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Friday, 2 August
Two weeks had passed since the funeral, and that uneasy feeling was still eating away at him. He had kept an eye on the papers, but there wasn’t a word about another body being left on display, floating in a bathtub. The Bathroom Strangler was already yesterday’s news and had been replaced by a brutal family murder and yet another government scandal. A politician had been caught with his hand in the cookie jar, yet again, and a father had killed his wife and children with a hammer before sticking a knife in his own throat and bleeding to death. There were far easier ways of killing yourself, Nico thought while reading the Newspaper. Hadn't the man ever heard of using a gun? Government officials threatened to strike again. Nothing new there.
The Bathroom Strangler murders would slowly find their way into the pile of cold cases and then be added to the pile of unsolved cases. They would collect dust and fade from memory. Who besides the victims’ families would care if the killer was caught or not? But in this case, the families in question didn’t seem to care. The public was fickle and would embrace the next big scandal and forget about the Bathroom Strangler and his victims.
He crumpled up the newspaper and threw it in the far corner of his lounge. The inactivity was getting to him. He needed to do something, but what? Laurel and Hardy had taken over the case and shoved it into some dusty corner and wouldn’t listen to anything he had to say. A thought started to spark at the back of his mind and slowly took shape. He felt the synapses fire and play around his brain. Then a fully-fledged epiphany hit him right between his eyes. There was one person who probably knew the truth.
But he wasn't sure if she would speak to him.
*
IT WAS EARLY AFTERNOON, and things at the law firm where Natalie worked were in afternoon overdrive. Overdue urgent briefs were piled high on her desk. Dark hair fell over her face, touching her computer keyboard. She looked up at him through her hair as he approached her desk. Surprise, mingled with suspicion, marked her eyes, while her face remained expressionless.
“You busy?” Nico asked her.
She looked at the piles of paperwork on her desk, raised one eyebrow and looked back at him.
“Sorry, stupid question,” he said before she could say anything.
“Don’t take this the wrong way, but what are you doing here?”
“I just wanted to ask you some questions about Louis’s mother.”
“Why? I thought you’d been suspended.”
“So you heard about that?”
“Bad news travels fast,” she said, taking a piece of paper out of her printer and putting it into a red folder. The red folder was placed on top of another pile of folders in a paper tray marked Contracts. “What do you want to know about her?”
“Did she have any enemies, anyone who might have wanted her dead?”
“Anybody who knew her would fit that description.”
“What was Louis’s relationship like with his mother?”
“Excuse me?”
“Were Louis and his mother close?”
“What exactly are you driving at?” There was something in her tone that made him wonder even more about the relationship between mother and son.
“It’s a simple question. Why are you being so defensive?” Had there been some kind of abuse?
“I’m not being defensive. I don’t understand why you’re asking me about Louis’s relationship with that woman.” The word woman seemed to stick in her throat.
“So I take it you two didn’t get along?”
“You already know the answer to that one. Janet will doubtless have clued you in on all the sordid details.”
“You caught me there.”
“Look, Nico, Louis’s mother and I were not on the best of terms. There’s no secret there. As for Louis and his mother, well, their relationship was complicated.”
“What do you mean by complicated?”
“That’s all I can tell you right now. As you can see, I’m a very busy girl and if I don’t get these out by the end of the day,” she said, nodding her head at the pile of papers on her right, “you won’t be the only one sitting at home.”
“Thanks for your time, anyway. If you think of anything, please give me a call.”
“Don’t worry, Nico. The moment I have anything else to say on the matter you’ll be the first person I call.”
He'd been dismissed.
He turned around at the door to Natalie’s office and watched her typing as if her life depended upon the document she was working on. Her reaction to his questions had been strange, and he knew he was on to something. Louis’s relationship with his mother had been anything other than healthy.
The possibilities that came to mind made his stomach turn.
*
NICO’S VISIT HAD TAKEN her by surprise. Thinking back on it, as she stood in her kitchen after work and making coffee, she hadn’t expected him to approach her. She didn't know what to do or how to act around Louis anymore. Now Nico was complicating everything. She loved Louis, even though she was afraid of him. Afraid of what he would do. She was also mad as all hell. She'd never allowed herself to be angry before. Fear, on the other hand, was something she was familiar with, anger was something new. She wasn't sure what she was supposed to do with all that rage she was feeling, boiling up inside her.
She poured the boiling water from the kettle into her chipped yellow coffee mug and looked up at the kitchen clock. Louis would be home soon. Since the funeral, he had become increasingly irritable. Anything could set him off. He was probably suffering from withdrawal symptoms, she thought. Being on a five-week killing spree will do that to you. Not being able to take out his frustrations on his mother and all those women was obviously taking its toll. Sooner or later he would have to act on those frustrations again. He’d acquired a taste for it. She didn't want to be in the firing line when he went off.
She heard keys scraping against the lock. The sound of metal against metal brought back memories of being handcuffed to her steel-framed bed in the orphanage. The front door swung open, and a man stood in the doorway. It took a few seconds for it to register that it was Louis and not the man from the orphanage. She managed to choke back a scream.
“What’s with you?” he asked her.
“Nothing,” she said, stirring her coffee with a shaky hand. The teaspoon connected with the cup a few too many times.
“Ja, right. That’s why you’ve turned the mug and spoon into musical instruments.”
“Whatever,” she tapped the spoon against the rim of the mug. Excess droplets of coffee dripped off the spoon and down the side of the cup.
Louis made it across the kitchen in a few quick paces and grabbed her right upper arm. Coffee spilt over the edges of the mug, puddled around the base and slowly dribbled down the kitchen cabinet to the floor.
“What’s your problem now?” she asked him. “Haven’t you killed anyone lately?” She regretted the words the moment they left her mouth.
The back of Louis’s hand connected with her cheek. The force of it pushed her back against the kitchen counter. Her back arched and her hand hit the coffee mug. The mug fell to the tiled floor and shattered into pieces. The spilt coffee pooled on the floor like blood. His hands were on her throat and tightened. His fingertips dug into her soft flesh around her windpipe.
“So you want to kill me too like you did your mother?” Her voice was a hoarse whisper escaping with the last of her breath. His grip on her throat loosened. She fell to the floor and gasped for breath.
“I’m sorry. I’m so fucking sorry.” He went down on his knees in front of her. “I love you. I could never ...”
“Get away from me,” she hissed, kicking him and trying to scramble as close to the safety of the wall as possible.
“I don’t know what came over me. I’m sorry,” he said, as he stood up.
“I know what came over you, you sick murdering bastard!”
“Don’t call me that. I did it all for you.”
“That’s such bullshit, you did it all for yourself. I didn’t ask you to kill all those women. You killed them because you didn’t have the balls to kill your mother sooner.” She was on her feet and standing her ground without knowing how she came to be in that position.
He jerked his right hand back past his shoulder. She flinched. His hand dropped before it connected with her cheek.
“I’m not a coward,” he said, as he walked towards the door.
“Are you going to kill some old woman again?”
“You’ll see and just remember: you asked for this,” he whispered before closing the door behind him.
Hysterical laughter echoed in the kitchen. It took a few minutes before Natalie realised that it was her own.
*
THE NEXT MOVE HE PLANNED would kill two birds with one stone. He would teach Natalie and Nico a harsh lesson in manners. It would be one they would never forget. A slow smile crept along his lips as he knocked on her door. The light above the door was out. Luck was with him tonight. Even if someone saw him go in, they would never be able to give a decent description. The pot plants outside her door needed water and were starting to wilt. She'd never been much of a gardener. The wind howled through the passage and rustled the leaves of her plants. He pushed his hands deeper into his pockets.
“Shit, it’s cold out here,” he grumbled to himself. “What’s taking the whore so long? She never used to be so slow.”
He checked his watch: it was just after seven. He was cutting it fine, but it was worth the risk. He had to make sure that Nico would be here at just the right moment. She should be here he thought, as he knocked again and tapped his foot on the ground. He knocked again, harder this time. Her car was parked downstairs in its usual spot; he had made sure of that. Footsteps made their way to the front door. The lock jingled as the key was turned from the inside. The door opened as far as the security chain would allow it. She peered around the edge of the door and looked at him in surprise.
“What are you doing here?” Janet asked. “I thought we agreed when Natalie had her ... accident that we wouldn’t see each other anymore.” She stammered like the guilty bitch she was. “What we had was great, but we agreed to stay away from each other for her sake.”
“You mean you decided that we should stop. That's not why I'm here. We need to talk, and it’s windy out here, so if you don't mind, can I please come in?” he asked shoving his hands deeper into his jacket pockets.
“Oh, sorry,” she said, closing the door. The security chain slid out, and the door opened once again. “Look, this is a bad time. Nico’s going to be here any moment.” She opened the door wider. “He'll have questions if he sees you here.”
“I just wanted to get your advice on something. I won't be here that long,” he said as he stepped inside.
The door closed behind him. The familiar feel of the wire scraping against the fake leather of his gloves brought back the pleasant tingle he always felt at these moments. Her life was in his hands. This is what God must feel like when he takes someone’s life, he thought.
“What do you need my advice about?” she asked, walking past him into her lounge. “Has it got something to do with Nats?”
He pulled the wire out of his pocket, careful not to make any sudden movements. He wanted to give her the surprise of her life. The curve of her neck enticed him. She'd always loved it when he kissed her neck. She was two steps ahead of him. He closed the gap before she reached the couch. He crossed his wrists and flipped the wire over her head.
“What the ...” were the only words that escaped from her lips.
He jerked the wire through her throat, hard and fast, slicing the carotid artery. Blood flowed like a rich burgundy wine out of her throat and ran down the front of her white knitted jersey, turning it pink. Her body fell to the floor, and her blood seeped into her clean beige carpet. It was over too quickly for him. He had wanted to savour the moment, the way he had always enjoyed their games before. She had been willing to do the things that Natalie wouldn’t and then had the nerve to look down on him. He had wanted to make her suffer, to watch her squirm. He knelt over her body and turned her over. Her lifeless face, which had always taunted him in bed, then rejected him once she'd had her fill, stared back at him. His fists crushed into her face over and over again. Each time his fist connected with her face, he became more aroused.
The climax that had eluded him while he slit her throat exploded in his pants.
*
NICO WAS LATE FOR THEIR date. Janet had invited him over for a romantic dinner. This probably meant she had ordered take-out from the Chinese Restaurant around the corner. Janet did not believe in cooking: that’s why take-out restaurants existed. He took the stairs two at a time up to her second floor flat and was breathing heavily by the time he reached the landing.
“That’s taken care of my exercise for the rest of the month,” he said as he huffed his way towards her door.
The door was ajar. Janet was security conscious and never forgot to lock it, let alone close it properly. In fact, she always had the security chain hooked in place. A feeling of dread started to seep into his bones. He removed his Berretta from his ankle holster and pushed the door open with the toe of his shoe. His heart pounded. If anything happened to Janet, he wouldn’t be able to handle it. With his back against the door, he entered Janet’s small, dark hallway. The back of his shirt scraped along the rough wall as he made his way down the unlit passage. The open kitchen door was on his right. He crouched down on his haunches and peered around the kitchen door. The light from the hallway outside shone in through the window giving the kitchen an atmosphere of foreboding. It was strange and made everything look as though it was trapped in time. The objects in the kitchen had no definition, no body. It was as though they would disappear if he blinked. White plastic bags stood on the kitchen counter. A box from the Chinese Restaurant stood next to the bags. The red dragon emblem emblazoned across the front of the white box containing what was to have been his dinner.
He closed his eyes and tried to convince himself that Janet was fine. That she would walk through the front door and ask him what exactly he thought he was doing crouching in the dark. She would see his pistol gripped tightly in his hands; she would raise her eyebrow; she would shake her head at him and tell him to put the damn thing away. She didn't like guns. He opened his eyes, but Janet wasn’t there. Somewhere deep inside him, a voice told him that she would never walk through that door again. He made his way quietly through her flat, careful not to alert anybody to his presence should there still be someone lurking, waiting for him.
It was in the lounge that his fears were confirmed. The moon shone through the window showing off the contrast between the rough carpet and the smooth surface of a puddle of liquid in the middle of the floor. In the darkness, he couldn’t make out what it was. His gut and experience told him that it was blood, but he prayed Janet had spilt a bottle of wine and hadn’t had a chance to clean it up yet. Quietly, he made his way to the centre of the room and the puddle. He dipped his right index finger into it and smelt the distinctive coppery tang. His heart lurched, and blood pounded in his ears. There was no doubt in his mind. It was blood: very fresh blood. The trail of blood led out of the lounge and down the passage towards her bedroom and bathroom. Watching where he placed his feet, he followed the trail that was seeping into her carpets.
He paused at her bedroom door and forced himself to survey the whole room. Everything was still in its place. The bed was still made. Janet never could bring herself to leave home without making her bed. She even insisted on making his bed whenever she spent the night. He had laughed and teased her about it. He called it her bed fetish. The stream of blood led into her en-suite bathroom. The wrenching in his gut told him what he would find in the bath. It was an all too familiar scene. Stumbling over his feet, he dragged himself across the room towards the bathroom.
The same light that illuminated the kitchen shone in through the high bathroom window. He stood at the door. Fear froze him in time. He had no sense of how long it took him to take in the bloody scene in front of him. It seemed to take forever to raise his eyes from the tiled floor to the bath. The light from outside illuminated what was left of Janet’s face. Water, dyed red from her blood, ran over the edge of the tub and dripped onto the white tiles. Sinking to his knees, he rocked backwards and forwards mumbling incoherent words. Tears streamed down his face.
It took an hour before his brain started to work again and he realised that he had to report the fact that the love of his life had been murdered by the man he had failed to bring to justice. Once his mind started to work again, he fumbled in his jeans’ pocket and pulled out his cell phone. The cell phone’s screen lit up with a green glow. Staring down at the luminous screen he tried to remember what number he was supposed to be dialling. After what seemed an eternity, he managed to make his shaking fingers cooperate and dial Pete’s number.
*
LOUIS SAT IN HIS CAR parked on the corner across from Janet’s block of flats. He rubbed his raw knuckles as he waited. They reminded him of the beating he'd given that two-faced slut. He watched Nico arrive in his old Datsun bakkie. A smile had played on his lips as he imagined what Nico’s reaction would be to finding Janet’s body floating in her bathtub. He could see the water turning red with her blood. Looking at the photo's he'd taken on his digital camera gave him a rush all over again. If only he could have taken a photo of Nico's reaction. His cock was rock hard and strained against his jeans.
He wondered if Nico would cry or get angry and break things. The idea of solid Nico losing his mind was entertaining. Would the tragedy of losing his girlfriend drive him over the edge? The idea made him laugh out loud. It was a strange, almost hysterical, laughter that seemed to reverberate around the confined space of his Golf.
An hour and a half passed while he waited for the show to start. Must have been a slow night. It usually took the cops a lot longer to show up, if they showed up at all. He'd heard of cases where it took them more than two hours to arrive on a scene. But if the cops were doing their jobs, he and other security guys would be out of jobs. A police car careened around the corner on two wheels and squealed to a halt in front of her block, followed closely by an unmarked police car. A man wearing a pair of wrinkled black pants and old, well-worn Adidas sneakers got out of the unmarked police vehicle and walked through the front entrance followed by other policemen in uniform. Louis recognised him as the man who worked closely with Nico. He struggled to remember his name. There were several articles in the Pretoria News that mentioned both Nico and the new arrival. The name sat on the tip of his tongue. He felt it tugging at the back of his mind.
“Fuck it! What is his name?” he asked himself out loud and smacked his palm against the steering wheel.
While he struggled to remember the man’s name, another car pulled up, and Laurel and Hardy got out and followed the others inside.
“Dr fucking Papenfuss,” he said and smacked the steering wheel once again. “I knew I recognised that fucking piece of shit.”
The arrival of the police cars on the scene made his heart pound. The adrenalin that had rushed through his veins while he killed Janet started to flow once again. It was the kind of high that no drugs could emulate. The crime scene vehicle arrived. It was a white truck with a single blue line in the middle of it. The arrival of all the players meant it was time for him to go. That black photographer would be out any moment to take photos of the area and of the faces in the crowd. As much as he wanted to stay and watch the show, he couldn’t risk being seen. He reversed out of his parking spot under the trees and drove away slowly. There was no need to rush.