Blue Sunday. Irma Venter
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“And he’s still in a coma?” Alex asks.
“Yes,” I say.
“Did the intruders only have knives? No firearms?”
“Not that we know of. Maybe they didn’t want to use guns. Shots would have called attention.”
“And DNA? Any success?”
“Nothing. Not one of the attackers is on our database.”
He gives a lopsided grin. “That would have been too easy, right?”
He turns around, points outside, where it’s still bucketing down. “Could you follow the blood anywhere? Was there a car waiting in the street?”
I shake my head. “The heavy rain on Christmas Day destroyed everything, if there was anything to start with. And if there was a car outside, it didn’t leave via the Stables’ main gate.”
We go up the stairs to the top floor. I open the first door.
“Cath van Zyl’s room. She’s twelve. An old twelve, clearly.” I consider the name. “Cath is her new name. She was always called Maria. Her full name is Catherine Mary, like her grandmother. On her twelfth birthday, she decided she wanted to be called Cath, because Maria was too old-fashioned, cheesy and biblical … this is according to a friend of hers.”
Alex walks past me into the room, and then stops, as though he’s having difficulty digesting the space.
I understand his reaction. Cath van Zyl was a raving perfectionist. Everything neat, perfectly in place, precisely arranged next to, and on top of, one another. Just the bed is messy, as though she’d been sleeping in it and got up in a hurry. White sheets, black blinds.
“May I look?” Alex gestures towards the cupboard.
Farr nods, reluctantly.
He opens the door with his index finger, stares at the neat rows of school uniforms, ballet clothes and jeans, sorted by category and colour. “Was she … is she …?”
I had the same problem until Farr and I decided to talk about Katerien, Willem and Cath as though they were still alive.
Is. Not was.
“She doesn’t come across as the average teenager,” he says eventually.
“Definitely not,” I say. “Mad about ballet. Above-average intelligence. She’s in Grade 7 already. Ambitious child. She wants to go to Juilliard, that performing arts school in New York, when she finishes school.”
“I take it there’s still no trace of her.”
“No. All we know is that none of the blood in the house is hers.”
“I suppose that’s good news.”
We follow Farr out to the passage. The next door is the oldest child, Willem’s room.
Farr opens the door. Alex wants to go in, but I stop him. “Wait.”
He turns.
“What you’re going to see in here is one of the things we tried to keep out of the media.”
“I won’t write anything,” he says. “As we agreed.”
3
Thursday, 8 February, 16:19
It takes Alex Derksen a few seconds to realise what secret lies hidden in Willem van Zyl’s bedroom. He walks towards the double bed and looks at the shape under the duvet, as though someone is sleeping there.
“He slipped out earlier that evening.” Alex puts out his hand as though he wants to lift the duvet.
Farr clears her throat. He retracts his hand, tucks it into his jeans pocket.
“What do you know about Willem?” I ask.
“That the Stables’ CCTV picked him up at just after 1 am when he rushed out the gate. According to the cameras he was alone in the BMW … no sign of Katerien or Cath. Everyone is speculating that he murdered his family and fled.”
“Correct. Because then he disappeared off the face of the earth.”
Alex looks at the bed. “But this … what does it mean? Did he slip out at 1 am when the cameras spotted him, or earlier?”
Farr moves restlessly beside me. I ignore her. After some consideration, I realised that Ndlovu was right: Sydney had held back on this information, but it hadn’t served him in any way. Maybe Alex can help us find out where Willem was on the evening of the 24th. I’m not talking to him because I have a warm and generous heart. I need answers.
“This is something the papers don’t know and that you’re not allowed to write,” I say. “The cameras picked Willem up the first time just after 9 pm when he left the Stables on foot, just behind a car leaving through the gate. The image is grainy, but Willem’s rugby coach says the figure runs like him. Locks apparently have a characteristic way of moving. The CCTV loses him as he moves around the corner of the estate. No one knows where he went.”
“When did he come back?”
“Just before 1 am. Also on foot. But this time he used his access card, so we know it was him.”
“And a few minutes later he leaves in his car through the gate as if the devil is after him?”
“Precisely.”
“So what does that mean?”
I shrug. “I’m not sure it necessarily creates a different scenario to the one the media has been speculating about. Willem seems guilty. He pretends he is ill. His family doesn’t leave for Hermanus. He pays someone to attack them and then slips away to give them time to do their work.”
Alex frowns. “But where’s he now, then?”
“Good point,” I say. “Why not come back, cry crocodile tears, deny that you’re guilty and say you were out while the tragedy was unfolding? The life insurance is well worth it – R10 million for Lafras and R3 million for Katerien.”
“Maybe Willem had to flee,” Alex says. “Maybe the intruders decided to get rid of him too. Maybe they found something more valuable?”
“Not that we know of. The safe was still locked and nothing is missing from it, according to Annabel. Everything is there, including Lafras’s pistol. And firearms are usually high on the list of things that get stolen.”
Alex frowns again. “That doesn’t make sense at all.”
“No. It doesn’t.”
“Any other scenarios on the table?”
“One or two. Maybe their attackers were here for a different reason. Maybe they were after Cath or Katerien.”
Farr looks at me sharply. I pretend I don’t notice.
Alex tries his best not to ask the question immediately. He stares at Willem’s bed for a long time, then at the window. “Has anyone demanded a ransom for the women?”
“No. That’s just a wild theory, something I’ve wondered. Are we done here, or is there anything else you want to know?”
“A few things. Did no one call the police or paramedics? Did Willem make no phone calls before he left?”
“No. And no.”
“And you’re certain the attack happened just before one? When Willem left here for the second time?”
“No, we’re not. We know that Willem was here for about seven, eight minutes.”
“That’s enough time for an attack.”
I nod.
“And Lafras can’t help you put together a timeline, because he’s still in a coma?”