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they were killed there also. Then, for whatever reason, they were moved and dumped.’
    Ulton resumes speaking the moment De Vries stops. ‘Dr Kleinman found particulate in the lungs: this was dust from standard building concrete. In his report, he says that he suspects long-term absorption.’
    Tiny steps, clicking in notches. De Vries realizes that he is wide awake again.
    ‘Under the fingernails, there was also concrete dust, from a similar source to that found in the lungs. This substance was also found on the underside of both boys’ feet, and under their toenails. Again, he suggests a long-term build-up of particulate matter.’
    De Vries stops him. ‘A cell, or cells? Concrete floor, concrete walls, unplastered, unpainted?’ He looks at Don, who frowns back at him, then at Ulton, who shrugs.
    ‘Possibly, yes.’
    ‘Anything else for us?’
    ‘Yes.’ He looks at de Vries. ‘This could be nothing, but Dr Kleinman found on the right heel of this boy . . .’ he indicates Steven Lawson, pointing to the boy’s heel with the tip of his pen ‘. . . adhered here is a small trail of dairy product. He did very well to spot it. We’ve tested it, and it’s cheese.’
    De Vries ponders a moment. Says, ‘I’m having trouble seeing how this helps us.’
    Ulton is unperturbed. ‘This matter got stuck on Steven Lawson’s heel just before he was wrapped in polythene. This means that it occurred post-mortem. The cheese is made from goats’ milk and contained one unusual ingredient: stinging nettle. As far as I know, there is only one cheese in the Cape which uses nettles, and that is Fineberg Roulade.’
    Don asks, ‘What is that?’
    ‘It’s a goats’ cheese made at the Fineberg Wine Estate outside Stellenbosch. They make layers of cheese, cover them in wild nettle, and then roll the cheese to form a green spiral running through it.’
    ‘I’ve never heard of it,’ de Vries states.
    ‘Not likely you would have. I only know because I visited the place about two months ago. As far as I know, they only sell it there.’
    De Vries thinks out loud, questioning whether this could possibly mean anything. ‘So, whoever wrapped those boys’ bodies, or dragged them, bought this . . .’
    ‘Fineberg Roulade.’
    ‘. . . this roulade, at the estate.’
    ‘Possibly, yes. It was certainly present at the site of the wrapping.’
    ‘Which we can reasonably assume, for now,’ de Vries adds, ‘could have been where the boys were held.’
    ‘And, if so, recently. The cheese doesn’t keep, and the trace on Steven Lawson’s heel isn’t old. It’s decayed because of the heat and the wrapping, but it isn’t old.’
    De Vries meditates on the information. He has something, however little, to feed du Toit. More importantly, there are slender leads he can now follow which might guide him to more concrete ones. He grimaces at the use of the term. He turns to Ulton.
    ‘Thank you, Steve. It means a lot that you worked all night.’
    Ulton holds up his hands. ‘No problem. I just want to hear you catch this guy.’
    He turns and walks briskly from the lab towards his office, holding open the door for a technician to return the bodies to refrigerated storage.
    De Vries looks up at Don February.
    ‘Right,’ he starts, rubbing his hands. ‘I’m going to brief Director du Toit, and you’re going to find out where this Fineberg Estate is, and what time it opens. Then, you’re going for a cheese-tasting.’
    2007
    The office of Superintendent du Toit is opposite the squad room. Even through the closed door, the group inside the office can hear the hubbub coming from outside: telephone calls, impromptu meetings, the desire of all to produce a breakthrough, a witness. Anything, to break open the case. Inside, the atmosphere is hushed, each man contemplative, yet wanting to contribute.
    Du Toit sits behind his desk, four chairs arranged around it. He looks at Dr Johannes Dyk, consultant psychologist to the department.