Betrayed by Carol Thompson Page B

had sniffed out the cow’s head on the previous Saturday. I wondered how the 4x4 Club volunteers and the K9 unit could have missed her body – unless she wasn’t there at the time. Had she still been alive, held somewhere against her will? Had she died a few days later and only then been dumped in the veld? More painful still, if a thorough searc h had been conducted, would the outcome have been different?
    Demons sniggered inside my skull. I realised that when I had stop ped on the side of the road the previous Friday, I had been just a few hundred metres away from the spot where her body was found. If I had got out of the car and walked up the dirt track, would I have found her alive? No, stop, that way lies madness.
    â€œErr  . . . we have to leave now. Will you be okay finding your way home?” Captain Kotze asked.
    â€œThat’s fine. Thanks for your help. We know the area, we’ll be fine.”
    The Captain gave me a hug and promised to do everything in his power to find out the truth.
    We leaned on the car for a few minutes, each lost in our own worlds, the image of the small indent in the stony earth where her body had been found engraved on my heart. What was her last thought? Had she suffered? How long did she lie there before she died? Did she call out in fear and pain? What thoughts and emotions were wande r ing through Buddy’s head and heart I have no idea. Grief is a selfish animal, it consumes and enfolds you in a thick blanket of anguish, isolating you even from those who are closest to you.
    As we turned the car and started the drive back to the house, Marsha broke the heavy silence.
    â€œDon’t you think it was strange that the police didn’t stop to inves tigate that car that was parked just over there?”
    â€œI didn’t notice another car,” I frowned.
    â€œA green car was stopped not far away,” she said. “I wonder why it didn’t raise suspicion. I mean, it was in the middle of a bunch of dirt roads with nothing in the area but mealie fields. Then when the two guys in the car saw us pull in behind the police car, they started thei r car and disappeared in a cloud of dust.”
    Neither officer had seemed to notice it.
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    After the psychiatrist diagnosed Tracey’s panic disorder and gave her medication to help her deal with it, there was a marked improvement in every aspect of her life. Slowly the laughing, golden girl started to re-emerge. In the dark days, she had been adamant that she wouldn’t be going to go to her matric farewell. Now she couldn’t wait. At first, Peter had refused her invitation because he had no formal wear and no money to get the right gear. Knowing how much it meant to both of them, I offered to pay for the hire of a tux.
    â€œCool,” he said. “Thanks. So what will you be wearing, Tracey?” he asked.
    â€œNot telling,” she grinned. “Wait and see.”
    â€œI can’t imagine Tracey in formal wear,” he told me out of earshot. “She’s such a tomboy that I’ve only ever seen her in jeans, shirts and her leather jacket. I can’t wait to see her all dolled up.”
    Tracey never wore make-up and this night was no exception, yet she looked radiant. Peter arrived, not on his motorbike, but in a clapped-out jalopy. We all laughed as he unwound his lanky frame from the small car.
    â€œIt’s not much, is it?” he said. “Certainly not some fancy limousine like she deserves.”
    â€œNo one will even notice,” I told him. “Least of all Tracey. She’d go on a bicycle, as long as you were her escort.”
    He smiled and handed her a single red rose. Buddy and I followed the young couple to the venue to capture the occasion on camera. I was bursting with pride.
    â€œIs it really you, Tracey?” one girl joked.
    â€œWho are you?” a teacher queried. Tracey laughed.
    â€œIt’s me,