When Angels Weep

By Alvin Erlank

Why are young girls and boys disappearing from the streets?

 

Are they runaways or is something more sinister happening?

Who is Avenging Angel?

Will Major Peter Mandla Sithole and his partner forensic psychologist, Dr. Katherine Jenkins be able to solve the mystery?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Helpmyworld Publishing
• Release date: Jun 17, 2020
• ISBN: 9781393546054

Book preview

Prologue

Johannesburg, Gauteng, South Africa

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When driving westwards through the townships on the fringes of the city, you see the remains of mining activities from long, long ago. There are colossal mountains of golden, arid, toxic sand that had once contained huge quantities of gold-bearing ore, deep down in the bowels of the earth. The tall, rusty, steel headgear that once brought men and the precious ore to the surface, now stands lost and forlorn. The surrounding area resembles a forgotten wasteland. The harsh Highveld sun seems to swaddle the place in a net of gold and the rays of the sun fall upon a lone figure lying on the floor of a room in the dilapidated old hovel next to the mineshaft. A young girl lies contentedly on the floor of the room. She is well hidden from prying eyes. This is her favourite haunt, when she longs to be alone; not a soul will interrupt her self-inflicted rest. The October air is humid, and the sky is blue with a tinge of scarlet on the horizon. A sense of peace and tranquillity has overcome her whilst asleep. A balmy breath of wind blows through the broken window. Her short skirt reveals her purplish-blue hypodermic-needle-pockmarked right thigh. She seems so very calm and serene, her eyes shut to the world. She appears to be innocence personified.

Suddenly, she awakens. She imagines horrible travesties in her mind’s eye.

Go away, please just leave me! she pleads.

She does not recall getting here. She starts screaming, terrible echoes of human torment. Then she realises she cannot breathe. Panic overwhelms her. She must get a fix soonest. The shakes, the nausea and the nightmares will soon start again if she does not get some ephedrine into her system, even if it means sniffing gasoline from the tank of her car. She needs a fix now, not later. During times of need she makes use of her dealer, she knows he will naturally oblige, at a price of course and she knows that he will, as usual, demand the use of her body as well as cash for the fix. She arises, looks through the window and sees her black sports car still standing along the pathway; the sound system still continuously playing her favourite music. She runs towards her car, opens the door, gets in, opens the glove compartment she uses to store her drug paraphernalia. This includes a sterling silver teaspoon, a gold Cartier cigarette lighter, a syringe and a few hypodermic needles. She does not find any leftover methamphetamine. Although she is suffering from a serious bout of subtle incapacitation because of her abuse of both drugs and alcohol, she starts up the car and pulls away with the back wheels hurling a cloud of dust and stones into the air. She feels as if she is knocking on death’s door.

I need a quick fix, please help me, she pleads once more.

Edinburgh, Scotland, UK

It is early evening in Edinburgh, Scotland, situated on the Firth of Forth. Many people, tourists and citizens alike, consider Edinburgh as one of the most beautiful cities in the world. The relatively safe old-fashioned city is transformed into a truly beautiful fairyland at night; a wonderful spectacle to behold. There is an abundance of museums, art galleries, luxury theatres, scientific institutions, libraries and two prominent institutions of higher learning, namely The University of Edinburgh and Heriot Watt University and students from across the globe attend classes at these two distinguished establishments. Edinburgh is divided into two sections, namely the Old Town and the New Town. The Old Town, with its narrow, cobbled streets, is the abode of The Palace of Holyrood where many Scottish monarchs resided, including a short spell of stay by Mary Stuart. The New Town has broad roads and streets including the world-famous Princes Street. Outside of the protected confines of the St John’s Royal Infirmary, a tempestuous, cold wind is blowing off the North Sea. Very soon after the fallen autumn leaves of gold have disappeared, they will be replaced by snowfalls; the sun will rise at 5:00 in the morning and set at 15:00 in the afternoon. In the emergency room at St John’s, the heart of the young, but now sadly jaded woman, continues to beat, this time with an irregular rhythm. She faintly hears the wailing sirens, the squealing of brakes of ambulances, the screams and moans of other patients, the sobs of family members, friends and bystanders, and the instructions of doctors on duty.

She feels a cool hand touch the side of her throat. Another cool hand is on her pulse.

She hears a composed voice: She’s still breathing, people. Stay with us, lassie, he pleads.

Why must I stay with them she thinks?

BP, heart and pulse rate’s dropping, pupils not looking good. We’re losing her fast, folks! the same tranquil voice says.

We have to administer CPR and pump her stomach, pronto! another voice suggests.

Aye let’s do it, the doctor with the serene voice replies.

The young woman feels a tube sliding down her throat, then the last thing she remembers is darkness.

Two days later, she awakens to the sounds of machines blowing, sucking and bleeping. She is in the ICU of the hospital.

What made me start using drugs and alcohol again? she asks herself.

You’re lucky to be alive. You overdosed, young lady, the unmistakable poised voice of the doctor who treated her in the emergency room reminds her.

Veronique McDillon does not say anything; she is too embarrassed. She knows that she will be receiving a serious visit from her social worker again, soon.

•  •

-1-

Johannesburg, Gauteng

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To the investigating officer, he is the consummate suspect. He had just served a sentence of five years of imprisonment for indecently molesting a twelve-year-old girl.

After hearing the crunching of a key in the keyhole of his cell door, Ken Lawson awakens with a start. His head is pounding and churning like an old concrete mixer. He very slowly tries to focus properly, after opening his eyes. Soon outline after outline gradually becomes clearer. He sees the face of the man who still haunts his memories. As he arises from his cell bunk, his face blanches, he feels as if the walls of Jericho have once more fallen on him. He starts shaking. Has his guilty conscience, now made a coward of him, or is it the typical scenario of the little black-backed jackal in the bright headlights of a ten-ton truck?

Good morning, Mr. Lawson. Why the distress? Have you had a rough evening again? You look like something the cat left on the mat, Peter Sithole of the South African Police Services probes.

"What do you want from me, Sithole?

Tell me a little more about the young girl who disappeared two days ago.

What young girl? Lawson asks.

The young girl you abducted from the sidewalk of her home!

It’s not my style and you know it. I’ve been living trouble-free these past three months.

Sure, but tell me, do you by chance drive a blue Toyota?

Not a chance. You know that I drive a red Nissan.

Lawson paces up and down like a caged tiger.

Did you perhaps borrow or rent a blue Toyota Intra?

"No, I did not!’’

Are you prepared to take a polygraph test, Lawson?

Yes of course I will. Sithole knows that he is onto something, but he knows that he cannot keep Lawson in custody, without solid evidence.

All right, Lawson, you may leave now, but kindly be back here at 16:00 to take the polygraph test and stop your drinking on the streets. You’re lucky the boys picked you up and gave you overnight shelter.

I’ll be here.

I’m glad your acquiescence is so very prudent.

What do you mean by this? Lawson enquires.

In simple English, I said that I am glad that your consent to a polygraph test is a very wise move, Law-son.

Lawson now changes his pompous attitude, and he now seems like a supplicant, begging for mercy from a stern judge of the court.

Please give me a break, Major Sithole?

We don’t want to incriminate you, Lawson. What we want to do, is to eliminate you as a suspect.

Thank you, Major Sithole, I promise I’ll be here at 16:00.

Sithole leaves and drives back to headquarters.

Sithole locks up his office at Police Headquarters at23:00, gets into his car, and drives home through the deserted rainy streets of Johannesburg. Booming thunder rumbles across the sky, but Sithole scarcely notices the heavy sounds from the clouds above; he is exhausted and longs for the comfort of his bed. He drives down William Nicol Drive and soon enters Illovo where he resides in a bachelor apartment. Sithole opens the parking garage by remote control and pulls into his parking bay. He has a strong premonition that the thunderstorm outside will intensify. He gets out of his car, locks it, and takes the elevator to the top floor, walks a short distance down the hallway, and opens his apartment door. A strange unfamiliar smell of cologne greets him. He pulls out his service pistol and approaches his bedroom very carefully. When he enters his bedroom, he finds a porcelain doll hanging from the light in the middle of the room. Stuck to the dress of the doll is a note.

•  •

-2-

Many people regard Johannesburg as a beautiful cosmopolitan city, consider the city as home. To Peter Sithole, Johannesburg is his adopted hometown, and he is proud to be a citizen. He gets up at 06:30 and prepares for the day ahead. After some poached eggs, toast, and orange juice for breakfast, he locks the apartment, gets into his car, and drives to police headquarters. En route, he receives a message from Brigadier Ndlovu who asks him to drive down to the latest victim’s parents, Mr. Nahum and Ms. Ira Rafaeli’s house in Houghton. He drives down to the house at 121 Connaught Avenue. It is a beautiful house with a gracious front garden and lush green lawns. Sithole rings the bell at the front gate and a voice through the intercom system kindly asks him to identify himself. He does so, and the wrought-iron gate swings open. He drives up to the front entrance of the house. A very earnest-looking butler meets him at the front door.

"May I possibly have a word with Mr. or Ms. Rafaeli, please?’’ Sithole asks.

Mr. and Ms. Rafaeli are preparing themselves for the synagogue., sir. Yom Kippur is just around the corner, sir. Can you possibly come back a little later please, say after 14:00?

Yes, I know that the Jewish community will soon be celebrating the Day of Atonement, but synagogue on a Monday morning is a bit too far-fetched, Sithole thinks to himself.

Who is it, Sam-Lee? someone inside the house enquires.

Sithole produces his police ID and soon Mr. Rafaeli comes to the door and invites him inside the house. Sithole is shown into a lavish sitting room complemented with antique furniture, exquisite paintings and a huge seven-lamp Menorah candlestick sit on a cabinet. There is also a Mezuzah – an enclosed parchment on which are written the basic teachings of Judaism on a wall near the front door. Mr. Rafaeli excuses himself and soon returns with Ms. Rafaeli. She is in a terrible state. Her hair is dishevelled, her eyes filled with tears, and she seems truly piteous.

You will find our daughter, Officer?

Yes, sir, we’ll find her, that’s a promise. There is a pause.

Mr. Rafaeli, while we search for your daughter, don’t you think that your wife needs urgent medical attention first?

Yes, Officer, I’ll call Dr. Callan later. Now you go out there and find our daughter. Shalom!

Thank you, Mr. Rafaeli. Shalom!

Sithole does not want to bother them any longer until Ms. Rafaeli receives medical attention. He thanks Mr. Rafaeli and he is escorted to the front gate by Sam-Lee, the butler. He gets into his car and is soon on his way to headquarters.

He contemplates putting Detective Constable Stuart Gelderbloem on the case, but Gelderbloem is not himself lately. He is a competent investigator, but recently he reports for duty with a whiff of alcohol on his breath, and at times, he tries to conceal the smell by chewing mints. Stuart is originally from Cape Town and cannot seem to handle the fast-paced life of Gauteng.

At police headquarters, Sithole ambles up to Brigadier Ndlovu’s office. He knocks on the door and enters.

A very good morning to you, sir.

What’s so good about this morning? Why must you always be so slow in everything you do? Commissioner is livid! Why are you dilly-dallying with such a top-priority case? Ndlovu enquires. His enquiry is followed by an anaemic grunt.

Sithole decides to keep quiet until Ndlovu has calmed down. Ndlovu seats himself in his high-back office chair.

Sir— Sithole wants to explain.

Don’t ‘sir’ me. Get off your behinds and do your jobs! Bruce Wilson will be your investigating partner, and kindly stop acting like a bumbling bunch of schoolboys at your first choir practice! Find the abductor and I mean, like yesterday and not tomorrow. Hit the ground running, right?

Yes, will do, Brigadier.

Sithole’s new partner Bruce Wilson, although a very reserved man and loner, is a very competent police officer. Sithole knows that it will be good working with Wilson who says that he believes in and will always uphold the rule of law as a good citizen and serve and protect at all times. Yes, will do, Brigadier.

•  •

-3-

It is 13:10. Bruce Wilson and Peter Sithole are browsing through the local daily newspapers. One of the articles under a one-column header proclaims, MYSTERIOUS