Like Clockwork

4

Riedwaan arrived back at the station late in the morning. He was about to sit down when Rita Mkhize put her head around the door.

‘Superintendent Phiri wants to see you, Captain Faizal. He’s in his office.’

‘Thanks, Rita,’ said Riedwaan. He felt her eyes on his back as he walked down the corridor towards Phiri’s office. He was wondering why he was being summoned. He knocked on the door.

‘Enter!’ His commanding officer’s affected military air never failed to irritate him. Phiri’s desk was compulsively tidy. Riedwaan thought of his own warren of papers, files and dirty cups and was relieved that Phiri had not sought him out there.

‘You wanted to see me, sir?’ asked Riedwaan.

Phiri pointed to a chair. ‘Sit down, Faizal.’ Riedwaan sat and waited, the autopsy report clutched to his chest. ‘How did it go with Frikkie Bester?’ he asked.

‘Thanks for phoning him, sir,’ said Riedwaan. ‘I don’t think that he is too happy about me taking over. But he was okay. He didn’t klap me, at least.’

Phiri put his arms on his desk and leaned towards Riedwaan. ‘We go back a long way, don’t we, Faizal?’ Riedwaan nodded. ‘I’m giving you a second chance here, so don’t fuck it up. Is that clear?’

‘Yes, sir,’ said Riedwaan. Phiri eyed him. Riedwaan thought he was going to say something more, but he didn’t. Instead he held his hand out for the preliminary autopsy report. Riedwaan handed it over, summarising Piet Mouton’s preliminary findings. ‘The scene was too carefully arranged for it to be a random killing. It doesn’t look as if she was raped, or even that she’d had intercourse recently. No boyfriend, as far as we know. She was missing since Friday but Piet is pretty sure she died on Monday night – about twelve or so hours before she was found. We know she wasn’t killed there. Someone took a big risk leaving her where he did.’

Phiri nodded, listening as he went through the report. ‘I got a message that you wanted Clare Hart on your team?’ Phiri closed the report and handed it back to Riedwaan. ‘Why?’

‘She’s the best, sir,’ Riedwaan replied.

‘What makes you think you’ve got a serial killer here, Faizal? All you have is one body. Could be a once-off. She was in the wrong place at the wrong time.’

‘With respect, sir, I don’t think so.’ Riedwaan chose his words. He knew what Phiri was afraid of. One whiff of another serial killer and the press would be circling like vultures.

‘You think there’ll be another one?’ asked Phiri.

‘Let’s put it this way: I wouldn’t be surprised if there is another one. Or if there have been other girls killed like this that we haven’t heard about… yet.’

Phiri rubbed his eyes. It was two o’clock and he felt worn out. ‘So why Clare?’ he persisted.

‘This is her area, sir. Femicide and sex crimes.’ Riedwaan pointed to the bookshelf behind Phiri’s desk. ‘There’s her doctorate.’ Crimes against Women in Post-Apartheid South Africa was on the top shelf, its pages dog-eared and its margins filled with question marks and comments in Phiri’s precise hand.

‘It’s very good, meticulously researched,’ conceded Phiri. ‘But I’m not sure I agree that because we averted a civil war in South Africa that the “unspent violence was sublimated into a war against women. A war in which there are no rules and no limits”, as she argues whenever she gets the chance.’

‘It’s not her fault, sir, that brutality against women and children is intensifying while conviction rates are falling.’ Phiri was amused at how awkward the jargon sounded coming from Riedwaan Faizal, who went on to argue, ‘She’s profiled for the police since 1994, and she’s been very successful.’

‘She pisses off everybody she works with,’ Phiri argued.

‘Maybe because she’s a woman and she’s good.’

‘Bullshit, Faizal. It’s because she’s a loner and she does what she wants.’ Phiri looked at Riedwaan, then he laughed. ‘That’s why you like her, I suppose.’

Riedwaan smiled. ‘Whatever her faults, you know she’s the best, sir.’

‘I’m going to get shit about that last case you two worked on.’

Riedwaan felt the old anger again. He and Clare had worked on a series of abductions. They had built an excellent case against a gangster who abducted homeless girls of between eight and thirteen for his brothels. But two witnesses had been murdered and the others withdrew their statements. DNA evidence was contaminated, and then a whole docket disappeared. The case collapsed, taking their tentative investigation with it.

‘That wasn’t her fault,’ he said, the anger filtering through into his voice. ‘That was because of someone inside. Dockets don’t just walk.’

‘Some people say a docket can get lost if the person looking after it drinks too much. And when he doesn’t sleep at home.’

Riedwaan suppressed his anger. ‘What is the decision, sir?’

‘Like I said, Riedwaan. Last chance.’

Riedwaan looked at Phiri. ‘Last chance with Clare, too?’

Phiri nodded. ‘Last chance, Faizal, all round.’

‘Thank you, sir.’ Riedwaan stood up to leave, the autopsy report in his hands.

He was about to open the door when Phiri spoke again. ‘You catch him, Riedwaan. Not a word to the press yet. They will be on to this one like a ton of bricks.’

Riedwaan turned and looked at him. He didn’t want journalists hounding him again either. ‘Yes, sir.’ Riedwaan pulled the door shut behind him.

Phiri stared after him. If Riedwaan needed Clare Hart’s assistance, then good luck to him. And Phiri hoped that the killer, whoever he was, would still be fit for trial after Riedwaan had caught him.