Chapter 9 - The Boy Who Knew Too Much
Mthente gripped the phone so tightly that his knuckles turned pale.
“Don't touch Sandiso.”
Radebe answered calmly.
“Then stop making promises you can't keep.”
Detective Khumalo silently signaled for Mthente to continue speaking.
“Let me talk to him,” Mthente demanded.
A brief silence followed.
Then we heard Sandiso's voice.
“Bhuti?”
Mthente closed his eyes.
“Sandiso, are you okay?”
“I'm fine.”
But the fear in his voice betrayed him.
“Listen to me,” Mthente said. “I'm going to get you home.”
Radebe took the phone again.
“Don't involve anyone else.”
The call ended.
For a moment, Mthente looked ready to destroy everything around him.
Instead, he placed the phone on the table and turned toward Detective Khumalo.
“Help me bring my brother back.”
She nodded.
“We're going to do everything we can.”
The next several hours felt endless.
The officers examined the photograph, questioned people near the location where Sandiso had been picked up, and reviewed available security footage.
Mthente gave them information about businesses and properties Radebe had previously used.
He also contacted Goba, who helped locate a sealed box containing his old records.
Detective Khumalo warned him not to withhold anything.
He agreed.
His mother sat beside me, holding a cup of tea she never drank.
Every few minutes, she asked whether someone had found Sandiso.
Each time, I told her the truth.
“Not yet, Ma.”
Around midnight, Detective Khumalo received a call.
She stepped outside.
Mthente stood immediately.
When she returned, her expression had changed.
“We've located a vehicle matching the one in the photograph.”
His mother nearly dropped her cup.
“Where's my son?”
“We believe he's being held at a property outside town. Officers are on their way.”
Mthente moved toward the door.
The detective stopped him.
“You're staying here.”
“That's my brother!”
“And we'll do everything possible to bring him back safely.”
Mthente stared at her.
For several seconds, I thought he might refuse.
Then he looked at his mother.
She was crying silently.
He stepped back.
“I'll wait.”
It was the hardest decision I'd seen him make.
An hour later, the detective's phone rang again.
She listened.
Then she looked toward us.
“Sandiso is safe.”
His mother let out a broken cry.
Mthente covered his face.
But the detective wasn't finished.
“Radebe wasn't at the property when officers arrived. We're still looking for him.”
Sandiso was brought to us shortly afterward.
He was twenty years old, frightened, and exhausted.
His mother embraced him so tightly that he could barely speak.
Mthente approached slowly.
“I'm sorry, little brother.”
Sandiso looked at him.
“You should be.”
Mthente stopped.
“I know.”
Sandiso's voice shook.
“I thought I was going to die because of something you did.”
Tears filled Mthente's eyes.
“I won't let that happen again.”
Sandiso shook his head.
“You keep saying that.”
The words landed painfully.
Then he looked toward his mother.
“Ma, there's something you need to know.”
She held his face between her hands.
“What is it?”
Sandiso hesitated.
“Before Lindiwe died, she gave me something.”
Mthente slowly raised his head.
“What did she give you?”
“A notebook.”
His mother stared at him.
Sandiso swallowed.
“She told me to hide it until I was old enough to understand what she'd written.”
Mthente stepped closer.
“Where is it?”
Sandiso's expression became serious.
“At Gogo's house.”
He paused.
“And, Bhuti, there's a name in that notebook.”
Mthente held his breath.
“Whose name?”
May you like
Sandiso looked directly at him.
“Bhekizizwe Radebe.”
