. I retrieved them and quickly headed for my front door, and that’s when I saw it. The lock to my door had been broken. My heart was pounding in my chest, my head beginning to throb in time to my heartbeat. I tried to breathe as quietly as I could through my open, dry mouth. Fear clasped around my heart, like the icy, cold hand of death. I was paralysed, but the detective in me needed to know. I swallowed hard and slowly pushed the door, it swayed open with a creak. I hit the light switch on the wall, and my head began to spin as a terrible scene unfolded before me. The place was wrecked. My couches were overturned. My computer in front of the sliding door to the balcony, was smashed to the ground. There were books and papers strewn all over the lounge. My kitchen cupboards had been turned out all over the kitchen floor. My fridge had been emptied and was toppled over, leaning against the wall. There was food everywhere. I walked slowly towards the bedroom, switching lights on as far as I went. I came to the bedroom. My bed had been turned on its side and slashed, the sponge from the mattress spilling out over the sheets and onto the floor. On the wall behind where my bed once stood, the words ‘No more!” were emblazoned. It looked like they had been smeared on with blood. This was too much to handle for one day. With trembling hands, I opened my cupboards and retrieved a suitcase. My clothes were scattered around the room. I grabbed a few pairs of shirts and slacks, socks and underwear. I had to get out of there as quickly as I could. I booked myself into the nearest Formula 1, just down the street. I called the police from my dingy little one-man room and reported what had happened, and they radioed to send out a squad car immediately to investigate. My heart still pounding with adrenaline, I headed down to the bar. My mind was reeling. I really needed to calm my nerves and sort through the events of the day in my head. I downed three much needed whiskey’s. I knew who was behind this, there was no question. Would they find any proof? Fingerprints? DNA in the blood on the wall? Could this dreadful event turn out to be just the thing I needed in order to nail these bastards? I ordered another whiskey. There was a documentary on TV in the background, about a serial killer. As I watched numbly, I toyed with the idea of leaving town again. How easy it would be to hand in my resignation the next morning. No more attempts on my life, no more threats. Certain individuals would be delighted to see the back of me. That way, they could carry on with their twisted, debauched lives and I didn’t have to be a part of it. The idea was starting become very attractive. Then I thought of Mildred. Her haunted eyes, the way they changed when they filled with tears. The innocence she had lost. Watching her go into that state first hand had wrenched at my gut, to say the least. It was as if one moment, she was gnashing her teeth at me, and the very next she was crumbling in a sobbing heap. She was in really bad shape and not just because of the miscarriage. There was much more to this. I couldn’t leave her in that state, however much she thought she wanted to be there. She had clearly been brainwashed. If her mother had really ‘given her away’ as Mildred claimed she had, then the poor girl had had no choice in her circumstances. As I sat there, staring at the TV, thinking these gloomy thoughts, my guts began to twist inside of me as it slowly dawned on me…Mildred’s mother had given her to Black eight years ago, when she was just thirteen years old. When she called me in to investigate her ‘missing daughter’. No wonder she had never bothered to get in touch with me after the ‘missing persons’ report was filed. Is this why Brown was so keen to have me come in so quickly? The Krugersdorp Police had just retired their old Detective, and paid him a whopping pension. He had left very suddenly for the Bahamas, and they needed someone in right away. I was only too keen to transfer out of Johannesburg at that stage of my life. And the more I thought about it, the more the pieces fell into place. With the lack of real or serious cases I’d been presented with in Krugersdorp, I realised that there was no genuine urgency in getting me out here as quickly as they did. There was one sole purpose for that necessity; so that Mrs. James could file that report. They had obviously done their homework, heard about my bad track record in Johannesburg, and knew I was just the man for the job. I gradually began to recognise another feeling in the pit of my stomach. As the fear and helplessness slowly gave way to rage, I resolved to get revenge. I wanted it so bad I could taste it. Revenge for Harry, a decent cop, my friend, just doing his job. Revenge for his wife, widowed a mere year after the death of their son. Revenge for Mildred. I sat in that lonely hotel bar, slowly coming to terms with the truth: That I had been instrumental in helping them get away with doing this to her. As I slowly sipped the last whiskey I could hold down, I knew one thing for absolute certain. I was going to get Mildred out of this cult. ******* Friday First thing the next morning, while I scanned the newspaper looking for the story about my break-in I was certain would be there, I called the police station to find out what they knew. The officer assigned to my case immediately transferred me to Lieutenant Brown. “Mr. Morris” I heard him smirk on the other side of the line. “What…Brown, what the hell have you done?” I said, realizing immediately where this was going. “Mr. Morris it looks like you’ve been the unfortunate victim of vandalism, not common around these parts, but entirely possible”, he said on the other end. “You son of a bitch!” I exclaimed. “You are going to cover this one up too.” “I don’t know what you’re talking about Detective,” he said. “This is impossible…what are you going to do about the blood on the wall?” I demanded. “Blood stains are almost impossible to get rid of completely. I’ll get forensic experts out there.” “Well Vince” he said, almost too confidently. “It looks like the words on the wall in your bedroom were painted on with red clay. Pretty much like the clay you’ll find at the pond at Krugersdorp Cemetery” he laughed at the other end of the line. “Oh don’t worry. We cleaned that right up for you.” “You are not going to get away with this” I fumed between clenched teeth. I slammed the phone down and caught my breath. My head began to hurt and perspiration was pouring down my face, and it was only 7:30 in the morning. I grabbed a really large mug of coffee, swallowed four Myprodol’s and called Detective Mabiletsa in Johannesburg. He confirmed that he could drive up the following Friday. Finally, some news I could afford to hear. I left for my appointment with Professor Talisha Maharaj at nine that morning. She was lecturing at Roodepoort University today; about 45 minutes drive from Krugersdorp. I arrived at 9:40, and parked outside the front office. This was a truly breathtaking University. Large trees surrounded the massive, four storey face-brick building, and even though they were losing their leaves, they were strikingly beautiful. Their tall branches stretched into the sky and bent towards each other, almost touching, to create a cozy, autumn coloured canopy above the ground. The large orange, brown and golden leaves covered the ground in a blanket of leaves on the grass beneath them. Students sat here and there, books in hands, talking, laughing, some rushing off to class. A young, blonde student jogged past my car and turned around to look at me, and flashed me a dazzling smile. I smiled back at her and waved. Life in Roodepoort was pleasant, all of it’s residents seemed completely unaware of the horrors that human beings were capable of. It was as if the dark curse that rested on our town had not infected the lives of the people here. I made my way up the concrete stairs to the offices, and announced myself to the young, black receptionist. She asked me to take a seat and informed me that Professor Maharaj was slightly delayed in her last lecture for the morning. I made myself comfortable in the visitors chair, surveying the artwork displayed by the University, created by it’s students. There were some impressive paintings of African culture, clay and wooden bowls, musical instruments, silhouetted women with baskets balancing on their heads, children scampering around their feet, and some exquisite scenery paintings. South Africa boasted an abundance of beautiful landscape for inspiration, rich in wildlife. The receptionist began to hum a beautiful tune while crocheting something long and brightly coloured. It looked like an Ndebele garment. The telephone jolted her out of her pleasant daydream, and she smiled shyly at me. It was Professor Maharaj. She was ready to see me. She put down her crafted garment and made her way around the desk. “Follow me, please,” she said in a pleasant indigenous accent. I followed her up the corridor, past several halls where students were intently listening to lecturers. They looked serious about their studies. This was a warm and lovely place to be. A welcome distraction from the chaos of my life back at home. As I followed the receptionist’s footsteps closely, I almost didn’t want to reach our destination where I would have to break the charming spell and reveal the dirty secrets of Krugersdorp. Reality intruded rudely as we approached a door and she stopped, knocking. “Come in,” a gentle voice tinged with an Indian accent said on the other side, and she opened the door. She smiled and stepped aside to allow me access to the office. I thanked her and stepped inside. Professor Maharaj’s office smelled of spice and incense. It was a fine, homely smell. The room was carpeted wall-to-wall with a richly coloured, patterned carpet, and the walls were wood paneled. On the wall were murals and hangings, rich in vibrant maroon’s and gold’s. It made the room look warm and inviting. Amongst the hangings were several certificates, I presumed they belonged to the Professor herself, but I didn’t have time to study them. A short, slender woman approached me from behind her desk. She was in her forties, judging by the smile lines around her eyes and the slightly graying hair at her temples. The rest of her hair was long, black and shining, some of it arranged in a twist on top of her head, the rest of it hanging low down her back. She was dressed formally, in a dark grey suit, but she had a red dot on her forehead, signifying she was married, and marking her culture devotedly in a western society. She smiled broadly as she extended a hand to shake mine in a welcome gesture. “Good morning Detective,” she said tenderly. “Good morning Professor Maharaj, thank you so much for making the time to see me,” I said. “Take a seat, please,” she said politely, showing me to a table at one end of the office. We sat down and she offered me tea or coffee. I could already smell the rich, warm smell of freshly percolated coffee from the serving table next to me, and I readily accepted the offer. She poured the drink slowly and placed it on the table in front of me, taking a seat next to mine. Her eyes were full of sincerity, and honesty. I knew that she could not possibly be aware of what was happening at the University in Krugersdorp. “What brings you all the way out here, Detective?” she said. “Professor Maharaj,” I said, “It pains me to have to meet with you about this.” She sat back, surprise on her face. Dejectedly, I continued delivering my burdening speech. “We need to discuss what is happening at Krugersdorp University.” She looked worried, her brows arching high to reveal a genuine concern. “What is it Detective?” she asked. “Professor, I don’t know if you’ve seen the newspaper article about the ritualistic activity in Krugersdorp?” I asked. She quickly nodded her head. “Down at the cemetery, under that bridge, yes I did see the article,” she said coaxing me to go on. “Professor, it is my belief a cult is operating in Krugersdorp, originating at the University itself…from within the faculty.” She gasped, her hand covering her mouth, her eyes wide in disbelief. I went on. “Professor, I have met a student at the University who…” I struggled to get this part out, there was suddenly a lump in my throat. “…who is deeply troubled. She practices self mutilation.” She gasped again. “She is a deeply troubled young woman” I repeated “who has also just been released from hospital after suffering a miscarriage. It is my belief, Professor, that the child she was carrying was fathered by one of the Lecturers at Krugersdorp University, a Mr. Reginald Black.” I spat out the name that I was beginning to hate with intensity. “I can’t believe this!” she exclaimed, horrified. “Why are you saying these things Detective? What has led you to believe that Mr. Black is responsible for the baby…and what about this cult?” “Professor,” I said. “Are do you aware of anything about Mr. Black’s classes, of anything perhaps operating under the surface of his meditation or relaxation techniques?” She looked at me, open mouthed. “No!” She exclaimed. “I was very supportive of Mr. Black’s classes when he joined the University,” she explained. “The benefits of meditation in the Eastern culture are only just starting to take shape in this country. I welcomed the diversity of culture, I thought it would really benefit the students…” her voice trailed off. She was close to tears. “Professor,” I explained. None of this is your fault. You couldn’t possibly have known what the real motives of Mr. Black were.” I placed my hand on her cold, shaking hands, and attempted to explain, as tenderly as I could, about the teaching methods Mr. Black was using. I told her what Harry had told me about the trance-hypnosis methods, and the alleged Neuro-Linguistic Programming Black was performing on the students, under the guise of relaxation therapy. I told her that the Head of Faculty, Mr. Arnold Brass, was uncooperative when Harry went to discuss the subject with him. I didn’t tell her about Harry’s death or the attempts on my life. I didn’t want to upset her any more than she already was. I did tell her that I had seen Black and Mrs. Evans at the bar, and that I had followed them back to his plot. “Reginald and Gina?” She asked, even more shocked. “I can’t believe that; Gina is very happily married to a wonderful man…” “Professor Maharaj,” I interrupted. “Mrs. Evans’ husband hired me to find out who she was having an affair with. It is Reginald Black.” I said. She shook her head in disbelief, but motioned with her hand for me to continue. I told her about my visit with Mildred, how she’d gone on about loving ‘Reg’, and the trance-like state she’d gone into. I also revealed that her mother had given her daughter to Black, or, I suspected, sold her. At this news, Professor Maharaj got up to pour herself a cup of herbal tea. She sat back down with the steaming cup of golden liquid, her hands trembling. “What can I do Detective?” she said, earnestly. “How can I be of assistance?” “I was hoping to hear those words, Professor,” I said relieved. ******* I left the University of Roodepoort around eleven, and headed towards Krugersdorp. I felt heavy and burdened. I was on my way to Harry’s funeral. I arrived in time to see a few souls gathered together at the cemetery, a little way off from the pond. They stood around the coffin, which was ready to be lowered into a hole in the ground. Red sand was piled up next to it. There were about eleven people at the funeral. Some holding onto each other, sobbing, some just stared, red eyed at the coffin. Janine was there, I assumed those were her parents with her. A few guys from the local precinct were there. And lo and behold, there was Gina Evans, looking inappropriately striking in a slinky, black, body hugging dress, open in the front to reveal a creamy skinned cleavage. She wore large, dark, designer sunglasses, as if to hide swollen eyes from crying. I somehow doubted that’s what I’d see, should she remove them. Her full, sensuous lips were painted blood red. I wondered how she even knew Harry. Then I vaguely remembered a conversation at the bar where Harry had informed me that she and Black were involved. How did Harry know that, I wondered. I began to suspect Reginald Black wasn’t the only extra-marital affair Mrs. Evans had been involved in. I decided I would question her about that after the funeral was over. The minister delivered his speech, and as the pall-bearers began to lower his coffin into the ground, several outbursts could be heard around the grave. Janine moved towards the coffin just as it was almost out of reach, and touched it with her fingertips. “How could you leave me?” she sobbed, make-up smeared tears streaming down her tanned face. Her mother stepped forward to pull her back just in time. It looked as though she would have jumped on the coffin and into that hole if she were given the chance. I heard a man’s voice to my left, wailing, in an out-break of tears. It was Neil. The guy was obviously not coping at all. His wife put an arm around him and touched his shoulder with her other hand. He turned his back to the final sight he would see of his partner, of his coffin being swallowed up by the earth, forever. He couldn’t bear to watch. He and his wife walked off, arm in arm, Neil shaking his head and bawling, wailing something about it being ‘so senseless’. I slowly approached Janine. She stared up at me with such a woeful expression on her face, I could barely stand it. I put my arms around her and she launched another frenzied crying fit. When her sobbing was almost under control, I pulled away and looked at her, attempting to wipe the black make-up off from under her eyes. “Is there anything I can do Janine?” I asked. “Yes,” she sobbed. “Get me out of here, I need a drink.” I paused for a moment, catching a disapproving glance from her parents. I didn’t want to go back to the office and certainly had no place better to be. The Formula 1 hotel room was not nearly as appealing as this invitation. I’ll have to catch Mrs. Evans another day, I thought, as I watched her saunter off towards the car park. I put my arm around Janine and guided her in the general direction of my car. “We’ll see you back at the house, dear,” her mother said coldly to our backs. ******** At the local bar, Harry’s and my regular hangout, Janine went straight to the ladies room to freshen up. It was about 3 o’clock on a Friday afternoon, and the place was pretty crowded. When Janine returned, she looked more presentable. She wore a black, knee length, skirt suit with a sky blue, collared shirt. Her chestnut, brown hair was neatly pinned back in place, her make-up washed off her flushed face. Her eyes were red, glazed and puffy, but she smiled weakly at me. You could see the effects of the stressful events of the past year on her tired looking face, but she was still an attractive woman. She sat next to me and ordered a double vodka on the rocks. I admired her courage. Janine didn’t usually drink. I ordered a double Jacks on the rocks, and we sat there, looking at each other for a moment. “I’m so sorry for what you’ve been through, Janine,” I said, attempting to break the ice. “Harry was a…” “I don’t want to talk about Harry anymore,” she quickly interrupted. “All I’ve done for the past week is cry about Harry, about his drinking, about his accident, about our son, about the life we once had…” She bit her lip to stop it from trembling, fighting back the tears. I put my hands on hers, nodding in understanding. It was time to escape the harsh realities for a bit. “Are your parents staying in town for a while?” I asked, trying to steer off the subject of the immediate tragedy we were faced with. “They leave tomorrow,” she smiled. Our drinks arrived and we sipped them for a moment before Janine blurted out, “Vince, why did you come to Krugersdorp?” Stunned at the question, I swallowed a mouthful of Jack Daniels and took a deep breath. “Things were just not working out in Jo’burg…” I offered hesitantly. “Your wife left you?” She probed, looking at me with large, hazel eyes. I sensed an almost desperate need for her to hear about anyone else’s problems, but her own. “…Well…” I hesitated. “Yes, my wife left me,” I caved in. “Things had been going sour for a while, I wasn’t cutting it at work…my boss and I…had our differences,” I explained. “My wife…” “Did you have any kids, Vince?” She interrupted again, her expression eager. I sighed heavily again, and swallowed down the last of my drink. I really did not want to get into the subject of Katy, it hurt too much. “I have a daughter,” I said. “How old is she?” she asked, taking a big gulp of her drink. “Nineteen this year,” I said, waving the waiter over for another round. “Does she have your blue eyes and dark hair?” she said smiling, lifting her hand up to my hair, stroking it just above my ear. “Actually, yes,” I said reciprocating the smile. The waiter brought our rounds. “What’s her name?” she asked. “Kate,” I said blithely. “After her mother, Katherine.” “Don’t you miss her?” The small talk seemed to be of genuine concern, not prying. I humoured Janine for an excruciating minute about how I tried not to think about the life I’d left behind. Katherine had eliminated all contact with me when she left. She didn’t want, or need child support. Katherine was an extremely successful real estate agent. Katy was studying Psychology at Wits, and still very much under her mother’s influence. “That must be hard,” she said. I nodded, throwing back all the liquid in my glass and waving the waiter over for another round. Janine was not keeping up with me, so she continued to sip her second double vodka. “Janine, are you going to be okay?” I asked, partly because she was beginning to sway on her chair, and partly because I was desperate to get off the subject of my past. “I’m just dreading going back to work on Monday,” she sighed. Janine was a nursery school teacher at Krugersdorp Pre-primary school. At that, Janine’s eyes filled with tears again. “Hey,” I said, touching her hand again. “You’re going to get through this you know.” I was never very good at comforting. “Did you know that woman at the funeral?” she asked, her voice changing and becoming angry. I immediately knew she was talking about Mrs. Evans, and where this conversation was going. “Mrs. Evans?” I asked. She nodded, wiping her eyes with a tissue she had retrieved from her sleeve. “Harry slept with her…” she said, her voice trailing off as her anger gave way to hurt again. “How do you know?” I asked. “I know, Vince!” she exclaimed. “A woman knows.” I didn’t respond, but held onto her hand tightly. “News spreads fast in this little town,” she said forlornly. She took a large swig of her drink and continued to explain. “We network, us teachers. I have a friend who is a lecturer at the University…and she saw the two of them together on the other side of town, having a drink. Harry had his hands all over her…” “I’m sorry, Janine,” I said. I was burning with questions, but didn’t want to inflict any more pain on her. This did explain a lot about why Harry’s marriage was on the rocks. She cupped my face with her hands, as tears filled her eyes again and slipped down her flushed cheeks. “Lets get out of here, Vince. I need to forget…” “Are you sure?” I asked. I had a sense she might regret it in the morning if anything did happen between us. But she nodded insistently, smiling and wiping her eyes. I paid the bill, we downed the last of what was left in our glasses and left. ******** Janine was passionate and intense, as if she had a lot of pent up frustration and emotion to release. She lay, satiated in my arms afterwards, and cried softly. I stroked her shoulder length hair and we fell asleep. Chapter 6 We talked for a while that night, about random things. I told her about the break-in and vandalizing of my flat, explaining that this was why we were lying in a cheap motel room. I didn’t go into the details about who had done it, or why. At about 8 o’clock that night, as Janine left my hotel room and headed home, I got a call from Detective Mabiletsa. He was calling to inform me that he could not come up the following Friday as he had planned, but had another proposition for me. “I’m listening,” I said angrily, the phone wedged between my ear and shoulder as I pulled on my pants in front of the discolored mirror in the bathroom. “Its something that we did with a large operation in Rosebank,” he said. My interest was peaked. Big town cults had been busted up by this man. He knew what he was doing. “It involves planting an officer, right in the middle of the action,” he said, gauging my response. “Well,” I said, encouraged by this smart suggestion. “That sounds like it could work. Who will you plant?” “A young officer, her name is Tamryn Peterson.” “Has she done anything like this before?” I was already beginning to worry about her safety. “She’s trained in post-cult trauma counseling. She knows about the way these snakes operate, the methods they use, the damage they do. She’s also young enough to convince people she’s a student.” “I like it!” I said. “So we plant her in the middle of Black’s classes, and wait for him to work his magic?” “Exactly.” He responded. “When can I expect to meet this Tamryn Peterson?” I asked. “She’ll be coming up on Wednesday next week. She can meet you at the Police Station.” “Not there,” I said. “I don’t want anyone at that station to have any knowledge of what I’m doing. Ask her to give me a call when she is at the Krugersdorp turn-off, I’ll meet her there.” “Can do,” he said. “What time Detective?” I asked. “I’ll give you a call next week to work out the details,” he said. This was terrific. I was finally getting some professionals in the cult scene in town to assist me. It would be good to have someone I could trust to work with. I headed down to the hotel restaurant, famished. I ordered the meal of the day, chops, mash and salad, and Bourbon to wash it down. I thought about Janine. How desperate she seemed to be with me today. Was I just a distraction for her, or was there more to her feelings? She was vulnerable right now. I needed to be there for her, to support her. I had always had a great respect for Janine. I’d often had dinner at Harry’s after the death of their son. She was a good wife. She didn’t deserve what Harry had done to her. How had he become mixed up with Mrs. Evans anyway? These were questions I planned to have answered in the not too distant future. Right now, I was wrestling with the idea of whether or not to tell Janine about Harry’s death not being accidental. I decided I would cross that bridge later. ******** On Saturday morning I called Janine, to find out how she was doing. Both in her emotional state, and in her headspace. Janine was on her way to the airport, dropping her parents off. She seemed a bit distracted, busy. But she sounded almost cheery. “No regrets?” I asked. “So far, so good,” she smiled at the other end. We agreed to meet for coffee the next day. I wanted to be there for her, even if it was just as a friend. I wasn’t sure where this would go between Janine and I, but in the meantime, she did need all the support she could get. Meanwhile, I had some work to do back at my flat. I stopped on the first floor. There were lights on inside, but no music, and no howling sounds. I wondered how she was recovering after her ordeal. I thought about knocking on her door for a moment, but I didn’t want to upset Mildred anymore than she already was. I went up to my flat…and approached the door, cautiously. I heard voices inside, but I knew that they belonged to two of my friends from the police station, Nikesh and Darren, who had kindly volunteered to help when they heard about what had happened. We spent the entire day, cleaning up and throwing out in black bags. Darren’s wife was joined us later, armed with buckets and mops. My computer’s monitor was smashed beyond repair; that would need replacing. As would my bed. They carted the damaged goods out to the dumpster area, while I changed the lock and installed a security gate to my front door. I considered having a security camera installed as well…but I thought it possible I was just being a bit too paranoid. I decided instead that I would retrieve my gun from the safe at the office, and carry it with me at all times. I would use it if any of those bastards tried to touch me again. While we worked, I chatted casually to the guys about what they knew about the break-in. It was obvious they were very much in the dark about the cover-up. I left it at that, without giving them too much information. That evening, after I thanked everyone profusely for their help, offering to buy them all dinner which they politely refused, I left the flat to go shopping. I needed to replenish my whiskey supply, as well as some actual groceries. At the local Spar, I spotted the black Porsche parked outside. I parked a little way off, observing. Black emerged several moments later on his cell phone, carrying two bottles of red wine. Entertaining, are we Black? I wondered. I decided the groceries, and the whiskey, could wait. I followed Black’s car from a safe distance. It headed up the street and turned at the University, towards the Plots and into his driveway. I parked down the street. Which one of his ‘disciples’ was Black entertaining tonight? I wondered. Mrs. Evans, possibly? A short while later, a sporty looking, yellow Toyota rounded the corner. I recognised the car, I had seen it parked outside of Hellraizers on many a Friday night. Out hopped the bald bouncer. I seethed inside, wishing I’d had my gun on me so I could blow his brains out after the beating he gave me. There was no mistaking his short, stocky, muscular build. I knew for sure he was one of the attackers. Then he moved around to the other side of the car and opened the passenger door. He was helping someone out of the car. It was Mildred! If I could get some evidence of this, I wouldn’t need to get a statement from Mildred herself. I presumed with her state of mind, any statement she made would be inadmissible anyway. My camera was tucked into my cubby-hole. I retrieved it and pointed the long, zoom-lens towards them, ducking right down below the dash. It was already getting quite dark, and I couldn’t use the flash. I would certainly be spotted then and they would probably kill me, for sure. I prayed the pictures would come out. Mildred, unsmiling, was dressed to kill, in a long, red dress, with a long, black hooded cape which buttoned in the front with one button, just under the hood at her chest. Little red riding hood, going to meet the wolf, I thought. I snapped some shots of her emerging from the car, assisted by the bouncer. She wore red, stiletto heels. She even had make-up on and her hair seemed to be pinned up under the hood. She walked slowly, very deliberately, and held her hand over her lower stomach. Still in some pain, Mildred? I thought, bitterly. But I’m sure when you look at it from an eternal perspective, the pain is worth it. It can’t be so bad if you are running back to this snake already! I was angry at her. I tried to remember that she was completely brainwashed by this guy, probably had been for years, but how could she go back there so soon after what she’d just been through because of him. I snapped some more shots of her heading up the driveway. The bouncer had a remote and opened the gate. I wonder what he did to become a VIP? I thought. He is probably Black’s personal body guard. He’s going to need one when I’m done with him. I watched for a few more moments, and when there was no more movement from the house, I left. I couldn’t call anyone for backup, or to set up a stake-out, or Brown would be all over it. Reginald Black really did own this town. I left a little after seven-thirty. ****** Later on, back at the flat, groceries packed away and a stiff whiskey in poured, I sat on the balcony outside, wondering about Mildred. I had brought my camera up from the car and I decided to check the photographs. They were very dark, even when I digitally adjusted the light setting, you could barely see it was Mildred with the hooded cape disguising her quite well. I wondered what Black was doing to her right now. It didn’t take much imagination to figure it out. It turned my stomach to think about it. ********* The next afternoon, I met with Janine at a quaint little coffee shop on the outskirts of town. They served all kinds of cakes and desserts. The restaurant was beautiful. It was set in the middle of a jungle of plants. It was decorated in an island theme, with palm trees and beautiful arrangements of flowers and wax fruit. There were two aviaries filled with a variety of chattering, exotic birds. If it weren’t for the chill in the air, one could almost believe this was an island. We sat at a quiet corner and ordered two cappuccino’s and two slices of black forest cake. Janine seemed a little less distraught than she had the day of the funeral, but still quite forlorn. She looked almost cute in a pair of blue jeans, boots and a cashmere, baby blue, polo-neck jersey. I shook myself as I caught myself eyeing her figure. I couldn’t do this. This was Harry’s wife. Besides that, this was certainly not the time for me to be getting involved with anyone, cute or not. I was much safer if I distanced myself from people emotionally. I could be there for her, but that was as far as I could allow this to go. “So,” she said. “How is the flat coming along?” “It’s great,” I said. With the help of the guys I managed to clean it up pretty well in a day’s work.” She smiled. “Although I might need your help in assisting me to choose a new bed.” Why did I just say that? I was inviting her in to my personal space, and I didn’t even think twice. “I’d love to,” she smiled. “It’ll be good to work on any project right now, help take my mind off…things…” she said sadly. There it was…decided. Sometimes I was my own worst enemy. Admittedly, it would be really nice to have someone to spend some time with, but here I was asking her to come shopping for a bed with me. This was a wife’s or a girlfriend’s duty, not something you do with someone who you are supporting because their spouse has just died. Then again, neither was taking her to bed, I thought bleakly. Anyway, it didn’t matter now, it was done. And if, as she said, focusing on something else would help her take her mind off things, then I was supporting her, in a way. “I could come over and take a look at the décor in your flat, maybe help you pick out some new things, just to make it feel more…homely.” She smiled. I squirmed in my seat, wracking my brain for an appropriate response. “Wait…you’re right,” she smiled. “I suppose it is a little invasive of me to offer to come in and redecorate your home!” She laughed out loud. Janine had a very melodical, pleasant laugh. “No,” I found myself saying. “That would be great. Since Bingo left, the place does feel like a bit of a tomb anyway.” There I go again. I thought. Why do I keep doing this to myself? It was like some part of me was enemies with me, working against my own wishes, determined to get me into situations I distinctly wanted to avoid. We had two more cappuccino’s each and talked about a various subjects. The school Janine was to return to the next day. How she would have to put her personal life aside and face the kids. It had been really hard for Janine to do it when her son had died. She had taken a month off work, but she had Harry’s salary to rely on then. I knew this was not the right time to bring up Harry’s death, and my deductions. Instead I discussed casual, work-related topics. It was about 4 o’clock when we left. I fought the urge to invite her back to my place for a drink, and thankfully won that battle. I walked her to her car and said goodbye. She leaned forward and kissed me lightly on the mouth. It felt warm, and so good to touch her in any way. I put my arms around her and held her for a brief moment before pulling away, and returning to my Ford, parked next to her car. I smiled, and waved her goodbye as she drove out of the parking lot. ******** It was a little after eight that evening, I had just got back from buying a Tikka-chicken takeaway pizza for dinner, when there was a knock at the door. My defenses were immediately up. Who would be visiting me on a Sunday night at this hour? I checked through the peephole, it was Janine. I opened the door and the security gate, my surprise written all over my face. “Janine, are you alright?” I asked. She looked a little ‘bright-eyed’. Janine was totally hammered. “Vince…I just couldn’t stand being alone…so I went and got myself this…” she lifted her arm and produced a bottle of vodka, wrapped in a very crinkled, brown paper bag. She giggled and stumbled inside. “I’m sorry,” she slurred. “I just invited myself in, is that okay?” “Of course. Come in Janine,” I said, taking her arm. “Have a seat, you look like you could use some coffee.” I retrieved the bottle from her hand. It had practically been flattened. “Janine, what about school tomorrow?” I asked, leading her to the couch. “Oh…right. School. I didn’t even think about school…” she giggled again and gave a loud hiccup. “Janine, I know what you must be going through, but getting slammed isn’t the answer,” I said tenderly. “What?” She was comically angry, with a heavy slur on her words. “You know how I must feel? And who are you to lecture me on drinking anyway…you of all people.” I set her on the couch and ignored her words. I headed for the kitchen to make her a strong cup of coffee. I brought the steaming mug over to where she was sitting on the edge of the couch, her head in her hands. “I’m sorry, Vince,” she said. “I didn’t mean to…” “It’s okay Janine,” I said softly. “You are having a really rough time of it.” “It’s just that…” tears began to fill her eyes, “I’m so damned angry at Harry!” I put a palm in the small of her back and placed the coffee in her hands. “I’m just so angry,” she repeated, “that he couldn’t flippin’ well stay away from that bar. All he did was drown his sorrows, and did it help?” She said, lifting her hands expressively, spilling coffee all over the carpet. “No, it didn’t,” she continued. Instead he got bloody plastered and slammed his damned car into that godforsaken bridge!” She almost fell off the edge of the couch. I took the mug from her hands and placed it on the coffee table. “Janine, I know this hurts,” I said, taking her hands in mine. I didn’t know what to say to her right now. She was angry, and really drunk, and nothing I could have said would have made it better. Nothing…except maybe the truth. But now was certainly not the time. “Look, I think you need to get some sleep,” I said, gently touching her back again. “Here, drink this, and I’ll go and fetch you some blankets. You can sleep on the couch.” She looked up at me, mouth agape, and burst out into a hysterical fit of laughter. “Vince…I’m so sorry!” she said, between gasps of air and laughter. “I totally forgot you don’t have a bed!” I grinned at that, placed the coffee mug back into her hands and went and fetched some blankets from the linen cupboard. I heard Janine trying to control her laughter in the lounge. When I got back, she had a very sober look on her face. She sipped her coffee and stood up so I could make up her bed. When I was done, I stood and faced her. “Do you want to take a shower?” I asked, stroking her hair. “I think I may need to,” she smiled, and giggled again. I took the mug from her hands and placed it back on the table. I walked closely behind Janine and guided her to the bathroom. She held my hands behind her back, tilting her head back and resting it on me. We didn’t say anything, but conversation seemed pointless. We arrived at the bathroom, and I rolled up my sleeve and turned on the shower, making sure the spray of water was warm enough. I turned to face her, and she moved in close to me, pressing her body against mine. I reached down and pulled up her baby-blue cashmere sweater. She lifted her arms as I slowly pulled it over her head. She brought her hands back down onto my chest and rested them there, staring up into my eyes, her expression inviting. Then she unbuttoned my shirt. She splayed her hands on my bare chest and locked her gaze upon mine again. I kissed her hard. We made quick work of undressing, and climbed into the shower together. ********* The next morning at 5am, Janine awoke to my cell-phone alarm going off. She fumbled for it on the floor next to the couch and turned it off. We had somehow both managed to get some sleep, squashed together on the couch. I put my arms around her and held her tightly. “Good-morning,” I whispered into her hair. “Mmmmm…is it?” she groaned. She sounded a little worse for wear. “I’ll make us some coffee,” I said in my husky, morning voice. We got up, and I made the coffee and brought her a mug full. “Vince,” she said, sitting on the edge of the couch again, taking the mug from me. “I’m so sorry I came here and intruded like this…in that state,” she said. “No, Janine.” I said. “Don’t apologise. I would rather you came here in that state, than spend the night alone.” She smiled. “But if you ever drive in that state again,” I said, “I’ll personally book you.” She laughed softly at that. She was beautiful, even first thing in the morning, hung over. “I guess I was no better than Harry last night” she said pensively, looking down at her mug. “I got drunk to solve my problems, and then got behind the wheel of a car.” I put my arm on her shoulder. I knew I had to tell her the truth. That Harry didn’t slam his car into the bridge in a drunken stupor, but was probably pushed into it by another car. That it wasn’t his carelessness that got him killed, but his caring about the truth. That he was murdered. Someday, soon, I would have to tell her. But that day would not be today. Chapter 7 I got to the office around seven. The first thing I did was go over to the safe and retrieve my Nine millimeter. I released the magnum, it was empty. It had been a while since I’d carried a piece. I didn’t even have bullets. I would have to stop over and get some later today. I found the holster and lifted my shirt, strapping it around my waist. I placed the gun into the holster, just as the door opened and Lydia stood there, staring, mouth open at me. I wasn’t not sure if it was the sight of my naked stomach or the gun that had her gaping the way she was. “De..Detective Morris,” she gasped. “Morning Lydia,” I said nervously, tucking my shirt in. “You’re in awfully early these days. What can I do for you?” “I…I…I saw your car, and I came in to…I just wanted to offer you some coffee,” she said, staring at my midriff which, moments before, had been bare. “Thanks Lydia,” I said, trying to avert her attention back to my eyes. “Strong, black, two sugars,” I said. She turned, her jaw still slightly dropped, and bumped into the doorframe. “You okay?” I asked, stifling a laugh. “I…I’m fine, thanks,” she said, her face turning crimson. She turned and tripped, and quickly headed out the door. I chuckled, shaking my head. ******** At about eighty thirty, I was on the phone to Professor Maharaj. She was at the Krugersdorp University, and waiting for me. I arrived shortly after nine. I met her in the faculty room. “How are you Detective?” she asked, smiling. “Just great, thanks. How are you doing Professor? Thank you so much for meeting with me,” I said. “It’s no problem at all,” she said. “I want to get to the bottom of this; I’ll do whatever you need to help you.” I walked over to the tea tray and made a coffee. “Can I get you a tea, Professor?” “No, thank you. You look different, Detective. You are beaming!” I blushed at that. I wasn’t sure if she was right, but if she was, it was probably because I was excited about meeting Mr. Arnold Brass with Professor Maharaj present. Let him see if he could get uncooperative with me. “Is there a new lady in the picture?” she smiled, almost teasing. “Well, err…” I said, busying myself with the coffee. I didn’t get a chance to answer. The door opened, and in the doorway stood a squat, balding man, probably in his late fifties. He looked nervous. “Good day, Professor Maharaj,” he said, walking to the professor with his hand outstretched. He shot me a filthy look and didn’t bother to greet me. I walked up to them, my coffee in hand. I stretched out my free hand and said, “Good day to you Professor Brass. I’m Detective Morris, good of you to make time to meet with us!” He shook my hand, eyeing me with disregard. “Yes, well…nice to meet you,” his voice was tense. “Shall we have a seat?” said Professor Maharaj. We took a seat at a small boardroom table. Professor Maharaj sat to my right, Professor Brass across from us. “Well, what can I do for you?” he directed the question at Professor Maharaj, completely ignoring me. “Well,” I chipped in, before she could answer. “We are here to get some answers from you, and to perhaps meet some of your staff members. You will remember my friend, Harry Wilson?” I said, eyeing him intently for his response. “Yes…yes of course,” he said, shifting nervously on his seat and adjusting his tie. |
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