Face down, cushioned in pine cones, that's where he lay, head turned slightly to one side, lips parted. A pair of grey school flannels wrapped around his ankles; belt undone. A black shoe lay carelessly discarded nearby. His small naked buttocks exposed for all to see. They had bled a trickle of blood, dried on his smooth thighs. Defiled. Can't talk. Eyes wide open. Jack turned and gagged.

‘Don't touch him,’ Mncedisi Jackson Sondela yelled at the forensic team. ‘I need a closer look.’ They backed off, leaving him alone.

‘What the hell's this all about?’ Jack muttered, taking a closer look. ‘Sweet Jesus, Mother of God. I’ve seen it all - but this is bad …’

Death was not new to Jack. For now, he stood deep in thought, contemplating the present: ‘to think that our people should be free. What freedom is this? Free from what, from whom?’

Jack called to the photographer.

‘Make sure you get this close-up,’ he pointed to the trickle of dried blood. ‘And the angle of the head.’

The pine needles were soft and springy under Jack's feet as he took a step backwards, breathing deeply through his gritted teeth. It felt as though he was standing on another planet, a planet ruled by the dark shadows of evil, a dreamworld. Jack momentarily thought about his own childhood, of youthful innocence, of his son taking his first steps.

The camera flashed.

‘Get this too,’ Jack motioned to the ashen faced photographer. ‘The birthmark on the upper right buttock, the greyness of the skin.’

‘Jesus,’ she said, cradling her camera protectively, almost lovingly. She needed to get the perfect shot, the final curtain.

‘I’ve seen a lot of crime, and I thought I’d seen it all.’

‘Help me here …’ Jack called to one of the younger policeman, Sergeant Rustum Witbooi, standing near the van.

The policeman moved to where Jack stood.

‘We need to turn the body over,’ Jack commanded. ‘I need to take a closer look from the other side.’

They gently rolled the body over. It had begun to stiffen, making the job a lot easier. In horror, they stepped back.

‘What the fuck is this?’ the young policeman uttered, taking another step backwards.