The Disappeared (30 page)

‘Jan. My love.
Please stop doing this to yourself. I need you. To be you. Don’t hurt yourself
any more. I will always love you. Always. In all ways.’ Radiant and unbelievably
beautiful. His precious Karen had spoken to him. ‘Stop hurting yourself. There
are people that need you. Be my man again.’ And then she had disappeared. With
the yellow phlegm hanging from his mouth, Coetzee had cried deep hurtful
sorrow. And begun his healing.

For the next
few days he had remained in his vomit drenched bed. Suffering the slow creeping
death of the alcohol addict. He had soiled himself more than once. But with the
utter exhaustion and weakness of a body in withdrawals he had been unable even
to lift himself. After five days and nights of living hell, he had finally
gathered enough strength to drag himself to the bathroom where he had cleansed
himself. Coetzee had never touched liquor again. And the bottle of cheap whisky
remained unopened until this day. Locked away in a closet in his house. A
permanent reminder of the day his wife had sprung from her grave to save his
life.

Afterwards he
had recounted the story to his partner – James Cloete. Cloete had conjectured
that maybe his vision had been a hallucination brought on by alcohol
withdrawals. But Coetzee refused to believe it. He knew. He
knew
that
Karen had really been there. He knew that she had come to save his soul.

In the painful
months that had followed, Coetzee had clawed his way back to health and sanity.
When he was told about the post as station commander of the small Free State
enclave of Bishop he had seized it with open arms. The Bishop position was not
only a promotion but a welcome escape from a city that had harboured too many
painful memories.

As Coetzee
stood in his empty office, the memories of his wife came flooding back to him.
He lovingly traced the outline of the silver frame that housed her photograph.
He had created this shrine to his wife’s memory so that she would always be
close to him. Especially during times when he needed her. Like today. Coetzee had
walked towards his office door and closed it. He returned to the cabinet and
grasped his wife’s wedding ring in both hands. He then kneeled before the
shrine. And prayed. For answers. For deliverance. For the souls of the
disappeared. And for those who remained behind. He was in this position when a
knock on the door had interrupted him. Jansen and Collie. Bearers of the awful
truth.

Jansen had
been the one to report their findings. He spoke without ceremony. Without
emotion. His words left a huge claustrophobic silence in their wake.

Coetzee sank
into a chair and sat with his head in his hands. He sighed. The sigh of a
defeated man. ‘Dear Lord God be with us.’ The words came from deep within him.
This was much worse than he had believed possible. So much worse. Despite what
the evidence – and his intuition – had told him, Coetzee had nonetheless clung
to a hope that the majority of the survivors had remained at home. Either
unaware of the disaster or unable to act. Jansen’s words had just destroyed the
last little vestige of hope. And just when he thought it couldn’t get any
worse. If Coetzee had been a lesser man he would have cried. Something
unnameable – something terrible and merciless – had obliterated the town he had
served and loved for almost fifteen years. When Coetzee spoke, his words were
measured and tortured. ‘Are you telling me, Sergeant Jansen, that in a town of
almost four thousand souls ... barely thirty people survived?’

‘I don’t know,
Inspector. These were the only people we found.’ Jansen shifted uncomfortably
on his feet.

‘Maybe the others
ran away ... or went looking for help,’ Collie said. He looked at Jansen for
confirmation but received none.

Silence.

‘Yes, maybe
they did,’ Coetzee said absently. The silence loomed over them like a fourth
person. A passage from Luke suddenly sprang up in Coetzee’s mind.

I tell you,
in that night there shall be two in one bed; the one shall be taken, and the
other shall be left behind.

Jansen shifted
again on his feet. ‘I think we need to interrogate the prisoner.’ Coetzee
looked up confused. ‘Think about it, he shows up here from nowhere and suddenly
all hell breaks loose. It’s not a co-incidence, I’m telling you.’

Coetzee eyed
Jansen with irritable weariness. ‘Are you saying he has something to do with
this mess, Sergeant Jansen?’

‘I’m saying he
knows more than we think. He’s a part of this whole thing. I know it.’

Coetzee leaned
forward. ‘Don’t be ridiculous, Jansen. We need clear thinking right now. Not
rubbish ideas.’ Coetzee allowed all of his pent up frustration to show as he
rebuked his subordinate. ‘That
boy
is a run-away from Westville
Reformatory and nothing more. If you think he’s involved in some crazy
conspiracy then maybe you’re the one who needs medical attention.’ Jansen
shrank away and withdrew into sullen dismay. He shot Collie a look of reproach.

‘Well,
Inspector,’ Collie offered, ‘maybe it’s not that crazy. What if the government
sent him in as some kind of spy? You know what I’m saying? To keep an eye on
the survivors and report back –’

Coetzee stood
up. ‘Are you listening to yourself Collie? Have both of you lost your fucking
marbles?’ Both Collie and Jansen were startled with shock. They had
never
heard the commanding officer curse before. The word was like whiplash on their
ears. ‘Are you saying the government ... the
fucking
government that I
have served for more than thirty years is behind this
bliksemse
thing?
Do you realise what you’re saying? That the government of this country ... the
government elected by its people ... killed or abducted almost the entire
fucking population of Bishop? That’s GODDAMN ridiculous, man. And then to think
some lost soul in the Bishop prison cells has something to do with it. For God’s
sake. Listen to yourselves. Bloody hell!
Manne
, I ... need ... you ...
to ... focus.’ The last words were almost spelt out. The two deputies stared at
their CO in perplexed shock. Struck silent.

Coetzee made a
visible effort to calm himself. He realised deep within that his anger was not
directed at his men. And that they did not deserve his harsh words. He too had
thought – in some dark place within his soul – that the government had to be
involved. But he had dismissed the idea almost immediately. It was not just an
awesome and terrifying thought. It was the kind of realisation that could
destroy a man’s entire faith in the human race. And right now Coetzee needed
faith more than anything else in the world. ‘Look here guys, I’m sorry. Forgive
me. You deserve more than that.’ He sighed deep misery. ‘Maybe you’re right. I
don’t know. Maybe we’ll find out soon enough.’ Collie and Jansen nodded slowly.
‘But forget about the kid, okay. I think you’re on the wrong track there. He’s
just a boy. An escaped convict ... but still a boy.
Oraait
?’ Collie nodded.
Jansen remained impassive. Coetzee wiped the sweat from his brow. ‘Okay, so
tell me ... the survivors you found ... are they on their way to the Abbot?’

‘Yes,’ Jansen
said.

Coetzee nodded
slowly. And then. ‘Wait a minute.’ A thought suddenly struck Coetzee. ‘What
about the Le Roux couple?’ Coetzee had specifically instructed Jansen to swing
past the Le Roux house – the same house whose door Coetzee had broken earlier
that morning – and tell them to come to the Abbot.

Jansen
shrugged. ‘Um ... there was no-one there.’

‘How can that
be? I saw them this morning. With my own eyes.’

Jansen looked
at Collie. ‘I went to their house, like you told me, Inspector.’ He re-iterated
his words. ‘There was
no
-
one
there.’

Coetzee nodded
slowly. He didn’t know what it meant. Maybe they had already fled ... left
town. Good for them he thought. Yes. Good for them. Though he couldn’t help
thinking that he would never see either of them ever again.

‘Okay, right,’
Coetzee continued morosely. He sighed. ‘There was a good reason I wanted
everyone in one place.’ He eyed the two men with a steely determination. ‘It
doesn’t look like help’s coming. We’re all alone. And we’re going to have to
take matters into our own hands. We’re going to have to evacuate everyone.’

Minki sat in her
cubicle huddled into the corner. She stared in morose fascination at the people
that dotted the restaurant’s interior. Anxious and confused, her mood was
reflected in those around her. And all the time the macabre images from her
vision floated in the background like dirty curtains. As much as she tried, she
simply couldn’t escape its ugliness. But there was something else. Deep inside
there was a growing dread. A dark realisation that the people of Bishop were
moving towards an inevitable and unavoidable doom. She couldn’t shake the
feeling that everyone was destined to suffer the fate predicted by her dark
visions. Minki shuddered as the images flashed before her eyes. She clenched
her little fists and bit her lip to keep from being overwhelmed by the
terrifying images.

Around her the
inhabitants of Bishop were completely unaware of her growing turmoil. Everyone
was too wrapped up in their own personal dramas. Gradually – almost
imperceptibly – the mood amongst the survivors had shifted. Yet again. The
depleted and shocked numbness had now morphed into a growing restlessness. A
deepening impatience. The lethargic silence of earlier had also now given way
to a whispered frenzy. Almost all the groupings were engaged in
sotto voce
conversations. Some more intense than others. Katya Vladislavic was seated on a
bar stool. She and Moira were talking quietly. Minki couldn’t see Katya’s face
but Moira’s expression told her the two women weren’t discussing muffin
recipes. Next to them Stoffel van Vuuren swayed uncertainly in his stool. Thabo
Mohapi and his wife had joined Mr and Mrs Sacks at their table. They were
having an intense – though hushed – discussion. Both Thabo and Mr Sacks were
looking highly perturbed. At another table Dora Cooper and Karen Villiers were
also engaged in a whispered conversation. Seated at the table next to them, it
appeared only Mr and Mrs Lovisa were content with silence. They radiated a calm
serenity that seemed out of place amidst the barely suppressed frenzy. It gave
Minki an incredible sense of peace just to look at them. Little else did. From
the restrooms Minki saw Robert John Visser appear still clutching his
briefcase. He had disappeared into the bathroom at least half a dozen times
since they had first come to the restaurant. Each time when he emerged he
looked slightly more dishevelled and frantic. Minki wondered if anyone else
noticed his odd behaviour. He saw her looking at him. A nerve twitched near his
eye. With frantic awkwardness he plopped himself down at the nearest empty
table. After a few moments he glanced at Minki surreptitiously. She looked away,
pretending not to notice. From outside Bridgette Le Roux entered the restaurant
crying hysterically. Hardly anyone looked up. Only Dora Cooper seemed to take
notice. She got up and embraced the tearful woman. Minki knew she was crying
about her missing boys. She felt so sorry for her. They were two such beautiful
little boys. The way only little boys could be.

Minki leaned
forward and stared through the window with its quaint wooden frames.
Where
was Lindiwe?
She was Minki’s best friend in the whole wide world and right
now her absence was like a mosquito bite that itched more and more every time
she scratched it. Minki sighed. She couldn’t understand why Lindi had to run
off with Duggan. Especially at a time like this. It wasn’t as if Duggan was her
boyfriend or anything important. This last thought made Minki think of the stranger
in the prison cells. Who was he? And why was he in jail? She thought of the way
Lindi had stared at him. Lindi had been so shocked when she saw him. But there
had been something else in her expression. Minki couldn’t quite understand what
it was. She had never seen Lindi react in that way before. Lindi said she didn’t
know him. But why would she look at him in that way? Although she would
probably deny it Minki was sure Lindi liked him. A lot. She didn’t know how she
knew this but she was almost sure of it. Yes. Lindiwe did like him. She
wondered what Duggan thought of that. It was so obvious that he liked Lindiwe.
However – even in her infancy – Minki was pretty sure that Duggan was not the
right guy for Lindiwe. She needed a
real
man. Like the guy in jail. But
then again she wasn’t sure if she liked the idea of Lindiwe being with – what
did her dad call them? – a jailbird.

Through the
window Minki saw Max Theron enter the restaurant. She really didn’t like him. His
dislike of her was just as obvious. Though Minki was sure it wasn’t her as much
as that Max disliked all children. It was just who he was. Lindiwe had once
described him as a spoilt brat. The comment had made Minki laugh hysterically.
The thought of a grown-up being a spoilt brat was hilarious. Right now however
there was nothing funny about Max. His mood was sullen and agitated. He approached
the table where Dora Cooper and Karen Villiers were seated. He addressed Karen.
Although Minki couldn’t hear his words, his manner was imperious. Dismissive. Like
he was talking to a servant. Karen looked apologetic. Max’s presence was
obviously very domineering and she appeared to have shrunk into herself. Karen
stood up and went to the bar counter. Max immediately sat down in the chair
vacated by Karen. At the bar Karen spoke to Moira who reached for a cup and
saucer. She poured coffee from the percolator. It was obvious that the
spoilt
brat
Max had ordered Karen to get him some coffee. Minki
really
didn’t
like Max ... she decided once again. Moira smiled in sympathy as she handed
Karen the coffee. Karen looked so incredibly fragile to Minki as she brought
Max his coffee. He took the cup and nodded curtly. Karen looked around
awkwardly while Max sipped coffee in the chair he had stolen from her. Looking
sheepish, Karen unhooked her handbag from the chair in which Max sat. She
seated herself at an adjacent chair while Dora stared at Max with undisguised
contempt. Max seemed oblivious however. He stared at his watch and frowned. He
tapped it in irritation. Minki wondered where Mr Jones was.