Blood Rose

twenty-three

‘It’s so obvious to suspect a sailor,’ said Tamar. She stood at the window, her hands wrapped around a steaming cup of coffee.

Clare had gone back to the station to meet with Tamar and Karamata, who had spent the morning interviewing the captains and crews of ships that had been docked when Kaiser disappeared. Most of the captains had given their crew a few hours off on Friday night, and the men had gone to town in groups. Alibis all around.

The window behind Tamar gave Clare a framed view of the harbour. A skeletal ship, long abandoned, rocked on the breakers. Black cormorants perched along the gunwales, silent as waiting widows.

‘We’ve had enough murders because of drunk, lonely sailors fighting over women,’ Tamar continued, ‘but this case points the other way.’

‘Inland?’ asked Clare.

‘On land at any rate,’ said Karamata. He was pushing his muscular arms into a leather jacket. ‘I’ll catch you later. I’ve got a community policing forum meeting with the Christian Mission ladies.’

‘Good luck,’ said Tamar with feeling.

‘They love me.’ Karamata winked at her. ‘It’s single mothers like you that they pray for.’

Tamar rolled her eyes. ‘Thanks for doing this, Elias.’

Clare poured herself some tea when he was gone. ‘On land,’ she repeated pensively.

‘Whoever is doing this knows this desert, knows how to make things disappear in it,’ said Tamar.

Clare’s phone rang. She looked at the caller identity before answering. The little bubble of delight put a lilt in her voice. ‘Riedwaan.’

‘You picked up.’ He sounded pleased with himself. ‘You’re missing me.’

Bastard, she thought. ‘I’m putting this on loudspeaker,’ she said.

‘Hello, Captain Damases,’ said Riedwaan. ‘Dr Hart, tell me what you’ve got.’ Clare couldn’t decide if hearing his voice, disembodied by the speakerphone, clipped and neutral because of Tamar’s presence, was disconcerting or sexy. She settled for disconcerting and sexy as she winnowed through the interviews, feeding him the scraps of information – evidence seemed too grandiose a word – she had gleaned.

‘You’re not exactly ready to do a line-up, are you?’ Riedwaan said when she was finished.

‘Not yet.’

‘She’s only been here three days,’ said Tamar.

‘I know, I know. I was joking.’ Riedwaan paused. Clare could picture him rubbing his temples, searching for the right words. ‘You’ll look after her, Tamar?’

‘I am.’ Tamar smiled at Clare. ‘But she seems quite capable of doing it herself. I’m going to leave you to finish this, Clare. I’ve got some things to see to. I’ll see you at two? At the Venus.’

Clare nodded and switched the phone off conference as Tamar left.

‘It looks like you’ve got a textbook series,’ said Riedwaan.

‘Looks like it.’

‘You’re not convinced?’

‘Like you say,’ said Clare. ‘A textbook. The problem with textbooks is that the cases are exemplary rather than true.’

‘Well, give me what you do have.’

‘Three victims, same profile,’ said Clare, summarising her notes for Riedwaan. ‘The killer’s used the same method for all of them. Ligatures. Head-shot wound. Missing joint on the ring finger. Two with their chests mutilated. Nicanor Jones as Number 2. Kaiser Apollis, Number 3. Fritz Woestyn, the first one with nothing on his chest, but the rest all the same.’

‘What else links them?’

‘All the boys are small for their age, feminine looking. They were shot at such close range. There’s a kind of intimacy to that, I suppose, a complete absence of empathy and a need for total control. I kept thinking that this killer needs his victims to witness what is being done to them. They have to watch you as you kill them.’

‘The crime scenes?’ asked Riedwaan.

‘Not much. Though it seems whoever did it wanted the bodies to be found.’

‘Any other street kids missing?’

‘None reported, which is hardly surprising. Nobody reported these boys missing,’ said Clare.

‘All homeless?’

‘Most of the time, yes. Apollis stayed with his sister sometimes. The rest of the time, he lived with the others out at the dump. There’s some kind of a shelter there.’

‘Who’s running it?’

‘The guy in charge of waste management,’ said Clare. ‘George Meyer.’

‘Wasn’t he first at the school where Kaiser Apollis was found?’

‘He was. Him and his son.’

‘I’d question his altruism a bit,’ said Riedwaan. ‘How old is the son?’

‘About seven,’ said Clare. ‘Grade 1.’

‘That rules them out as a team, I suppose. Although stranger things have happened.’

‘I talked to the homeless kids while I was out there. The second boy, Nicanor Jones, his body was found there.’

‘Inside the dump?’ asked Riedwaan.

‘Propped up outside.’

‘Have you got a perpetrator profile yet?’

‘The basics,’ said Clare. ‘I’d say the killer must have a vehicle, something that doesn’t stand out too much. He probably lives alone; otherwise his absences would be noticed. But everyone works shifts here, so that isn’t a definite. One thing’s for sure: these bodies are kept inside somewhere for a couple of days and then displayed.’

‘Why inside?’ probed Riedwaan.

‘No predator marks. None of the boys was killed where he was found either. So they’re shot somewhere, then kept, then moved and displayed where they’ll be found.’

‘Homosexual predator?’

‘Hard to say. Could be. Homosexuality is illegal here, so I’d imagine that he’s either deeply closeted or is some kind of mission killer. There’s some evidence that Kaiser Apollis worked as a rent boy. I’d be surprised if the others didn’t.’

‘Sexual assault?’

‘Nothing overt, but whoever he is he’s organised. Arrogant, too, to risk displaying these kids.’

‘Sounds charming,’ said Riedwaan. ‘You’re going to have to bring your stuff down for the forensic tests. It can’t be couriered.’

‘Not before Friday,’ said Clare. ‘I’ll catch an early flight.’

‘I’ll organise things for you, then,’ said Riedwaan. ‘And I’ll pick you up from the airport.’

‘I don’t think that’s the best idea.’ Clare kept her tone businesslike.

‘I wanted to talk to you about what happened before you left, about what I didn’t say.’

‘I got your e-mail,’ said Clare.

Riedwaan must have got up to close his office door; the silence on the phone was absolute. He broke it. ‘Are you not going to talk about us?’

‘It’s a bit late.’

‘Okay, I should’ve told you. I’m sorry I didn’t. How many times must I say this? It’s my family, my daughter. How the fuck must I know how to handle this and them and you?’

‘Just deal with them and leave me out of it,’ Clare said. ‘It’s better that way.’

‘Clare, I have to see you.’ Riedwaan's voice was coaxing, as warm as a touch.

Clare inhaled and closed her eyes. ‘We are going to see each other… professionally.’

‘Fine,’ said Riedwaan. ‘I’ll see you professionally then.’