Like Clockwork

45

Riedwaan picked Clare up twenty minutes later. He drove to the Film Fusion studios, his anger filling the car. ‘What did she look like?’ asked Clare. Riedwaan threw a picture of the missing girl onto Clare’s lap. It was a posed school photo. Theresa Angelo looked demure in her blue dress with its silly white Peter Pan collar. The face was broad, a sweep of cheekbones promising beauty in adulthood. Her dark eyes were intelligent, challenging; her body sturdy, strong. Certainly not like the ethereal girls this killer had taken before. Had he made a mistake? Had something panicked him? Could they move fast enough to find him? To find Theresa alive? Clare felt a glimmer of hope.

‘I’ve got to do a fucking press conference this afternoon. What am I going to say? Those sharks are going to be on a feeding frenzy. Why haven’t you got this killer? What’s wrong with the police? When I know and you know that the longer he’s on the loose the more papers they sell. Bastards.’ Riedwaan’s rage boiled over.

‘What do you have, Riedwaan?’ Clare asked, wincing as he cut in front of a car, the driver hooting furiously. ‘Does she fit the pattern?’

‘I don’t know. She’s an only child. Father is a doctor on an oil rig. He’s being flown in this morning. Goes to a private school in town. Gifted child, talented actress, well-behaved mommy’s girl.’ He hooted viciously as an old lady swerved across the lane.

‘What happened last night?’

‘Apparently they do voice-overs at Film Fusion if there’s any spare time in the studio. Theresa makes some pocket money if they have a gap and she’s free. She caught a taxi to the Waterfront because her mother was working. Got to Film Fusion just before four and went to work. Her mother could only meet her at eight so she was going to do some shopping and then meet her.’

‘Why so much later?’

‘Mrs Angelo has a catering business. She was doing a birthday tea so would only be free at seven-thirty. She came straight down and waited for Theresa – who never arrived. Phiri is baying for my sautéed balls on a plate. And the MEC for security is rabbiting on about community trust in the police force. Load of shit, they are going to crucify me, Muslim or not.’ Riedwaan turned into Film Fusion’s studio and parked.

‘We’ll get him.’

‘When, Clare? Fucking when? You’re meant to be the miracle worker. What have I got? A description of what he might wear? A list of psychological problems that this poor motherfucker might have had? My mother donnered the shit out of me when I was a kid. Do you see me killing anybody?’ Riedwaan turned away. Clare ignored the tremor in his voice.

‘We lose, Riedwaan, if we fight. You know that.’ Clare got out of the car. Riedwaan lit a cigarette, then dragged on it like a drowning man sucking in a pocket of air. She waited. Clare sensed Theresa’s presence, it was there like the scent of a woman who has just left a room. She reined in her thoughts, turning mind sharply to the facts. The killer kept the girls alive for some time before he killed them. If Theresa had been abducted last night there was a good chance that she was still alive. Panic coiled tightly in Clare’s belly. He had kept the bodies of the first two for twenty-four hours before dumping them.

Riedwaan slammed the door of his car, startling her. He put his hand on the back of her neck and rubbed it. She took it as the peace offering it was and relaxed into his touch. Then they went inside and waited for the sound man. Clare checked the desk register. Theresa Angelo had printed her cellphone number in clear rounded letters at three fifty-five the previous afternoon. Clare jotted the number down in her notebook just as Sam Napoli arrived.

He shook hands with both of them. ‘Come upstairs, please.’ His tanned face was ashen. He took them into his studio and they sat down. Sam had tears in his eyes.

‘I’ve worked with Theresa since she was ten,’ he said. ‘I can’t believe this. That you guys are here looking for her.’

‘Take us through what happened yesterday. Everything. Smallest details,’ said Clare.

‘She came to do a voice-over for a car ad. She was so excited about the job – it was the first time she had got an adult role. She had a fantastic voice – husky and alive.’ He turned towards the console and twiddled a few of its vast array of knobs. ‘Here, listen.’

‘Hello, there.’ Theresa Angelo’s voice filled the room. Clare’s flesh crawled at the uncanniness of it. ‘I’m a Maserati girl myself. I deserve it. How about you?’

Sam switched the tape off again. ‘She was so happy when she left. We had been joking about this dumb Maserati ad. You know Rod Stewart’s immortal lines: “She was tall, thin and tarty and she drove a Maserati.” Theresa was saying if she could write so brilliantly, then she’d be a millionaire too. Anyway, we finished early and she left – singing “Sailing”. She has appalling taste in music.’

‘What time did she leave?’ asked Riedwaan.

‘It must have been about five-thirty.’ He turned back to his computer. ‘Let me just check. Every job is logged here.’ He called up the previous day’s entries. ‘Ja, here it is. Five thirty-two I logged off. So she must have left about five minutes later.’

‘Was there anything else you noticed?’

‘There was something. It was a small thing. But she was wearing blue nail polish. I remember thinking that it looked odd – it made her hands look unnatural. She laughed when I said that – she said it was just a fashion. Must be true. My wife and my daughter are both wearing it. It told them it looks weird, but they don’t care.’

‘Anything else?’ asked Riedwaan, ‘Was she nervous? Different in any way?’

‘No, just happy. She said goodbye and she was gone.’

Riedwaan closed his notebook. ‘Thanks, Mr Napoli. I’ll have this typed and then you can sign the statement. Can you come into the police station?’

‘Sure, sure,’ said Sam, getting up and walking with Riedwaan towards the door. ‘I saw her again, you know.’

Tension whipped through Riedwaan’s body. He opened his notebook. The paper crackled loudly in the sudden quiet.

‘Where?’ he asked.

‘It was a little later. I was meant to be cleaning up the sound but there was some glitch with the machine. I went out onto the balcony for a smoke and I saw her. She was walking towards the Waterfront but she hadn’t gone the usual way. She must have cut through those fancy apartments. I thought maybe she was going in there because I saw her wave. I didn’t see who she was waving at. And then she disappeared for a while. I thought she must have gone in. I was about to go in when I saw her again. She was really looking great. I thought, There is our little Theresa, all grown up.’

‘Was there anyone with her? Following her?’ asked Clare.

‘If there was, he must have stuck right close to the shadow because I didn’t see anyone. She turned the corner then, so I couldn’t see her any more.’

‘Can you point out where she went?’ asked Riedwaan.

‘Sure,’ said Sam. ‘Come this way.’ He led them through the coffee bar and onto the wooden deck. Each table had an ashtray filled to the brim with ash and stompies. ‘That is where she went.’ He pointed towards a narrow stretch of garden that snaked through the apartment buildings. It led down towards the Waterfront via the yachting marina. The delicate masts patterned the blue sky.

‘I wonder if she went to The Blue Room?’ said Clare. ‘I would imagine that it’s time for us to pay another visit. I’m sure you’ll need a whiskey after your press conference. Do you want to meet me there later?’

Riedwaan looked at his watch. ‘Shit, I’m going to be late. I’ll meet you there in an hour. Cheers.’

Clare turned to Sam. ‘Thanks, Sam.’

He was staring at the empty place where Theresa had been just half a day earlier. ‘I’ve got a daughter just her age,’ he said. ‘What does one do?’

Clare put her hand on his arm. ‘You wait. It’s all you can do.’