2

Sunday, 30 June

The sounds of Pretoria’s streets drifted up to her through the open bedroom window. Tyres screeched, and someone swore loudly before driving away. A man sang an African song in a language she couldn't understand, probably Sotho. His voice, a deep baritone, made her smile.

The capital city was experiencing another strange winter. Winter was generally the dry season with clear blue, cloudless skies and grass bleached white by the sun. But this year it hadn't stopped raining, and the sky was anything but clear and bright. Today, however, it was sunny, and a breeze played with the curtains.

Natalie almost jumped out of her skin when she heard Louis’s keys in the door. The keys clanged as he threw them down on the kitchen counter. Heavy, quick footsteps came down the hallway towards her. She stopped brushing her long black hair and held her breath. She clenched the brush in her hands, and the bristles bit into her skin. Moving from her vantage point at the window, she sat down at her dressing table. He stopped at the door and stood there, watching her. It always made her uncomfortable when he scrutinised her like that. She knew he would find fault with her. Turning around, she faced him and swallowed the fear germinating deep inside her. She had nothing to fear from him, she knew that, but couldn't help it.

His eyes were glacial and impossible to read. She always wondered what went on behind those cold, calculating eyes. He smiled and held out a bunch of roses. When he smiled at her like that she forgot everything. All she saw was that smile that held so much promise. She forgot the past and everything he had done to her, all the promises he'd broken. But her memory loss was temporary.

He walked across the room, put the roses on the table in front of her and stood behind her. They looked at each other in the small dressing table mirror. She felt him touch her hair and closed her eyes: he was always telling her how much he loved touching her hair. He ran his fingers through it like a comb, then bent over and placed a kiss on top of her head.

“Thanks for the roses,” she whispered, worried that if she spoke it would break the spell. “They're beautiful.”

“I know I’m not easy to live with, but I do love you,” he whispered into her hair.

She reached up, took his hand and kissed it, rubbed it against her cheek.

“And I love you,” she whispered into his hand.

Taking his hand back, he straightened up, the moment of tenderness gone, without a trace. He wasn't comfortable with signs of affection. She should be used to it by now, but it always stung a little.

“Are you ready yet?” he asked, “They’ll be here soon.”

“Almost,” she replied. Then, as an afterthought, “You don’t mind that they’re coming over, do you?”

“That’s a fucking stupid question. Now, take your bloody flowers and put them in some water.”

His mood swings were unpredictable. It was difficult to tell which way he would go and more often than not she guessed wrong. 

Taking one last look at herself in the mirror she took the roses, went into the kitchen and put them in a vase with water. Her cat, Ginger, rubbed against her leg begging for food. She felt his presence behind her as she arranged the roses. Ginger screeched as Louis booted her out of the kitchen. Natalie took a deep breath.

“Was that necessary?” she asked, as she spun around to face him.

From past experience, reacting like this meant she would get the boot as well as the cat, but time was on her side today. She looked up at the yellow plastic kitchen clock above her head. It was almost one o’clock. Janet should be here soon. Louis closed the distance between them in one stride and gripped her arm.

“Yes, it bloody was.” He spat through clenched, even white teeth. 

The intercom buzzed from the pedestrian gate downstairs. Louis released her arm.

“You better let them in,” he said nodding towards the door. “I’ll check on the fire and then join you guys in a minute.”

She’d been looking forward to this afternoon, and nothing Louis could do would ruin it for her. Even though she’d had second thoughts about it. But she pushed them aside. Janet was the closest thing she had to family, and they hadn’t seen each other since she'd tried to kill herself. Looking down at the still healing scars on her wrists she pushed the memories away, she focused on the present. Janet was introducing them to her new boyfriend. Natalie couldn't remember Janet ever having a serious boyfriend. There'd been lots of men she'd dated briefly and then discarded. This guy had to be special.

The lift was broken, so it would take them a few minutes to walk up to the third floor. It gave Natalie time to focus and compose herself.

Louis was on the balcony having a smoke when Janet and her man walked through the front door. Louis flicked the half-smoked cigarette over the railing and onto the street below, before joining them inside. He must have needed the nicotine to steady his nerves. Janet introduced the new man in her life as Nico. His handshake was firm, and Janet's hug was warm and reassuring.

Louis must have used the paraffin again, Natalie thought, as she saw the roaring fire once they'd made their way to the balcony. Flames kissed wood and sent sparks flying into the air. Janet’s bottle-blonde hair had just been cut to look like a young Meg Ryan. Frameless glasses were perched on the bridge of her slender nose. She'd always been beautiful and made Natalie feel like the ugly duckling. She'd compared herself to Janet when they were kids and always came up short and even now that they were adults, she still felt inadequate when standing next to Janet.

Nico was average in all senses of the word. He was chubby, and his mousy hair was starting to recede. He was older than they were, by about ten years she guessed. The only things that Natalie noticed were his deep blue eyes: when he smiled it reached all the way to his eyes; so unlike Louis.

Janet and Louis made eye contact, acknowledging each other’s presence. There was something veiled in the way they looked at each other. The way they interacted with each other had changed since the suicide attempt. It had once been warm and close, almost too close. But now they could barely handle being in the same room together without having a fight. She would have to watch them more closely.

Natalie leaned against the sliding door watching how Louis would react to Nico. Louis was dark, and his features hard and angular in comparison with Nico’s genial roundness. She chewed on her lip. If Louis didn’t like him, she wouldn’t get to see a lot of Janet, which worried her, but then that nagging voice in the back of her mind asked if that was really such a bad thing? Could she trust Janet anymore? Could she trust either of them? Was any of it even true or was she letting that bitch get to her? As she watched them, they seemed to get along, and the voice at the back of her mind faded away. Louis could be friendly when he wanted, and he appeared to be in a good mood now. Kicking Ginger must have helped.

There was only enough space on the balcony for the two men to sit, so she and Janet sat inside in the small but cosy lounge. She had tried to make it as comfortable as possible on their tight budget. She went to auctions and garage sales over weekends, always on the lookout for something that she could fix up and use to make the place look more attractive. Louis earned a pittance working for the armed reaction company; the fact that her boss was a tight-fisted bastard who expected her to work overtime – without pay – didn’t help matters. 

“So what’s he like?” she asked Janet after they'd made their way through the usual boring pleasantries and were sitting comfortably on the couch. Lately, it seemed that all their conversations were made up of the usual boring pleasantries, always avoiding the giant elephant in the room.

“Well, he’s sweet and gentle, but also strong. He makes me feel safe,” she paused. “He's a good man,” she paused again, took a deep breath. Natalie had a feeling that she wasn't going to like whatever Janet was about to say. She didn't want to discuss that elephant. Any topic but the reason behind the tell-tale scars on her wrists.

“Nats, there's something I need to tell you about him. Please don't freak out.”

“Why would I freak out?” Natalie couldn't help feeling a little insulted by that, but she was also relieved that it was about Nico and not about her and Louis.

“He's a cop,” Janet said holding her breath.

Natalie’s opinion of the police was anything but favourable. They all knew that and understood. Nobody could blame her for it after what happened.

“He’s a cop?” Natalie asked, crooking her thumb towards the balcony, a twinge of surprise in her voice mingled with a touch of anger which she struggled to control. “What are you thinking with? It certainly isn’t your brain.” Natalie couldn't help but remember her own experience with the police. They should have helped, but all they ever did was protect the bastard who had raped her every night when she was a child. They'd made him the victim and her the criminal.

“Yes, he’s a cop, and it’s not like that,” she giggled and then looked seriously at her friend before taking a deep breath. “Besides, he’s one of the good guys. I don’t want to screw this up. I really like him. So please don’t give me a hard time.” 

“Okay, as long as you know what you’re doing. I'll try to give him the benefit of the doubt,” Natalie said, then leaned forward and put her elbows on her knees, a strange glimmer in her eyes. “Have you done the deed yet?”

“Excuse me?” Janet asked. “That’s a strange question coming from you. You've never been interested in my sex life before.”

“I’m sorry. I’m just curious and besides, since when are you such a prude?”

“I’m not. It’s just that I’m not used to someone wanting to take it slow. It's unfamiliar territory. Now, can we drop the subject, please?”

“So you haven’t?”

“No, we haven’t. Okay, you happy now? You didn't answer me before – why does my sex life, or should I say the lack of it, interest you so much now?”

“Sorry.” She shrugged. “I didn't realise that you'd asked a question and misery likes company,” she said, avoiding the real reason for her need to know that Janet was getting some action from a source other than Louis. “But we’re not discussing Louis’s temporary problem. Now don’t change the subject. Why haven’t you? Does he have the same problem as Louis?” She raised her index finger and dropped it. Keeping an eye on Janet’s face for any signs. 

“His equipment works just fine. We’re taking our time, that's all.” She took a deep breath and exhaled. “Natalie, are you okay?”

“I’m fine! Why?” 

Janet’s face was caring and gentle. The evil bitch must have been lying.

“You’re acting a little weird. Are you taking your pills?”

“Yes, I am taking my pills like a good little psycho. Don’t worry; I have no intention of slitting my wrists again.” She looked down again and examined the fresh red scars, still in the early stages of healing. The stitches had only been removed a week before. She'd acknowledged the white elephant. Hopefully, it would now go away.

“I’m sorry Nats. It’s just that I care about you. I don’t want any of us to have to go through that again. Okay?”

“Okay! Just stop fussing. I’m a big girl, and I can take care of myself. I can even tie my own shoelaces.”

“Okay,” Janet said while shaking her head. “You win. I’ll shut up about it.”

“Good to hear and I’m going to hold you to it.” 

Laughter floated through the open sliding door. Natalie looked at Janet and smiled.

“Well, they seem to be getting along,” Natalie said.

“They should. They’re both into playing cops and robbers.”

Louis popped his head through the doorway and said, “Fire’s just about ready for the meat, ladies, so we’ll start braaing soon. How about some salad to go with it? That potato salad you always make so nicely would be quite lekker.” His head was gone before she could come up with a snide comment.

Instead, Natalie sighed and said, “Typical, they get to drink beer, and we have to make a salad. Luckily the salad is almost made. I know my man too well.”

“At least they’re cooking the meat, one less thing for us to worry about,” Janet replied.

Natalie stood up, walked into the small kitchen and opened the old fridge that Louis had bought from his mother. The only reason the evil cow had sold it to them was because she was too lazy to take it to the dump. It was far easier to make Louis buy it. The fact that they had been desperate had come in quite handy, for his mother anyway. The door almost fell off every time she opened it, but at least it worked. At this stage, they couldn’t afford to buy another one. The enamel was starting to chip; she would have to get some white enamel paint and cover up the black spots. 

Louis’s Black Labels were yet again clogging up the fridge. She always had to dig past them to get to her salad things. But most of all it annoyed her when she couldn’t get to her gherkins without having to take out a six-pack. The fridge was big enough for his beer to go on another shelf, but no, he always put them in front of her gherkins. He knew she always put gherkins in her potato salad, which he always asked her to make. And he always put his bloody beer in front of them. Sometimes she thought he did it just to piss her off. On the other hand, he had the decency not to put them in front of her Prozac. 

The potatoes were already cooked and chopped. All she had to do was the mayo sauce and boil an egg. Janet came into the kitchen and stood behind her. Natalie was aware of her watching and analysing everything she did. She picked up her bottle of Prozac, opened it, and popped one into her mouth. She took a sip of water straight from the tap and swallowed the pill. Janet sighed. 

“See, I'm a good girl who takes her meds. Now stop being such a mother hen. One would think you had something to feel guilty about,” Natalie said while putting the egg into the egg boiler and switching it on.

“That's a funny thing to say. What could I possibly have to feel guilty about?” Janet asked while trying to smile, but didn’t quite succeed. She played with her hair, always a sign that Janet was uncomfortable.

Natalie turned and grinned at Janet, “I was joking. Don't take everything so seriously. Instead of standing there watching me you could always butter those rolls you brought,” she said. “Make yourself useful for a change.” Her smile was forced, and the kidding around wasn't as natural between them as it had once been.

They had just finished making the salad and buttering the rolls when Louis came in carrying the meat and placed it on the yellowwood kitchen table, which they had bought at a junk sale when they first moved in together. It had been an absolute bargain. A real find. Nico was close behind him carrying their Black Labels. Janet laid the table and Natalie placed the salad and rolls next to the meat.

“Hand me that big piece of steak and a piece of that wors,” Louis said to Natalie. Louis' bad manners were legendary. They all knew and accepted that he hadn't been raised in a house where manners were on the agenda. Nico seemed to handle Louis' lack of grace. She took his plate and dished up as requested and added a roll and a large helping of potato salad.

“Don’t be so stingy with the salad, babes,” Louis said, as Natalie handed him his plate.

“Sorry,” she said and added another spoonful. Natalie served everybody else and, when everyone was busy tucking into their food, she dished a small portion up for herself.

As Nico took the first bite of his considerable T-bone steak, a cell phone rang. Louis and Janet checked to see if it was theirs.

“Van Staaden,” Nico answered his cell phone with his mouth full of food. He nodded his head and swallowed. “I’ll be there in fifteen,” he said.  He looked up at everybody staring at him and said “Sorry folks, but we have to go.”

“What?” Janet asked. “What do you mean we have to go?”

“Sorry,” he said. “They’ve found another body.”

“Well, then we'll eat quickly, but another five or ten minutes won't make any difference to a dead body,” Janet said while slicing into her rare steak.

Blood pooled on her white plate.

*

THE SMELL OF ROTTING flesh drifted on the wind. The odour of death was unmistakable. Considering that the stench had reached him on the ground floor, he had to wonder how long the latest victim had gone undisturbed and why it took so long for anybody to report it. Yellow and black barrier tape marked the border of the crime scene, telling him that he had arrived at the right place. The smell was also at its strongest. The tape was strung along either side of the door to the flat, across the passageway. People stood in the small corridor on either side of the tape, pressing against each other, hoping to get a glimpse of the corpse. Most of them blocked their noses with their thumb and forefinger or tried to swat the smell away by waving their hands in front of their faces. Nothing they did would get that smell away. If they stood there long enough, they'd never get it out of their clothes. He knew from experience. And yet they stayed to gawk. It amazed him.

Nico stepped under the tape and into the gap between the two groups of people, all vying to see into the apartment. He looked around him while he tugged the tight rubber gloves over his large hands. Why couldn't they make the gloves in different sizes?

A young female constable, trying not to gag from the smell, was interviewing a middle-aged man wearing faded blue shorts. A pair of green plastic slip-slops adorned the man’s dirt-encrusted feet. His beer gut hung over the edge of his shorts. An old woman with her grey hair still in pink plastic curlers stood weeping at the edge of the crowd. 

Nico knew that the scene inside would not be pleasant. He hated this part of the job. He hated this case: the bloated dead bodies, and the smell of rotting flesh. There was nothing worse than a body that had been in water for a few days. It was a sight that would make the staunchest policeman lose his lunch. The thought made his stomach churn. He wanted this part over with, but he had to get through this to do what he loved: catching the killer!

First things first.

All those people hanging around the scene had to go. He liked having the scene to himself. He needed to absorb it, to feel it; having all these bystanders around just messed with his concentration.

“Could we please clear the scene?” he asked a bored-looking constable standing at the edge of the void. The constable’s attitude changed from bored to annoyed as he proceeded to ask people to go home.

Lazy bastard, Nico thought, this isn’t a fucking picnic.

“There’s nothing to see here, people. Go home. You’re blocking the way. Please, people, let us do our jobs and go home. Have some respect for the dead,” the constable said, showing very little respect towards the people around him.

Nico took the plastic shoe covers out of his jacket pocket and pulled them over his shoes. The elastic band at the top closed around the hem of his pants. The covers prevented him from carrying in anything that could contaminate the scene any more than it already had been. The forensic team would go through the place with a fine-toothed comb once he was finished. They would probably rip the place to shreds. It would never look the same again. Which was probably a good thing. The protective shoe covers rustled on the ground as he walked. The smell of rotting human flesh assaulted his nose as he went inside the small two-bedroom flat. The profiler on the case, Dr Pete Papenfuss from the Investigative Psychology Unit, and the police photographer, Thabiso Ngweni, were waiting for him at the door. They already had Vicks vapour rub under their noses to cover up at least some of the smell drifting up their nostrils. Toothpaste also worked.

“Thank you for finally deigning to join us, Captain Van Staaden,” Pete said, with a wolfish grin that showed off his yellowing teeth. Too much coffee and nicotine hadn't done his teeth any favours.

“Why do they always have to find the bodies on a Sunday?” Nico asked. “Ruined a perfectly good lunch.”

“I think they do it just to irritate us.” Thabiso chipped in.

“Looks like she was in the process of moving,” Nico said, looking at the boxes in the hall and strewn across the lounge.

They walked the scene, each one taking notes and making their own observations. One of them would notice something that the others could miss. Three pairs of eyes were better than one. He tried to forget that the other two were with him and absorbed everything that was around him. They started at the front door and worked their way through the flat. Thabiso took pictures of anything that could be possible evidence. They climbed over the boxes and examined the contents in each.

In the kitchen, they found the two coffee cups. The milk jug was still standing next to the coffee that would never be drunk. The milk had turned sour. The smell of the sour milk was overpowered by that of the corpse. Blood, coagulated on the counter, had also run down the cupboards and collected in a small puddle at the base. A trail of blood led from another larger puddle, where her head had fallen, out of the kitchen door towards the bathroom. The boxes were still on the kitchen counter and on the floor, decorated with blood from her severed artery. There was an empty bottle of brandy lying on its side on top of the full rubbish bin. Thabiso snapped a few shots from a 90-degree angle and from all four corners of the room so that nothing would be missed. One cupboard door below the counter was hanging at an angle. It looked as though it had been kicked. Scuff marks were visible. 

“Signs of a struggle.” Dr Papenfuss said, pointing at the cupboard.

“She was even making him a cup of coffee. Son of a bitch.”

“At least she put up a struggle,” Thabiso chipped in once again.

Nico and Pete turned and looked at him and shook their heads.

“She’s still dead,” Nico said.

“Maybe the forensic guys will be able to get something off those,” Thabiso said, tilting his head at the coffee cups and milk.

“Keep dreaming,” Nico replied. “Our boy wouldn't have been stupid enough to drink out of the cup. Plus, by the time we get the results, there'll be several more corpses to deal with.”

Nico stared at the scuff marks and tried to put himself in the killer’s place. Tried to feel what the killer had felt. It was dark and lonely. He thought about Janet, her blue eyes and soft skin. She pulled him out of the darkness. But he needed to linger there a while longer and pushed her image out of his mind.

In the bedroom they found a crumpled jacket lying on the bed. A small wooden crucifix hung on the wall above it. A wedding photo in an old silver frame stood on the bedside table: an attractive couple smiling at each other, obviously in love. A sign of happier times. The bedroom was curiously peaceful, undisturbed by violence and death. 

It was in the bathroom, however, that they encountered the reason for giving up their Sunday. The body was bloated, and the skin was starting to fall away from the muscle tissue. The water had done its damage. Her clothes had given her body some protection, but parts of her, like her hands, neck and head were badly decomposed. The flesh was falling off the bones of her fingers, and the portion of her head that wasn't submerged in the water had turned black. The water itself was murky, and a ring of slime had formed around the rim of the bath.

“She’s been lying in the water for about a week, I’d guess. Thanks to the water there’s not much hope of finding any forensic evidence, and the Forensic Pathologist won’t be able to give you the exact time of death,” Pete said, standing over the bath and examining the woman’s body. Nico leaned over the bath to get a closer look.  The smell made his bile rise. 

“She was garrotted, the same as the other two. Our killer’s been a busy boy. Any idea who this one is?” Nico asked.

Pete consulted the small notebook he always carried with him and said, “Her name was Theresa van Wyk, divorced with no children. Her neighbour complained about the smell, so the caretaker let himself in. He got a bit of a surprise when he came in here.”

“I bet he did. Is he the guy in the shorts with filthy feet?”

“That’s him.”

“Did he touch anything?”

“He says not.”

Pete looked at the shower curtain. “I wonder if he opened the curtain to find the body,” he said, almost to himself while taking notes.

“Remind me to ask him when I interview him,” Nico replied while fingering the curtain.

The photographer snapped some more shots of Mrs van Wyk’s body, curled up in the foetal position. Her jean-clad legs were pulled up to her chest and her body suspended in the murky bathwater. It was a sad and profane parody of new life. Was that what the killer was after? A new life?

The photographer took photos from every corner of the room, as he had in the kitchen.

“Okay,” Nico said to Pete. “Recap time. What do we know about this guy?”

“For one thing he’s organised. He brings everything with him, his so-called killing kit. He targets older women; probably has mommy issues. He’s a young white male, probably mid-to-late-twenties. Has knowledge of police procedure and could be in law enforcement. He also has no respect for our abilities to catch him. He makes no attempt to cover up his crime. Oh yes, and he’s a big boy, probably about six foot.”

“How do you know how big he is?” Thabiso asked between snapshots.

“Didn’t you see the size of those bloody shoe prints in the passage?” Nico asked, his tone harsh and irritable.

“Plus these women are not exactly small. A small guy wouldn’t be able to pick them up very easily.” Pete said, interjecting before Nico and Thabiso could get into another argument.

“And how do you know that he's a white boy or that he's a cop?” Thabiso asked, ignoring the look on Nico's face. “That's a bit racist isn't it?”

“A witness saw a young white male in what could have been a police uniform leaving the first victims apartment,” Pete said.

“Why do you want to know about the shower curtain?” Nico asked, fingering the curtain the way Pete had done earlier.

“The others were closed. If he closes the curtain it means he does feel some remorse for what he’s done. If he left this one open, then something’s changed and something we need to know about.”

Nico nodded his head and mulled everything over, but came up empty. He had no answers, only more questions. He needed space and time alone. The flashes from the camera irritated him.

“Hey,” Nico clicked his fingers at Thabiso whose name he had trouble remembering. “Um, why don’t you go take some photos of the crowd in the passage and outside the building?”

“I already did that while we were waiting for you. I guess I’m a little more with it than you are today.” Thabiso was offended. “Oh, and by the way, my name is Thabiso, but I’ll go take some more shots of the ones still hanging around just to make the baas happy.” He left, mumbling to himself.

“Well, I guess I just put my foot in that one,” Nico said and turned back to Mrs van Wyk’s floating body.

“He’ll get over it. He’s a good guy and good at his job. You really should try and get on with him. Remembering his name might be a good place to start,” Pete said.

Mrs van Wyk’s open, dead eyes looked back at Nico. The irises were now a smoky-white. He wondered what colour her eyes used to be. Her mouth was slightly open, probably from the last breath she had exhaled.

“I’ll leave you alone, so you can have your conversation with her, or whatever it is you do. I’ll give you five minutes before I send the forensic boys in,” Pete said and left the room. 

“Ja, Ja. Piss off.” His focus was on Theresa van Wyk; he hardly noticed the doctor leave. He sat on the toilet, next to the bath and looked down at the rotting body in the tub.

“So ... Theresa, why did he kill you? What made you his target? Who do you remind him of?”

But the woman would never answer him, stubbornly mute in her noxious, amniotic grave. He was still sitting in that position, staring at the body, when the forensic guys started collecting samples of the bath water to be analysed at the lab. He wondered how long those results would take. The backlog at the lab was monumental and incredibly frustrating for any cop trying to solve a case. Detectives were working with one hand tied behind their backs.

He left the flat while they emptied the water out of the bath and with great difficulty moved her body onto the gurney. Her wet clothes didn't make it any easier.

Once outside the flat, he took a deep breath. The air outside was fresher and a welcome antidote to the smell of rotting flesh. He took the lift down to the ground floor, where the circus was waiting for him. Inquisitive people from the neighbourhood had gathered outside the building. Didn’t these people have anything better to do on a Sunday afternoon than turn someone’s death into an event?

The flash of a press photographer taking a snapshot almost blinded him. Thabiso was hard at work taking snapshots of potential suspects in the crowd, hanging around to soak up the aftermath of his handiwork. A blonde woman from the SABC news team shoved a microphone in his face.

“Well, if it isn’t Helen Stratford,” Nico said, pushing the microphone out of his way. The memory of her, naked and laughing, flashed through his mind. Instantly making him feel guilty.

“Hello, Nico. You’re not still angry with me, are you?” she asked, giving him her most alluring smile. It always worked on him, or it had in the past.

“Why would I be?”

“I don’t know. Maybe because ...”

He interrupted her before she could finish.

“Look, Helen, I’m working, and if I remember correctly, our problems were because of our jobs. You were dedicated to getting the story no matter who was hurt, even if it meant screwing me over.”

“So you are angry.”

“It’s ancient history. Now, if you don’t mind, I do have a case to work.”

“Speaking of the case, is it the Bathroom Strangler?”

“Sorry Helen, you know I can’t give you anything yet.”

“Come on Nico. For old time’s sake?”

“No, not even for you,” he said as he pushed past her. He needed to get away from her. She always managed to get to him he thought, as he realised his hands were shaking and his heart was pounding.

He looked around, searching for something out of place, and moved his mind off Helen and back where it belonged, on the case. The streets were quiet, only the usual Sunday afternoon traffic in the suburbs. A blue Citi Golf drove past, slowed down to gawk at the spectacle, then carried on driving. A few cars were parked in the parking lot and on the dying grass. It was while absorbing this information that he noticed the Rent-a-Cop patrol car parked across the road between a dented, red Volkswagen Beetle and a white Golf Chico. He walked towards it. The driver got out and started to walk towards him. As the man drew closer, Nico recognised him. It was Louis.

“Howzit? What are you doing here?” he asked Louis.

“I had to work. The guy who usually works this shift called in sick, and here I am. Nats isn’t too happy about it, but we need the cash. So is this the reason that you had to leave?”

“Uh-huh. I don’t suppose you were working in this area last Sunday?”

“I had the Sunday night shift. Why?”

“See anything strange? Anybody hanging around?”

“You mean other than me?” He laughed. It was a forced laugh that sent tingles along Nico's nerves. “What time on Sunday?”

“Unfortunately we still don’t know what time she was killed. Sunday’s also a bit of guess at this stage.”

“Then I’m sorry, bro, but I can’t help you there. But I do have another idea. How about we get together for a beer in a couple of hours?”

“Sounds like a plan. I could fit in a short and very welcome break. But aren't you on duty?”

“Ja, but one beer's not going to make much of a difference to my ability to check on a false alarm. I leave the serious crime solving to your brothers in uniform.”

“Okay,” Nico laughed. “As long as it doesn't get you fired. How about we meet at five at News Café in Hatfield?”

“Sounds good. I’ll see you then.” Louis turned and walked back to his car. Nico watched him. There was something that wasn't right about the guy, but he'd promised Janet that he'd give him a chance, so he pushed his misgivings aside for the time being.

*

HE WATCHED THE CRIME scene from the safety of his car. The young black photographer was snapping photos of the crowd standing in front of the building. He wondered what the woman’s corpse would look like now. How did she smell? Was her flesh falling away from her brittle bones? Was she being held together by her clothes? He wished it was that Bitch. If only she was the one decomposing. The thought gave him an erection. He watched a well-dressed blonde woman get out of the SABC TV News van. 

Well, well, he thought, I’m going to be on the news tonight. The coverage on the first murder had been abysmal. The second one had created a satisfying buzz. This one would get their attention. He watched the SABC newswoman hijack the Captain on the case. Good old Nico van Staaden, who was looking a little flustered. They looked like they knew each other. Interesting. Maybe it was something he could use to his advantage.

“Having a bad day, my friend?” he mumbled to himself.

While the police asked bystanders questions and more press arrived, he stuck his hands inside his pants and touched his erect penis. He thought about how it would feel to strangle her. He wondered how it would feel to hear that witch struggle for her last breath. With each thought, his erection grew harder. Maybe he would kill her tonight, he thought, with a smile.