Chapter 19

Morningside Meadows, Caledon District, Overberg.

It was Saturday morning on the farm. The morning chores were done and there was not much else to do. This was “going to town” day, and all were excited for the drive into Greyton to go and spend some cash. Solomon would drive them to the village in the five-ton Leyland truck.

It was a funny sight to see the truck pull out with about fifteen people on the back. Yeah, I did frown at that configuration, but this is the country. Here things are being done, somewhat otherwise. They have been doing this for donkey’s years and no-one will convince them otherwise.

A few of the women folk also needed to go. Those that did not have a husband with a car were stranded, as riding on the back of the truck would ruin their “going to town” attire.

The task fell to Andrea to drive them in the little minibus that was there for that purpose. Now in the small community of farmworkers there’s always some of the kids that get into mischief. Disobedience, getting into a fight at school, or a bad test report were some of the transgressions. The usual punishment, besides a few warm whacks on the bottom, was the universal punishment of “You’re NOT going to town!”

But not going to town did not mean that they could run around the farm and get into more mischief. Oh, no. They had been given some or other chore to complete while the mom and dad, aunt or uncle were out to town. And just be aware of the consequences if those chores were not done to perfection on the return of the task masters.

Apie (16), Mali (14), and Trixie (13), being the “older more responsible kids”, were given the task of overseeing the bunch that were in purgatory. Well, the kids were normally well-behaved and there were just six under the “You’re not going to town!” sentence. But even worse, three of them had not committed any offence and were therefore a little disheartened at being given the task of “overseeing the rascals.” As a salve to their pain, they were given extra pocket money for when they did get the chance to go to town.

It was like Trixie explained to me: “I don’t mind, Master Dusty, I save up my extra pocket money to buy me a whyliss. You know, like one of dem carry-around whylisses that can play seedees! A pink one like at Osman’s in Greyton.” (Whyliss, derived from the English word “Wireless” = Afrikaans slang for a Radio. Seedees = Afrikaans slang for music CD Disks.)

I stayed behind to catch up on some case files that the staff at the office were preparing for court. Erich would normally do this, but he was a little busy with other tasks, so I volunteered to look at it on his behalf. It would not keep me busy that long, and besides, me staying behind freed up a seat in the minibus.

After finishing up my case files, I got a mug of coffee and sat down on a couch in the lounge, I read an article in an old SA Flyer magazine that Andrea had left out on the coffee table in the lounge. The article from Jim Davis was really an eye-opener, as he analysed the sequences of events leading up to an aircraft accident. It evaluated causes that sometimes were overlooked but played a significant part in the moment of impact. One mistake led up to another that just aggravated the scenario. Making mistakes, or poor call of judgement? Or just fate?

One thing leads to another, like checking the fuel lines, and quantity, but not the fuel itself of the aircraft. Sometimes there’s goldfish swimming in the fuel. Contamination. Yeah, well, really, don’t take me literally, it’s impossible for goldfish to swim in aircraft fuel. It’s just a figure of speech. But contamination is a serious hazard. Especially in A1 jet fuel.

But why do I tell you about this, and use the term: “Sequence of events”? All will be revealed shortly.

The further I read through the article, the more things made sense as the author was clarifying the sequence of events that led up to a particular aircraft accident. To me it seemed like it was no accident, but a convergence of judgement call errors that terminated in the demise of a perfectly good aircraft, and the unfortunate deaths of really good people. Yeah, good people do make mistakes, or errors in judgement, and equipment does fail.

I finished the article and told myself to look at things more careful in future and apply my mind clear and with attention, especially on the 787 and the 747.

TC left six of his men to continue with the security while he and Lorie plus the rest of the crew drove out to Caledon. They wanted to go see what the Overberg town on the Umvoti river was all about.

I expected the town contingent to arrive back around 12:00, so there was a whole morning ahead and not so much to keep me occupied for the duration thereof.

Mistake number one for the day was done, and I did not realise it: Letting Andrea out of my sight.

The happy voices of the children playing came from three or four hundred metres up the dirt road towards Nooitgedacht. I suppose they had finished with what was put out for them to do and were now relaxing.

My phone rang, and the display read; “Ash”.

“Morning, are you missing my sparkling personality?”

“No, asshole! I’ve got news.”

“Oh, did you win the lottery?”

“Damn, I don’t need the lottery. I’ve got more headaches already, but your friend mister Ludwig Aldermann committed suicide in his cell at Pollsmoor Prison.”

“Now, that’s news!”

“Funny though, there was a fire in his cell. After they extinguished the fire, they found his charred body in the remains of the bed. Burned beyond recognition.”

“He did not even shout or call for help?”

“Nope! That’s why they concluded suicide.”

“You think that he finally came to the conclusion that he would be found guilty of conspiracy?”

“Yeah. But I say good riddance! Saves many expenses on a trial.”

“But to set oneself alight? He must have been pretty far gone to go that way.”

“Still, he’s out of the way now.”

“It leaves Plaatjies. Any news on him?”

“I think his car is on the move. Reports indicate that the car came out yesterday and drove to Maitland. It returned an hour later, but the people inside could not be identified. Same with later the day it went to Steenberg or Tokai, and returned again two hours later. Then early this morning it left again. Destination unknown.”

“Hmm...”

“It could be nothing, but I have an idea that Plaatjies is on the move.”

“We’ll have to wait and see. It is all circumstantial evidence right now and does not point to any crime.”

“With Plaatjies, all he does is crime!”

“No, no, Ash, unless you catch him with his hand in the cookie jar, it is all circumstantial.”

“So, we wait?”

“We wait.”

“Okay, if you say so ... I’ll keep you posted.”

“Thanks, Ash.”

“Give Miss Louw a hug from me, will you?”

“Sure thing. Any excuse to give her a hug.”

Chuckle. “Yeah! Same with the redhead. Cheers, Dusty.”

“Keep well, Ash. Goodbye.” I disconnected and thought of what Ash told me. Aldermann committing suicide was one thing, Plaatjies being missing and now his car has been seen gallivanting around. Okay, Plaatjies is in Cape Town. Mistake number two in my sequence: Assuming Plaatjies WAS in Cape Town.

Time to see why the kids were so happy. I got up, stretched, then walked off, out of the lounge, out over the patio, across the front lawn, out of the open farmyard gate, and up the road towards the workers houses.

Mistake number three. Why did I not take the bakkie, and drive the few hundred metres?

At the workers housing, I found all the kids playing a soccer game. They had a makeshift ball of rolled up plastic bags, tied with twine, and were dribbling and kicking it, passing it to one another. There were two complete under-manned teams, playing.

“It’s called four aside!” Trixie enlightened me. “It’s fun.”

Apie was the referee, while Molly and Trixie were coaches, team leaders, cheerleaders, and spectators, all rolled into one.

Over by the nearest house, three old-timers that also skipped the trip to town sat in the shade of an oak tree on well-worn white plastic garden chairs. They waved me over and invited me to sit down on one of the two remaining chairs, after Letta dusted it off.

“Will the Master have some tea with us?” Susanna asked. I happily accepted. I don’t need to offend these people. Although they are farmworkers, they are still human and as such I respect them.

The soccer game ended in a draw and while Apie took the boys down to the river for a naked swim, the girls chose to go do other things. Molly and Trixie joined the old timers. Susanna served us tea, and I supposed the best mug in the house became my mug of tea.

The conversation went mostly about the farm and how happy they we’re that Nonna Drey-ah was back where she belonged.

I spent a while with the old-timers chatting about what they did on the farm and how they found it to be on Morningside. What struck me that these people were well past their retirement age, but still helped out on the farm for the benefit of a biweekly salary and the benefit of staying in a brick house with electricity.

If they were to retire and go off to live elsewhere, they would not be so well off. Thinking of the latest Employment Equity Law and the Law on Basic Conditions of Employment, I need to speak with Andrea and bring her up to speed with it. One topic would be the creation of a retirement benefit for these people.

A slight stirring in the air brought the east wind ruffling the leaves of the oak tree under which we sat, and out by the field where Andrea had harvested her fifteen hectares of wheat, small dust devils were stirring up the leftover stalks and leaves of the wheat.

Maria had a wad of thread that she was rolling up, and her hands worked the bundle as she spoke to us.

“The wind comes. Soon it will bring clouds and rain,” she observed, and I looked at my watch. It was 13:25. Way past the time I expected the town goers to be back.

I reached for my cell phone and froze. It was still on the coffee table in the lounge of the homestead.

Mistake number four: Being out of communication.

Then Letta voiced her concern: “I wonder where those no-goods are holding up. They should have been back around twelve?”

“Do they usually come back around twelve?” I asked.

“Yes, Master, else they don’t get lunch!” Maria explained. “No wonder I am so hungry, it’s nearly two o’clock!”

“Well, thanks for the tea, but Letta, Maria, Susanna, please pardon me, I left my cell phone at home. I’ll go fetch it and phone Nonna Andrea, to find out what’s keeping them.”

“I just don’t hope they fell in by the bottle store and are drinking and are giving Nonna Drey-ah a bad time!” Letta spoke up.

“Well, let me go and phone them,” I said, got up and sprinted down the gravel road towards the Morningside homestead.

As I went up the steps to the patio, I could hear my cell phone ringing in the lounge. I rushed in, but just as I picked up the phone it stopped ringing. I looked at the display. TC, and nine other missed calls. Dammit!

I redialled TC’s number.

“Where hell are you, Dusty?”

“I was playing with the kids and drinking tea with the old-timers.”

“Dammit, Dusty. We have a situation. Andrea’s disappeared!”

“WHAT!”

“I’m five minutes out to the farm to come and get you. My crew is in Greyton trying to trace Andrea.”

“How...”

“We don’t know, but it seems she went to the Posthouse Hotel but did not get there. Mandy said the last time she saw her was a few weeks ago, when the two of you were staying there.”

“Dammit! The guys are looking all over, and the workers are searching too. The last we could gather was that she parked the minibus at the General Dealer, got out and said she’s going to see if Mandy was at the hotel.”

“And Mandy said she did not get there?”

“Nope. No hide nor hair of her.”

“How far are you?”

“Turning in by the gate. Meet me outside.”

My first mistake was to let Andrea go to town without an armed escort because Plaatjies was still in places unknown. Worse, we let Plaatjies slip away from surveillance. Then I lost valuable time because I left my phone behind and didn’t get the calls from TC. I didn’t drive around the farm and had to run back to the house and get my cell phone. I had no idea I was going to have to move so quickly.

Sprinting to my room, I retrieved my 9-millimetre. I just had the hunch that I would need it. Better have it and not need it, then need it and not have it.

I also took two extra magazines, then ran outside. Thanks for being moderately fit.

As I came down the steps of the patio, TC arrived in a dust cloud and braked to a stop. I was in the Land Rover in a flash.

“When last did they see Andrea?” I questioned TC.

“Solomon said she passed him with the minibus towards town, and as he got there, she was waiting for him. He spoke to her and then went on his way. That was around 11:00!”

“Dammit! Three hours, and nobody saw or heard of her. Did anybody try to phone her?” I asked as I took out my cell phone to try and call Andrea.

“No answer. The phone just rings and goes to voice mail.”

“Dammit!” As if expecting a miracle, I dialled Andie’s cell number.

“Hello...” A male voice said.

“Who’s this!” I spoke into my phone. TC looked at me with a question mark on his face.

“It’s Alphonse. I heard this phone ring a few times, and it was here in my flowerbed inside a lady’s handbag.”

“Where are you Alphonse, it is important?”

“Main road, just before the Posthouse Hotel. Are you coming here?”

“Yes! We are a way out. We just left the farm.”

“I’ll wait on the stoop. But this looked like a lady’s bag and cell phone?”

“Yes, it is. It belongs to Andrea Louw from Morningside Meadows.”

“Oh, that dear child. How is it that she lost her handbag here in my flowerbed?”

“Alphonse, I don’t know now. All I know is that Miss Louw went missing. I am trying to find out where she is. In twenty to thirty minutes we’ll be there. And my name is Dusty.”

“Okay, Dusty, I’ll wait on the stoop. Hurry!”

TC raced the bakkie into town, the dust cloud of his passing hanging in the air for many minutes before dispersing. Lucky for the townsfolk, the last few hundred meters of the road was tar.

We stopped at the road crossing in a parking spot at the hotel. Alphonse, a greying old man of about seventy, came off the stoop of his house and opened the little garden gate. He walked up to us across the little cement slab across the irrigation “Leivoor.”

“Hello, Uncle Alphonse. I am Dusty De Lange,” I greeted and held out my hand. The old man took it and shook my hand.

“Hello, Dusty. Here is the handbag,” He greeted and handed me the brown leather handbag. It was Andrea’s bag! “Let me show you where I found it.”

The house, close to the street, had a garden fence of building brickwork doubling as a high raised flower bed; all painted in lime whitewash as were most of the dwellings in Greyton with their semi Cape Dutch style.

“Here!” Alphonse said, indicating a spot between the multi-coloured Namaqualand daisies. “Here is where I found it after I heard the cell phone ringing.”

I looked at the spot and at the gravel soil around the walkway nearest to the spot where he found the handbag. There were signs of a scuffle, as there were at least three pairs of footprints criss-crossing one another, and pointing in different directions, as if the people responsible for the footprints were milling around. Two pairs of footprints looked larger than the third set.

The three sets of footprints then made off towards the side of the road and vanished. TC looked closely at the prints.

“Okay, let’s assume it was Andrea who made those smaller prints. There were two or three people with her. Look over there,” TC said and indicated a spot a little further away.” You can see her walking this way. Then there are two sets joining up to where the scuffle took place. One pair directly from the tar, and another set a little away, like if that person came around the front of a car.”

“Yeah, I see it...” I whispered, nodding my head.

“Then three sets going back to that point. And tyre marks where the vehicle drove off. I am sorry, Dusty, it looks like someone abducted Andrea.”

“If I look at the footprints, it doesn’t look like she went willingly!”

“Right! Let’s get the cavalry. They could have taken her anywhere by now. The spoor looks about four to five hours old to me,” TC replied, still looking at the footprints in the sand and loose gravel.

“Four hours! They could even be in Cape Town by now...”

“You thinking what I am thinking?” TC asked.

“Plaatjies! The motherfucker!”

Nobody saw anything. Well, the lady over the street from Alphonse’s house was in her garden around 11:12 and heard a car stopping, some shouting and then saw two male figures and a small female getting into the car, then it drove off in the direction of out of town.