Dawie posed a question while driving, “Why would anyone kill these men and not take anything, it doesn’t make sense?”
“You tell me,” Thandi said.
“Not to mention that all of this happened on the same stretch of road.” She turned to him worriedly.
“Do you think there could be a serial killer on the loose?”
From the way he glanced at her, it was clear Dawie hadn’t thought of the serial killer possibility. He let the question sink in while dividing his attention between his driving and contemplating what Thandi had said. Then with a thoughtful nod he said, “There’s a high likelihood of that.”
Thandi eyed him in a casual manner and faced the road ahead. The wind blew gently over the loose strands of her hair. A long while passed before she spoke.
“Did someone really name a suburb Zuma-Heights?”
He gave her the same look as before, he never thought of this question either. And for the first time he gave Thandi a serious facial expression.
“Does anything matter anymore in this country?” he said.
Thandi admired his perplexed eyes; a vague smile flickered on her face. She watched the road and tried to think about what they had went through. Strong wind thrashed across the opening of the slightly rolled-down windows of the car, producing a whistling sound as the Skyline groaned and glided over the freeway.
She sat in her police office working on her laptop, an overweight young lady in a satin dress entered and left the door opened, as she was to go back out just as soon.
Thandi acknowledged her. She hesitated, then spoke.
“Ma’am, Mr Sekhu asks to see you.” Her palms were clasped together below her waist.
Thandi processed the relayed information. The young lady waited, growing timid.
Brigadier Sekhu sat in his office sipping coffee from a giant mug. He wore a powder blue T-shirt with the SAPS police emblem emblazoned on the left breast. A civilian slouched on the opposite chair.
Thandi entered; they watched her steadily, giving her an uneasy feeling that they had been talking about her.
Reading her inquisitive stare Brigadier Sekhu said, “This is Scotch,” – introducing Thandi to the stranger.
“He has information that can help your case, hear him out.”
Thandi looked at the scrawny man who seemed like he lived on liquor. Brigadier Sekhu shifted his focus to Scotch.
The police station’s glass doors parted clumsily and discharged Thandi who hurriedly ventured into the midday sun speaking into her cell phone:
“This man, his name is Scotch by the way, said he was helped by a black lady just before midnight after his car got a puncture on the same road our victims were found. The lady told Scotch that her name was Dulcy Masusu. Now here’s a kicker, she told Scotch she hated bad men and also gave him a landline number.”
A moment passed then Thandi put in, “Forget your car Dawie, I’m coming to get you, we’re going to Soweto. It will be easy because I know the way there.”
Tell us: Do you think that Thandi and Dawie can trust the statement from Scotch?