And? said the General impatiently.
He said it was early. He was on his way to the bus stop. Then he saw a man getting out of the BMW and walking into MacDonalds house. And minutes later the BMW raced past him.
Did he see the man? Recognize him? The General had trouble in keeping his voice down.
Barely. He said it happened too quickly. But he saw the registration number. It was easy to remember. CY 77.
Fuckit! said the General. Find out who it is.
We already have, General. Thats why were here. We want Captain Joubert to come with us.
Fuckit, said the General and cleared his throat.
Ladies and gentlemen. Quiet please. Ladies and gentlemen. One could hear a pin drop. Our efforts has paid off.
Have,
Joubert thought.
Have
paid off.
We now received fresh information and I think a suspect will be arrested in a matter of hours. We will now excuse Captain Mat Joubert, who will follow up this new lead.
Joubert got up with the buoyancy of total relief. The press shouted questions but Joubert walked to the door past the group, with Leon Petersen.
Please, ladies and gentlemen, please, can I have your attention, the General shouted.
Then Joubert and Petersen were out the door.
To whom does the BMW belong? Joubert asked.
Oliver Sigmund Nienaber.
For a moment he was speechless. He stopped in his tracks.
The
Oliver Nienaber?
The very same. No one cuts your hair better or cheaper. I promise.
Fuckit, said Joubert and felt like a general.
The house was high up against the rise of Tygerberg, with a view across Bellville and the Cape Flats, to the Hottentots-Holland range. It was built on three levels, a modern building of white-painted concrete and glass. They stopped in front of the three-door garage.
Rich, because of womans vanity, Petersen said.
They walked up the stairs next to the garage. The front door was large. Joubert pressed the doorbell. They couldn't hear it ring. They waited.
The front door opened. A black woman in a neat uniform appeared.
Can I help you?
Joubert flashed her the plastic card on which his photo, the police crest, and his details were shown. Were from the police. We would like to see Oliver Nienaber, please.
Her eyes widened. Please come in, she said and turned round. They walked into the entrance hall. She disappeared down the passage. They heard womens voices while they studied the modern painting against the wall. Then a blond woman appeared. They recognized her. Mrs. Antoinette Nienaber, née Antoinette van Zyl, star of such unforgettable movies as
A Rose for Janey, Seven Soldiers,
and
A Woman in Love.
And today, as so many magazine and newspaper articles repeated over and over again, she was still happily married to the hairdresser king, owner of a chain of salons, the head of Hair Today, Oliver Nienaber.
She was still beautiful enough to take their breath away. She gave them a friendly smile. Good evening. May I help you?
Joubert coughed. Mrs. Nienaber, Im Captain Joubert and this is Lieutenant Petersen. Were from the polices Murder and Robbery squad and would like to speak to Mr. Nienaber.
Her smile widened. Of course. Please come in. Hes playing snooker with the boys. She walked ahead, and Joubert thought that she must be close to forty but that there was nothing wrong with her body.
She stood in the doorway of a large room. Oliver, someone to see you.
They heard his voice. At this time of the evening?
His wife didn't reply.
You carry on. Play for me, Toby. We can still win.
Okay, Pa.
Oliver Nienaber came through the door. The well-known face could be seen virtually every day in full-page advertisements in the newspapers with the equally well-known words: NOBODY CUTS YOUR HAIR BETTER OR CHEAPER. I PROMISE. And his flamboyant signature and the big logo of Hair Today. And, usually, at the bottom: NOW OPEN AT . . . George. Or Laingsburg. Or Oudtshoorn. Or Kimberley.
Good evening, gentlemen, he said jovially. Im sorry, but I dont cut hair in the evening.
Theyre from the police, darling, said Antoinette Nienaber softly. She introduced them. Take them to the study and Ill organize something to drink. Tea? Coffee?
They all wanted coffee. Nienaber led them to his study.
He didn't sit behind the desk. The room was big enough to have a corner for a couch and armchairs. Please sit down. I dont have a visit from the police every day.
Joubert saw the framed certificates and photos and newspaper advertisements against the wall.
The same advertisements for the past six years. And theyre still working, Nienaber said as he followed Jouberts eyes.
How many salons do you have now? Joubert asked.
The sixty-second opened its doors in Cradock last week. And now were going to Gauteng. If I can find a good local manager. How about it? Dont you feel like it? Nienaber spoke to Joubert, ignored Petersen completely. He was relaxed and comfortable but Joubert knew it meant nothing.
Mr. Nienaber . . .
How can I help you?
Were from Murder and Robbery . . .
Goodness, it sounds serious.
Does the name Alexander MacDonald mean anything to you?
MacDonald? MacDonald? You know, I meet so many people . . .
Mr. MacDonald is the owner of MacDonald Fisheries, a small concern in Hout Bay with two fishing trawlers. Big man. Red hair, Petersen said.
Whats his name? Alexander? Why does it sound vaguely familiar? Nienaber stared at the ceiling and rubbed his ear.
You didn't visit anyone with that name today?
Not that I can recall.
You are the owner of a new dark red BMW with the license plate CY 77?
Thats right. No sign of worry.
You used the vehicle today?
I use it every day.
To your knowledge the vehicle wasn't used by anyone else today?
No . . . Could you tell me . . . Has my car been stolen?
When last did you see your car, Mr. Nienaber? Joubert asked.
This afternoon, when I came home.
And at what time did you leave this morning?
Six oclock. I think it was around six. I always like to be in the office early. His face began to show concern. Would you like to tell me what this is about, please?