“I lost my mind,” Kasi Chef says, and lets out a deep sigh. “And phoned all Dudu’s friends. I phoned her family. By early afternoon I went to the police station, but the police in my section were not helpful.”

“We will need those contacts of her friends and relatives.”

“Of course. My wife is a very responsible person. She would not go anywhere for a long time without telling someone. She would have talked to someone. That is why I was so worried. She calls her mother every day. When her mother said she had not called, I knew something was wrong.”

“How is your relationship? I ask because we’ve had domestic cases of missing persons, only to find that the spouse just wanted to get away for a few days.”

Kasi Chef glances at Gloria. When their eyes lock he quickly moves them back to the corner in the room. Gloria cannot read anything in them. “We have a good, solid relationship based on communication and trust. If Dudu wanted to leave me she would have told me. Or told her mother and her friends.”

“Are all her clothes still in the house?’

“Yes, everything of hers is in the house,” Kasi Chef scrolls his cellphone. “Here are all the numbers.”

Gloria takes down the phone numbers of Dudu Zulu’s friends and relatives.

“Mr Zulu, we need to inspect your home. We need to see if everything is as it should be. We need to walk with you into every room,” she says.

Kasi Chef is quiet for a while. His blank stare stays on the same spot, his mind elsewhere.

“Sir, did you hear me? Mr Zulu?”

Kasi Chef snaps out of it. “What? I’m sorry … I haven’t slept at all for these three days.” He lights another cigarette.

“I said we need to walk through the house with you, to see if anything is out of place.”

“Sure, of course.”

“Are you OK to drive?”

He just looks at Gloria, shaking his head.

“Alright, Mr Zulu. I’ll get one of the detectives to drive you home.”

“I’d appreciate that. Thank you.”

“Alright, your statement is done. I believe I have all the information I need. Thank you so much for coming in.”

He stands up and shakes Gloria’s hand.

“What happened to your hands? Why so many plasters?”

“Hazards of the job. I am a chef,” he says.


Tell us what you think: Is it likely a chef would have lots of cuts on his or her fingers?