Betrayed by Carol Thompson Page A

of each step I took, each leaden foot as it echoed on the hard, cold floor. Buddy edged in and stood against the far wall, as far from the glass window as he could get, the two officers still by his side. I moved towards the glass that separated me from Tracey.
    A brightly coloured blanket covered her body, and only one arm had been exposed for me to see. I caught my breath. How tiny she was! Although her face was hidden, I could picture it as it had been in life. Her beautiful shiny hair, her sparkling eyes that always re flected mischief and fun, now dulled and forever unseeing.
    I fought hard not to let myself imagine what she looked like under that blanket, which seemed far too bright and cheerful for its purpose. I held tight to the image of her alive and full of spirit. I looked past the maggots crawling in her wrist and hand to see her hand as it had been in life. I placed my hand against the glass and spoke softly to her of my love for her. I gave her the message Glen had asked me to pass on to his sister. I’m not sure how long I had been talking to Tracey when I felt a light touch on my shoulder.
    â€œAre you ready to go?” Captain Kotze asked quietly.
    â€œGive me a few more moments.”
    I looked at her hand and arm for the last time. I said a prayer. I said my last goodbye.
    â€œCan you please return the ‘What Would Jesus Do?’ armband that’s still on her wrist?” I asked as I turned away. It had no monetary value, but it was something Glen had asked for, if she was still wearing it.
    Back in the waiting room, I nodded to my husband and sister.
    â€œLet’s go home,” I whispered.
    â€œWell, is it your daughter?” a voice intruded into my grief. The mor tuary officer was sitting with pen raised to fill in the form confirm ing that I had positively identified my child.
    â€œYes, I’d recognise her hand and arm anywhere, under any circum stances.”
    All the way back to the house I babbled almost without pausing for breath. We had arranged to pick up our car and follow the officer s to the place where Tracey’s body had been found. I must have sound ed insane, but I didn’t care. I had to talk to take my mind off what I had seen.
    My cell phone rang, cutting through my prattling. It was the church to tell me that Tracey’s memorial service could be scheduled for Thursday morning – in two days’ time – otherwise the minister we wanted would only be available again in a month’s time. Not wanting another minister to perform the service, I accepted the day and time , and agreed to go in the next morning to finalise arrangements.
    Reality crashed down around me. How would I let everyone know in time? How could they expect me to be ready in a day? Is any moth er ever ready to bury and say a final goodbye to her child?
    I had to push these thoughts to the back of my mind when we ar rived home and transferred into our own car to follow the police to the farmlands. The two officers got lost trying to find the place where Tracey’s body had been found, and doubts about their competence floated to the surface of my mind again. Eventually the police car cam e to a stop and we pulled up behind them. They didn’t have to tell me. I walked straight to a spot that was drawing me with unseen power.
    â€œThis is it, isn’t it?”
    â€œYes,” said the Captain.
    I could see the indent in the stones and sand where her broken body had lain. The grass was flattened and there were signs of human activity. But there was no police tape, no sign that any investigation work had been done.
    â€œWhich way was her body facing?” I asked.
    Neither of the policemen seemed to know. It wasn’t until later that I realised how strange this was. Photographs of the scene would hav e shown how she had been lying. And if Captain Kotze had visited th e scene, he would have known.
    The spot was very close to the dump where the dogs