Deadly Mother City: Pieter Strauss Mystery Series, #1

By Joyce Summer

IT'S BOILING IN THE TOWNSHIPS OF THE MOTHER CITY

The heat is oppressive in Cape Town and the drinking water is running out. A series of brutal murders shake the Cape of Good Hope. The tension boils over when the body of a young tourist is found in the middle of the idyllic national park.
Captain Pieter Strauss of the "De Valke" special unit must catch the murderer before there can be another victim. Are these gruesome crimes connected to the ancient superstition of the Rain Queen, who demands victims in times of drought? Or is there something else behind it?

Pieter and his old friend Nick Aquilina quickly get caught up in a vortex that pulls them deep into the merciless world of the townships and entangles them in the machinations of unscrupulous, large corporations. A fierce battle breaks out over the urgent need for drinking water, and all the while the murderer hunts for his next victim.

 

Reviews:

"A fast-paced and gripping crime novel. You get detailed and vivid descriptions of the landscape, you can feel, taste and smell the heat and the dust that covers everything in this dry country."–starred review.

 

"Drought, murder, fraud - a deadly combination in Cape Town. The style of storytelling reminds me of Bennie Griesel novels, two different stories that come together at the end."–starred review.

 

 

• Language: English
• Publisher: Joyce Summer
• Release date: Jun 28, 2021
• ISBN: 9798201056728

Joyce Summer

Born in the Nibelungen city of Worms, Joyce Summer has been fascinated by stories and legends since childhood. What could be more natural than to devote herself entirely to writing at some point? After years of working as a manager in various banks and large corporations, she knows enough about politics and intrigue: so it was not difficult for Joyce to leave this life behind and go on a murder hunt with paper and pen. "In my previous job, you had to be prepared for someone to stick a knife in your back. In that case, I'd rather live out my own murderous desires and fantasies in beautiful crime novels - and I can give my readers a treat as well."

Book preview

Dedication

Acknowledgements   I would like to thank my wonderful test readers, Ute Kraffzik, Volker and Anja Damm, who, after Madeira, dared to join me on the trip to the Cape of Good Hope. Also, a big thank you to my fellow authors from the writing group at the Kulturhaus, whose comments on my texts were, as always, a great help. A special thanks goes to my friend Eva Almstädt, who spent many creative café writing times with me in the small Winterhude café. The writing day flew by. I am very curious to see which Pia adventure was created during this time. Thanks also to Ayla Yegi­ner, Noél Oliveira and their team, whose café is becoming more and more like a second home to me. The buzz of words and the grinding of espresso beans, coupled with the smell of fresh coffee, is always inspiring. Thanks to Pieter Botha, who patiently answered my questions about life in South Africa, and a big thank you to Klaus Hapig, my father's old hunting companion, who set me on the right course when it came to moulting. And last but not least, a big thank you to Dirk, who always stood by me during the times when I was physically present but in spirit in South Africa.   Acknowledgements English edition 2021   Special thanks to my friend Charles Watson who put the finishing touches to the English book. I would also like to thank my sister Melissa Dana and Dirk for encouraging me to introduce the adventures of Pieter to my English-speaking audience.

Also I would like to thank my editor Georgia Rae Croeser, who polished the book off at the end.

Deadly Mother City

Deadly Mother City

Pieter Strauss Mystery #1

Joyce Summer

♆

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

By Joyce Summer

www.joycesummer.com

Copyright German © Joyce Summer, 2018

Copyright English © Joyce Summer, 2021

Joyce Summer

c/o autorenglück.de

Franz-Mehring-Str. 15 

01237 Dresden 

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or any electronic or mechanical means, including photocopying, recording or by any information storage and retrieval system, without the written permission of the author

Content Editor

Georgia Rae Croeser of Georgia Rae Writing

Cover design by OC Wolkenschaufler 2021

(Photo by martinaH79 on Pixabay)

Deadly Mother City was first published in 2018 by Joyce Summer as

Tod am Kap – Captain Pieter Strauss Ermittelt

"In haze the waves lie,

dust let the spring die.

The woods in silence freeze.

The fire man is having his leaps."

(Theodor Storm—The Rain Dove (free translation))

How can I make it stop, Great Mother?

You must find the Fire Spirit, Jongetjieskind.

And how can I find him?

You will read the signs.

What do I do when I find him?

You'll make him stop dancing.

Prologue

He looked over the vast expanses of the fynbos landscape. Everything looked strangely pale. It was as if an artist had poured water over his painting. Calf-high green-brown heather, speckled with the fading colours of yellowish Cape broom, the white-grey rocks and the hills covered in dusty earth blurred into a colourless whole in the dawn of the rising sun.

Now, at the end of December, in the first month of summer in the Cape, the park would be full of visitors in just a few hours. He couldn‘t wait forever if he didn't want them to see him with his prey.

His prey. Patiently, he had lain in wait all night. He had braced himself for a long hunt, but in the morning, it had showed itself. Unprotected and unaware of how close he was. Now it was here, and he was waiting for his opportunity to bring down the prey. He had lost sight of it briefly as he prepared. But it couldn't have gotten far yet. Besides, there were few places to hide here.

Following his instincts, slowly he pursued the winding path up the hill above the beach through spiky heather. From there he should have a clear shot and the danger of his prey seeing him was minimal.

A pink and brown protea flower hung across the path in front of him. He stopped to look at the thistle-like blossom. The leathery pink outer leaves enclosed the inside of the flower like a spiny crown. Carefully, he took the protea in his hand and looked closer. The silvery interior of the flower was covered with small black flies that were slowly eating out the heart.

Like our country, he thought. There too, the flies ate their way through the rich, dark green of the eucalyptus forests rather than through the light brown-green of the fynbos. Only they weren't black, they were red like the fire. He let go of the blossom. Startled by the sudden movement, the black flies scattered. It's spreading, he thought.

His hand flew up to his neck and with a quick grip, he felt the smooth cold surface of the Kauri shell. The coolness would protect him from fire. He crept on.

Up ahead on the hill, he could make out brown-grey outlines in the hazy dawn. A troop of baboons had gathered for their morning grooming. The animals did not notice him. The hunter had made sure the wind was blowing in his direction. He rummaged in his trouser pocket, pulled out the last piece of biltong and chewed on the dry, spiced meat. With narrowed eyes he scanned the landscape in front of him more closely. He breathed a sigh of relief. His instinct had not deceived him. Down there on the beach, he could now spot his prey. Did she have any idea how close he was to her?

Juno

This morning, while her husband was still asleep, she had quickly put on yesterday's shorts and T-shirt. Then quietly she had taken the keys of their rental car from his bedside table, carefully pulled the front door shut behind her and had driven off. Just away. To clear her head. Not thinking about what the consequences would be.

The coastal road led her along the Atlantic Ocean towards the farthest point of the Cape. She stopped in front of the entrance of the national park. The gate was locked and there was not a soul in sight. Did that mean she had to turn around and drive back? Right back to the bed and breakfast? What if he was waiting for her outside? The fear of seeing him now crept up inside her and dried her throat. No, this couldn't be happening. She needed time to herself - to think, to breathe.

Making a quick decision, she got out and walked to the gate. Somehow, she had to get in. She rattled the iron bars. Nothing, the gate was firmly closed. She didn't care about anything now. There was a voice in her head telling her to keep going. Even if it was stupid. She looked at the car and then at the two-metre-high portcullis, with a wide concrete rim arching over it. It must have been three and a half meters high in total, so that was the height that had to be negotiated. How she had cursed him for wanting this giant jeep as a rental car. But now it was the solution. She went back to the car and drove up to the gate. Next, she parked the jeep so that the windscreen was level with the edge of the concrete curb. She got out, took her backpack, and climbed onto the roof of the car. Now the difference was little more than a meter. She could reach the edge of the concrete with her hands. It was hardly more strenuous than pushing herself up onto the lip of a swimming pool. She swung her body over., paying no attention to her palms tearing on the uneven concrete surface. On the other side, she lowered herself down carefully until the jump to the ground wasn’t that far. Done. A wave of joy came over her. If she could overcome this obstacle, she should be able to do anything. The park lay deserted in the early morning and spread calmingly before her. She looked at her watch: just five. The sun would rise in the next half hour, and in an hour at the latest the first day visitors would arrive at the park. For now, it belonged to her. She took a deep breath and walked along the asphalt road. The rugged Cape landscape, covered with fine-leaved heather bushes, spread out before her. On the horizon, down the road, she could see the Atlantic Ocean. She closed her eyes. Tried to collect herself. Very slowly, impressions from nature seeped into her consciousness, displacing the bad thoughts. She heard the soft slapping of the water, which washed in small waves onto the beach down at the end of the road. The chirping of a cricket that must have been squatting in the grass somewhere on the side of the road. She decided to walk to the water. Not along the road, but across the trail through the brush.

She wandered through the fynbos. The thorny leaves scratched at her bare legs. But she did not care. On the contrary, the pricking pain made her feel alive.

A crack. She wheeled around. What was that? There was an ostrich standing right behind her. The big bird seemed more interested in the sparse young shoots sprouting from the ground than in her. He's grazing like a cow, she thought. She listened to the squawk he made as he plucked the leaves from the small stems with his beak. She turned around and walked on slowly.

From the bushes the dew evaporated and became a mist that covered the grass like a veil. Beautiful, a fairy landscape. The first rays of sunlight broke through the haze in silver streaks. It was still pleasantly cool. During the day it was stiflingly hot. One of the greatest heat-waves the country had ever experienced. At least that's what the owners of the bed and breakfast had told them last night. Now she was shivering. She took a deep breath, enjoying the peace and quiet. A loud rustling sound suddenly came from nearby. In shock, her heart skipped a beat. A snake? There were supposed to be poisonous puff adders here. Panicked, she spun around. How stupid. There was only the very same ostrich, moving on to the next bush.

Had she always been afraid? Or had he made her like that? Last night it had happened again. And they had even had a nice day. The walk along the beach together. At first, to their disappointment, they had not seen any penguins. Then they had approached a local who was scanning the water with binoculars. When asked about the birds, he said, laughing, that he was convinced that they would see one that day. She recalled the happiness and excitement that had come over her when they saw their first penguin in the distance. And the fun they had when they realised it wasn't just the one. These little black and white birds populated the whole beach. How they were amused when one of them in its curiosity followed them to the restaurant. With little waddling steps that made the cone-shaped body sway slightly from side to side. The meal at the beach restaurant overlooking the Pacific had been magical. When they returned to their bed and breakfast shortly after dark, the English owners invited them for a nightcap. Together they stood on the terrace, watched the stars, and talked. He showed her the Southern Cross, put his arm around her, and they talked about their future in this new country. Those were the moments when she felt exactly like she had at the beginning of their relationship. Safe, nothing and no one could touch her. Not even his dark side.

They had started chatting with their hosts. First, they had talked about the weather, the drought, and the danger of forest fires, which was increasing every day. The owners of the bed and breakfast had asked them to save water: not to bathe and shower much. Furtively, she had eyed him. Had seen the first wrinkle of displeasure forming between his eyes. It didn't suit him to be told what to do. She had quickly changed the subject, speaking about their plans to leave their old life in Scotland behind. To start all over again, with the great opportunity that had come her way. What had been wrong with that? At some point in the chat she had sensed it. He had gone quiet, choking off all further conversation. He gave her signs with his eyes as soon as she opened her mouth. She became insecure, and soon stopped talking. When the silence became too oppressive, she pretended to be tired. On the way down the small terrace to their room overlooking the Pacific, she had tensed. A knot formed in her stomach, pressing against her ribs from the inside. A void spread in her head, her ears rustled, and she became dizzy. As soon as the door closed behind them, it happened. She already knew the routine well from Scotland. Normally she repressed it. Tried to set up an open space in her mind only for the good memories. The doors to the bad memories were firmly closed. They always opened a crack when it happened again, only to be locked all the more tightly afterwards.

Last night had been different. Was it because of them being in a foreign country? She did not know. The door wouldn't close. Again and again she saw in her mind's eye how he had screamed at her and reached for her. She felt his fingers digging into her flesh. How he had then… No! Don't think about it, the voice screamed in her head. Last night, as she lay beside him, waiting for his steady breaths in sleep, there was only one thought in her mind: away. She wanted to leave. Just disappear. To have peace.

Now she was here. In the middle of this landscape, which in the early morning reminded her of Scotland with its raised marshland. Couldn't she start all over again? Or was it the same everywhere? With everyone? She swallowed.

Again, she took a deep breath. She tasted salt on her tongue, the sea was very close. In a moment she could sit down in the sand and let the waves play around her feet. Slowly, very slowly, she noticed how she became calmer. She ran her hand over her temple, wincing. The memory came up like a black veil. Stop it, she admonished herself. He would change, she would change.

There was another crack behind her. This time she did not flinch. She was not afraid. She could start all over again, here at the Cape of Good Hope, and all would be fine. She would sit down, toe the edge of the water and wait until the door closed.

05.01.2015, 12:34, Hamburg

Pauline Boysen tried to unlock the flat door. A feat, as she was heavily laden and had only one hand free. Since her husband, Ben, had renewed the seal in the door this winter, Pauline needed both hands to open it. One to pull it shut, the other to turn the key at the same time. Didn't Ben hear her? Actually, she was making enough noise. But he was probably listening to music with his headphones on again while sitting at his computer. Grumpily, she put the shopping bag down in the hallway. It promptly fell over and most of the contents scattered all over the doormat. Pauline ignored it and after some effort finally got the annoying door open.

Hello, I'm home. Where are you? Ben came out of the living room and gestured for her to be quiet. He was on the phone.

Yes, of course. I understand that this is difficult for you right now. I'll speak to Pauline in a moment. She just walked in the door. Pauline looked at Ben questioningly. Who was he talking to?

She bent down for the travel guides that had fallen out of her shopping bag and brought everything into the flat. Then she quietly closed the front door. Ben had meanwhile moved back into the living room and was silently listening to the caller.

Pauline decided to take one of the new South Africa travel guides into the kitchen to read and turned on the espresso machine. Ben would come as soon as he was through with his mysterious phone call. He could have quite easily given her a clue as to who he was talking to. That was typical of the man. He would have known that she was curious. The pump of the espresso machine began its work with a screeching rattle. Pauline wanted to close the kitchen door so as not to disturb Ben, but suddenly he came around the corner. His phone call was over. He grinned at her. Ben knew very well that his wife was dying of curiosity and wanted to know who he had been talking to.

He looked past her to the kitchen table upon which the open travel guide was lying.

Oh, you bought guidebooks? That's very convenient, that was Nick, by the way. We're going to reschedule things a bit.

She looked at him suspiciously. They had been planning for almost three months to take a trip to South Africa for a month in January to visit Nick. Nick Aquilina, the profiler they had met in Malta last year, under less fortunate circumstances, had become a good friend of theirs. When he had returned to South Africa this year, after his extended working stay in Europe, they had hit upon the idea of visiting him in Cape Town. He was now working as an independent consultant for the South African Police Service, SAPS for short, in the Western Cape. The success rate of solving murders in South Africa was abysmal, and people like Nick were in demand. As a freelance profiler and consultant, he was able to manage his time well and planned to show the two of them his adopted country. The Italian had lived in the Cape since childhood and was happy to be back, despite the high crime rate.

Pauline had spent the last few weeks planning a tour of the Western Cape. She didn't like it when her plans didn't work out. At all. What had the two men discussed?

Don't look at me so angrily, dear. We're going to South Africa, don't worry about it. We'll change the route a little and everything will be fine.

Did something happen?

Yeah, you could say that. Nick is supposed to help an old friend in homicide. A tourist has been murdered right at the point of the Cape of Good Hope, and they need Nick's help. That means he has to go to Simon's Town, a small city in the south of Cape Town, first thing in the morning. His suggestion is that he finds us a nice guest house down there, and we go there directly from the airport instead of going to the Winelands. What do you think?

Pauline thought about it. Of course, she knew exactly where Simon's Town was and had marked this place as a destination for their Western Cape tour. It was just stupid that she had already booked rooms at a winery in Stellenbosch for their first few days in the Cape. But Ben was right, she just had to tweak the travel plan a bit. Maybe she could push the booking at the winery back a week?

I will email the winery right now and ask if we can come a week later. Although it’s peak travel season, the owner has already complained that many tourists have cancelled their trips on short notice due to the heatwave and the fires so hopefully it will all work out!

Maybe we'll get lucky and it can be postponed. Otherwise we'll cancel the winery and look for something new in the area with Nick later. As soon as we know, I'll call Nick. He'll book a room for us in Simon's Town.

06.01.2015, 09:17, Cape of Good Hope

Where exactly was she found?

Nick stood on the sun-bleached planks of the wooden path that led you down the last hundred metres of dune to the beach. It resembled a curved jetty that had grown too long, except that instead of being built over water, it was built over the irregular rocks and sandy shrubbery.

Over there, the perpetrator pushed her under the planks.

Nick stepped closer and looked under the wooden slats, which were about forty centimetres above the uneven ground.

Did he just shove her underneath? Or did the perpetrator change something? Move anything?

He removed stones and earth to have a bigger hollow. Then he partially covered the body with a tarp and the things he had excavated so that it couldn’t be seen from the path.

How did the two tourists notice it then?

The smell. The woman had told her husband that it smelled funny. They suspected a dead animal. He climbed down and dug between the stones and the earth with the tip of his shoe. In the process he exposed a tarp, then parts of the corpse. They immediately went up to the station and the rangers informed the SAPS.

Nick took a few steps back and looked down at the hollow. Why did you choose this spot? He looked around. At this point the path meandered between higher rocks, so that a lateral view under the planks was not possible from above. A good place to hide a body. Was there a better one? Slowly he turned around on his axis and studied the surroundings. No, not within this radius. The ground was covered with dense fynbos everywhere else. Ripping it out and covering the body with it would not have been an option. The strong winds of the Cape would have blown the loose heather off the body in no time.

He really found a good spot, Captain Pieter Strauss confirmed Nick's thoughts. Do you think he picked the spot beforehand?

It’s hard to say. Maybe. But it's also possible that he has some sort of experience and can spot hiding places in the landscape pretty easily—he might know what to look for.

Isn't it risky here in the national park? It will have taken him a while to bury the body there. Pieter scratched his chin.

Depends on when he killed her. There have been times that I’ve been in here completely alone on my walks.

The couple said that…

Nick waved away his words. Please leave out the witness statements. I deliberately didn't read through that part of the report. I don't want to see through anyone else's eyes. Nick walked down to the beach.

You couldn't have hidden her here? Or did you clean yourself here? he murmured softly. Pieter stood silently behind him.

Nick turned to him.

Did you find anything else down here?

No, nothing. Just the usual plastic rubbish from tourists. A few bottles, empty bags. Nick’s brow furrowed in thought.

You cut up the body. Did you choose this spot so there wouldn't be blood everywhere? Nick pirouetted again to take