Temptation, Condemnation, Damnation, Salvation

Despite Belinda’s insistence that Eileen should sleep late, both women were up at the break of day on what would be the greatest day in the lives of the Middleton family of Knysna, the picturesque village on the Cape Garden Route.

The Middleton name originates from Manchester and means ‘place name’. The first Middleton to arrive in South Africa was Henry William who landed on these shores on January 4, 1825, and settled in Natal. Sixty-three years later Nicholas Middleton arrived in Knysna in search of his brother who had joined the gold rush, and decided to stay. Now more than a century on a Middleton would be returning to England, thereby resuming procreation by this family in the mother country.

Belinda still had so much to do, overseeing everything for this momentous occasion. Even the British Ambassador was flying down from Tshwane to attend her daughter’s wedding. After more than a century the family would at last receive recognition of their true regal status.

Their appointments at the hairdresser were set for nine o’clock. Thereafter Eileen would have to start with the arduous yet excitable task of preparing herself for the great occasion at noon in the St. George’s Church.

The wedding would be held in the ‘new’ stone church consecrated by Bishop Herbert Gwyer in 1937, and not in the Lilliputian picturesque stone church consecrated nearly 150 years ago by Bishop Robert Gray.

***

Chapter 2

Others were awake even earlier than Belinda or Eileen. Day was breaking in clear skies when a loud banging on her front door forced Emma Payne agitatedly out of bed. Emma was proprietor of the Ocotea Bed & Breakfast lodge. Peering anxiously through the curtains to see who was banging at her door, all she could recognize in the shadowy light was a police uniform. With apprehension Emma opened the door.

Yes?

Mrs. Payne? I’m Captain Ashle Hendricks. I’m sorry to disturb you, but where can we find Anthony Aldershaw?

The man who asked the question was not in uniform, but she spotted two men in uniform behind him, while another man also not in uniform stood in the driveway.

Her chest closed up. He … ah … he’s around the back … in suite number … ah … one, she stuttered.

Thank you.

With Hendricks in the lead, the party crossed the lawn and walked around the house and up the driveway.

Having had not more than four hours’ sleep, Anthony got the fright of his life when a fist banged loudly on his door.

Anthony Aldershaw! Open up! This is Captain Hendricks, South African Police.

Wiping sleep from his eyes and wearing nothing but a pair of boxer shorts Anthony opened the door. He staggered back as Ashle roughly pushed his way in.

Anthony Aldershaw, I’m arresting you for the murder of Xholiswa Ntshinga and Nolitha Sigwele. Standing aside Ashle told one of the men in uniform, Read him his rights and take him away.

Handcuffs were put on a stunned, speechless Anthony and he was bundled into the back of a police van. Trembling from cold and fear he was taken to the police station on the corner of Main and Queen Streets, directly opposite the St. George’s Church.

What an irony of fate that two former lovers, the two people who would be making this the most momentous day in the modern history of Knysna, should meet their destinies on opposite corners of the same crossroads, otherwise fondly referred to as ‘Temptation, Condemnation, Damnation and Salvation’ – Anthony Aldershaw casting gloom over ‘Condemnation’ and Eileen Middleton lighting up ‘Salvation’.

***

Chapter 3

Like a giant tsunami the news of the double murder swept through the sleepy village of Knysna on this Saturday morning. Whereas legislation prohibits the news media from mentioning race, the fact that a white man, a British tourist to boot, was accused of murdering two local black women made this headline news. The buzzword was ‘rape’ and since this country is reputed to be one of the world’s rape capitals, news teams from all over the world would descend on Knysna to turn the village inside out.

Everybody tried to keep the news from Eileen, so as not to upset her on what should be the happiest day of her life. But voracious newshounds were soon in the hunt. What a story: ‘Former boyfriend dumped by the bride-of-the-decade kills her best friend on her wedding day!’

Foremost in many minds: ‘Was this an act of retribution?’

A tense but excited Eileen was sitting under the hair drier when reporters and cameramen barged into the salon. Suddenly she was confronted by flashing lights. A wild fight ensued between staff and the ravenous newshounds, and with customers and staff screaming the bride-to-be passed out under the drier.

Police restored order while paramedics attended to the bride-to-be. They rushed her home where she was treated for shock.

In interviews the mother of the bride blamed that no-good, layabout Englishman, Anthony Aldershaw, for this scandalous business. She was all for postponing the wedding, but the bride, for reasons better known to herself, wanted to get it over and done with.

In an interview given at the luxurious Beacon Isle Hotel in nearby Plettenberg Bay the groom, initially shocked by the news, expressed regret at these tragic events and praised his bride for her resilience and courage.

This made great headlines and the wedding promised to become one of the most publicised in the history of this country.

***

Chapter 4

After Anthony was taken away, Ashle Hendricks and Sergeant Derek Alberts searched his room and the rented car. A forensics team moved in shortly afterwards. Ashle collected Anthony’s passport and papers from Emma Payne’s safe, papers that made interesting reading, if not surprising indeed.

What intrigued Ashle in particular were faded envelopes with an illegible date and stamped ‘Millwood, Cape Colony’. Ashle vaguely recalled that Millwood had been a boom town late in the nineteenth century in the foothills of the Outeniqua Mountains. The envelopes contained letters written by a Peter Ludford to his aunt Fiona in Newquay, Cornwall. The letters referred to gold that he and his friend Richard Middleton discovered in Jubilee Creek and described in some detail where they hid this gold. Ashle knew where Jubilee Creek was, a picnic site not far from Knysna and past the hamlet of Rheenendal. He also found three photocopies of newspaper articles reporting the death of Peter Ludford and Richard Middleton in a fatal mine accident. Scrawled on the copies were ‘Millwood Sluice Box’, ‘Millwood Eaglet’ and ‘Millwood Critic’ respectively. Ashle frowned. These were obviously the names of nineteenth century Millwood newspapers. Where did this come from? From the British Library, where else?

Anthony was in a cell by himself, and despite the warm weather, typical of police cells the world over it was an ice box. Furthermore, he was wearing nothing bar boxer shorts. By the time he was taken to an interrogation room he was shivering and rubbing his arms. Even so, he was not sure if the gooseflesh was from the cold or fear.

So you admit that you took Ms. Nolitha Sigwele out to dinner last night and that you only left her house after midnight? Ashle asked.

Ye…es, Anthony replied, his teeth clicking like castanets.

What did you do from … what time did you say the two of you got home?

Approximately ten o’clock.

What did the two of you do from approximately ten o’clock until after midnight?

We … talked.

You talked? Hey man! For two hours?

Anthony swallowed. Yes.

What did you talk about?

Life in general.

Life in general? Hey man, please explain, what specifically did you talk about?

We talked about … ah … love … and the feelings people have for each other … my feelings for Eileen, Ms. Middleton that is, and …!

And …? What man, what?

Our relationship.

Your relationship? Your relationship with Ms. Sigwele?

Yes.

I understand that Ms. Middleton and Ms. Sigwele, who were both in the employ of the tourist information bureau, were not only colleagues but also good friends. So what was it that you discussed with Ms. Sigwele concerning your relationship with her?

Anthony hesitated. She wanted to know if there was any future for us …!

And?

I told her that she should give me time to get over my feelings for Ms. Middleton.

And she was not prepared to do that?

Anthony stared at him in disbelief. What are you talking about?

"Gw’an man, I’m telling you she was not prepared to wait until you … as you put it … until you got over your feelings for Ms. Middleton, and you were not prepared to commit yourself. But she insisted, and you lost your temper and killed her."

Rubbish!

I see. Now I’m talking rubbish. What about you? You tell me you talked all night, with a woman who lives in a house known to be a brothel … and all you did was talk?

Anthony took a deep breath. Yes.

"Gw’an man, do you expect me to believe that?"

It’s the truth.

And what if I tell you that the woman known as Nolitha Sigwele, the woman you took to dinner, the woman you talked to from approximately ten o’clock until well after midnight, had intercourse before she was killed?

Anthony gasped. He was shocked rigid and he gaped at the police officer. It was as if Ashle had hit him between the eyes with his fist.

"Gw’an man, do you still want me to believe that the two of you talked all night?"

It … it wasn’t me, Anthony whispered in a hoarse voice.

"Gw’an man, do you think I’m stupid? Or what man?"

I didn’t do it! His voice became stronger, more frantic. I kissed her once … maybe twice, that’s all.

You kissed her once, maybe twice, Ashle mimicked, but you did not copulate?

No! Anthony whispered.

Then who did? Tell me, who did?

Richard Rushworth.

This time it was Ashle’s turn to gape. Then he guffawed. "Rushworth? The Earl? The man who is marrying your ex-girlfriend today? Gw’an man, you must be crazy. Do you think you can frame him for stealing your girlfriend?"

It’s him. Or … no wait. … it could be a man called Nqwesino.

And who in the hell is Nqwesino?

He’s an old man who has been after Nolitha, Ms. Sigwele, for a long time. He wants her as his third wife. He could have done it in a rage of jealousy … because … because she likes me.

Christ man, you really are grasping at straws.

Please believe me, I didn’t do it, Anthony whimpered.

Then you’d better come up with a better story man.

I did not have intercourse with anyone last night and I went straight home and did not go out again.

The coroner estimated the time of death to be between one and two o’clock. I’ve got a witness who says he saw your rented car, that yellow City Golf, return to the scene of the crime later that night.

Anthony shook his head. He glanced down. His mind was in a spin and he could not think clearly. It wasn’t me, he whispered.

Why did you kill the two women?

I didn’t kill them. Anthony whispered.

And why is the boy still alive?

Nelson?

Nelson, is that the baby’s name? Yes, why kill the two women and not the boy? Because he can’t identify or give evidence against you?

I did not kill anyone.

Then who killed them?

Anthony took a deep breath. Ask Marthinus Botha, Billy Sheenan, or … or Richard Rushworth.

Marthinus and Sheenan I’m willing to ask. But knowing the type I’ve no doubt they have solid alibis. I’ll also talk to Nqwe…Nqwe…? Ashle’s tongue got tied up in the click sound. Hey man, what’s that name again?

Nqwesino.

Whatever. But I will not talk to the Earl on his wedding day.

***

Chapter 5

Ashle gave permission for Anthony to call a lawyer. Anthony immediately put a call through to London, to his father, and prayed that his father had not gone to the country for the weekend. Fortunately he was in.

The Rt. Hon. Mr. Justice Aldershaw, popularly known as the hanging judge in his youth, was one of the most respected judges on the British bench. He was particularly severe in his treatment of anyone found guilty of a violent crime. On the other hand, he was chary of accepting evidence if he detected the slightest flaw or if he in the least suspected that there could be a possibility of fabricated evidence. In such a case he would not hesitate to direct the jury to find the accused not guilty. Every Barrister in the City conceded that he was strict, severe, and ruthless even, but that he was straight and fair.

Father and son had not been close for some time, but later that same evening Nicholas Hattersley, QC, one of the City’s top barristers accompanied by two junior colleagues would catch the direct BA flight from Heathrow to Cape Town International Airport. They would be met by one of Cape Town’s leading criminal advocates, and immediately board a charter flight to George. An advocate is much the same as a barrister and is found in countries whose legal systems are Roman law, like Scotland, France and South Africa.

At teatime on Sunday the foursome would be in Knysna to meet with Anthony on ‘Condemnation’ corner.

***

Chapter 6

Emma Payne was distraught when the police picked her up and took her in for questioning.

Where were you between midnight and four o’clock? Ashle asked her.

In bed … asleep.

Do you have a witness?

Emma gave a shy, embarrassed laugh. I’m a widow. I sleep alone.

Except when Mr. Aldershaw sleeps with you?

She gasped. I … ah …!

Were you and Mr. Aldershaw lovers?

Ugh … not really, she whispered.

Not really? He sleeps with you but you’re not lovers? I must be dense. Hey man, please explain that to me?

We … he … I … four times, she whispered, tears welling up in her eyes.

Only four times? Four times a night?

No, she gasped.

Were you jealous of Ms. Sigwele? Did you murder her in a fit of jealousy?

No! she cried.

***

Chapter 7

Eileen was pale, but she was resolute. Not only was this the most important day in her life, this was the highlight of the family’s 130 years sojourn in this country – a regal occasion reuniting the aristocracy of mother country with colony. It was also the biggest and most glamorous event in the colourful history of Knysna, matched only by the parties thrown by the flamboyant Lt.-Col. John Sutherland more than a century earlier. Or that held for HRH Albert, Prince Consort, on his visit shortly before his death, and twenty-eight years after the death of George Rex of Melkhout Kraal.

And she was resolute, nothing, but nothing would stand in her way.

Belinda was proud of her daughter – for more reasons than that.

***

Chapter 8

From his cell Anthony could not see the road but at noon thousands of people and newsmen thronged the four corners of Main and Queen Streets – ‘Temptation, Condemnation, Damnation and Salvation’ – to watch the Daimler come to a halt before St. George’s Church in Queen Street. Anthony could nevertheless hear the sirens of the Daimler’s escort and the sudden increased buzz of excited voices. With bowed head and tears in his eyes he heard the ‘oohs’ and ‘aahs’ of the crowd when the bride walked up the stone path to the entrance to the church. Forestry and nature conservation officials in uniform formed a guard of honour along the path from the street to the church door.

It was like a Royal wedding, which many were now making it out to be. Sky News was broadcasting the event live. The distinguished Richard Dormer Rushworth was marrying the youthful Eileen Middleton. The bride was a descendant of George Rex, founder of Knysna and the legendary illegitimate son of the Prince of Wales, later King George III, and of Hannah Lightfoot, a Quaker. The groom, the 4th Earl of Dormer, was well-known in British racing circles, in particular for his thoroughbred stud in East Anglia.

Loudspeakers had been installed outside the church and from his cell across the road Anthony could follow the service. The voice of the tenor Geddes Ashmore singing ‘Panis Angelicus’ brought tears to many eyes, but to none more so than Anthony’s. The retired opera star of Covent Garden fame was a longstanding friend of Eileen’s grandmother Cecilia Middleton. Written by the Flemish-born César Franck and scored for a tenor in 1871, ‘Bread for the Angels’, part of ‘Messe Solonelle’, and usually sung by either a boy or a choir, had enchanted church gatherings for more than a century.

The flow of tears had ceased by the time the Scottish pipe band led the procession down Queen Street, because then Anthony knew it was all over.

***

Chapter 9

Ashle later gave Anthony what he called good news. To Anthony it was foreboding.

The manager at the Beacon Isle Hotel could bear witness to the fact that the Earl had had dinner the previous evening, until quite late that is, as well as breakfast this morning, with none other than the British Ambassador. Nqwesino was in the former Transkei, a few hundred kilometres away, and had been there for the past few days. Marthinus Botha had spent the night with friends in Mossel Bay and at daybreak they had gone fishing. Billy Sheenan had taken the SAA flight from George to Cape Town the previous day, booked into the Breakwater Lodge on the V&A Waterfront, and the manager of the restaurant could vouch for his presence at breakfast at the Lodge this morning.

"Gw’an man, do you have any more brilliant ideas? Ashle asked. Incidentally, I did question Emma Payne about her role in this."

Emma? He could not understand what Ashle was talking about.

Your lover? Emma Payne? She told me that the two of you had slept together, four, no, how many times?

She has nothing to do with this! Anthony cried.

Aha, so you admit that you did it?

I did not do it, Anthony mumbled with downcast eyes.

At least one person stood up for you. Anthony looked up but did not speak. Sister Kgomotso. She says you didn’t do it. Now isn’t that interesting? Two weeks ago you were her patient in hospital, and now I hear you’ve been taking her shopping, and visiting her at home. What else have the two of you been up to, I wonder?

Nothing, Anthony whispered.

I’ve asked them to bring her in. It might be interesting to talk to her. Hey man, for all I know a jealous lover could be the killer. Don’t you agree? I mean to say, you’ve run out of excuses. If you didn’t do it and all the people you accuse have airtight alibis, then who did do it? Anthony opened his mouth and immediately closed it again. You were going to say?

Nothing.

Have you … ugh … copulated? Hey man, I just love that word … well? … have you copulated with Sister Kgomotso?

No.

Have you copulated with Ms. Sigwele?

No.

With Xholiswa Ntshinga?

No.

She was a prostitute. A regular. You copulate, you pay. You know?

Yes.

But you didn’t …?

No.

Have you copulated with Ms. Middleton?

No.

Only with Mrs. Payne?

Yes.

No one else?

No.

You’ve been in Knysna, what, a month?

Eight weeks.

"Gw’an man, you’ve been here eight weeks and you want to tell me you’ve only copulated with one woman. What’s more, four times during the past week? Was that to make up for lost opportunities? Or what? Ashle laughed. Or are you gay? Anthony shook his head. Do you have a girlfriend back home? Anthony nodded. What’s her name?"

Susan Harcourt-Jones.

Hey man, what a highfalutin’ name. You copulated with her?

Yes.

"So now he comes here to our little dorp, takes out some of the sexiest chics, visits them at home, late at night too, mind you, and he does not copulate with them? All he does is talk? Christ man, I say this is bullshit! Yet he copulates with a woman who is years older than he is? Is that what … what’s the guy’s name … the psychologist? … psychiatrist? … Freud … consumption … no! … consummation of the Oedipus complex … the son’s sexual attraction to his mother, to possess her. Ashle snapped his fingers. Clever hey? Had to study psychology. Now that I find extraordinary. Please explain it to me? But spell it out in plain language, because hey man, I’m a simple guy."

Anthony sat with slumped shoulders. I didn’t do it.

They were interrupted by a man in uniform who told Ashle that Sister Kgomotso was waiting. He gave Anthony a sly smile and a wink as he got up and walked out.

Thinking of Emma who was probably fifteen years his senior, Anthony smiled grimly when he recalled Nolitha asking him if he had ever had sex with an older woman.

After Ashle left, the pathologist came in and embarrassed Anthony when he told him he required samples of his semen and pubic hairs.

***

Chapter 10

The procession through the streets of Knysna, a Daimler followed by the super stretch limousine would have done Prince Albert proud. In the marquee on the sports fields the party was in full swing and in the streets around the playing fields the crowds were singing and dancing as free drinks and eats were dished out.

As could be expected, inevitably on this occasion the speeches were longer than usual. The best man lamented the fact that Knysna and the Outeniqua forests were losing one of its foremost protagonists. The British Ambassador conveyed Her Majesty’s best wishes. This had Belinda weeping as it capped her dream of being of Royal descent, more so since it was delivered in front of so many witnesses – not to mention Sky News. The Mayor, referring to the Earl’s intention to acquire the State’s Gold Field Plantation welcomed this investment as a sign of confidence in the country and its government.

With voice and figure in tails making an imposing impression on the audience, both those present and on TV, Richard in his booming voice spoke of the wonder of having come to the Knysna forests to pick a beautiful flower, whereas there were so many gorgeous roses in Britain. Philip, the bride’s father, spoke of the brain drain that often became a maiden drain. There were some snickers, but no one laughed.

Every person outside the church and in the marquee was unanimous in their praise that this was the most beautiful bride ever to come out of these parts. The wedding cake was cut, and the betrothed couple led the dance on to the floor. It was the most wonderful, perfect day, and except for one glitch that morning, nothing else went wrong. Even Belinda’s most zealous, jealous critics, and there were enough of them, would only have praise for the wedding.

Later that afternoon the happy couple flew out in an executive jet for one night at the One & Only Hotel in the V&A Waterfront before flying on to Switzerland the following day.

That night the bride could not understand why her husband all of a sudden insisted on using a condom, something he had not bothered with before, but in his characteristic brusque manner he refused to discuss the matter.

And Eileen was too happy to push the matter.

***

Chapter 11

And whilst the joie de vivre condom-users would have a joyous night and a pleasant sleep, the same could not be said for many others, in particular the condemned – none more so than Anthony. He would get very little sleep and would also pray for a condom, or a dozen. As a foreigner he was in a cell by himself, but this did not last long.

By nightfall the other cells on ‘Condemnation’ corner were overcrowded with Saturday night revellers and by eight o’clock the first two rabble-rousers were thrown into his cell. In spite of the reputation of the police, throwing in this case was not an act of brutality but they were so unsteady on their feet that they could not stand up straight. Later two more drunks were bundled into the cell, making the cell crowded.

Anthony was to learn that this was a product of days gone by when the white man had subdued the natives with liquor. Farm workers, from the youngest to the oldest and irrespective of race were given a tin cup of wine at breakfast, another at lunch and two at night. Over three centuries this left a ‘nation of alcoholics’, and Friday and Saturday nights they were at their worst. The rowdy wrongdoers were not so much criminals. They were locked up to keep them off the streets and out of mischief, to give them time to sober up.

But Anthony did not know this. He sat huddled in a corner of the cell and warily watched his cellmates. Like any average citizen he knew how bad conditions were in prisons the world over, but apparently more so in Africa. Everything in prison has a price, drugs, food, blankets, clothes, cigarettes, books, et cetera. Sodomy is a scourge in male prisons the world over, yet that too has a price, and in Africa whatever the price invariably the dividend is Aids.

Whereas this was not a prison, only a jail, a police cell, in the light of this threat, to be confined in a small cell with four cellmates who were drunk, filthy, rowdy and stinking, was daunting enough. They reeked of liquor and of dried piss in their pants, plus the stench of their own ordure. Even so, these men were not monsters they were more like saprotroph, organisms that feed on excrement.

In the dim light of that narrow confined space the stench was unbearably nauseating and it was impossible to avoid contact.

While arguing amongst themselves they pushed and jostled each other, staggered about, and inevitably bumped against Anthony. They also let him know in no uncertain terms what they thought of him.

Some words, four-letter words in particular, are the same the world over, linguistically, phonetically, or by gesticulation. But what exacerbated the situation was that Anthony could not understand what they said, since they were speaking what was fondly known as Capey. This is a dialect spoken mainly among the Cape Coloured people and is a conjunction of Afrikaans and English with a good smattering of Malay words thrown in.

"He’ djy gaho’, die circus is in town?" (Have you heard, the circus is in town?)

"Djy’s stupid. Wa’s die clowns? Huh? Wa’s die fokkin’ clowns? Dis nie die circus nie man. Dis ’n fokkin’ wedding." (You’re stupid. Where are the clowns? Hey? Where are the fxxxg clowns? This is not a circus man. It’s a fxxxg wedding.)

"Gw’an man. Wies djou stupid?" (Go on man. Who’s your stupid?)

"Djou moe’ man." (Your mother’s xxx man.)

"Gw’an man. Stop pushing. Sit soentoe." (Hey man. Stop pushing. Move up.)

"Wies die ou?" (Who’s this guy?)

"Hoe die fok moet ik wiet? Hey masta’, wie de fok is djy?" (How the fxxk must I know? Hey master, who the fxxk are you?)

"Djou stupid. Can’t you see? Dis ’n Ingelsman." (You stupid. Can’t you see? He’s an Englishman.)

With Aids foremost in his mind, Anthony was gripped by terror when a cellmate opened his fly, groped about inside before he hauled out his penis then willy-nilly started to urinate.

"Ney man. Kyk wa’ mak djy. Pis soentoe," shouted one. (No man. Look what you’re doing. Piss that way.)

Afterwards the man was incapable of closing his fly. Another soon followed him. And the venom that those vipers carried would become a daunting nightmare for Anthony. His cellmates eventually quietened down and slept, a restless sleep brought on by minds dulled with drugs and liquor. But for him there was little sleep.

Nervous tension made it impossible for Anthony to hold in all night, so he took his chance when the four were asleep before he pulled down his pants to urinate. While his cell mates wore their clothes he wore a prison outfit.

From a joyous scene the day before the attention of the media would quickly turn to the gruesome find of the two bodies, and an erstwhile lover in a cold cell.

***

Chapter 12

Sunday was another windless, sunny and hot day along the Cape Garden Route. People went on picnics, sailing, hiking, fishing, swimming, and a few did bungee jumping from the Storm’s River Bridge, reputed one of the highest jumps in the world. For the people from the squatter’s camps however there was no relief from their daily drudgery.

Unlike Emma Payne who after her brief ordeal in the police interrogation room was too sick to sleep that night, Sister Kgomotso felt none the worse. Like most of her black compatriots Sister Kgomotso was accustomed to police harassment.

She had told that policeman that Anthony was innocent. Ashle did not believe her. As far as he was concerned she was trying to protect Anthony because she was one of his lovers. She had not denied the fact that she liked Anthony. In response to his question whether Anthony had had sex with Nolitha, her answer had been most diplomatic – when two people are in love they often did not have sex out of respect for each other.

She was pleased that she had managed to shock Ashle though, when she told him the Earl had been to Nolitha’s older sister Xholiswa for sex. That the policeman had not known. This much had been obvious, for he had been unable to conceal his astonishment.

***

Chapter 13

The powerful international legal team met with Anthony and listened to his story, why he had come to Knysna, and what had happened to him since his arrival. They noted his suspicions that it could have been Marthinus Botha and/or Billy Sheenan who had murdered the two women, and that Richard Rushworth was behind it all. He gave them Ashle’s account of the alibis that all these people had.

Nicholas Hattersley, QC, who knew the Earl, having met him at regal functions in London, had serious doubts about Richard Rushworth being ‘behind it all’, but out of respect for the Honourable Justice Aldershaw, or was it simply ‘trepidation’, he kept a straight face.

The legal team told Anthony that Nolitha had been beaten before being raped, and that the two women had been shot with what looked like a 9mm handgun. The police were looking for the weapon. Anthony was shocked when Hattersley asked him if he possessed such a weapon. While not a soul had heard the shots, or if they had no one had come forward to admit it, Xholiswa’s baby Nelson’s cries had alerted a passer-by who had called the police.

The legal team warned Anthony that he was in serious trouble. Their concern was the witness who had seen his car at the scene of the crime a second time. Plus the fact that he could not prove that it was not he in the car. For the moment the State’s case was based on this shred of evidence. Since he had sat on Nolitha’s bed there was a good chance that some of his hairs and fibres from his clothing would be found on the bed. Would this include pubic hairs?

The all-important question now was whether the pathologist’s tests would clear him of the rape charge.

Hattersley expressed concern that Anthony was extremely vulnerable. South African prisons had not received good reports in the British media.

The hearing held on Monday did not last long. Pending further investigations the case was postponed for a month. Anthony was shocked. The defence appealed for the forbearance of the court. Since Anthony was a foreigner accused of murdering two popular black women his life in prison would be worth next to nothing. They cited the case of the white man who, awaiting trial for a minor traffic offence, was transferred from the police cells to prison where twenty-five prisoners raped him.

The magistrate made one concession: while awaiting the hearing Anthony was not to be transferred to prison but would stay in the police cells.

It was some consolation since everybody’s biggest fear was Aids.

The image of the four saprotrophs’ dirty vipers filled with deadly HIV venom remained fresh in Anthony’s mind. He knew that, being drunk notwithstanding, they could easily have held him down and raped him.

***

Chapter 14

Journalists meantime were making a nuisance of themselves pestering every citizen of Knysna. They knew that man’s worst excrement boiled like lava out of the pores of man’s pretentious façade – rampant crime, heedless murders, mindless rape, wanton sodomy, and Aids – and what’s more, it was their duty to report on it.

And nowhere could the contrast be greater than against the magnificent environment of the scenic Cape Garden Route.

***

Chapter 15

Anthony was violently wrenched out of a distraught sleep by a loud ‘rat-tat-tat!’ There was a vice-like grip on his heart and he was trembling all over as he frantically looked around and saw the grim black policeman in the doorway. The policeman swung keys to and fro and it struck the bars with a loud clank. Only then did Anthony realize the ‘rat-tat-tat’ was caused by the policeman pulling keys over the bars.

For a moment they stared at each other, Anthony trembling and rasping for breath.

You kill … you kill my people, the policeman said, his voice ominous, his teeth bared.

Cringing Anthony shook his head and stuttered, I … I … didn’t …!

You be sorry, the policeman said ignoring Anthony’s stutters as he rattled the keys loudly against the bars once more.

After the policeman left Anthony was unable to sleep. He knew that Xholiswa Ntshinga had been extremely popular, not only with upper class blacks who could afford her but also with many white men.

In the early hours the following night he was woken up again, not with the same frightening noise but with something far more forbidding.

Something was shoved into his cell. The creature’s clothes were tattered and he had a wild and vengeful look about him. There was a scar on one cheek and another running from his forehead across his scalp, clearing a path through sparse kinky black hair. His teeth had big gaps and appeared rotten.

Cold fear gripped Anthony as crafty bloodshot eyes like those of a hyena watched him, as if waiting to pounce if his guard came down. He cowered in his corner. If the Saturday night four fed on excrement, this creature undoubtedly devoured human flesh.

Fear turned into horror when later the creature got up and pulled down his pants. Anthony drew in a sharp breath at the length of the black mamba. When the creature clutched it, it seemed to swell and then a powerful stream hit a wall bubbling with Aids venom.

Saturday night’s vipers were toothless compared to this mamba.

For the rest of the night Anthony sat tense and upright. One thing he could not do was to urinate for he knew the creature would pounce on him the instant his pulled his pants down. But would nervous tension allow him to hold it in?

When the policeman who had accused him removed the creature before the day shift came on, Anthony knew that he was being chastised for ‘killing our people’.

The creature was back the following night and he knew that this would go on night after night to wear him down. With four weeks to the bail hearing the possibility of rape was manifest. Unless, fearing that, he confessed.

This was confirmed when he asked Ashle on Thursday about this creature and a puzzled Ashle went and checked and returned to inform him there was no such person in the cells.

***

Chapter 16

As Anthony sat by his lonesome self, most of the day, in the cold cell, he still had too much time to think, terror reigning supreme at night notwithstanding.

His first few days in Knysna were etched on his mind forever. He could distinctly remember meeting Eileen as if it was yesterday.

Thinking of her was all that was keeping him sane in this hellhole.

***

Chapter 17

Saturday night two rowdy drunken revellers were once more thrown into his cell. And when the hyena joined them and sat down on the same side as Anthony his crafty bloodshot eyes never left Anthony as he cowered in his corner.

When one drunk later staggered about in his efforts to extricate his organ the creature moved closer to Anthony. The drunk then splattered the floor and wall, the shrill cackle of the hyena sent icy ripples down Anthony’s spine. For while Anthony kept a fearful eye on the venom, the hyena’s eyes never left him. Shortly thereafter the second drunk went through a similar performance. Only he was too far gone to afterwards put his organ away and he collapsed onto the floor.

In the confined space the stench became insufferable.

After what seemed like an eternity, the strain had become unendurable, the hyena leered at Anthony as he dropped his pants. With bony fingers clutching his black mamba and facing Anthony he seemed to revel in taunting him. Staring at the black mamba a terrified Anthony shrank back. Satisfied that Anthony was watching he turned to splatter his stream of Aids venom over a wall.

Glancing from the two inert figures to the creature, a horrified Anthony knew this was the night when tension would force him to pull down his pants – unless he simply urinated in his pants.

Terrified Anthony watched the creature keep shaking the mamba until it gradually started to swell larger and larger until it stood hard and erect. While he was doing this and with saliva dripping from his mouth the creature hungrily watched Anthony. Like a python the creature’s hand suddenly shot out and a fingertip pecked at Anthony’s knee. Anthony’s body jerked and he gasped. The creature uttered a shrill cackle and immediately his hand shot out again and a fingertip pecked at Anthony’s arm. This carried on for a few minutes.

Aghast Anthony watched as the creature climbed off the bunk and bending over the drunk on the floor unbuckled the drunk’s belt, unzipped his fly and pulled down his pants. The drunk was out cold. The creature turned him over onto his stomach, parted his legs. Kneeling between the drunk’s legs he looked up and gesturing with one hand and shaking his erection with the other indicated that Anthony could have sex.

Anthony tried to look away but fear and horror held him spellbound. And when the creature proceeded to do what he had invited Anthony to do, Anthony could no longer hold his urine in.

***

Book Two: The Past – London and Knysna.

Chapter 18

Susan Harcourt-Jones stared at the figure in the mirror that wore nothing but bikini-panties. Hazy-green eyes stared appraisingly back at her, a tall, skinny woman with narrow hips. Short, fair hair only seemed to accentuate a narrow face that matched the figure. In sharp contrast to a bony structure she had sizeable beasts, which she loathed, as it made her look top-heavy, and gave her trouble when buying a dress. Susan never thought of herself as pretty, just a sisterly attractiveness, as she called it.

The reason for the studious scrutiny was as a result of wonderful memories of the night before. Just thinking about Anthony made her come out all over in goose bumps. Taking a deep breath and pulling in her stomach to hoist her chest and accentuate her ample bosom she smiled, because whereas the size might not please her Anthony simply revelled in it.

Susan was fond of Anthony and would have settled for a more lasting relationship any day. But even though he seemed to be happy when he was with her, he was like quicksilver, impossible to hold on to. Anthony was honest, and would do no wrong except when he mistook wrong for right. Then his obstinacy could be mistaken for culpability. His greatest weakness was that he was forever finding something new to arouse his expectations. He was damn good-looking too, blue eyes and all.

She was going to miss him. But what she really prayed for was that his eternal restlessness would be placated on this trip. That had been her desire on each trip since their relationship became serious more than two years ago. She was pragmatic, however, and while she accepted that his wanderlust would never be completely fulfilled, she still had a wish that he would settle down – with her, naturally.

Last night had been farewell, for a time at least, before he dashed off to some far-off, outlandish place, in search of a mysterious artefact, relic, or whatever.

Anthony could afford to do so, because he was a successful financial and investment consultant. Most of his clients were companies or had an income in the seven-figure bracket. He loved his job and was good at it. Financial figures, economic projections, profitability, these things seemed to come naturally, and it had made him independently wealthy. He was much more successful at this than hunting for hidden treasure, as time proved.

She worked for the same firm, as a clerk, officially called an investment advisor, who handled clients’ portfolios, mainly smaller portfolios. While her annual income was greater than that of many men who worked in the financial district between Bank and Aldgate Underground stations, she was far from being in Anthony’s league, which she gracefully accepted. She too loved this work, but what she enjoyed in particular were those occasions when Anthony called on her to assist him. He was so sharp it gave her a thrill just to watch him in action.

Susan had the habit, the moment she arrived home from work, to strip down to her panties and then to slip on a jersey and baggy pants, both a few numbers too big. That was when she felt completely at ease, and comfortable, to do what had to be done around the house, even if it was only to laze. Since Anthony had only departed when she left for work that morning, this was her first chance to tidy up.

***

Chapter 19

A knock on the front door took Susan by surprise. She never had visitors at this time of the night, unless by prior arrangement. Peeping through the eyehole she saw two men waiting. The one was smartly dressed, and looked a gentleman, smiling indifferently into the distance. She was taken aback when, in response to her query, a cultured voice told her they were from the Treasury Department and wanted to talk to her about Anthony. Did this have something to do with his quest for the mysterious artefact she wondered?

The second man was not clearly visible, but the smartly dressed one gave the two an innocuous appearance and without further ado she opened the door. She had but a brief glimpse of the second man, a short stocky man, before he thrust open the door, slamming it into her. As she staggered backwards the man came in fast and a cruel punch caught her in her midriff. Her wind simply whooshed out as the professional, well-timed blow sank deep into her solar plexus. While she was doubling up and sinking to the floor the man scooped her up under his arm and carried her through to the bedroom.

The smartly dressed man quickly looked around, entered, closed and locked the front door, then followed them.

Susan was dumped unceremoniously on her bed and then a hand pressed down hard on her neck.