The Disappeared (24 page)

Lindiwe and Duggan
stared at each other in mute shock. Duggan was pale and his hands held before
him were shaking perceptibly. Sudden anger flashed in his eyes. ‘Motherfucker
psycho cunt.’

Duggan’s words
riled Lindiwe. Her own composure now cracked. ‘Take it easy, Duggan. People are
scared if you haven’t noticed.’ She looked over towards Minki. ‘And don’t
forget there’s a little girl around. Watch your ...
damn
language.’

Duggan stared
hurt anger at Lindiwe. ‘Whatever.’ He turned and walked towards the restaurant,
sulking. Almost immediately Lindiwe regretted her sharp words and the tone she
had taken with Duggan.

‘Come, Minks,’
she said, reaching for Minki. The child took her hand and together they joined
the pathetic stream of people heading for the entrance of the Abbot Restaurant.

The Abbot wasn’t
Bishop’s only restaurant. But it was definitely the finest. Moira Billing and
her husband – who had been a popular morning DJ on a Johannesburg radio station
– had started the little intimate eatery more than a decade ago. She had
achieved a measure of fame herself when she and said husband had written a
cookbook together. He was now dead. They had owned a holiday house in Bishop
and after her husband’s death, Moira had moved to Bishop permanently.

The Abbot specialised
in uniquely South African dishes but with the slightest sprinkling of
haute
cuisine
. It was a strange and tantalising combination that had made Moira’s
cookbook a bestseller and her restaurant a perennial favourite among people
from the entire region.

The Abbot was cosy
zhoozsh
inside.
The ceiling was low and the lighting was ambient and intimate. Breathtaking
Medieval-style frescoes adorned the walls with its stylised cracks and painted
decay. The floor was rough-hewn terracotta tiles. Sculpted wooden cubicles
lined the windows while smaller tables of various sizes dotted the remainder of
the floor space. A long and deep rich mahogany bar lined the wall opposite the
row of wood-framed windows. About a dozen stools lined the bar counter. The
predominant colours of the decor were wine-red, beige and black.

Lindiwe
entered the restaurant with Minki and paused for a moment as her eyes adjusted
to the darkened interior. Inside the Abbot, the mood was sombre and subdued. Almost
everyone from the police station was there. Some people were sitting alone.
Like Mr Jones. Others had clustered into little groups. Some of these groups
were silent and morose staring into sad infinity. Others spoke in subdued tones,
huddled together in conspiratorial debate. Dora Cooper was seated at a cubicle
consoling a sniffing Bridgette Le Roux next to her. The Lovisas were seated
opposite them at the same cubicle. Mr and Mrs Sacks had taken seats at the
cubicle next to the Lovisas. Silent and contemplative. The Mohapis occupied one
of the little square tables in the centre of the room. Duggan had grabbed a
chair at the same table. Hurt sullenness radiated from him. Karen Villiers – assistant
to the mayor – sat alone at the bar counter. Like most of the people gathered
there, she was caught up in her own morbid thoughts. People continued drifting
into the restaurant. Max Theron – spoilt brat son of the mayor – slid into the
cubicle occupied by Mr Jones. Handyman Stoffel van Vuuren slouched uncertainly
into the Abbot. Under normal circumstances he would never enter its upmarket
interior. Now he stood awkward and self-conscious in the centre of the floor.
Eventually he gravitated towards the only part of the restaurant that felt
familiar. The bar. He deposited his bulk onto a stool a few places from Karen
Villiers. In a corner of the restaurant – all by himself – sat Piet Ryneke. Robert
John Visser walked in and immediately headed for the rest rooms. Lindiwe felt a
hand on her shoulder. It was Katya. The old woman smiled tenderly. ‘Come. Let’s
have a seat. There’s nothing else we can do at this stage.’ Lindiwe nodded and
followed Katya to an empty cubicle. Minki clung to her hand and followed
obediently. Behind her Moira entered and immediately occupied the area behind
the bar. It may have been the end of the world but she was still owner and
hostess of the Abbot. She draped an apron over her neck that matched the decor
colours of her restaurant and busied herself preparing the premises for her
shell-shocked clientele. Katya shifted into a cubicle and looking over at Minki
patted the empty space next to her. Minki looked up at Lindiwe for confirmation
and receiving a little nod from her, moved into the space next to the old
woman. Katya draped her arms around the bewildered little girl and held her
tightly. Lindiwe looked over at Duggan. He was engaged in a hushed conversation
with Thabo Mohapi, leaning over the table. She moved into the seat opposite
Katya and Minki. She gave Minki an encouraging smile. There was a low buzz of
conversation. Almost like a theatre audience moments before the big show. It
was a marked contrast between the loud panicky ruckus of the police station.
Lindiwe shifted around and looked over at Duggan again. This time he caught her
eye. He quickly averted his eyes when he saw her looking. Lindiwe turned
around. Behind the bar counter Moira had her hand on Stoffel’s shoulder. She
was whispering something in his ear. He nodded enthusiastically. Lindi reached
over and took Minki’s hand in hers.

‘How are you
doing, poppet. You okay?’ Minki nodded meekly. Lindiwe looked at Katya. Their
eyes locked and for a brief moment an unspoken world of grief and understanding
hung between them. Lindiwe smiled and nodded in silent empathy. She turned to
Minki once again. ‘Listen angel, you mentioned your dad when we first met.’
Lindiwe paused, unsure of how to proceed. Minki’s father was a strict and
demanding man. But the child’s terror had surprised and unnerved her. ‘So you
saw him ... right?’ Minki averted her eyes and nodded almost imperceptibly. ‘So
he’s ... he’s fine. I mean is he okay?’ Minki stared down at the tablecloth and
said nothing. ‘But ... you
did
see him, right? He’s not ...’ Lindiwe
couldn’t think how to finish the sentence. Minki nodded however. Lindiwe felt a
small flash of relief. She leaned over and stroked the child’s head. ‘Angel, do
you want us to get him? Do you want to be with him?’ Minki looked up instant
tears swelling her eyes. She shook her head with panicky vehemence.

‘No! No!
Please don’t Lindi. I don’t want to.’

Lindiwe got up
and sat down next to Minki. She held the crying child to her bosom. ‘Hey! It’s
okay. Don’t worry, poppet. We won’t do anything you don’t want, you hear me?
You’re gonna stay right here with us.’ Lindiwe looked with a worried expression
at Katya who returned the look with equal measure. ‘It’s okay. Everything’s
gonna be fine. Okay?’ Lindiwe held Minki to her bosom while she and Katya
exchanged puzzled looks. ‘There, there, poppet.’ She stroked Minki’s hair. ‘I
tell you what. Why don’t I get you a pink and white swirly ice cream from aunty
Moira? Hey? Would you like that?’ Minki disentangled herself and nodded
tearfully. ‘Okay. That’s a deal.’ Lindiwe stood up and ruffled Minki’s hair. ‘One
swirly coming up.’

She walked
towards the bar and caught Moira’s attention. Next to her Stoffel was guiltily
nursing a glass of Coke with what Lindi assumed was a healthy dollop of Brandy.
Moira saw the direction of Lindi’s gaze. She like everyone else knew Stoffel’s
struggles with booze. She also knew about Lindi’s own history with the dark
liquid. An instant blush rouged Moira’s pretty features. ‘Please don’t think
bad of me, Lindi. Normally I would never –’

Lindi placed
her hand on Moira’s arm. ‘Hey. It’s fine. Right now we have far bigger things
to worry about than ...’ She looked over at Stoffel and managed a wan smile. ‘In
fact, if things get any worse I may just ask you to pour me a stiff one as
well.’ She gave Moira a little wink and squeezed her arm. ‘However, for now I’ll
settle for a soft serve. Make it a double.’ Moira stared gentle tenderness at
Lindiwe and nodded.

‘One double
soft serve coming up,’ Moira said, turning around and extracting a cone from a
metal cylinder attached to the ice cream dispenser.

Lindiwe looked
over towards Duggan who was still engaged in a whispered conversation with
Thabo Mohapi. Next to them Joyce Mohapi was listening attentively. ‘Here you
go.’ Moira handed Lindi an enormous swirl of pink and white ice cream stacked
onto a cone with a serviette wrapped around its base.

‘Thanks
sweetie,’ Lindi said as she turned and headed towards their cubicle. She had
made up her mind. She just couldn’t sit around and wait. Doing nothing. She
handed the cone to an eager Minki who immediately began attacking the rich
swirls with an equally eager tongue. ‘Listen poppet, I want you to sit here
with aunty Katya while you finish your swirly, okay? I am just gonna go over
and have a talk with Duggan. You hear?’ The soft serve had its desired effect and
Minki offered little resistance to Lindi’s plan.’ ‘Okay? Good.’ She nodded
tacit agreement with Katya and walked over to Duggan’s table. She greeted Thabo
Mohapi in South Sotho. He reciprocated. Duggan looked up. ‘Hey Duggie, what’s
up?’

‘Hey,’ he said
sullenly. He looked down at the table. Mouth pursed.

‘You feel like
taking a walk?’ Lindi put on her best toothy smile. She knew that Duggan could
only resist for so long.

‘Yeah?’ He
stared at the floor trying his best to remain aloof but already Lindi could see
his determination faltering. ‘Well ... okay, I guess.’ He stood up slowly,
trying his best to remain cool and distant. ‘Dude, we’ll speak later,’ he said
addressing Thabo Mohapi.

‘Sharp,’ Thabo
said leaning back in his chair and taking his wife’s hand in his own.

Lindi and
Duggan walked towards the entrance of the restaurant. Lindi waved at Minki. ‘You’re
not still angry with me, are you?’ Lindi put on a baby voice and affected an
exaggerated pout.

‘Well, you
were
a super bitch.’ He sniffed self-righteously. ‘So what do you ...’ Duggan looked
up and immediately felt all resistance melt away. ‘Yeah, okay. Whatever ...
bitch.’ They both laughed at this insult as they walked out into the sunlight.
For a few moments they walked in silence. As the tar crunched underneath their
feet Lindiwe was once again struck by the silence that hung in the air. It was
a deep depressing awe-inspiring silence. A huge oppressive vacuum of a silence.
It didn’t pervade the air around them as much as envelop it. Consume it. There
was nothing but silence. Even the wind was absent. Leaves and trees remained
still and dead. The air hung like a shroud around them.

Lindiwe turned
to Duggan. ‘Dugg, I’m scared. What’s going on? What happened here?’

They walked on
in silece. Duggan stared at the ground. A deep frown wrinkled his forehead. The
boyish excitement of earlier had now evaporated. He gave a deep sigh. ‘I’m not
sure, Lindi. But I know this. Don’t ask me how ... but I do.’ He stared at
Lindiwe. ‘The worst is still to come.’

All around
them the silence gaped huge and awful.

The bald
man with the fashionable steel-framed glasses sat alone in the cramped confines
of his makeshift office-slash-living quarters. Since the beginning of the –
episode(?) – he had been calling this his home. He knew he would have to do so
until everything was resolved. However long that may take.

Before him
lay a thick folder, lying open. It was the voluminous report he had been
compiling on the woman that now lay downstairs in a state of suspended
animation. Entombed in large PVC dome that stood stark and lonely in the
cavernous hangar that served as an ICU ward. He didn’t need to look at the
contents to know what it contained. Since she had been brought here he had been
practically living by her bedside. He knew every little fluctuation in her
condition. Every little peak. Every little trough. The precarious and meagre
life that was throbbing through her veins was being constantly monitored by
state-of-the-art equipment. In all his years as a medical specialist he had
never quite had the defined sense he now experienced of having someone’s life
in his hands. Entirely and completely.

He sighed.
It was the stress and worry of uncertainty. Of not knowing – despite his best
efforts and all his years of experience. But it was also – at the same time –
something else entirely. Whatever her prognosis. Whatever the outcome. He knew
that for the rest of his life he would have to live with the knowledge – and
the guilt – of this terrible thing they had done. He removed his glasses and
rubbed his eyes. Long and hard.

Above his
head the intercom system beeped. He started. Shaken out of his reverie by the
unpleasant sound.

‘Doctor
Tenenbaum,’ a voice said through the speaker.

He stood
and depressed a button. ‘Yes?’

‘Sir, you
requested I inform you as soon as we have an update.’

Doctor Saul
Tenenbaum’s mood brightened instantly. Was this the news he had been waiting
for? ‘Yes? Did she awake?’

There was a
pause. ‘No, sir. I mean ... we have made a positive identification.’

Tenenbaum’s
mood crashed just as suddenly. He sighed yet again, staring at the cold green
walls. It was definitely not the news he had been waiting for. He stared at the
intercom for a moment.

‘Doctor
Tenenbaum?’

He pressed
the button. ‘Yes. Who is she?’

‘She is a
retired nurse, sir.’ This military habit of calling everyone
sir
. Doctor
or not. If he was in any way a conceited or pretentious man Tenenbaum would
have insisted on the correct appellation. But he was not. And there were more
important things than titles. So
very
much more important things. ‘Yes,
corporal. Continue.’ Through the speaker of the intercom system he could hear
the rustle of papers.

‘Her name
is Estelle van Deventer, sir.’