By Pieter de Lange
It was a Monday in October – as with many other weekdays – when I arrived for lunch at our house in Kent, England just before one o’ clock. Walking up to the front door, I realised that Mariaan’s car was not yet there. I unlocked the front door and immediately heard something in the house falling. That’s funny, I thought while entering; the cat must have knocked something over. Suddenly I saw a man running in the direction of the patio room. My first thoughts were that he had been there to fix something. But no; he scrambled like a greyhound through the door, full-steam ahead towards the fence. After the moment of uncertainty I let go of my briefcase, turned around and ran towards the alleyway next to our house in an attempt to apprehend the scoundrel. He had already jumped the fence when I came running down the alley, but he nimbly jumped to the side when I tried to catch him while shouting: “You were in my house!” He ran down the street; I was still trying to run him in when a car stopped and the driver asked what the matter was. I told him and he went after the running burglar while quickly taking a short video with his cell phone. I ran back to the house and anxiously went through the rooms with Mariaan – who had returned in the mean time – to see if anything had been stolen. It transpired that he had first been in the garage when he had found the patio room’s door unlocked. I had probably surprised him as he had immediately turned around when he had heard the key in the door, knocking a lamp down in the sitting room in his haste to get to the outside door. So – he hadn’t taken anything and had never broken in as the door had been unlocked. Our back garden is surrounded by a 1,8 m fence and the gate was locked. He had probably used a loose piece of wood to get over the gate.
The police was on the scene rather quickly and said that someone would contact me to take down a detailed statement. The forensic team arrived the next day to search for clues, but to no avail: the burglar had worn gloves. The female police officer came on the Tuesday evening and used the best part of two hours to take down a statement from me; she also asked whether I would like to go ahead with the case, if the events had been traumatic to us and if we were unnerved. I confirmed that we wanted and were willing to go to Court. We also ensured her that we were very much at ease as we had been living there for 15 years without any problems. Also that we would in future be sure to lock everything, but were nevertheless not upset by what had happened. I almost said that the garage door could not be locked for almost 14 years!
A few days later we got a telephone call to inform us that someone had been arrested based on the video that the motorist had made, and that the suspect had been released only recently after being convicted before. I had to arrange for an identification parade. I then went to a police headquarter close-by where the identification was done by way of a number of photos on computer. I failed to identify the burglar positively, as he had worn a balaclava which had covered most of his face. I thought that it would be the end of the story, but were then informed a week later that the case was going ahead and that I should be willing to show up in Court on very short notice.
I received a bulky document confirming the court case at Maidstone’s Crown Court. I was surprised as this is the Province’s highest court with judges and juries. I expected the local Magistrate’s Court, as nothing had been stolen and no finger prints had been found.
The call to appear in Court came late on a Thursday before Easter Weekend. We had to urgently cancel our patients for the next Tuesday. Upon arriving at the very imposing building, an usher was appointed to me who informed me of the processes and ensured that I was comfortable. We started talking and realised that she and her husband have a flat in Cape Town and that both couples had been in Sea Point the previous February. She told me that there were eight court halls and that we had to wait to get one. She once again asked if I felt anxious. However, just before lunch I was informed that the accused had admitted that he had been in our house but had not intended to steal anything. His advocate then recommended that he plead guilty. I was then excused as he had admitted that he had been in our house. Two days later I received a phone call to inform me that he had been sentenced to two and a half years in prison as this had been his sixth offence.
I still cannot help to think of my brother-in-law who were brutally assaulted by burglars in his house in Roodepoort not long before my own ordeal, and how laid-back and unprofessional the service of the South African Police Service was.
