The Devil's Spoor

The scream echoed through the large house. Her eyes were as large as wagon wheels and her hands clamped her cheeks tightly. She screamed again. It just poured out.

For a fraction of a second that nonetheless felt like an eternity she stared at the bed before she slowly started to retreat. She faltered and stopped. When she resumed, shuffling backwards with uncertain steps her legs wobbled like jelly. Unable to tear her eyes away from the bed she barely managed to get hold of the doorjamb and clung to it because she felt she might faint.

Tasting the bile in her throat she pressed a hand to her mouth and shuddered. Swallowing hard she tore her gaze fearfully from the bed for a fleeting reconnoitre of the passage behind her. It required an effort for her to push herself away from the doorjamb. She staggered as her legs threatened to give in. Anxiously she grabbed hold of the banister of the balcony. Thoughts rolled through her mind like tumbleweed and she had to bow her head and close her eyes and cling fiercely to the railing for a moment to clear her thoughts. Once more she swallowed. Then she rubbed a hand over her eyes and wiped her forehead. Cold sweat covered her face.

She shuddered when a cold shiver ran up her spine. Fearfully she glanced over her shoulder at the open doorway of the bedroom. Her gaze went to the bed, even though she could only see a corner of it.

I must get away from here she told herself as she turned back to the banister. After swallowing once more she gave faltering steps towards the staircase. Her thoughts were muddled. She did not want to think about it but could still not believe what she had seen. Clinging fiercely to the banister she carefully started the descent. Her legs wanted to fold. Oh God, please give me strength she prayed silently. To keep the bile in her throat in check she breathed deeply. Step by step, slowly, watchfully, she climbed lower and lower.

Reaching the ground floor she apprehensively looked up towards the bedroom again then had to put her hands against the wall to maintain her balance. Indecisively she stood for a moment. Then she slowly stumbled down the passage towards the kitchen. That’s where she had to go, she told herself.

In the kitchen she rested her elbows on the island counter. Swallowing deeply she told herself to get her thoughts in order. The telephone. Yes. That’s it. She had to make that call. Her hand shook when she reached for the telephone. With the device in her hand she waited for the shaking to subside. On a list of numbers above the telephone Cape Town’s 107-emergency number stood out boldly but her focus was blurred. Straining hard she found it. With an effort she pressed 107.

But she pressed 8 instead of 7. No … please God … help me, she cried. Taking a deep breath she tried again. Slowly, carefully she pressed first 1. Yes, she mumbled, now for the next number. She pressed 0. Yes. What’s the next number? She checked to make sure. Seven. Yes seven. Then she pressed 7. Anxiously she listened to the sounds. She cast a quick glimpse towards the door. Then it rang. Relief flowed through her.

Cape Town emergency services, a man’s voice said.

Police, she mumbled.

Do you want the police?

Yes.

Is it urgent?

He … he’s dead.

Oh. Where are you calling from?

Bishopscourt. This confirmed the caller’s telephone number and address as it appeared on the computer in front of the man.

Who is dead?

Feeling panic coming on she glanced down the passage, then turning back to the mouthpiece whispered, He … he’s dead.

Who’s dead?

Mis … Mist …, she stuttered and swallowed.

Look lady, who’s dead? The voice was a little firmer.

Mis … Mister Berg.

Who is talking?

House … the housekeeper.

What is your name?

Sydmina … Sydmina Williams.

Sydmina, what’s wrong with Mister Berg?

Once more her eyes flashed towards the passage. He’s dead.

How do you know he’s dead?

He’s dead.

Are you certain? Sydmina nodded. Sydmina …?

He has no … no eyes, she gasped with a nervous glance towards the passage.

No eyes? What …?

His eyes are out.

What? His eyes? Are his eyes out?

Yes.

Please give me the address?

The man confirmed the address in Bishopscourt that Sydmina gave him with what he’d seen on the computer and had written down. He knew four-five decades ago this was one of the most sought after suburbs for millionaires, and most home owners still were.

Sydmina are you alone in the house?

Yes.

Stay there, we’ll send a patrol. Will you open the gate?

Yes.

Carefully Sydmina replaced the instrument. Then she pushed herself away from the island counter. With stiff yet wobbly legs she slowly proceeded down the passage. At the foot of the staircase she put a hand against the wall and nervously looked up, almost as if she expected to see a ghost coming down the stairs.

Moving to the front door she took the remote off the hook. Opening the door she went out onto a small stoep, but not before she cast another glance at the staircase. Out in the open she took a deep breath. Waiting in sight of the main gate she cast a glance at the open door every so often.

When the police vehicle hooted in front of the scrolled wrought-iron gate she pressed the button on the remote and the heavy gate opened slowly. The vehicle entered and stopped. Sergeant Gerrie Gerryts and constable Millin Remedies climbed out and looked around.

Seeing the stout woman waiting on the stoep Gerrie briefly glanced at the open door behind her as he headed towards her. She looked pale and distraught. Are you Sydmina?

Yes.

What’s wrong?

Eyes filled with fear glanced over her shoulder at the open door and back to the officer. Mister Berg … Alec Berg … is dead.

Is he the owner of the house?

Yes.

Where is he?

Upstairs. She pointed to the open door. In the bedroom. Up the stairs.

Gerrie looked at Millin and back at the woman. He tugged the belt around his waist. A beer-endowed corporation incessantly pushed it down. He nodded at Millin. Let’s go take a look.

With Millin on his heels Gerrie entered the house and climbed the stairs. Reaching the top he looked around, noticed one open door and headed towards it. The two officers entered the bedroom. Millin collided with Gerrie when Gerrie came to a sudden stop. Gerrie stood rooted and Millin frowned as he had to move around him. Then he too stopped.

For a second they stared speechlessly at the figure on the king-size bed.

Oh shit, Gerrie said.

The slender Millin suddenly felt his diaphragm wrench. He gagged as the bile rose in his throat and clamped a hand over his mouth. Eyes like saucers he frantically looked around, spotted the open bathroom door, and charged towards it. He barely made it to the washbasin before the bile erupted.

Gerrie gave the bathroom door a cursory glance as he too swallowed hard. Then he turned his attention back to the figure on the bed. In all his years as a policeman he had never seen anything like this. Some suburbs on the Cape Flats are legendary for knife fights, especially over weekends. That is when any number of people are treated for knife wounds in hospitals all over the Peninsula. Gerrie frequently saw arms and bodies that had been mutilated. The knife was the Cape skollie’s weapon – skollie being a local pseudonym for hooligan.

But this –!

When Millin emerged from the bathroom he gave the figure on the bed one apprehensive glance before he rushed down the stairs and out the front door.

Watching the young policeman dash past her the older Sydmina nodded with empathy because that was exactly how she felt.

Gerrie pulled his pants up once more before he too took the stairs down. He looked around, saw the passage that led to the kitchen and headed that way. Picking up the telephone he dialled the Wynberg police station.

In expletives that on TV or magazines are more often substituted with stars he briefly explained to Brandon Fransman the station’s chief detective what was waiting for him in the Berg bedroom.

Brandon, Gerrie concluded, you must see this for yourself to believe it. And you’d better arrange for the forensic team to get here pronto.

***

Chapter 2

After Brandon Fransman and his two associate detectives, Vincent Isaacs and Wilson Nokwe, had joined Gerrie Gerryts in front of the double bed an uncomfortable silence hung between the four men.

In all my years of police work I’ve never seen anything like this, Gerrie said.

Neither have I, Brandon said.

"In Natal I once saw the body of a baby whose heart had been cut out by a witchdoctor, to be used as muti, Wilson said, but it was not nearly as gruesome as this."

Briefly Gerrie glanced at Brandon. Who do you think could have done this?

Heaven alone knows.

A psychopath?

Shit yes, Vincent responded tapping his head, "someone who is not lekker up here. Then he added, He had either smoked boom or he was on drugs." Although outdated, yet still used by some, dagga or cannabis was known as ‘boom’, pronounced ‘boem’, on the streets of older Cape Town.

Must be, Wilson said. A normal person would not do this.

What about a Satanist? Gerrie asked.

Brandon glanced at Gerrie. We’ll just have to see. Then he turned away and walked to the bathroom and peered inside. What in the hell happened in here?

Millin puked.

Christ! How could he! Why didn’t he go outside? This is a crime scene, for fuck sake. The bastard could have destroyed clues … evidence that are now gone.

Don’t be too hard on him. I too had to swallow twice.

Brandon returned to the bed. Have you searched the place?

Not yet.

Get on with it. He waved his hand at his two colleagues. Give him a hand. As Gerrie and the two detectives walked to the door he added, See if you can establish how the killer gained entrance.

Poor bastard, Brandon thought as he stared at the figure on the bed, and wondered what he had done to deserve this.

The man was naked.

He was flat on his back with his arms and legs spread out wide.

His eyes – there were no eyes. Instead the folds of tissue were rugose and resembled the toothless mouth of an old man. Traces of blood were visible on the folds of tissue, on the eyelids and on his cheeks.

As if that was not bad enough, lower down the scene was worse, much worse – a sight that made even the hardened Brandon shudder.

On either side of the penis two eyes stared at him out of the scrotum.

***

Chapter 3

It is weird, absurd actually, Eric Aggenbach, the tall slender forensic pathologist hypothesized as he leaned over the corpse, why surgically gouge out the vertebrate eyeballs and neatly fold them into a newly produced cryptorchism of the scrotum? Upon hearing someone enter the room he glanced over his shoulder and seeing Brandon asked, Have you found the testes?

Not a sign of either. They’re busy searching the garden.

Slowly Eric came upright. He probably took it with him.

Why? Brandon frowned. "What does he want to do with it? Use it as muti? Standing beside Eric he leaned over the corpse. What I can’t understand is why so little blood?"

This is the work of a specialist.

A specialist? As in doctor?

A qualified surgeon. Make no mistake this monster knew exactly what he was doing. Worst of all … Eric glanced at Brandon. … it was done while the victim was still alive.

Christ, impossible, it can’t be.

All the signs are there. Look at his eyes. If the man was dead when this was done there would not have been any blood in the face or on the stomach and thighs.

But … but … the pain, it must have been excruciating.

It probably caused his death, cardiac failure as a result of the excruciating agony. However, we’ll only be able to establish that during the autopsy.

If you’re right, it means the cold-blooded killer wore surgical gloves.

Without a doubt.

Another puzzling aspect, there is no sign of a struggle. Why did he not try to defend himself when Doctor Jekyll removed his eyes while he was still alive?

He was probably drugged. That I’ll also only establish once I’ve run tests. Even so, there is no sign of any needle marks on the body.

Brandon pointed at the testicles. What does that mean?

You mean inserting the eyes in the scrotum?

Yes. Why replace the testes with eyeballs?

Eric chuckled. Given enough time I’ll tell you the how and the outcome, but the why my friend, that is your responsibility.

The only thing that comes to mind, and Gerrie also mentioned it, is Satanism.

Maybe. Yet somehow I doubt it.

What else? Feeling his frustration increasing Brandon shook his head. "If the testes were removed by a witchdoctor for muti, why replace it with the eyes?"

If you find the answer to that, you’ll have your motive.

Brandon looked around when Newald du Randt with his camera entered the room. Did you …?

I’m finished. I’ve done the lot, Newald interrupted him. I think I’ve got enough.

I want some pictures on my desk before you go home today.

What about the place where the devil entered the house? No one has …

Brandon quickly interjected. We couldn’t find any sign of forced entry. The poor blighter himself must have let the murderer or murderers in.

What about a wife and kids?

He was alone. According to the maid the wife is overseas.

Then I’ll be off, Newald said.

Brandon glared after him. Make sure that …

Yea! Yea!

I’ll tell you something else that’ll add to your frustration, Eric said.

What, Brandon snapped.

It looks as if the murderer used a vacuum to sterilize the bed.

Good God and you only tell me that now, Brandon said as he turned away. Then I must tell them to search for that vacuum.

I doubt if you’ll find it.

Brandon stopped and stared at Eric. What do you mean?

In all likelihood he or they used one of those small handsets. Take a look, there is not a sign of any hair or fibres on the bed, not even the victim’s pubic hair.

Brandon glared at Eric as if he was the cause of his frustration. Do you have to make my life hell? No sign of forced entry; a bloody operation on a patient or rather victim done by a qualified surgeon; no sign of a struggle; the man’s clothes neatly packed away; and a sterilized crime scene. It just doesn’t make sense. Oh, and his testes are missing. What else? The neighbours did not hear anything. What the hell, they can’t see or hear anything, the bloody walls are too high. All you can see of most of the houses in this suburb are roofs.

Wait until the state pathologist has completed his autopsy and I have completed all my tests, Eric said, and we may make your life even more miserable.

I’m afraid of that, Brandon said as he stared at the body. Those eyes will haunt me tonight. Thinking of Sydmina and Millin he snorted. I don’t think I’ll be the only one either.

***

Chapter 4

The next day a small article appeared in the two local morning newspapers, Die Burger and the Cape Times, reporting that a businessman had been murdered in his house in Bishopscourt. What is another murder in a country that ranks amongst the highest in the world as far as murders per capita is concerned? Not a word about the nature of the murder was mentioned. The brutality of the murders in itself was unusual, and this in a country where murder had become a daily occurrence, a lot of it brutal and most of it senseless.

Senseless to the white man, that is.

Herbert Spencer once said that what a people who have learned the value of peace and honesty might call crimes would be condoned by a militant society accustomed to war, aggression, robbery and treachery. Today embezzlement and fraud may well be added to that. Since time immemorial the spear and shield have been symbols of manhood in Africa, to be replaced by the AK-47 in the 20th century. No one owned land; everyone had the right to the land and tribal fights were a tradition of asserting the right to claim land. Death was incidental in such fights were merely a notch on the gun.

As soon as he reached his office Brandon sent copies of the pictures supplied by Newald to the Western Cape police chief; who in turn sent copies to the police head-office in Pretoria.

At about the same time that Brandon was doing this, a police van stopped in a narrow street in Clifton. Grunting and groaning the two police officers, Sergeant Denver Galant and Constable Mabjaneng Sikhakane climbed the steep steps up to the ultra-modern luxury houses built into the cliff at the heel of Lion’s Head. The steps were still shrouded in shadows for here the sun only rises late in the morning.

Halfway to the top a woman awaited them. I’m Mrs. de Belaguer, she said. I called you. She’s in here.

They followed her into her luxury home. In the living room a woman was sitting on a chair. She was sobbing and her eyes were swollen and red. Her whole body was shaking and she was wringing her hands on her lap.

Bending down in front of her Denver asked, What is your name?

Nn…nn…nn, she sobbed!

Puzzled Denver looked up at Mrs. de Belaguer. Do you know what happened?

She was hysterical when I found her on the steps. She works further up.

Denver turned to his colleague. Go and take a look, see if you can find anything. I’ll talk to her and try to calm her.

Denver talked to the woman but she continued to sob, Nn…nn…nn!

I offered her some sugar-water but she refused to take it, Mrs. de Belaguer said.

Mabjaneng was back in no time and Denver gave him a searching look when he entered. The black man was puffing and he was pale.

Hey man, Mabjaneng said, you better go and look for yourself.

Denver frowned and slowly got up. Stay here.

The next house, Mabjaneng said, upstairs in the bedroom.

Denver climbed the steep steps to the next level. The front door stood open and he entered the house. He found himself in a lobby that linked up with a living-room. One whole wall of the living-room was window, with a balcony that overlooked the South-Atlantic Ocean. Turning left against the back wall were more steep stairs leading to an upper floor. With a sigh he climbed the stairs. He entered the first open door and came to a sudden stop. His mouth opened wide but for a few seconds not a sound emerged. Suddenly he woke up and emitted a string of expletives.

In front of him on a double bed lay a man flat on his back. He was naked and his arms and legs were spread wide.

On either side of the penis two eyes stared at Denver from the scrotum.

Slowly Denver looked up at the man’s face. Suddenly it dawned on him that the man had no eyes. The eyelids and folds of tissue around the eyes were rugose, resembling the toothless mouth of a bergie, the name by which Cape Town’s homeless vagrants had historically been known, and there were traces of blood on the eyelids and cheeks.

Denver shuddered.

***

Chapter 5

Lord, help us, Denver mumbled as he tore his eyes away from the figure on the bed and slowly looked around the room. Everything was neat, too neat, he thought as he turned his attention back to the contrasting figure on the bed.

With eyes carefully scrutinising everything he slowly walked to the bathroom, and looked around. He could see nothing unusual. Then he walked from room to room, three bedrooms in total, each with an en suite bathroom. He did not touch anything. The first question the detectives will ask is whether he had checked out the place. Then he climbed another steep staircase to the following level and found himself in a garage. There were two vehicles, a Land Cruiser and a two-door Peugeot sports car. Then he descended to the lowest level again. Apart from the living-room he found a study a dining room and a kitchen. He also checked the balcony but found nothing untoward.

Only then did Denver take a handkerchief out of his pocket to use the telephone to call the Camp’s Bay chief of detectives, Greg Jantjies. After he had spoken to Greg he went down to tell Mabjaneng to stay with the woman while he waited upstairs for Greg and his team. They would enter from the higher level, from Lower Kloof Street.

Greg was puffing hard by the time he reached Denver. For a moment he said nothing. Whether this was because he was out of breath or because of shock Denver could not say.

Suddenly he woke up and exclaimed, Oh shit, what a royal bloody mess.

You can say that again, Denver agreed.

Is he Paul Travis?

Yes.

Is anyone else here?

No.

Did you search the place?

Every room. The garage as well.

Nothing?

Nothing.

Something is not right. This place is too clean.

"That’s what I thought too.’

What did Mabjaneng say?

"He was a little pale around the gills, but those buggers are always fighting with knobkieries, clobbering each other with their sticks."

Perhaps, but I bet he’s never seen eyes in that place before, Greg said with a grin.

Denver chuckled. Except when he’s pissed.

What did the woman say? Is she the housekeeper?

Yes. I’ve not been able to get anything out of her. She’s hysterical.

I’ll talk to her later. I first want to inspect the place. You go and wait with her.

Just like in Bishopscourt there was no sign of forced entry, no sign of a struggle, the man’s clothes were neatly put away, and the place was clinically clean. The same conclusion was reached, namely that the operation had been carried out while the man was still alive. Furthermore, in spite of the fact that here there are no high walls, the luxury pigeon-boxes at the western heel of Lion’s Head are isolated and the neighbours did not see or hear anything. As in the earlier case the testes were missing.

One such bizarre gruesome murder is bad enough, but two in quick succession – consequently the story leaked out and a chain reaction of events quickly followed.

***

Chapter 6

Alec Berg and Paul Travis were both Jews, consequently the banner headlines in the early edition of Cape Town’s afternoon newspaper The Argus hinted at ‘Racism Killings’, anti-Semitism, the article emphasising the fact that both victims were wealthy Jews. What made it newsworthy was the heinous nature of the crimes, since it appeared to reflect either some form of Satan worship or the gathering of body parts for muti, a form of herbal medicine generally used by African witchdoctors.

Since few witchdoctors operate in the Cape Town environment the two morning newspapers the following day speculated more on Satanism. Why do people join such organisations: is it loneliness or isolation; does it have any meaning to belong to a cult; do people experience a sense of belonging; do they feel they are part of something important; is membership of a cult as addictive as drugs; should cults be controlled by legislation or banned; and much more.

Issie Blumberg, Chairman of the Jewish Board of Executives, called on General Washington Nduneni, Commissioner of Police for the Western Cape and demanded action. Afterwards Issie held a press conference to express his concern on behalf of the Jewish community.

The State President who was attending the Parliamentary Session in Cape Town summoned the Minister of Police, Charles Tshetsha, to his office. The President was a populist, a man of the people for the people and he wanted answers. The headlines in the Argus about this possibly being racism related disturbed him. With his party having taken a stand supporting the Palestinian call for independence he wanted to demonstrate that he was not biased against Jews.

After leaving the President’s office the Minister called General Qethuka Lubaca, Commissioner of Police in Pretoria. The Commissioner acted straight away, he picked up his telephone and ordered Brigadier Rian Schröder to take over the case. He also issued an order to that effect.

Following the drama of two successive national police commissioners as well as the head of the police intelligence unit being charged with corruption, the newly appointed Commissioner had created a National Operational Unit (NOU) to handle cases that were politically problematic and politically explosive. Rian headed NOU. Ironically, in Afrikaans the word NOU means immediate.

In a country where governmental structures traditionally operated according to the dictates of the ruling party, first the National Party and now the ANC, Rian Schröder was the exception. Based in Cape Town Rian was given a free reign. He reported to none other than the Commissioner in Pretoria.

Yet what Rian knew only too well was that the buck stopped with him.

***

Chapter 7

The first thing Rian did was to call in his number two, Colonel Jenna-Wade Knapton. Their task was to put together a team. Suitable officers were drawn from all over the country, naturally to the umbrage of these officers’ seniors. However, officers who had worked with Rian before were keen to join him because they respected his innovative leadership. Since Brandon Fransman and Greg Jantjies had initiated the investigations and knew local circumstances both of them were added to the list.

Jenna-Wade’s second task was to find and hire suitable temporary offices in Cape Town. As a result of the adverse state of the world’s economy that had also impacted on South Africa, there were plenty of offices available.

While Jenna-Wade was doing that Rian went to see Dr Eric Aggenbach at the State mortuary in Salt River. When he arrived late afternoon the state pathologist Dr Julian Heugh was busy with the autopsy on Alec Berg. Despite the label ‘dead on arrival’ attached to Travis’ toe, at Rian’s request Eric had given instructions that his body should not be touched until the newly appointed inspector had seen the body for himself.

Once the autopsy on both victims was completed the bodies would be kept on ice until all the toxicological reports were done.

Notwithstanding all the numerous photographs taken by Newald, looking at Travis’ body Rian could now himself see what the work of the devil looked like.

Taking his time Rian carefully studied the body, in particular the spread of the arms and legs, then the empty eye sockets, the location of the two eyes in the scrotum, and finally the position of the eyes on either side of the penis. Standing back he addressed the body and said, What more can you tell me?

The person who performed these operations is a qualified surgeon, Eric responded.

How certain are you of that?

I have no doubt, not when you take into account how much attention the person gave to detail. The ophthalmic vein was neatly severed from the main artery in the neck, the artery that feeds the brain.

Is that why there was so little blood?

Yes.

What else?

The operations were carried out while both victims were still alive.

What kind of a creature does that?

You can well ask. Nevertheless, I take it for granted that they were drugged. However, it may take time to establish what drug was used.

Make that a priority.

Certainly. Thank goodness the new forensic laboratory in Plattekloof is operating.

Still no sign of the testes?

Nothing. Both cases.

Do you think the testes may have been the prize?

I doubt it.

I agree.

Why exactly place the eyes there? Was the intention to send a message?

Gruesome message.

When the drug cartel sends a warning they invariably make it as gruesome as possible so that there can be little doubt what will happen if they … whoever they may be … do not toe the line.

Do you think this could be the work of a drug cartel?

Drug cartel, cult, serial killer … we have to keep all options open.

I did not find a sign of a needle mark in either body.

He could have been a pusher.

I will check for drugs in their systems. Incidentally, neither victim has any tattoo mark that might signify a cult.

That means nothing. Look how heavily tattooed today’s rugby and cricket players are. Most people today have a tattoo somewhere, even in the weirdest of places, and that includes, Rian’s eyes sparkled, elderly chaste ladies.

***

Chapter 8

Later that same evening Rian and Jenna-Wade visited the house in Bishopscourt. Rian wanted to inspect the two murder scenes and he arranged for Brandon and Greg to meet them there. The reason for this was to relate what the two detectives told him they had discovered so far at the scenes.

We called on every house in the street and at the back, Brandon reported, but no one saw or heard anything. Believe it or not, many people don’t even know who owns this house.

It is the same story in the pigeon boxes at the back of Lion’s head, the corpulent Greg said. We knocked on every door up and down those steps and in the vicinity of the streets above and below without any luck.

Was no one home, Rian asked, not here or in Clifton?

Alec Berg’s wife Rebeka is on holiday in the Swiss Alps.

There’s a daughter, what about her? Jenna-Wade asked.

Esther is flying down from Johannesburg and will be here tomorrow.

What about the housekeeper? Rian asked.

Sydmina Williams does not stay in. She catches a taxi to work every day. She found the body.

Rian gave Greg a quizzical look.

Travis is divorced. I have not been able to establish where his ex-wife is or if there are children. Josianne Tobias the maid is still in a state of shock. She was quite hysterical. A neighbour, Mrs. de Belaguer, she’s got a funny accent, she could be Spanish or Brazilian, who stays in the unit one down, took pity on her and took her in. Colonel Helga Koopman from the human resource branch in Green Point has been counselling her. In any case, Josianne comes in by bus every day.

It seems that Sydmina handled the shock better, Brandon said.

So far you’ve not been able to get anything worthwhile out of the two of them?

Not a thing, Brandon replied.

Could you find any record of either man having an appointment or meeting someone at that time? Rian asked.

I did ask Sydmina, Brandon replied, but she told me she knows nothing of Berg’s work or what appointments he makes. My colleagues could not find anything at his office either.

As far as I could establish the same applies to Travis, Greg said. I went through his diary but no appointment was made for that night. Josianne was too traumatized to question. Hopefully she will be more coherent tomorrow.

Did you check with the two housekeepers if anything was missing?

Sydmina checked but could not find anything missing, Brandon replied.

Josianne was still too traumatised but I’ll get her to check, Greg replied.

I’ve seen the bodies and studied the photographs, Rian said. Eric was kind enough to arrange to leave Travis’ body untouched. But the two of you saw the bodies where it happened. What conclusion did you reach?

Brandon and Greg gave each other a questioning look before Brandon nodded to indicate that he would go first. My first impression was that a psychopath had done this. Only a nutcase would do something like this. But then sergeant Gerrie … after Sydmina he was the second person on the scene … suggested that this could be an act of Satanism and I find that a reasonable suggestion. While he was expressing this view Brandon purposefully stared at Greg.

As Rian turned his attention to Greg he shifted uncomfortably from one foot to the other. I have not given the matter serious consideration, but I am inclined to agree. If not Satanic, what about a cult?

What about a drug cartel issuing a warning or extorting vengeance?

Again Brandon and Greg gave each other a questioning look. This time it was Greg who responded. Now that you mention it, when I looked at that body that was the first thought that came to mind. But I don’t know. Shootings and knifings amongst gang members is a daily occurrence on the Cape Flats but we’ve never had anything as bloodthirsty as this. At least I have not come across anything like it.

That is what puzzles me too, Brandon said. This is so different to what we’re accustomed to. When the cartels extort vengeance it is never … how to put it? … never as accomplished as this. As Greg says, the local gangs are no better than an Elmer Fudd and Daffy Duck show, only this is for real.

You mean what happened here was too professional.

Exactly. This is too professional, unless of course the cartel imported a professional hit-man to do the job.

Now, except for the fact that both men were Jews, could you find any other link or relationship between the two?

Once again Brendan and Greg looked at each other. Greg and I haven’t had a chance to discuss it, Brandon said. This is the first time that he and I got together.

I haven’t even had time to visit the man’s office or to look at his social commitments, Greg. My colleagues have been to his office and I did page through his diary, but that’s all.

From there they went to the house in Clifton. Driving in convoy the three vehicles took the M3 past Cape Town University and Groote Schuur Hospital, then proceeded down De Waal Drive into the upper rim of the City Bowl from where they took Kloof Road across the neck between Table Mountain and Lion’s Head and down into Lower Kloof Street above Clifton. This time they parked above the house and entered via the garage. After first exploring all three levels they ended up in front of the double bed in the main bedroom.

What I want to know is how he managed to get in? Rian asked. There are only two entrances, the garage doors and the front door leading out onto the steps.

A complete mystery, Greg said.

That is the million dollar question, Brandon said.

It can only mean one thing, Jenna-Wade said, the victims knew the killer and invited him in. Both detectives nodded their heads.

Very well, assuming you’re right, Rian said, how did the murderer subdue his victims without there being any sign of a struggle? Furthermore … He held up his hand when Brandon wanted to speak. … if he did subdue his victims with an anaesthetic, how did he manage to persuade them to take it without putting up any resistance? Eric could not find any sign of a needle-mark on either of the two victims. This means they were not injected. Therefore the anaesthetic had to be administered orally or nasally.

Both houses do have good alarm systems, Brandon said.

Do they work? Rian asked.

I tested the one in Bishopscourt and it works, Brandon said. Sydmina also told me that it was on when she turned up for work. She put it off to get in.

Was it on before Berg got home last night? Is it possible that the killer was waiting inside the house?

We don’t know.

No I suppose we’ll never know. Rian looked at Greg. What about the system at the Clifton house?

It works. I checked.

Then we have to assume that both victims knew their murderer. Very well, Rian said, now we know they have that in common. He hesitated. No wait, two things, he said as Jenna-Wade and the two detectives curiously waited, that and the way they were murdered.

Three heads nodded in unison.

***

Chapter 9

First thing on Friday morning Rian accompanied Jenna-Wade to the first floor of their building where he met with Zanele Mncanca to sign a two-month lease for the offices with an option to renew. The offices were on the fifth floor and covered a whole floor. The smartly dressed plump woman was manager of this regional office of an insurance company that also owned the building.

A number of detectives had flown in from other centres to join the team. At their meeting later that morning Rian introduced the members: First the two who had handled the two scenes Brandon Fransman from Wynberg and Greg Jantjies from Camp’s Bay: then Paresh Govender from Natal; Shuaib Fataar from Johannesburg; Breyton Petersen from Pretoria; Robbie Keating from Port Elizabeth; and finally Debra McKay from Bloemfontein.

Rian then divided his team into three groups. Brandon’s group, Robbie Keating and Paresh Govender had to visit Alec Berg’s offices and go through everything. The offices were in Newlands, not far from Cavendish Mall. Berg had his own business and was an investment consultant.

Greg’s group, Breyton Petersen and Shuaib Fataar had to do the same at Paul Travis’ offices in the city centre. Travis was a property consultant who owned and managed property: office blocks, residential complexes and factory flats.

Since the two morning newspapers were still speculating about Satanism, a third group had to visit every known address where Satanism was practised in the Western Cape. This group was also given the task of making contact with known informers to establish if any rumours about the murders were doing the rounds.

Leaving Jenna-Wade in charge of the office Rian accompanied by Debra McKay went to Bishopscourt to interview Sydmina. The report was that she had responded well to the therapy given by Colonel Helga Koopman of the human resource branch of the police in Green Point that fell directly under the control of the Provincial Commissioner.

The slightly plump Jenna-Wade’s main responsibility was to co-ordinate activities, to see to it that reports were forthcoming and to summarise these reports. She also took the chair at the daily meetings whenever Rian was out of town and then briefed the teams and handed out orders.

Rian’s first question to Sydmina was how long she had been in the employ of the Berg family and what she knew about the family. Then he asked, How did anyone get in?

They could only get in if they knew the code or if Mister Berg let them in, she replied.

Is it possible that Mr. Berg forgot to set the alarm?

No. Two years ago thieves broke in and stole jewellery and electronic equipment and the insurance company refused to pay out. They claimed that the alarm had not been on. Mr. Berg sued them.

Did they go to court?

No, they … I can’t remember what the word is.

They settled out of court.

She nodded. Yes that is what happened and from that day Mr. Berg has been very careful. He always made doubly sure that the alarm is on. Every day he told me to check twice to make sure that the alarm is on and this is what I do.

From there Rian and Debra went to Clifton where Josianne was waiting. Colonel Helga Koopman who had been counselling her was with Josianne. Whereas Sydmina had recovered reasonably well from the shock, it appeared that Josianne was still a nervous wreck. Her eyes darted to and fro between Helga and Rian and she was licking her lips and wringing her hands. She was younger and prettier than his mind envisioned a housekeeper should be.

Rian tried to be as tactful as possible but did not get much out of her.

By nature Rian read a lot since he believed it was important to keep up with developments concerning the human psyche.

Psychologists have still not reached consensus whether there is a distinction between man’s emotions of fear and that of anxiety, Rian told Debra. Originally it was called fear when there was a distinctive and explicable source of danger. As far as anxiety is concerned the source was less explicit. In Josianne’s case the question is whether the source is revulsion of the grotesque or fear of an unknown killer. Or is it a combination of the two?

It’s interesting to compare the reaction of the two women on what are carbon copy grotesque scenes, Debra said. Josianne still finds it impossible to talk about the scene whereas Sydmina had recovered enough to calmly relate in detail what she had seen and experienced.

She even went so far as to explain how she had sympathised with the constable who had been unable to contain his bile, Rian said.

When Rian returned to the office Colonel Boela Volschenk was chatting to Jenna-Wade. Boela, a tall slender man with slightly bowed shoulders had caught the breakfast flight from Oliver Tambo International Airport. The colonel was the police expert on Satanism, Gothic, witchcraft, and witchdoctors. While waiting for Rian he and Jenna-Wade had studied the pictures taken by Newald.

Everybody knew about the colonel but this was the first time that Rian actually met the man.

Two interesting cases that you’ve got here, Boela said after the formal greetings.

You don’t say. Not only are the modus operandi identical, the fact that both scenes are so sterile is what makes it even more thought-provoking, Rian responded.

No clues?

Not a solitary clue.

And the testes are missing?

They were unable to find one of them.

"Well, if you want my opinion, I’ve never come across anything like this. In my time I’ve dealt with a number of cases where body parts had been removed for various purposes, mostly by witchdoctors for muti, but I doubt if the testes were destined as such. Of course, Satanism cannot be excluded," Boela said with a shrug of his shoulders.

Come, let’s go look at the bodies, Rian said.

At Rian’s request the state pathologist had not started an autopsy on Travis’ body. After arriving at the forensic laboratory in Plattekloof, Rian and Boela thoughtfully studied the body for a moment.

By the way, Eric pointed out to Boela, both men were flat on their backs with their arms and legs spread wide apart, not like he is now with his arms at his sides and his legs together.

If the arms and legs were spread wide apart the first impression one would get is that this is a symbol of Satanism, Boela said shaking his head, but I’m not so sure it is that at all.

Do you know what this reminds me of? Rian asked and both men looked at him. Someone was sending a warning.

Boela’s face brightened. That’s it, he exclaimed. I could not put my finger on it, but I do believe you are right.

"A warning for