Mamoloko had been sitting in her car going through the footage. The footage featured the M block concourse, corridors and computer labs but it did not cover the rooftop. She let out a breath of frustration forcing back the urge to pull out her hair. She had been analysing the footage frame by frame for what seemed like days in hope of picking up something that the campus control had missed.
The footage portrayed images of students buzzing through the corridors. Some stopped to engage with other students, while others stopped to read the notices placed on the noticeboards. She had been watching the footage for so long that all of the figures began to merge into a black and white blob. Her hopes of finding something significant were fading away with the sunset. The only thing that caught her eye was a man with a scarred arm, making his way down the concourse a day before the murder, but that was irrelevant. There was nothing that screamed murderer about a single person. Her last hope now was retrieving the tape recording she had left in Peterous’s office.
It was 6 p.m. and Peterous’s eventful shift had finally ended. His replacement for the night was coming in at fifteen minutes past six. This fifteen minute gap gave Mamoloko ample time to sneak into the office and retrieve her recording device. As she exited the building she came across a black cat that stared at her accusingly. She kept on walking towards her car, unfazed by the cat and its accusing stare. She climbed into her car and sped off in the direction home, she couldn’t wait to listen to the recording in her comfortable bed.
She arrived home just after seven; the lack of traffic made the drive to her little rented garden cottage in Parkview a smooth one. She kicked of her shoes and filled the kettle with water and set it to boil. Once the kettle had boiled she assembled herself a hot cup of coffee and climbed into bed. She pulled the covers over her and opened her notepad. She briefly shuffled around the bed trying to find the perfect sitting position before pressing play on the tape recorder.
The girl’s name was Shafika. Her voice was monotone as she rambled slightly incoherent sentences. Peterous’s compassionate voice kept on interrupting her as he tried to both provide comfort and discover the cause of her distress.
“S..S…SSSara…” Shafika stuttered nervously.
“Yes. What about Sarah?” Inquired Peterous.
“All… all… all I wanted was to smoke!” she murmured.
“Sarah? Smoke? What are you talking about my dear child?”
“I…I…I can’t forget her eyes.”
“What eyes? Whose eyes?”
“Sarah Ntshabeleng…”
“Where did you see her eyes? And how is this relevant to you wanting to smoke?”
“I… I am so sorry… I ran away… didn’t try help her.”
“Shafika tell me what happened? Were you there? Did you see anything?”
“Yes, um I mean no… I mean only afterward… I found her there dead.”
“Oh my Goodness! Modimo waka! My God… My dear while you were up there did you see anything else? Or anyone else? Please my dear you are our only hope to finding out who did this.”
“No, I just caught a glimpse of an arm disappearing behind the door… I am so sorry… I should have come sooner but I was scared.”
“My dear child I am so grateful that you came to tell me. I know this is hard for you but did you notice anything about the arm?”
“I was so scared… I didn’t know what to do…”
“Please Shafika, any little detail would help.”
“I did notice something. He had his sleeves rolled up… there was a scar. I saw a bad scar on his arm. It was really bad, like the skin was badly burned.”
The conversation continued but Mamoloko got all she needed.
***
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