Blue Sunday. Irma Venter
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“Just what was in the papers. He and Katerien Kirkpatrick married a few years after varsity. She was at UCT and he went to Stellenbosch. They met at Lafras’s family farm when she went there as a third-year student with friends for a wine tasting. A few years later he listed Invest+ on the Johannesburg Stock Exchange and they moved to Pretoria. A little more than two years ago Lafras was dismissed as CEO.”
Alex rubs his forehead as if he’s trying to unravel the facts. “Apparently, he lived too royally on the company’s credit card, and he took over a company in Nigeria just before the oil price, and the country’s economy, collapsed. He argued that Invest+ was his company, that he’d built it up from nothing, but the shareholders weren’t interested.”
The man’s done his homework. But does he know about Lafras’s debt?
If he does, he’s not showing his hand. He watches us expectantly.
Farr’s expression enquires whether we’re done talking. I nod, and she motions for us to follow her. We walk out of the kitchen and immediately turn left into the passage.
“The TV in the living room was on when the police arrived, so we’re not sure where Lafras was when his attackers came in,” Farr explains. “I suspect he was moving between the living room and his study.”
The spacious study at the end of the passage has a desk so big you could play table tennis on it, two bookshelves full of National Geographic DVDs and business books, and some home gym equipment. The room has thick carpets and underfloor heating. The exercise machines rest on custom-made rubber mats.
Alex walks over the to the bench press. “He must have had the chest of an ox.”
“He did,” I say. “And in the garage, there are two mountain bikes. Well used. His and hers.”
He tests the weights as though he wants to lift them. What is it with men? I don’t even want to tell him how many policemen have tried to lift those weights. The betting pool is at R370 for the first guy to manage it.
Farr stands at the desk and sweeps her hand over the empty surface. “His computer was on, and there were holiday brochures lying around. Looked to me like he was busy booking trips for his family. There was a soccer match on TV that night, which makes me suspect that he was moving between the two rooms.”
“So his computer was still here,” Alex asks. “It wasn’t stolen?”
Farr looks at me. I know why. Sydney made the case sound like a robbery for as long as possible.
“No, it wasn’t stolen,” I admit. “It’s at the cyber unit. We’re missing two iPads, Katerien and Cath’s laptops and Cath and Willem’s phones. Again, this is what Katerien van Zyl’s sister says.”
“That’s it?”
“Yes.”
Alex takes the pen out of his shirt pocket, as if he’s itching to write something down. “Do you really think it was robbery?”
It’s clear that this is the first scrap of news for the day. But I don’t want to admit anything.
“Maybe. Maybe not. Maybe the guys got cold feet after they ran into Lafras.” I keep my voice as neutral as possible. “You must remember, the Van Zyls weren’t supposed to be home. They were supposed to drive to their holiday home on Christmas Eve. So we can’t really eliminate the possibility that it was simply a robbery.”
“We think Josie, the ridgeback, started barking when she saw the intruders,” Farr gestures impatiently. “Lafras went to the back door.”
We follow her back to the passage.
“The dog must have given the intruders a helluva surprise,” Farr continues. “Just like the open back door. As AJ says, the Van Zyls and the dog were supposed to leave for Hermanus that night. Apparently, Lafras always loaded everything and everyone up and drove through the night.”
“So why were they still here?” Alex asks.
I know Farr’s not going to answer. “No idea.”
“And if you had to guess?”
I shrug. “It looks like someone might have got sick … nauseous. There’s an open pack of Valoids next to the basin in the bathroom.”
Alex rolls the pen between his fingers again. “The parents’ bathroom or the children’s bathroom?”
Clever. A place like this would have at least two bathrooms. “The children’s.”
“So either Cath or Willem was sick.” The pen clicks in and out. “And you know the family wasn’t supposed to be home that Sunday night, because that’s what Annabel Kirkpatrick said.”
“Yes.”
“And it was Christmas Eve,” he says. “And, as you say, ninety per cent of the houses in the estate were empty. The people who live here have money, and houses in Germany, Mozambique and who knows where else. Embassy personnel with euros and dollars. People with money, like Lafras.”
I listen to Alex working through the facts in his head. Facts I hope he gathered from the media and didn’t get from some big-mouthed police contact.
“According to Annabel, she was unaware that the Van Zyls were still here. The last message she got said they were on their way,” he continues. “She came around on the afternoon of the 26th, as she’d promised to do while the family was gone. She couldn’t come earlier, because she didn’t have a nursing assistant over Christmas. She’s the one who found Lafras.”
“No,” I stop him.
He looks at me questioningly, then realises his mistake.
“Oh yes, Annabel didn’t find Lafras, her new assistant did. Razmik. She was waiting outside for him to unlock the door. He went in and then came storming out. Two security guards walking by saw the gate was open and came to see what was going on. They told Annabel to call the police and an ambulance. According to Annabel, she hadn’t been too worried when she couldn’t get hold of Katerien on Christmas Day because Katerien, Lafras and the kids often switched their phones off when they went on holiday. Even on the high days. Katerien demanded it.”
“That’s right,” I say. “And the phone records confirm that.” I prod him to find out where he got his information from. “Rapport had a front-page story about Annabel.”
“Yes. And a feature about the Kirkpatrick family. They came to South Africa after the First World War. The sisters’ great-grandparents were well-known missionaries. Annabel is … was … a famous ballet dancer, not just here, but also abroad.”
“Correct.” I motion towards Farr, who is waiting with her face pulled into a question mark, as it always is when people waste her time. “Come on. Let’s get a move on.”
Farr walks down the passage. “So. The dog barks. Lafras moves to the back door.”
Alex follows her, and then stops. He hooks his pen back into his shirt pocket. “It doesn’t make sense.”
“What now?” Farr grumbles.
“Wouldn’t a guy like Lafras van Zyl have a gun?”
Farr nods curtly. “It was in the main bedroom in a safe. We think that he might have been on his way upstairs when he was stopped. Anything else?”
Alex smiles warmly. “Sorry. Was just wondering.”
Farr walks to the living room, impatience practically nipping at her heels. Her steps are getting shorter and that frown of hers isn’t budging.
She points up the stairs. “Lafras tries to run up to get the gun. The guys tackle him. They fight. The ridgeback joins in but gets kicked in the windpipe. She also gets stabbed three times. Dead.”
Farr waves towards the blood splatters on the wall. She makes a fist with one hand and points to her