As Spokes walked out of the Chief Superintendent’s office, he did not know what the future held for 23 December; what he did know was that 23 December 1979 would be a remarkable day for him, not least because for the first time in his long career, he was headed to the Eastern suburbs to investigate a potential case, and not to the townships or the villages.

Even in the evening, the yard was magnificent with large jacaranda trees, not in bloom, and flame trees, in bloom; evergreen grass; an impressively ebullient rose garden; a tournament-sized tennis court; and a sparkling swimming pool. All of this splendour was bathed in the yellow glow of innumerable floodlights. The driveway wound its way up a steep gradient towards a house that was so majestic as to be almost palatial. How the other half lives, Spokes thought as he got out of the BSAP bakkie and looked at his surroundings.

‘Please, sir. Are you knowing where my baas is, sir?’ the man –probably the gardener – who had opened the gate for Spokes asked, without even enquiring who Spokes was.

‘I am Chief Inspector Spokes Moloi,’ Spokes said, offering the man his right hand to shake while showing him his badge with his left hand. ‘I am with the BSAP.’

‘Something is happening to baas, sir?’ the man asked, worry furrowing his brow as they shook hands.

‘I am sorry, I cannot say as yet,’ Spokes said, genuinely apologetic. ‘When was the last time you saw him?’

‘On the day that they are announcing the ceasefire. He is going early to work, and he is telling me at the gate there that he is bringing food for us to be taking to our homes in the village for holidays, but then he is not coming back. Up to now he is not coming back … When you are hooting at the gate, I am thinking you are him. But you are not him, you are you, sir. It is being like last time.’

‘Last time?’

‘Yes, last time. When he is falling on steps at work, and he is being in the hospital many many many days. And those who are working with him, they are not telling us that he is in hospital. And we are waiting and waiting. One day … two days … three days … we are worrying. And then Miss Marion, she is coming, and she is explaining to us not to be worrying.’

‘Miss Marion?’

The man had a brief look of guilt and then assuaged it, ‘Yes. Miss Marion,’ he said with a slightly raised chin. ‘She is being a very nice lady. We are liking her very much. She is not coming all the time, she is coming only some of the time. And Madam … she is no longer living here.’

Spokes was beginning to get the measure of things.