Glittering Gallows

Chapter 61

351 C Chapter 61 oagi Makgunda sat in his oak-panelled governmental office on the thirteenth floor of the Gauteng Provincial Government Building, his legs propped on his desk. The Nigerian hermit’s final words played in his mind: ‘... you shall bear three angels. They shall not lack anything for as long as you live and Konté and the portrait you’ll find in the grave are in your house.” Babalwao Arugogo had paused. “Find Konté pretty young women now and then. After several years, omens shall tell you that he needs a permanent beauty. You will find him a petite blonde in Europe. But if I were you, I wouldn’t wait for the omens.” Moagi was a happy man; things were going according to plan. Katherine would be in Sydney the day after the morrow. She left the day before aboard his private jet via Yemen, India and Indonesia. César Sergio Miguel took a direct QANTAS flight some hours ago. Katherine would return in a body bag or coffin. An office orderly brought him The Sunday Times Tribune. The newspaper carried two headline stories. Both pleasantly surprised him, but he didn’t show his emotions to the orderly. When the man exited and closed the door behind him, Moagi smiled. Indeed things were going according to plan. The topmost headline read: FATHER VAN VUUREN LAID TO REST Thousands attend funeral A picture of the priest’s casket, borne by robed Catholic priests including bishops and an Italian cardinal, was on the paper. So were the three albinos he brought from Green Haven. Noluthando, Linda and Norman stood solemnly by the graveside. Indeed they weren’t returning to the hospice. Ironically, he thought of the infamous Bermuda Triangle and grinned. M 352 I tempted Hendrik with money, reflected the premier. He took it. He was in the same league as Judas. Where’s he now? The second headline on the bottom half of the page equally satisfied him: FAMILY MURDERED, CHAMBERS SET ON FIRE Police suspect foul play A photograph of the interior of a fire-guttered office with an insert picture of a partially silver haired white man accompanied a journalist’s report. He read the initial paragraphs: Dr Herbert O’Donovan (58), a clinical psychologist whose practice was on the eighth floor of Oosterbroek Building in Central Pretoria, was murdered last night together with his wife, Cecilia (51), their mentally retarded son, Cuthbert (27), and their Dalmatian. The doctor, a Georgetown University product, and his wife were found dead by the police at his house along Johann Rissik Drive near the historic Fort Klapperkop. A neighbour (name withheld) heard gunshots in the night and called the police. Their bodies were found lying on the floor in pools of blood in their bedroom. Cuthbert and the dog were found dead on the doorstep. The three and the dog were shot in the head. During the same night, a mysterious fire gutted Dr O’Donovan’s chambers at Oosterbroek Building. By the time the Fire Brigade arrived only smouldering ashes were what remained of the chambers’ contents. A police spokesman, Insp. Silas Haasbroek, said the police suspected the fire was an arson attack.... Moagi folded the paper and imagined Katherine falling in a Sydney street, or would it be in a grand suite in the Swissôtel, and a pool of blood growing beneath her. ...