Chapter 12 - The Truth About Lindiwe
The weeks following Mthente's arrest were among the hardest of my life.
Reporters began asking questions.
People who had once admired my business whispered about my relationship with a former assassin.
Aunt Zanele called repeatedly.
When I finally answered, she sounded furious.
“I warned you about that man!”
“I know, Aunt Zanele.”
“Then why are you still involved?”
“Because I know what he's done. And I know he's trying to take responsibility.”
She sighed.
“Nangomusa, love cannot erase murder.”
“I never said it could.”
That ended the argument.
For once, neither of us had anything else to say.
My office administrator helped keep the business running while I cooperated with investigators.
Fortunately, the studio's digital backups preserved copies of the invoices the intruders had tried to steal.
Those records helped establish connections between Radebe's businesses and suspicious financial transactions.
But the investigation into Lindiwe's death was far more painful.
Detective Khumalo reopened the old accident file.
Investigators compared the vehicle details in Lindiwe's notebook with records from the night she died.
They found discrepancies in the original report.
A company vehicle had been present near the scene, but its involvement hadn't been properly investigated.
A former employee also came forward after learning that police were examining Radebe's organization.
He remembered being instructed to keep quiet about a vehicle that had returned damaged that night.
The evidence didn't answer every question.
But it raised a disturbing possibility.
Lindiwe might have been deliberately targeted because of what she knew.
When Detective Khumalo explained this to Mthente's mother, the older woman nearly collapsed.
“My daughter was only eighteen,” she whispered.
I sat beside her and held her hand.
“She was trying to help her brother,” the detective said carefully. “We believe she became frightened after witnessing suspicious activities connected to Radebe.”
Mthente's mother covered her mouth.
“For years, people told me I was responsible.”
Her voice cracked.
“They said I should never have allowed her to leave the house that night.”
Sandiso knelt beside her.
“Ma, you didn't do this.”
She looked at him.
“I sent her to school. I taught her to be honest. I taught her to help people.”
Tears rolled down her cheeks.
“And because she tried to do the right thing, someone may have killed her.”
I wrapped my arms around her.
She cried quietly.
That evening, she finally agreed to meet regularly with a mental health professional.
She had been carrying unbearable grief for years, and none of us wanted her to face it alone anymore.
Aunt Zanele also came to visit.
At first, I feared another confrontation.
But when she saw the exhausted woman sitting inside the blue roundhouse, her expression softened.
They spoke privately for a long time.
When Aunt Zanele returned, her eyes were red.
“I didn't understand how much she was suffering,” she admitted.
“Neither did I,” I whispered.
Meanwhile, Mthente continued cooperating with investigators.
He identified people involved in Radebe's operation and admitted his own role in serious crimes.
His statements helped police corroborate information that had remained buried for years.
Then Detective Khumalo called with important news.
Investigators had located the driver associated with the vehicle mentioned in Lindiwe's notebook.
He had agreed to give a formal statement.
I immediately traveled to Makhuni to tell Mthente's mother.
She was sitting outside, watching the hills.
When I explained, she gripped my arm.
“What did he say?”
I took a breath.
“He says Radebe ordered someone to stop Lindiwe from speaking to the police.”
Her face drained of color.
“And the accident?”
May you like
I couldn't look away.
“Ma, investigators now believe it wasn't an accident at all.”
