The Monster's Daughter (32 page)

“Nobody does.”

“Please, Alet. Find who did this to her and make them pay.” Tilly's small hands clutched Alet's desperately. “You have to promise me.”

St. George's Mall in Cape Town teemed with tourists, their bags filled with cheap African curios. The cobblestone walkway was bordered by stores, restaurants and outdoor stands that sold cheap jewelry, beads and batik work in bright colors. Puddles and wet paving stones bore witness to an earlier rainfall, the air fresh, clean.

Alet sat down at a table outside a small coffee shop. A waitress in a green-and-white uniform placed a cup of strong black coffee in front of her. Alet was early. Theo had been cryptic when he called, said he had found something he didn't want to discuss over the phone.

A young woman weaved unsteadily between tables, begging for money. Her hair was matted, a dirty red-and-white shopping bag hanging from her left arm. Alet watched as she made her way down the lane, sometimes successfully, but mostly ignored or shooed away.

“Hi.” Theo sat down opposite Alet. His top button was undone, his tie loosened.

“Can I get you a coffee?”

“I can't stay long.”

“Okay, espresso, then.” Alet signaled the waitress and ordered. “Did you manage to find anything on Trudie Pienaar?” she asked, turning her attention back to Theo.

“I ran her ID. Nothing showed up in the database.”

“She's clean?”

“No. She doesn't exist. No registered date of birth, no passport, nothing.”

“Shit. How's that possible?”

“Fake identity? Happens all the time. All you need is a few thousand rand and the right contacts.”

“Dammit.”

“But that's not why I asked to see you, Alet.” Theo leaned forward, his elbow on the table.

“Okay. What, then?”

“After I saw you the other day, I got to thinking. About us and what happened.”

“If that's what you want to talk about, we better move this to a bar.”

“No. Listen. After the other day, I didn't want to help you. I was mad. I started thinking about your dad and how he told me to stay away from you, like I was trash. And you just disappearing on me …”

Alet clenched her fist. She had wanted to apologize to Theo for her behavior the other day, make things right, but he was making her feel defensive.

“Maybe I wanted to get back at you,” Theo said after a moment. “Or at him, I don't know. I thought, what the hell, and pulled everything I could find on him and Koch.”

“And?”

“Well, for one thing, there were huge holes in the information. All files were supposed to become public record when the Truth and Reconciliation Commission held its hearings.”

“Amnesty in exchange for confessing your sins. Everybody hugged and made up and now we're one big happy family. So?”

“You know your dad never testified?”

Alet shrugged. “Perhaps he had nothing to confess.”

“Anyway, he totally fell off the grid in places. One day he worked at Brixton Murder and Robbery, his name in the papers, and the next …” Theo leaned back in his chair. “I spoke to someone I know who was in the force around that time.”

“Who?”

“Doesn't matter. I trust him.” Theo's easy manner was gone, his features strained. “He used to be part of an investigative team. Cleaning up the mess, as it were. He said they raided an office in a building in Pretoria. Found rows and rows of filing cabinets and computers. They didn't know what they had at first, but they were ordered to back down by your dad. Most of the files had disappeared by the time they got a court order to go back.”

“Whose office?”

“The Afrikaner Broederbond.”

“What? All that cloak-and-dagger, secret-handshake, old-​white-​men-​needing-​an-​excuse-​for-​a-​drinking-​club
kak
?”

“You're thinking of the Freemasons.”

“Same thing. Besides, wasn't the Broederbond outed in the seventies?”

Theo shook his head. “The Broederbond controlled everything that happened in this country. Every president from 1948 to 1994 was a member, every minister, every covert-operations chief. You didn't take a shit without the Bond clearing you to do so.”

“What's this got to do with my dad?”

“Adriaan Christoffel Berg. Member number 16791.”

“So he used to be an old-boy. Are you really surprised?” Alet was aware of the prickliness in her voice.

“Ever heard of the Civil Cooperation Bureau? The Security Branch?” Theo lowered his voice. “Vlakplaas ring a bell? They all have Bond ties. Your dad was a detective at Brixton. It was rife with CCB recruits.”

Alet took a sip of her coffee to break eye contact with Theo. The Security Branch did the dirty work during Apartheid. One unit used a farm outside Pretoria, Vlakplaas, to interrogate so-called ANC terrorists and sympathizers, making sure that the black/white divide remained a chasm, by any means necessary. Assassination was one of the means. And the CCB was a secret government-sanctioned death squad. No wonder files went missing. Everyone was trying to cover their asses when Apartheid came to an end. There are some things that can't be forgiven.

“My dad's retiring next year, Theo. No way he would have been allowed to stay on till now if he was part of all of that.”

“Your dad has powerful friends.” Theo's mouth extended into a bitter smile.

“Can you prove any of this? Or do you only have your friend's word?”

Theo pursed his lips. “I'll find the evidence.”

“Fine.” Alet turned to look at the passers-by, trying not to let her face betray the whirlwind of emotion she was experiencing. “How does Koch fit into this?”

“They definitely worked together while your dad was at Brixton. There are many news articles. Koch helped crack a few big cases. That's all I could find.”

Stores were closing their doors for the day, the crowds drawn away
from St. George's Mall by the growing blare of pop music from a Malay street festival on the next block. Alet felt the damp cold of the approaching evening creep between the buildings. The waitress brought Theo's espresso and the bill. Theo reached for his wallet, but Alet held her hand out. “On me.”

Theo lifted the espresso cup, which looked ridiculous in his big hands. “Thanks.” He swallowed the coffee and leaned over to kiss Alet on the cheek. “I'll call if I find anything more.”

“Wait.” Alet reached in her bag and handed Theo the two women's files she'd found in Oudtshoorn. “I figured I can dig around in dusty archives for the rest of my life or ask you for a favor while I still have my youth and sparkling personality.”

Theo raised an eyebrow. “What's this?” He opened the top file.

“Trudie's murder wasn't this guy's first, I'm sure of that. He was way too good. I'm trying to find more unsolved cases with the same MO.”

“These are ancient.”

“I know, it's a long shot. Humor me.”

Alet walked three blocks to her hotel at the top end of the Mall. Her room was old but clean, the dead bolt on the door loose from having been ripped out and replaced a few times. She ran a shower, studying her face in the bathroom mirror when she got out. The deep black and purple bruises had blended into greens with yellow edges around her eye. It looked even worse than before, if that was possible.

Alet sat down on the bed with her laptop and googled “Security Branch.” Articles on the Truth and Reconciliation Commission filled the screen. The term “atrocities” kept popping up in articles along with “strong-armed,” and “disappeared.”

Her thoughts wandered. Was Theo right? Had her father been torturing people for the government at the same time as he was taking her to the fair and buying her pearl earrings for her birthday? Had he helped cause all of these deaths? Alet closed her laptop. She suddenly couldn't handle the thought of spending the evening alone in the room. She found the piece of paper with Mike Engelman's number tucked away in her wallet. He answered on the third ring.

“Mike? Hi … it's Alet Berg.” There was a pause on the other end of the line. “Constable Berg from Unie.”

“Hi, Alet.” Mike's voice was deep, sonorous, as if he had been expecting her call all along.

“I wanted to see if you have any matches with the DNA yet.”

“Nico said he'd give you a call.”

“I see. Thanks.” Alet held her breath, convinced Mike had already hung up, a part of her hoping that he had. A sound on the other end of the line betrayed his presence. She took the plunge. “Hey, so, I'm in town. I was wondering, does that offer for lunch still stand? I mean, it would be dinner, of course. Thing is, I'm here alone and I don't know the area and, well, I'm hungry, and drinking alone in your hotel room is sort of sad.”

Mike laughed and she relaxed. “Where are you staying?”

“Off St. George's Mall.”

“I could meet you at seven if traffic is light.”

“
Ja
. Great, hey. Thanks.”

Alet's hair was still half-wet. She combed it out and twisted it into a bun at the nape of her neck, securing it with a clip. She only had one change of clothes with her, her fallback outfit of jeans and a black T-shirt. Makeup would do nothing to conceal the bruises on her face, but a little lipstick couldn't hurt.

Alet took a seat at the hotel bar and ordered a whiskey. She entertained herself by watching the hotel guests gorge themselves at the buffet in the adjacent restaurant, crowding around roasted beef on a spit, carved in thin slices by a chef in a cylindrical white paper hat. Japanese, she guessed at the crowd of black-haired Asians. The sounds of Indian accents from other guests were much more definitive, all faces that would not have been here together twenty years ago. Especially not as tourists.

She caught Mike's reflection in the mirror above the bar. His unruly hair fell over his forehead, matching his casual dress, jeans and checkered shirt, sleeves rolled up. He smiled, lifting his left hand in an awkward wave.

“So, I have to confess,” Mike said as he sat down next to her. “I practically live on campus. I've only had dinner at one place down here. Small plates and Cape wines.”

“If you recommend it, it's good enough for me.” Alet pushed her chair out.

“No rush. You can finish that.”

Alet glanced at her drink. “That's okay. I'm starving.”

They made their way down the Mall, which was now eerily deserted save for the homeless hunkering down with their blankets in doorways. On Long Street, sounds of the city weaved all around them—music from open nightclub doors, people yelling in the street, beggars interrupting their progress on every corner.

“Here.” Mike opened the door of a narrow building. The restaurant was cozy, with exposed brick walls, tea-light candles, and large blackboards in unfinished wooden frames. Plates were crowded with mussels, crab cakes, cheeses, and cured meats. Glasses of red wine appeared, following one another in luxurious succession. Alet's tension eased into familiar light-headedness after a few sips. Mike was charming, but she had always had a hard time keeping conversation going with social niceties.

“Thank you for your help in the investigation,” she said for the third time.

“Pleasure. How is it going?”

“We just identified the victim. From dentals.”

“Oh?” Mike emptied his glass. “Who was it?”

“Her name was Trudie Pienaar. Professor Koch found a lot that our guy didn't. I'm hoping he will help us crack this.”

“He's developed amazing techniques in DNA forensics. He's the reason I came to Cape Town.”

“You know him well?”

Mike smirked. “We don't really socialize outside work.”

Their waitress placed fresh glasses of wine in front of them. Her tight T-shirt was cut low, cleavage bulging from a push-up bra. “Your food will be out now-now. Anything else?” She smiled at Mike, a subtle seduction in the way she leaned on the table.

“I think we're okay.” Alet turned back to find Mike studying her as if she were a lab specimen. She shrugged off the thought. Perhaps he wasn't used to social interaction either. These science guys were usually a little strange.

“Is there anything you can tell me about the evidence I gave you, Mike?”

“I think we've confirmed she was of European descent. Probably
Dutch, but so are most Caucasians here. Does that match your profile at all?”

“
Ja
. How about the blood and cigarette butt?”

“The samples were somewhat degraded. I could only determine that the DNA from the blood was female. I haven't been able to match it to your victim.”

“Nothing else?”

“Sorry.”

Alet changed the subject with reluctance. “So what's your story, Mike? Where are you from?”

“Here.”

“
Ja?
Where?”

“Let's see.” Mike scrunched his eyes up. Alet thought it a pity that he hid them behind thick black frames. Male fashion sense was so misguided sometimes.

“Well, I did a PhD at RAU. I've been involved with research all over the place, helping out with DNA testing on the fossils they found at Sterkfontein and Klaasies River. Turns out Homo sapiens might have originated in those caves.”

“Everyone is South African? As if immigration isn't a nightmare already.”

Mike laughed, his body relaxing against the chair.

“So what exactly do you research?”

“My field is DNA mutation. Viruses specifically. Environmental changes affect the host organism and that leads to …” He stopped himself. “Honestly, it puts my students to sleep. I'm sure what you do is more exciting.”

Alet's half-truths flowed as freely as the wine. Mike was charming and she felt herself relax in his company, actually having a good time as she talked about police procedure and funny things that happened on patrol in the valley.