Zandile stops the car at the gate of V 11346. She and Gloria look around as they put on their masks and surgical gloves. Community members have gathered in the shade of some avocado trees opposite the gate.

A female officer, Constable Mathonsi, walks over to Zandile and Gloria as soon as they lift up the yellow police tape at the gate.

“Everything happened at the back, Detectives. We’ve cordoned off the crime scene,” says Constable Mathonsi.

“Any of the witnesses still around?” asks Gloria.

“Yes, there they are, under the carport,” says Constable Mathonsi.

Zandile and Gloria look at the carport. They see only the four men dressed in overalls, the ones who managed to eventually pull Anele away from Ayanda.

“Where are the rest of the young people who were packed inside the house?” asks Zandile.

“They jumped over the fence and ran as soon as they saw backup arriving,” says Constable Mathonsi.

“And Anele? Where is she?” asks Zandile.

“We had to handcuff her to the burglar bars in the lounge, Detective. Something is just not right with that girl,” says Constable Mathonsi.

“Let me handle the witnesses. You handle Anele,” says Gloria to Zandile.

“Okay,” Zandile nods. She turns to Constable Mathonsi. “What do you mean when you say something is just not right with Anele?”

“Well, for one thing, she has no grasp of what she’s done. She keeps asking us to switch on the radio. Every now and then she dances as if music is playing. She stands and dances while handcuffed to the burglar bars. She has tried many times to wriggle out of handcuffs, she has tried so many times that now she has numerous bruises on her wrist,” says Constable Mathonsi.

“Take me to her,” says Zandile.

“Another thing I have noticed is how much she has been sweating. We tried to give her water but she took one sip and spit it back in my face. She keeps screaming, demanding I bring her cold beer from the fridge. It was during a check of the fridge that we found these pills inside a coffee container that looked out of place among all the beer bottles.” Constable Mathonsi hands Zandile a transparent evidence bag with blue pills inside.

Zandile looks at the pills. They are bigger than ecstasy pills but smaller than Mandrax pills. She has never seen this type before.

Zandile follows Constable Mathonsi as she leads her to Anele. The smell of cigarette smoke is still thick inside the house. The kitchen is filthy, beer and cider cans are strewn on the table and floor. The floor is sticky from spilled alcohol. The kitchen cabinets are missing doors. A huge part of the lounge ceiling is missing. There is no furniture in the lounge except for a single chair where Anele sits, her left hand still handcuffed to the burglar bars on the lounge window.

Zandile comes to a stop in front of Anele. She has been briefed that Anele is nineteen, but as she stands looking at the girl’s slender build and her face with its almost perfect bone structure, she looks barely sixteen years old.

“Anele, this is Detective Cele. She is going to ask you a few questions,” says Constable Mathonsi.

“Detective this, detective that!” Anele bellows. “Why are you bringing a detective? I said I want beer and music!”

Anele tries to wriggle her wrist free from handcuffs, hurting her wrist even more. The action causes the handcuffs to cut her skin. Blood smears the handcuffs, but Anele doesn’t seem to feel any pain.

“Anele,” says Zandile. 

Anele looks up at Zandile. There seems to be no soul behind Anele’s beautiful large eyes.

“At last someone pretty,” says Anele. She looks at Constable Mathonsi and points at her with her free hand. “You are ugly. Bring me my beer! Turn on the music!”

“Look at me, Anele!” Zandile commands.

Anele makes a hissing sound at Constable Mathonsi. Zandile notices a tinge of anger overcoming the constable.

“It’s fine, Constable Mathonsi, you can go. I’ll handle her,” says Zandile.

“Are you sure, Detective?” Constable Mathonsi eyes stay on Anele.

“Just go already. Detective is sure. Bring me my beer!” Anele says mockingly.

“Hey!” says Zandile. “This is not a joke! You’ve committed a murder! You better take this seriously or-”

“Where is the music?” Anele cuts in. “I said I want music and beer! Close the windows and doors! It is cold! I want to be warm in music!”

The girl is shivering all of a sudden. Then she starts dancing, although there is no music playing. Her eyes roll back into her skull as she screams incoherent ramblings. All of this is laced with short bouts of laughter. 

Zandile has never seen anything like it before. She is still looking at Anele when a blood-curdling scream startles her. Zandile runs out of the house.

“It’s the victim’s mother,” says Gloria. “We have to get Anele out of here right now. I’ve heard a few community members saying we should leave Anele here so they can deal with her in their own way. You know how these mob justice stories go. It only takes one person to start and the rest follow. And you saw how many community members are outside. We won’t be able to stop them.”

Zandile instructs one police van to drive into the yard, two others ready to follow it. Anele is bundled into the back of the van. The victim’s mother wails from the back of the house as the police vehicles drive away at speed.

Community members watch as the mortuary van drives out of the gate with Ayanda’s body. Her mother walks behind the van wailing, while being held by family members on either side. 

As soon as the van and the bereaved family leaves, community members run into the house. They let out all their anger on the house, breaking down doors and all windows before setting it on fire. 

Tell us: What do you think about communities taking justice into their own hands?