entrepreneurs, according to the authors of the theory, who become more efficient with every murder, more self- confident, and for whom each success opens up new vistas of deviant behavior, of dominance and control and humiliation. The Marnewick case, as I recalled the details – only too well – suggested an efficient, progressive, established operator.
I read the articles over and over again, relived my own shame at the wooden fence, resurrected my unanswered questions with a clarity that surprised me. The newfound knowledge effortlessly blew away the thin layer of memory dust that the years since my youth had laid over the episodes.
I wondered about it. If I could remember everything so easily, so clearly, it meant that Baby Marnewick had been a psychological albatross around my neck, a cancerous growth in the psyche that had spread its toxins unseen through my body. Was that the reason for my inability to commit myself, or merely a contributing factor? What other areas of my existence had it soiled? I brooded on all of it.
I was also stimulated professionally. I analyzed the implications for the procedures of policing, the influence this would have on all investigative methods, the duty we had as a department to inform the executive arm of law and order of the new insights.
But overriding it all was the urge to act, to reveal the past, to identify and expose the guilty, to bury the ghost.
And the one thing the academic world had taught me was how to plan a task, how to measure each action against the available knowledge, how to take each step on the firm ground of the proven so as not to sink into the quicksand of wild theory.
Step one would be to immerse myself in the subject.
For two weeks I worked on a document that would serve as a proposal for my doctoral thesis, and it was only after rewriting it any number of times that I took it to Professor Cobus Taljaard. Academically he was a man of great integrity and equilibrium, and I knew the step I wanted to take onto the new terrain had to be thoroughly motivated. But the potential also existed for us to be copioneers, academic discoverers from the backward Third World who might (like Chris Barnard) give this scorned corner of Africa a place in the sun. On our terrain and with humility, we might find acceptance, acknowledgment, and a piece of the criminological limelight.
For that reason it didn’t take the professor long to approve the proposed doctoral thesis – and, more important, the research visit to the United States.
Two months later I packed my bags and began the journey that I believed would lead to the murderer of Baby Marnewick.
? Dead at Daybreak ?
27
CAPE TOWN – A private investigation into the cold-blooded murder of a Tygerberg businessman nine months ago has made a breakthrough that can open a whole network of criminal activities – but also raises new questions about the efficiency of the SAPS.
A large amount of American dollars, forged identity documents, and a criminal trail that leads as far back as the eighties are some of the most important revelations made by a former detective of the Murder and Robbery Unit in Cape Town, investigating the death of the late “Johannes Jacobus Smit” of Moreletta Street in Durbanville.
The names of those involved, which include the murderer, will shortly be handed to the authorities.
Mr. Smit (on the right) was tortured in his house last year and “executed” with a single shot from an M16 attack rifle after which the specially designed built-in safe in the house was ransacked. The contents of the safe weren’t known then, but strong suspicion exists today that it contained, in part, foreign currency.
The private investigation was launched by the deceased’s business partner, Ms. Wilna van As, and her attorney, Ms. Hope Beneke. Ms. van As and the deceased lived together.
“It has come to light that the deceased lived under a false name for the past fifteen years and was in possession of a professionally forged identity document,” said Ms. Beneke.
“We have a strong suspicion about the origin of the dollars and are following up new clues. There is enough reason to believe that Smit’s murder can be connected with a crime that occurred some fifteen years ago. A final breakthrough is expected within days.”
Anyone who has additional information regarding the murder of Smit or the events that preceded it can call a special toll-free number: 0800-3535-3555. Ms. Beneke gave an assurance that all information would be regarded as highly confidential and that anonymity would be strictly preserved.
Mr. Z. van Heerden, a former captain in the SAPS, was hesitant to make any comment about the way the police handled the original dossier, which yielded nothing.
“We had more time and sources available to us in our attempt to unravel the case. The police work under enormous pressure and one cannot compare the two investigations,” said Van Heerden.
He refused to comment on questions such as why a photograph of the deceased hadn’t been handed to the media after the murder, why his identity document wasn’t subjected to forensic tests, and why evidence pertaining to the large amount of American dollars hadn’t been pursued.
The SAPS Murder and Robbery Unit wasn’t available for comment at the time of going to press.
“I still don’t like the political angle,” said Van Heerden.
“It gives the story credibility,” said Groenewald, the crime reporter. The night editor, sitting behind his desk, nodded in agreement. “And your back is covered.”
“You didn’t even phone them for comment.”
“They’ll issue a statement tomorrow in any case. Which puts flesh on the bare bones of the story – and gets you more publicity.”
“And it’ll appear in
“They don’t have space on page one. The Gauteng premier is in hot water again. But it’ll be on five or seven.
“I want to thank you for your help,” Hope said to the night editor. “It could assist in righting a grave injustice.”
“Don’t thank me, thank Kara-An. She was very persuasive.” He smiled across the room at Kara-An, who sat on a small couch against the wall, her legs drawn up.
She smiled back. “I help where I can,” she said. “Especially when it can improve a woman’s lot.”
¦
They went down in the lift in silence, Van Heerden and Hope. He was aware of the change in her. After he had been to Kara-An’s home, he had telephoned Hope from the newspaper’s offices in the NasPers Center, told her they were waiting for her, he and Kara-An and Groenewald, that the story would run on the following day, and she said she was coming, without any enthusiasm. He and the crime reporter had worked on the copy, four, five, six versions, before they went to the night editor. Hope had negotiated with Telkom for the toll-free number, but she was different, withdrawn, her body language negative, and she didn’t look at Kara-An.
There was tension in the room.
In the entrance to the tower block they hesitated. It was raining, dark gusts of water sweeping across the street outside.
“What’s wrong, Hope?”
She looked uncomprehendingly at him.
“What’s with you?”
“I still think we should offer a reward.”
They had spoken about it earlier. He had resisted the idea. A reward drew even more crazies who wanted to accuse their husbands and wives, mothers-in-law, and stepfathers.
“Oh,” he said.
He knew she was lying.
¦
She didn’t want to go running. She fell down on the couch, listened to the rain against the window, felt the chill in the room.
