Chapter Four

Their office was always stuffy. Perhaps it had to do with the fact that they never opened the windows and that Hobbs smoked like a chimney when stressed. There were files on the table, floors, on top of filing cabinets, and on dusty window sills, even on chairs.

They used to have a spacious office with enough floor space to pack the heaps of case files handed to them. Then, in a nepotistic transfer above them, an African National Congress cadre was appointed. They were forced to move into this over-sized broom closet. Or so Hobbs argued and ranted about, especially when he had a few too many. “How do they expect us to do our work under such circumstances? But they always say there is no money for improvements because all the money has to go for development work. My ass! Developing what? Rich new entrepreneur and family owned trusts and companies. A system in which criminals have more human rights than law abiding citizens, all because they were previously disadvantaged. And does being previously disadvantaged give one the right to become criminal and corrupt?”

Nobody ever bothered to answer or argue with him, for Hobbs was bound to hand out a few punches.

The room was tall—about five meters long, but only about three meters wide. Stuffed in the corner, under the tiny window was a huge, wooden table. The table had two chairs: a stuffed 70’s brown vinyl behind the desk and an upright wooden chair on the opposite side of the table. A pink sofa stood against the wall next to the desk. Shoved in the back corner were two sets of steel cabinets. Sauer sat on the vinyl chair and Hobbs on the hard, wooden one. They took turns sleeping on the sofa when burning the midnight candle.

“Why is this place always such a mess?” Hobbs complained.

“Because my dear,” Sauer mimed, waving his hand like an elderly matron, “there are close to two hundred murders daily in South Africa, of which, eighty per cent go unsolved. We don’t have enough storage space for all the case files dumped on us and, besides, the cleaning service here is really shit. And quite frankly, who gives a shit about most of these petty murders. Who cares if two locals got drunk, fought over a woman and one of the men stabbed the other to death. This is Africa man. An incident like that is considered a fair fight. Let the strongest man win.”

“Perhaps,” Hobbs said, ignoring the tirade, “We should pull the case files of the first three victims and have a serious look at the photographs again.”

“And I suppose that I will be the one who does it as you are the captain and I am just little, old me.”

Hobbs gave him a sweet smile.

Sauer got up and pulled the yellow case files from a steel cabinet. He gave the case file of Leslie Adams, Face Lifter’s second victim, to Hobbs. He then sat down heavily in his chair and opened the case file containing the gruesome details of Rebecca Scott’s murder. She is believed to be Face Lifter’s first victim. Sauer flipped past the mountain of evidence straight to the photographs. Strange, looking at the photos of the mauled corpse did nothing to him. He could even eat his toasted cheese sandwich without the faintest feeling of nausea.

Rebecca Scott was indeed the first victim. She was a thirty-six year old spinster. She lived a serene life, worked as a kindergarten teacher and was very involved at her local church. Yet, her body was discovered the morning after the murder by a male prostitute, Jimmy Love. This was the freshest corpse they had to date, but back then they did not realize they were dealing with a serial sicko.

Love was extensively interviewed, emotionally battered and even had to endure a few backhands from Sauer. In the end, Hobbs and Sauer decided that Love could not have killed Rebecca Scott. He was so thin and brittle. “The only thing he can do is suck cocks, bend for his customers, and talk dirty,” Hobbs remarked later.

“Why did you go to her apartment before six that morning?” Sauer asked Love.

“She liked having it before she went to work,” Love wisecracked.

“Liked having what?” Sauer did not want to miss any details. Everyone knows the Devil is in the details.

“You know…sex…”

“Sex? With you? You have got to be kidding me? Why would any person want to fuck you? Especially a woman, you bloody faggot!”

“That’s what I do…”

“Don’t fucking lie to me. You do nobody. You sell your ass on street corners and they do you!” Sauer slapped Love so hard across the face that blood splattered onto his shirt. Sauer saw the blood and remembered his mother’s stern warning on the acquired immune deficiency syndrome scare. Always wear gloves when you want to hit these creeps!

Love wiped the blood from his mouth using the back of his hand. It looked as if he wanted to cry.

“She would phone me late at night and ask me to come to her in the morning. I would get off duty at about five in the morning, have a shower and then go to her…” Love stammered without breathing. His face turned red as the tears washed the mascara and foundation from his face. Snot and tears mingled freely.

Sauer walked out of the interrogation room angry, and knowing he would kill this person in front of him. He indicated to Hobbs to take over. Hobbs knew the beat. Now they are going to play “bad cop, good cop” with poor Mister Love.

Hobbs walked into the interrogation room and handed his handkerchief to Love. He watched as Love wiped his face and blew his nose.

“Can I get you something to drink?” Hobbs asked sweetly.

“Yes,” Love stammered, “a Coke would be nice.”

Hobbs left the room and returned with two Cokes. He opened the first one and handed it to Love.

“I’m sorry about my partner,” Hobbs said wanting to sound sincere. “He has some issues.”

“It’s okay. I don’t like being slapped around…not that hard anyway.” Love giggled though the tears. He kept dabbing his face with the handkerchief.

Hobbs looked at Love in amazement. Sick fuck!

“Let’s be honest with each other,” Hobbs started. “You have to tell me the truth or my partner will beat it out of you.”

“I really did her. Well, not like I like doing men…” Love stammered, looking Hobbs straight in the eye.

“Tell me everything.”

“Kinky…”

“Do you want me to call my partner?”

“No! No! No! That won’t be necessary.”

“Then tell me everything.”

“I also do fish…”

“Fish?” Hobbs asked.

“We gays refer to women as fish, okay? Want to know why?”

Hobbs got up and started walking out.

I can image why, you sick fuck!

“No! No! Don’t go. I’ll tell you everything.”

Hobbs returned to his chair. He sat down quietly and stared at Love. His patience was finished. He wanted to grab the thin prostitute by his neck and throttle all air out of his body till he struggled for air. Only then would he maybe relax his grip around the man’s neck.

“I started doing older women for extra money. But I don’t do them physically. I like to see how their fat bellies wobble as I do them,” Jimmy Love said, giggling into the handkerchief. “It’s gross. But the money is good. I don’t kiss them. I don’t fondle their boobs. I don’t touch their genitals. I just push the vibrator in and out of them and watch them squeal with pleasure. And for that. they pay me hundreds a month.”

Hobbs said nothing. He just watched Love. “Did you know any of the other victims?”

“The others? There were others?”

“Don’t you read the papers?”

“Not if I can help it.”

“Can you read?”

“Fuck you!” Jimmy spat the words at Hobbs. The detective realized he touched a sensitive spot.

“Tell me,” Love said as he leaned forward, “are you married?”

“No,” answered Hobbs before his could stop himself.

“Why not?” asked Love. “A strappingly handsome man like you…is it maybe because you don’t like women?” Love asked suggestively.

Hobbs got up and started walking out.

“I can do you if you want me too. It won’t cost you a thing. It would be my pleasure,” he spoke after Hobbs.

Hobbs closed the door of the interrogation room behind him. Love sat in silence for a moment then got up and walked to the one-way mirror. He started rolling his hips, licking his lips and stoking his thin chest as he hummed to himself. He knew he was being watched.

Sauer stood behind the mirror watching the freak show. Now what? Hobbs came in and stood next to Sauer. He lit a cigarette and blew the smoke out slowly. Together they watched Love’s freakish dance.

“Let me finish this,” Sauer said.

“Be my guess.”

Sauer strutted back into the interrogation room. Love saw him and immediately walked over to his chair.

“Did you just propose to my partner?” Sauer asked.

“What’s that got to do with you?”

“He is my partner and I must look out for him.”

“I won’t harm him,” Love suggested. “I will only ride him to the peaks of pleasure.”

“What about me,” Sauer asked sarcastically.

“What about you?” Love asked looking Sauer up and down.

“Don’t you want to ride me to the peaks of pleasure?”

“I don’t do fats,” Love answered honestly.

The slap came so fast that Love tasted blood and heard the impact at the same time. He fell off the chair and lay dazed on the floor for a few minutes. With great effort, he struggled up onto one elbow and wiped his mouth with the handkerchief. Slowly he pulled himself onto his chair. “Jeeezzzus! That hurt,” he said more to himself. He finally looked up at Sauer. “No need to be so touchy.”

“Why would any woman pay a queen like you to have sex with her?” Sauer asked.

“I’m the best,” Love cried, “and I am very gentle and of course I aim to please. And I don’t slap people around.” He blew his nose loudly and dabbed the tears streaming from his eyes. The handkerchief was red from all the blood. “I don’t think she has ever had a real man; not for a long time in any way. She loved her vibrators. I think she got hurt in the past. But she was desperate for love and sex…just like the rest of us,” Love cried, snot, tears and blood still streaming down his swollen face.

“Afterwards,” Love stammered “she would ask me to help her with her make-up and hair. Especially when she thought she could maybe impress a single father of one of her pupils. She said the orgasm gave her a mysterious glow.”

“How many times a week did you ‘service’ her?” Sauer asked.

“Two, three times. Sometimes over the weekends as well.”

They let Love go after that, and not because they did not have any more questions for him. The next time they question him, they plan to catch him off guard. Together, they decided that Love just did not have it in him to kill. “He is more the slapping kind, you know,” Sauer said to Hobbs. “Slap you with his handbag and then stab you with his lipstick. If you make him really angry, he might hit you with one of his high heels.” Sauer and Hobbs laughed at the thought. “Maybe we should go back to Scott’s place and have another look around,” Sauer suggested.