On this day, seven years ago, a young life was snuffed out in its prime; a rare and exceedingly beautiful bud, torn from the stem before it could truly blossom.
The victim was Inge Lotz; she was just 22 years old.
A Magnum cum Laude Honours Graduate in the fiercely competitive field of Actuarial Science, Inge was also a virtuoso pianist blessed with a sublime voice that would fill her church to the brim whenever she was invited to perform there.
Her brilliance, her spirit of independence, her indomitable appetite for hard work is almost certainly what got her killed. In the male-dominated, insular Afrikaner world in which she dwelled, Inge was simply too bright a star.
There is no doubt in my mind that she was murdered by someone she knew; a friend, someone she trusted, maybe even loved, and that person was a fellow student from the local University campus in Stellenbosch.
She died at home, in a brand new apartment in which she had lived for less than a month, and on a couch she had bought just a few days before.
In a world already plagued by the most unimaginable excesses of inhuman depravity, there can be few things more shameful, more innately foul and un-Christian than for a grown man to strike a young girl.
But the loathsome coward who took Inge’s life didn’t just stop with beating her skull to a pulp, because in spite of her horrific injuries, Inge refused to die. She was still breathing.
So he took out a knife and set to work on her throat.
And when he was done, and she lay still and quite dead, he attacked her heart with such ferocity that he severed two ribs in the process.
Even those professionals who have not studied the crime scene and autopsy imagery will know that the manner in which she was killed; the extreme use of violent force, the rage, the overkill and the post-mortem mutilation, all point to a personal-cause homicide committed by a former or existing intimate; a male almost certainly of similar age
There was no evidence of a break-in, nothing was disturbed or discovered to have been stolen. There were no signs of a struggle, nothing to indicate an aggressive escalation of violence preceding the actual murder itself. There was no sexual assault or signs of any deviant pre or post-mortem activity. The killer coldly positioned the body, cleaned himself and, in parts, the crime-scene and the murder weapons before taking them with him.
He arrived and departed unseen and simply disappeared into thin air.
And so here we are, seven years later embroiled in recriminations over the disgracefully incompetent and arguably corrupt South African Police investigation into her murder.
I have attempted to defend them in the past by suggesting that their failures are perhaps more to do with where the Nation is now, in its post-apartheid renaissance, than with malicious intent.
But as the weeks have dragged into months and then to years, I have come to realise that I have been hopelessly naïve. The simple fact of the matter is that there are those in authority who have no wish, no wish whatsoever to crack this case.
My research has shown that there were more than sufficient indicators, not only at the crime scene, but elsewhere, for any experienced homicide detective worth his badge to have nailed the killer within a matter of days.
It is a tragic indictment on South Africa that childish turf-wars and absurd notions of racial and political correctness got it the way of a thorough and meticulous combing of the crime scene right down to a disciplined door-to-door enquiry of the surrounding neighbourhood.
It was elementary blunders like these, exacerbated by further catastrophic errors of judgement that were made in the early hours and days following the discovery of Inge’s cruelly disfigured body, that was to define and subsequently frustrate this murder enquiry from the very outset.
And as the South African Keystone cops fought their petty internecine war, the trail of Inge’s killer became ever colder by the day.
The motive for her murder was a perceived irreconcilable personal cause, most probably hatred. Quite what fuelled that hatred remains unclear; jealousy is always an option, as is fear. Fear of exposure perhaps. There were other dynamics at play of course, but it is not necessary to go into detail here save to mention that in the immediate aftermath of the killing other people, especially those within Inge’s social group, quickly realised the identity of the man responsible.
That these people have remained silent for 7 years is quite remarkable in itself. And yet one must remember that they were mostly just students at the time; young, ambitious and on the threshold of promising careers, desperate to live up to the expectations of overbearing parents and frightened out of their collective wits that anything they may have said to the police might have been taken the wrong way.
Their communal silence betrayed Inge then as it still does today.
But time and a troubled conscience make uneasy bedfellows, especially as these young people slowly ascend the ladder of success, grow older, marry, settle down and have kids of their own.
Sooner or later there will come a point when these people can take no more. One day, when they can no longer bear to see their lying eyes staring back at them from the mirror each morning, they will step up and unburden their desperate souls, do the right thing and ultimately atone for the terrible secret they have kept hidden all these years
Meanwhile they should remember that today, as they have done on this day for the past seven years, Inge’s desolate parents will light a candle for their murdered child. They are good, honest, hard-working, immensely compassionate people – the sort of folk that were never equipped with the survival skills to cope with such tragic loss.
Theirs is a lonely, dark, empty existence, punctuated only occasionally by the hope that one day, maybe, the torture will end.
Rest in Peace
Inge Lotz
12th May 1982 – 16th March 2005.
“Sing unto the Lord a new song…” Psalm 149:1.
