Betrayed by Carol Thompson Read Free Book Online Page A

shunted pointlessly around the offices. The file held vital information regarding a living, breathing human being. My daughter. And the longer they muddled around, the less chance there was she might be found alive.
    â€œLet me come and fetch the docket and I’ll deliver it myself,” I offered, biting back a lot more I would have liked to say.
    â€œErgh,” he grunted. “It will be delivered today.”
    Forced again to sit by helpless and put my already shaky trust in the system, I struggled for a time to lose myself in my work but it was futile therapy. I tried to empty my mind but fear and worry played havoc with my concentration and I stared at the computer screen with out really seeing it. The feeling of not belonging was getting stronger, as was the feeling that I was observing myself from some where outside my body. It was like watching bad reality television, yet I felt compelled to carry on watching, just in case things got better.
    Hours passed fruitlessly and still I hadn’t heard from Captain Kotze. When the other officer had given me his number and told me to wait for his call, he had assured me that Captain Kotze was the best detective on the East Rand. Now, dispirited by all the waiting, I decided to make the first contact.
    But there was more frustration in store. The best detective on the East Rand didn’t answer his cell phone. The message box was per manently full. And my luck was no better with his office number – he either wasn’t available or he was out of the office. Knowing how short-staffed our police services are, I gave him the benefit of the doubt. Stupid, stupid, stupid.
    Friday arrived. A week had gone by without any contact or update from the police. It was still morning, and I was at my desk fighting what seemed to have become my usual turmoil of thoughts, when m y son phoned in tears. A stranger had accosted him as he arrived at work, grabbing him by the arm and telling him that his sister was under a bridge in Benoni. He wanted to take Glen to where she was. Realising that there are some sick people on the streets, people who could have read about Tracey in the papers, Glen had the presence of mind to wrest himself free and run into the building to phone the flying squad for help.
    â€œThey said there’s nothing they can do,” he said, his voice crack ing. “They told me I must get a court order to prevent this guy from approaching me.”
    Anger flowed like lava through my veins. My previous weekend’s search of telephone numbers had yielded the number of the top dog in the flying squad so I dialled it now, stabbing in anger at the phone . I poured vitriol into his ears, insisting that his squad should come to our help. Then I snatched up my car keys and rushed out to be with my son. My colleague Linda jumped into the passenger’s seat as I was pulling out.
    The streets were gridlocked. All care about the rules of the road fle w out the window and soon I was driving over pavements and around the backed-up traffic. There was only one thought in my mind – to get to my son.
    The flying squad, heavily armed, was already asking him questions when I arrived. A mother’s fury seemed to have had the desired re sult. The man who had buttonholed my boy had disappeared, but enquiries revealed that he was known at the bank on the second floor of the complex where Glen worked, and was often seen loitering around, drifting in and out of the shops. I sketched some background about what was happening to our family for the man from the flying squad and he suggested that we should get hold of the investigating officer and let him follow up.
    As if by magic I managed to get hold of Captain Kotze for the first time. I explained what had happened and he promised to meet us at the shopping centre within half an hour. By this time, my friend Kat had joined us in the car park. She worked as a paramedic and decided to offer her support during