Palace of Justice

40

It was going to be a very long day; the make-or-break day for the defence. I went to court early and entered as soon as they opened the doors to the public. I counted the steps as I walked up; there were thirteen. I wasn’t superstitious, but I had been up and down those steps four or five times a day for two weeks; why had I not noticed it before? I hoped it was not an omen for the day.

I stood aside as the usher unlocked Court C. I took my seat at the defence table and started going through my notes. There was only one topic of substance left. After three days of wrangling and manoeuvring we had finally got to the point where Labuschagne was going to have to explain what had happened at the reservoir. Nothing else really mattered, neither the brutality of the execution process nor the unfairness of making these young men participate in it. It didn’t matter whether one was for or against the death penalty. The only thing that mattered was this: what was the explanation for what had happened at the reservoir? No one else could give that explanation; it had to come from Leon Labuschagne. His fate would be determined by what happened on this day of the trial. He would have to talk, and he would be cross-examined.

When the cell sergeant came in I asked him to bring Labuschagne up early. He said that he could not leave him unattended in the dock and that he had other work to do, so I was obliged to go down to Cell 6 again. The sergeant locked me in and left. Labuschagne sat with his eyes downcast as I spoke. He looked tired.

‘The rules of ethics don’t allow me to talk to you about the evidence you have already given,’ I said, ‘but you know where we are heading. We are going to have to cover the events of that last day, from beginning to end.’

He nodded without looking up. There was reluctance in the slump of his shoulders. I thought I saw a slight shake of his head.

‘We have no choice. You and I have been there before. You told me and you are going to have to tell the Court. We get only one opportunity to tell your story and this is it. It will be you and me, just the two of us. But you are going to have to do the important talking.’

Labuschagne fiddled with his tie. His facial expression was impenetrable. I could not see whether he was afraid or tired, whether he had given up hope or was, like me, hanging in there at the very limits of his emotional reach.

‘I will be there with you every step of the way. I will talk you through every part of your story. But I need to know that you will do your best, that you won’t give up and that you will help me too. I can’t do it on my own.’

He did not react, so I asked him directly, ‘Will you help me?’

Labuschagne took his time before he looked up and nodded.

‘Good,’ I said. ‘Now please take the notes Wierda has prepared for you and run through them one last time before we start.’

He nodded again. Fatigue and resignation were apparent in his eyes. I was also tired, but I wasn’t ready to give up.

I spent the next half hour watching as he went through the events as summarised in Wierda’s briefing notes. I turned page by page with him, keeping an eye on him to ensure that he did not skip pages.

When the cell sergeant came for us, I went up into the dock behind Labuschagne and sat down on the bench in the dock next to him. The sergeant kept watch from his table behind the witness box.

James Murray came in, followed by Sanet Niemand. ‘How long are you going to be?’ Murray wanted to know. He was referring to the examination-in-chief.

‘Maybe an hour,’ I said. There was no reason to keep them guessing any longer.

‘Are we going to finish by the end of next week, Johann?’ he asked. ‘I have another difficult case starting in Johannesburg the week after that.’

I was a little surprised at the implication that he regarded the case as a difficult one.

‘I sincerely hope so,’ I replied, making a joke of it. ‘I like your city, but it’s time to go home.’

Studiously avoiding Labuschagne’s gaze, he joined in the small talk. ‘Yes, I can understand that.’

The court filled up quickly. I recognised a few lawyers among the spectators. They must have come for the cross-examination.

We bowed as usual when Judge van Zyl and his Assessors came in. When everyone had settled down and Labuschagne had taken his place in the witness box, I started with an open question. There would be more specific questions later, many of them.

‘What happened on the eighth of December?’

The answer was given without any hint of emotion. ‘We hanged seven.’

I looked at the list I had. In alphabetical order: Busakwe, Hansen, Kodisang, Leve, Marotholi, Prins, Smit.

‘What happened on the ninth?’

‘We hanged another seven.’

Botha, Harris, Japhta, Meiring, Michaels, Morgan, Swartbooi.

‘And on the tenth?’

‘We hanged the last seven.’

Gcaba, Gcabashe, Maarman, Mbambani, Mjuza, Mkumbeni, Njele.

It was time to get more specific. ‘Did anything unusual happen on the eighth?’

He thought for a while. ‘Not as far as I can remember.’

‘And on the ninth?’

‘That was the day of the teargas,’ he said, and then added, ‘I think.’

‘You think?’ I asked.

‘Yes, it was a Tuesday.’

I corrected him. ‘No, the ninth was a Wednesday.’

‘It must have been the eighth then.’

Judge van Zyl intervened. ‘How certain are you of the day? Or the date?’ he added.

Labuschagne looked towards me, but I could not help him. Indeed, I did not want to help him either. His uncertainty was good for his case even if he did not realise it.

‘I can’t remember, sir,’ he said.

‘Try to think back,’ suggested the Judge. ‘Cast your mind back to that week and tell me on which day was the teargas incident.’

Labuschagne shook his head before he answered. ‘I think it was the Tuesday.’

‘How sure are you it was that week and not another week?’ asked the Judge.

Labuschagne did not answer.

Eventually the Judge looked at me and said, ‘See if you can get an answer.’

I waited for Labuschagne to make eye contact before I asked, ‘Are you able to answer His Lordship’s question?’

He took a deep breath before he answered. ‘I am sure it was that week, but I don’t know what day.’

I glanced at the Judge and when he nodded, I continued. ‘Let’s deal with the tenth. Did anything unusual happen that morning during the executions?’

This time he did not hesitate. ‘Yes, sir, that’s the day when we had to pull one back up and drop him down again.’

‘What part did you play in that incident?’ I asked.

‘It was my prisoner.’

It was time for me to be cruel. ‘How did you feel, what went through your mind during and after that incident?’

‘I don’t know what you mean,’ he said.

I had not primed him for the question because I wanted a spontaneous response.

‘There was no time for thinking.’

I hurried the next question. ‘I would like you to tell the Court how you felt after pulling the man up and dropping him and hearing his neck break.’

‘I felt nothing. I was just tired.’

‘How did you feel inside?’ I insisted.

He resisted. ‘What do you mean inside?’

‘What emotions did you experience, that’s what I mean,’ I explained, manoeuvring him to the position I wanted.

But Labuschagne wasn’t giving in. ‘I can’t remember.’

Judge van Zyl had been watching this exchange with his head cocked to one side. Now he intervened again. ‘Are you telling us that you felt nothing at all inside while you were doing that and after the man was dead too, that all you felt was a physical sensation of fatigue?’

It was a troublesome question, but the Judge had the right to ask whatever he wanted.

‘Sir, all I can remember was that I was so tired. I was finished.’ Labuschagne was not looking up; his eyes were fixed on the floor a few feet in front of the witness box. ‘That’s all I can remember, how tired I was, how tired I was of everything.’ He leaned heavily on the witness box.

That was the answer I had been looking for. I gauged that his emotional state was ripe for what I had in mind and started dealing with the day’s events in detail.

‘You had to report for duty before six o’clock that morning?’ It was a leading question but Murray did not object.

‘Yes.’

‘And you lined up behind the Warrant Officer and went into the Pot to call out the ones who were going up that morning?’

‘Yes.’

‘Their fingerprints were taken and you took them to the chapel for the service?’

‘Yes.’

‘You sang and prayed with them?’

‘Yes.’ The answer was almost inaudible.

‘You then handcuffed them?’

‘Yes.’ It was now hardly more than a nod of the head.

‘Please speak up, and speak towards me,’ the Judge ordered.

I didn’t wait for Labuschagne to acknowledge the caution.

‘And you took them up to the top floor?’ I suggested.

‘Yes.’

I decided to make him tell it himself again. ‘Did you have any difficulty getting them all the way up the steps to the top?’

He answered automatically. ‘Not more than usual.’

This gave me the opening I needed. ‘Well, what amount of trouble is usual?’

‘They drag their feet. They plead and beg. Some faint and some fight. I can’t remember anything specific about that day. We got them to the top, that’s all I know.’

I kept up the pace of the questions. I did not want to lose momentum now that he was talking. ‘And you put the white hoods on their heads after the Sheriff had asked them if they had any last words?’

‘Yes.’

‘And you took them into the gallows chamber and made them stand on the painted feet on the trapdoors.’

‘Yes.’

Gcaba, Gcabashe, Maarman, Mbambani, Mjuza, Mkumbeni, Njele.

‘And, you have said, your prisoner was difficult?’

‘Yes.’

I had asked a whole series of leading questions deliberately. I was trying to get Labuschagne into the habit of dealing with the hanging step by step, without leaving out any important detail. James Murray had not objected, but I could not carry on leading indefinitely.

‘Tell the Court what happened then.’

He began haltingly, then slowly picked up the pace. As he spoke, his voice became stronger. I let him do the talking, but he left out some crucial details, so I had to take him back to clarify some of these. The way he had described it, it was just another hanging.

‘Did anything unusual happen during the execution process?’

‘Yes,’ he said. He did not look at me any longer when I asked the questions.

‘What happened?’ I kept the questions short.

‘As I said, my prisoner did not die when the trapdoors opened.’ His voice sounded reproachful. I ignored it.

‘How did you deal with that?’ I pressed for the detail.

He explained the whole process again.

‘How did you feel at the end of that?’ I asked.

‘I was tired.’ He became defensive. ‘It is very difficult to pull a man up by the rope, and there were only two of us, it was hard, hard work. We had to hold him steady. He was kicking and gasping. I just didn’t have the strength.’

‘Carry on,’ I said. ‘Please tell the Court what happened from then on.’

When Labuschagne had finished with the events in the pit room, step by step, I led him through the funeral service with the relatives and the registration of deaths at the various departments.

‘And when you returned from the offices where you had to register the deaths, you still had to bury the bodies?’ I asked.

‘Yes.’

‘And on that occasion you had six black men and one coloured to bury,’ I suggested.

‘Yes, I think so.’

‘Where did you have to take the bodies?’ I could have told him, but I needed him to say more than yes or no.

He obliged. ‘The coloured had to go to Eersterus Cemetery. I had to take the blacks to the Mamelodi Cemetery.’

‘Where is Mamelodi in relation to Maximum?’ I asked. The Judge looked at me and shook his head. He must have remembered that I was from a distant jurisdiction.

‘It is on the other side of the city.’

Judge van Zyl helped out. ‘I think I can take judicial notice of the geography of the city where the Court sits. Mamelodi is on the north-eastern outskirts of the city, approximately twenty kilometres from the prison complex. Is that about right?’ he asked Labuschagne.

‘Yes, sir.’

‘And from the prison you would have to travel through the centre of the city to get to Mamelodi, wouldn’t you?’ The Judge had also fallen into the habit of asking leading questions.

‘No, sir, we went along Jacob Mare Street, then Rissik and Walker, then left into University Street, and from there we took Lynwood Road until we got to the Wilgers Hospital. We turned left there, but I don’t know the name of the road, and carried on until we were in Denneboom Road. The cemetery is not far from there.’

The Judge nodded. ‘I know exactly what you mean. It is much quicker that way, isn’t it?’

‘Yes, sir.’

When I didn’t take over, Judge van Zyl looked at me and said, ‘Carry on.’

‘How did you transport the bodies to the cemetery?’ I asked immediately.

‘We used a minibus that belonged to a funeral undertaker.’

‘How many people went along?’

‘It was just me and the driver, Isaiah.’

‘Was he a warder?’

‘No, he works for the undertakers.’

‘How many coffins did you have in the minibus?’

‘Six.’

‘Did anything unusual happen on the way to the cemetery?’ I asked, holding my breath for the inevitable objection, but no one stirred.

‘We had an accident.’

‘Can you tell His Lordship what happened and what you did?’

‘Yes.’ For a moment I thought he was going to make me ask another question. A long ten seconds passed before he spoke again. ‘When we were going along Lynwood Road we came to a shopping centre on the other side. A car coming from the right did not stop and came right across. Isaiah braked and swerved and went up on the pavement on the other side and we went down a bank into the parking area. The minibus jumped and nearly rolled. I hit my head on something and I fell under the dashboard. Then everything went black.’

Labuschagne stopped speaking and looked at me. I nodded for him to continue.

‘When I woke up there was one of the bodies on top of me. The coffins were open and the bodies were out. I crawled out and got out of the minibus. I saw Isaiah running away. There was a lot of blood in the minibus. I had to put the bodies back in the coffins, but I didn’t know which body went with which coffin. The name tags were on the coffins. I kept the doors shut so that people could not see inside. After that I had to get a hammer and nails. I locked the minibus and went to a hardware store. They gave me a hammer and nails. Then I went to Mamelodi and buried them.’

‘What did you do at the cemetery, with six bodies to bury on your own?’ I asked.

‘I must have buried them.’

‘Tell His Lordship how you did it.’

‘I don’t remember,’ he said.

‘Do you have any memory of what happened at the cemetery?’

‘No. I can’t remember anything after fixing the coffins with the hammer.’

I stood for a while, contemplating whether I needed to ask the next question. I could not make a decision and asked it anyway.

‘Why were you alone at the cemetery when there were six bodies to bury? Shouldn’t there have been some of the other escorts?’

Labuschagne pursed his lips. ‘The minibus was full. We should have had an other one, but it was the Warrant Officer.’ He glanced in the direction of the seat behind the prosecutors. ‘He was angry with me because I wanted to leave.’

I was tired and was beginning to make mistakes. There was no need to antagonise the Warrant Officer.

‘What is the next thing that you remember, after the cemetery?’ I asked, not looking at the Warrant Officer. I saw Sanet Niemand turning in her seat to talk to him. The Warrant Officer sat with folded arms, his face expressionless.

Labuschagne spoke very slowly. ‘I remember being in the shower.’

‘What was the time then?’

‘It was three o’clock.’

‘What duties did you still have to perform that afternoon?’

‘We had new arrivals.’

‘How many were there?’

‘Five, I think. Yes, there were five.’

‘How did you handle them?’

‘As usual.’

‘What part did you play in the initiation of the new arrivals?’

He did not answer the question directly. ‘I was sick. I wanted to throw up, but my stomach was empty. I think I fainted. They took me to the medic.’

The court had become very quiet again. There was always some ambient noise in the courtroom. People shifted in their seats, coughed and sneezed and made the ordinary noises people make when they are at ease or bored – but on this occasion the court was absolutely quiet. I knew that we had everyone’s attention.

‘Did you suffer any injuries in the accident in Lynwood Road?’ I asked. The question might have sounded mundane but I was trying to lay one of the cornerstones of the defence case without drawing too much attention to it just yet.

‘I had a bump on the left side of my head and I was bleeding from my ear.’

‘Did you receive any treatment for your injuries?’ I asked. I looked towards the Warrant Officer. Arms folded high across his chest, he sat motionless and gave no hint whether he agreed or disagreed with the evidence.

‘No, the medic just cleaned my ear and gave me some headache tablets.’

‘How did you feel at that time?’ This was another innocuous question laying an important stone for us.

‘My head was sore and I was tired.’

We had come to the final phase.

‘At what time did you come off duty that day?’

‘The day shift came off at four.’

‘Where did you go from there?’ I asked.

‘I went to my bakkie.’ I waited, but he did not give the additional detail I had anticipated.

I prompted him. ‘What did you intend to do when you left?’

‘I was going to see my pastor in Lyttleton.’ He saw that I wasn’t going to prompt him about this and added, ‘I wanted to ask him to speak to my wife and her father.’

‘Did you see the pastor?’

‘No, he wasn’t at his home. The maid said he would only be back on the Sunday.’

‘So what did you do next?’

‘I went home.’

‘What route did you take?’

‘I came down the Old Johannesburg Road.’

‘What was the weather like?’

‘It was raining hard and the wind was blowing. There was hail too, I remember.’

‘How were you feeling at the time?’

He did not expect the question and just looked at me.

‘How were you feeling at the time?’ I asked again, in the same tone of voice.

‘I was tired. My head was sore. I couldn’t see. I just wanted to get home. There was a lot of noise and thunder and lighting. I could not see anything.’

‘Why couldn’t you see?’

‘It was the rain.’

‘What is the next thing that happened, as you were driving along?’

‘I was in another accident.’

‘How did that happen?’

‘A minibus came from the left and nearly sideswiped me.’

‘And then? How did you experience the events from that point onwards?’

Labuschagne did not answer at first. I pressed ahead.

‘Let me remind you of the evidence of the prosecution witnesses. Then you can tell the Court whether they described the events correctly,’ I suggested.

Before I could continue Labuschagne spoke up. ‘They are right. It happened like that.’

I had to make sure. ‘You have heard the prosecution witnesses describe to the Court how you and the other man were driving and you agree with that evidence.’

‘Yes,’ he said softly. ‘That’s how it happened.’

But there were no eye witnesses to what had happened at the reservoir, so I had to lead him to that point.

‘Let’s pick up the events when you were on the track between the signal station and the reservoir on Magazine Hill. You were still driving?’

‘Yes.’

‘Was it still raining?’

‘Yes, very hard.’

‘Where was the minibus?’

‘I don’t know.’

‘What do you mean, you don’t know? Either it was in front of you or behind you.’

He hesitated. ‘I don’t know if it was in front or behind.’

‘What happened next?’ I wasn’t going to give him any more help; he had to tell it in his own words.

‘We stopped.’

‘Where?’

‘At the reservoir.’

‘What were your relative positions?’ I looked at the prosecution’s photo album. One of the photographs showed the precise positions in which the vehicles were found later. Labuschagne watched me as I paged through the album.

‘We were as the photographs show, sort of side by side.’

‘The photographs show your bakkie to be slightly behind and to the left of the minibus.’

‘Yes.’ The answer was ambiguous and I had to try again.

‘Well, were they like that?’

‘I can’t remember,’ he said.

I went for broke. ‘Tell the Court in your own words what happened next.’

The answer was as confusing as it had been when he told me the first time months earlier, even if the words were different and his emotions had got the better of him.

‘I heard the trapdoors open and …’

The Judge interrupted before he could continue. ‘Could you say that again?’

‘Sir, I heard the noise of the trapdoors opening.’

The Judge raised an eyebrow. I stood perfectly still. The answer had to come out exactly right.

‘Proceed,’ I said. ‘Take your time and tell it slowly.’

Labuschagne took a step back in the witness box until his back was against the wood panelling behind him.

‘I know you won’t believe me, but I heard the trapdoors opening.’ He smacked his fist into his palm. ‘And then I saw the bodies falling down with their white hoods flapping, and then I heard the Warrant Officer shouting, Trek hom op! Maak gou! Maak gou! I knew I had to hurry to help and I stepped over and the place was lit up by the lightning and then everything went dark again and I couldn’t see anything for a while and I heard thunder and thunder and thunder. I just felt the water on my face.’ The words had come out in a flood, like the rain pelting down on the roof of the court.

I stood still and watched in silence as he breathed in and out, as we had instructed him. I gave him some time to recover. He was as pale as a sheet. I didn’t want to make him tell it twice, but I was going to have to, I thought. I decided to return to the reservoir later. I checked if Judge van Zyl had another question, but he didn’t.

In the witness box Labuschagne shivered and squirmed like a prisoner on the trapdoors. All we needed to complete the picture was the white hood and the rope. I found that I was breathing quite heavily myself. I heard a tap tap tap and something snapped between my fingers, and when I looked down, I saw that I had Wierda’s pencil in my left hand. It was in two pieces.

‘What did you do when you felt the water on your face?’ I asked.

‘I ran. I just ran and ran.’

I decided to cut it short. ‘Well, we know from the prosecution evidence that you were nearly run over by a car in the valley below the hill and that another motorist found you lying in the grass near the Voortrekker Monument. An ambulance was summoned and you were taken to hospital. Can you remember those events?’

‘I remember them shining a light in my eyes and I remember being put on a stretcher and being on a stretcher at the hospital.’

‘I have to ask you,’ I said, ‘I have to ask, do you remember what you did at the reservoir?’

‘I don’t remember.’ The answer sounded earnest.

I pressed him a little. ‘Have you tried to remember?’

Labuschagne didn’t answer. I asked another question.

‘The police came and arrested you while you were still in hospital, is that right?’

‘Yes.’

‘What happened there?’

‘The policeman said he was arresting me and said that I had the right to remain silent. Then he asked me why I did it.’

‘What did you say?’

‘I didn’t know what to say.’

‘Did you know what he was talking about?’

‘No, not then.’

‘Well, let’s deal with the situation as matters stand now. How do you see your position now?’

‘I don’t know,’ he said. ‘I don’t know what you mean.’

I was about to ask him something else when he said, ‘I’m not feeling too well. I think I’m going to …’

Judge van Zyl stepped in. ‘Are you feeling faint?’

‘Ja.’

‘Do you want to sit down?’ Then, not waiting for an answer, he said, ‘I’ll just adjourn for a few minutes. Send word through the usher when you’re ready.’

I asked Wierda to take Labuschagne a glass of water. I sat contemplating the affair. Marianne Schlebusch had told me that we had to make Labuschagne say it in his own words, to own up to the killing. It would be the beginning of his cure; he had to say it himself, she had said. I knew I had to make him say it, but for a different reason altogether. I wasn’t there to cure him; my job was to save him from the gallows and in order to achieve that I had to get him to tell as much as he knew, and he had to do it in open court. I sat on my own while they fussed about him. We sent the usher for the Judge and Assessors as soon as Labuschagne had regained some of his colour.

Judge van Zyl turned to me as soon as he had taken his seat. ‘Is he ready to continue?’

‘I’ll ask him if M’Lord pleases.’ I turned to Labuschagne. ‘Are you feeling better?’

‘Yes, a little bit.’ He sounded weak.

‘Would you like more time?’ asked the Judge. I thought at first he was addressing Labuschagne but found that he was looking at me.

‘M’Lord, I would like to press ahead.’ I was trying to give effect to Marianne’s advice. I had to make Labuschagne talk, make him say that he had killed the men at the reservoir.

‘Very well,’ the Judge said, ‘you may carry on then.’

I took a deep breath. I didn’t like what I was going to do and decided to get it out of the way as quickly as possible.

‘You killed them,’ I said. ‘You killed them. Everyone here knows that.’ I waved my arm in an arc which included everyone from the jury box to my left to the spectators behind me. ‘Everyone knows,’ I concluded, with only the faintest note of a question in my tone.

Labuschagne started crying, softly at first, but then his sobs increased until his weeping was a torrent. I didn’t get to ask a question. He tried to speak through his tears. ‘I know too,’ he said. ‘I know, I know,’ he said between sobs. ‘I don’t know how I did it but I know I did. How could I have done it?’ he wailed. ‘How could I have done it? God help me, how could I have done that?’ He was bent over at the waist and shook his head as he asked, faintly this time, ‘How could I have done that?’

‘That’s enough,’ said the Judge and walked out of the courtroom. The usher rushed after him, but the Judge was through the door behind his chair before the usher could get to the bench. Nobody moved or made a sound as Labuschagne stood in the witness box and sobbed and sobbed.

Eventually I said to Wierda, ‘Take care of him. I’ll be back later,’ and walked out.

The robing room was deserted. I sat with my head in my hands. I had rammed a question deep into my client’s heart without warning, without preparing him for it. I had done so deliberately. And I was going to have to traverse the events at the reservoir once more.

It was half an hour before Wierda came to the robing room to fetch me. We walked back to court in silence. When we got there, the room was anything but silent.

‘Mr Labuschagne, I have to ask you again about the events at the reservoir,’ I said as soon as the court had settled down. Labuschagne nodded. He had a deathly grey pallor to his face. I ran the back of my hand over my brow. It came away sticky. I stopped just short of bringing my wrist up to my lips to taste the salt I knew must have accumulated there. Marianne Schlebusch had said that we would not get the truth out of him unless we could cause him to break down.

Make him cry, and you will get the truth, she’d said. However, I had no way of knowing if the truth would help his case.

‘But before I deal with that, I need you to clear up something for me.’ I waited for Labuschagne to show that he had heard before I set out to do what Marianne had advised.

The truth will help him. That was her opinion.

‘You told us the Warrant Officer had said that you could see the prison psychiatrist if you needed help. Why didn’t you seek help? A psychiatrist could perhaps have helped you,’ I suggested.

He had broken down in tears again. His voice rose as he spoke, until the words came out in an anguished roar. ‘Why didn’t you tell me that before I started beating up my wife, before I lost my child, before I drove other people off the road and got into fights in pubs I did not want to go to? Why didn’t you tell me that before I lost my child? Why didn’t you tell me that before I killed seven people?’

He emitted a primeval, guttural animal cry, like a tortured beast under the branding iron. Every hair on my body stood upright and my skin felt too tight. The shapes around me lost their definition. I think I heard Wierda asking, ‘Are you alright?’

Judge van Zyl left with his Assessors and I again escaped to the robing room, leaving Wierda to mop up behind me. I sat down in the robing room to compose myself. Labuschagne’s outburst had shaken me. I had tried to present a case based on a solid foundation of fact with a touch of emotion to it, but now the emotion was starting to run away with us.

I made my way back to Court C and found Labuschagne sitting in my chair. His sister Antoinette and Marianne Schlebusch were fussing over him. I went and stood at the back of the court until they had propped him up in the witness box again.

When the Judge and Assessors had taken their seats, I started gently and adopted a more personal tone.

‘Mr Labuschagne, I want you to try and remember as much as you can. Please tell the Court what you remember from the moment the bakkie and the minibus came to a stop at the reservoir.’ I leaned heavily on the lectern. God knows, I was tired.

At first Labuschagne stood mute, rocking forwards and backwards slowly. I had to help. ‘Let’s start with the weather conditions,’ I suggested. ‘Was it still raining?’

‘Yes.’ He spoke softly.

‘Was it light or dark?’

‘Dark.’

I had to draw him out more. ‘How hard was it raining?’

‘Very hard, I think.’

‘What is the first thing you saw after you had stopped the bakkie?’

‘The reservoir.’

‘And the next thing you saw, what was that?’

‘The minibus.’

‘Where was the minibus?’

He looked at me. We had been over this ground before. There was a question in his eyes as he answered. ‘It was in front of me, to the left.’ He immediately corrected himself. ‘No, I mean right.’

‘What was your next sensation?’ There was no easy way to ask the question. I did not want to just ask what happened next, because I wanted him to deal with his sensations and perceptions. ‘What did you see or hear or feel?’ I added.

‘I saw lightning and I heard thunder and at the same time I smelt the hanging ropes. I could taste the smell in the back of my throat.’

This was more than I had hoped for and much more than he had previously told me.

‘What is the very next thing that you became aware of?’

‘I told you,’ he said, with resignation in his voice. ‘I heard the trapdoors opening.’

I could see that he was fully aware of the incongruity of his answer.

‘Are you able to describe the sounds you heard?’ I asked.

He stood for a while. ‘No,’ he said eventually.

‘What did you see at that moment?’ I was venturing deeper than I had gone before.

‘I saw the bodies falling towards me.’

‘What is the next sensation you remember?’

‘I heard the Warrant Officer’s voice,’ he said looking down at his feet. He was still rocking, holding on to the sides of the witness box, but rocking slowly, forwards and backwards, as if to a beat only he could hear.

‘What was the Warrant Officer saying?’ I had to play along. We could explain later, in the closing argument.

‘Trek hom op! Maak gou! Maak gou!’

I didn’t know whether my next question was going to help his case but if I didn’t ask it, James Murray or the Judge would. ‘And what did you do when you heard the Warrant Officer say that?’

He paused for a long time, rocking, looking at his feet. ‘I must have killed them. I think I killed them,’ he said eventually, very softly.

I was quick to confirm his answer before the Judge could ask him to repeat it. ‘You said, I must have killed them. I think I killed them. Is that what you said?’

‘Yes.’

‘Please remember to speak up so that His Lordship can hear you,’ I said. ‘What makes you think you killed them?’ I asked, again taking the risk of an unhelpful answer.

‘When I was running I did not understand, but later, I just knew I must have killed them.’

‘How sure are you now that you killed them?’

‘I am sure, but sometimes … I am not sure.’

‘Can you explain that, please? How can you be sure and then not be sure?’

I watched Judge van Zyl as we waited for the answer. I tried to encourage Labuschagne by nodding when he made eye contact.

‘There was one part of my mind that said, You have killed them, but I wasn’t sure. I could not remember doing it. All I could remember was the bodies afterwards, lying in a row, with blood and water over them. And I was the only one there, so it must have been me. And now I know it must have been me.’

It wasn’t as complete an answer as I had wanted, but the best I was going to get.

I gave him no warning as I changed the topic.

‘Have you been able to make up with Magda?’

He started to speak but was overcome by tears again. The Judge cast a strong look of disapproval in my direction. He was ready to adjourn again, but I did not want him to.

I ignored the snivelling. ‘Have you seen Esmè since your arrest?’

Labuschagne looked at me through his tears and shook his head. ‘No.’

I feigned ignorance. ‘Have they, Magda and Esmè, not come to visit you in the cells?’

‘No.’ He blew his nose. He did not know that we had asked Magda to give evidence, but that her father had intervened and had sent Wierda packing. But we had a subpoena ready and the Sheriff was going to serve it later in the day.

‘They have not attended court at any time, have they?’ I asked, even though that had been widely reported in the media to be the case.

‘No,’ he said looking towards the back of the court as if he expected to find them there.

I changed the subject again without warning. ‘Mr Labuschagne, how did you feel while you were in hospital, and afterwards, after you had been arrested and charged?’

‘I just wanted to be dead.’

‘Do you still feel like that?’

His silence was the answer. He stood crying with his face in his hands. The Judge was about to speak, offering another break so that Labuschagne could recover, but I spoke first. ‘I would like to carry on, M’Lord.’

‘Why?’ I asked Labuschagne.

‘I am so ashamed of myself.’

‘Why are you ashamed?’ The answer was obvious, but I had to ask.

He tried to control the sobbing and spoke with a heaving chest. ‘I can’t believe I did that. How could I have done that?’ he asked me. I noted that he referred to the incident as that, indicating that he was still not able to associate himself with it.

That gave me the opening I needed for my last question. ‘Could you tell His Lordship how you see yourself now? Two years ago you were a school prefect and active in the church, and now you are here in court, on trial for murder.’

‘I don’t know. I don’t understand. I just don’t understand.’

I did not wait for Judge van Zyl to offer a further adjournment. ‘I have no further questions, thank you,’ I said and I sat down.

The Judge suggested that we take the tea adjournment early and we agreed. Wierda and Antoinette went over to the witness box, each with a glass of water.

Labuschagne was still crying, but softly now, as the cell sergeant escorted him down the steps to the cells. I stayed in court because I wanted to be alone.

I was about to sit down when Antoinette Labuschagne suddenly spoke behind me. ‘How could you be so cruel?’ she demanded.

Caught by surprise I turned around, but wasn’t given a chance to answer.

‘How could you do that to him?’ She stood with her hands on her hips. Her eyes were red and puffy and it crossed my mind that she must have been crying. ‘It is your job to protect him and instead you hurt him,’ she said. In her anguish Antoinette looked a little like her brother. They had the same eyes.

The court had emptied quickly and Antoinette’s parents were the only ones left with us. I looked at the elderly couple behind the dock. They were watching their daughter remonstrating with me.

‘My job is to defend him,’ I said to Antoinette, ‘and that is what I am trying to do.’ I spoke so that her parents could hear.

Antoinette wasn’t having any of that. ‘You don’t have to hurt him to defend him.’

I didn’t agree with her, but there was no point in getting into an argument about it.

She wasn’t done yet. ‘You don’t believe him either, do you?’ she said, wagging a finger under my nose. ‘You think he is guilty.’

I waited for her to leave, but she stood her ground. ‘It is not for me to believe,’ I ventured. ‘All I have to do is to defend him.’ It is a lawyer’s gambit, but it never works with the public.

Antoinette turned to her parents in triumph. ‘You see,’ she said, ‘I told you he doesn’t believe Leon. We should have got him a Pretoria advocate.’

I wished they had, but didn’t respond. There was no arguing with Antoinette when she was on the verge of tears. My silence just aggravated her more.

‘What kind of lawyer are you?’ she said. ‘What kind of lawyer doesn’t even believe his own client?’ She shook her head. I noticed that her shoulders were shaking.

I didn’t know what to say, so I started walking away, but she grabbed me by my robes and pulled me around to face her again. ‘Don’t you dare turn your back on me,’ she said. ‘Why don’t you answer me?’

She was extremely annoying and I felt like smacking her out of her hysteria. She reminded me of my own sister as a child, nagging, mocking, teasing and pushing – well within range for a smack but at the same time totally out of range because she was a girl. When I spoke I did so very softly, so that only she could hear. ‘Antoinette, I am doing my best for your brother, but it is not an easy matter defending him. The case is difficult enough without my having to deal with distractions like this. Please leave me be.’

She too dropped her voice. ‘But how can you not believe him?’ she asked again.

I shook my head. How could I tell her that the worst thing I could do to her brother was to believe him?

When I took too long to come up with a response she turned abruptly and left with her parents. By the time she got to the door she was bent over and in tears. Her father put his arm around her and led her into the foyer.

When I turned to sit down I realised that she had followed me all the way across the floor to the foot of the registrar’s dais. Only then did I find the answer I should have given.

‘I can’t believe him and defend him at the same time,’ I said to the empty courtroom.