One Tragic Night (6 page)

Van Rensburg found Oscar emotional, in tears and vomiting. Because he was in civilian clothing and even though his colleague Constable Prinsloo was in full uniform, the policeman introduced himself by his official rank, Lieutenant-Colonel Schoombie van Rensburg from the Boschkop police station. He felt it was important that the man knew he was a police officer. Van Rensburg asked Oscar what had happened but the athlete was simply too emotional to talk, and there was no answer.

Carice was standing with Oscar, talking to him and consoling him. Van Rensburg questioned her about the plastic bags around the body because he was
concerned why they had been placed there. Carice explained to him that Oscar had called her father asking for help and that when they arrived, they found him carrying Reeva down the stairs.

As Carice spoke, Oscar paced up and down around the centre island. Van Rensburg thought it best to ask him to stand on the furthest side of the kitchen, near the basin, as far away from the body as possible.

Realising the status of the accused, the high profile of the crime and the circumstances surrounding the shooting, Van Rensburg knew he would need to get the very best investigators on the scene, quickly. He immediately got on the phone and began making calls.

He gave orders and issued instructions for medical officers, fingerprint and forensic experts and photographers to get to the scene. Many of his staff had spent a large chunk of the night working the earlier case in Mooikloof so he had to be mindful of that. Fortunately, one of his best detectives, Captain Hilton Botha, had not been called out earlier so he was at home and available. Botha was one of the most experienced and knowledgeable detectives stationed at Boschkop. While Prinsloo made many of the calls issuing Van Rensburg's instructions, the commander thought it best to make personal contact with Captain Botha.

‘Oscar's shot his girlfriend,' Hilton Botha turned and said to his wife Audrey after ending the call on his cellphone. His phone had rung just after 4am – it was his commander instructing him to go to the scene in Silver Woods to handle the case. With 24 years' experience in investigating murders, Botha was the man for the job.

Both Botha and his wife knew exactly who ‘Oscar' was. It wasn't only because the captain had investigated a previous assault case involving the athlete – Oscar had achieved such fame, such prominence, that a surname wasn't required for him to be identified in South Africa.

It took only 15 minutes for Botha to reach Oscar's house and report to Van Rensburg. His first observation, with his detective's eye, was the amount of blood in the house and the body, covered in towels, lying at the foot of the staircase. He was quickly brought up to speed. He was told how Oscar carried Reeva down the stairs, how he gave her mouth-to-mouth resuscitation, how Oscar and Carice tried to stop the bleeding. Botha later recalled how a witness had told him that Reeva was ‘still breathing, making a gurgling sound' and how a doctor had arrived on the scene and declared, ‘There's head wounds – it's not going to help.'

Botha also later recalled, in an interview with
Vanity Fair
, his impressions of the superstar's home. ‘It was a big house and very neat and tidy and you could see the money talking, with all the ornaments and portraits and paintings. There were shelves stacked with trophies. There was also one of those big box frames, with a picture of Mike Tyson, along with a signed boxing glove.'

Botha and Van Rensburg navigated their way around Reeva's body and made their way up the staircase, following the blood trail through the lounge, down the passage, into the bedroom and through to the primary crime scene in the bathroom. As they passed the open box of watches in the bedroom, Van Rensburg made a mental note: there was blood on the box and he knew that they were valuable and could be appealing to a cop with itchy fingers and a lack of morals.

Inside the bathroom they found the firearm, still cocked and with the safety latch in the ‘fire' position, evidenced by the clearly identifiable red dot. They saw Reeva's metallic iPhone and initially thought it may be two phones, but it was just that the cover had slipped off the device. They checked the window in the bathroom and saw that it was open but there was no evidence of tampering and nothing to show that there might have been forced entry by a potential intruder. Van Rensburg also looked out the window to see if there was any way a suspect could climb up and gain entry, but there was none – although there was a ladder lying on the grass below, which had been left by workers responsible for carrying out renovations on the house.

The experienced policemen absorbed it all, allowing the information to percolate, and began to piece together the evidence. What had transpired behind that battered meranti door in the athlete's luxury home in the early morning hours of Valentine's Day? What story did the scene tell? The forensics, the ballistics, the blood spatters, the bullet casings, the cricket bat, the cellphones and what the neighbours heard – all contributed to formulating a version of events. But already the policemen's instincts had kicked in. After all, this was not their first murder scene. They already had a picture of how this had played out.

Van Rensburg walked back downstairs and straight into the kitchen. He had questions for Oscar. He wanted to know whether he and Reeva were alone in the house at the time of the shooting. They were, confirmed the athlete. The colonel told him that in light of what he had seen upstairs, he viewed him as a suspect at that stage and warned him of his rights, although he stopped short of arresting him. The officer felt there were still more leads he had to follow up first.

As news of the shooting spread and several more calls rang out across the city, activity at the scene of the crime began to escalate. More police officers arrived, including photographer Warrant Officer Bennie van Staden. Oscar's brother Carl
also appeared, and it wasn't long before his lawyer, Kenny Oldwadge, walked in. Meanwhile, as the investigation gathered momentum, Oscar was moved from the kitchen to the garage of his home.

Van Rensburg and Botha walked the official photographer through the crime scene. The two men turned Reeva's body over so that Warrant Office Van Staden could take pictures. They gathered more and more evidence, enough for them to come to the conclusion that they had a prima facie case against Oscar.

‘There is no way anything else could have happened,' Botha later told
Vanity Fair.
‘It was just them in the house and, according to the security registers, she had been staying there for two to three days, so he had to be used to her by that time … There was no forced entry. The only place there could have been entrance was the open bathroom window, and we did everything we could to see if anyone went through it, and it was impossible. So I thought it was an open-and-closed case. He shot her – that's it. I was convinced that it was murder, and I told my colonel, “You already read him his rights, so you have to arrest him.”'

Oscar was sitting bare-chested on a gym bench in the garage. His shorts were bloody down the right side, exposing his battered and spattered prosthetic legs. His head was in his hands and he was crying. Botha noticed that his hands and chest had been washed clean. Despite attempts by a low-ranking constable to intervene, Van Rensburg had allowed Oscar to rid his body of crucial evidence.

‘Do you remember me?' Botha asked Oscar, referring to the assault case he had investigated four years prior. Oscar confirmed he did.

‘What happened?' Botha wanted to know.

‘I thought it was a burglar,' said Oscar.

It can't be. It's impossible, Botha remembers thinking. The police were certain that Oscar's story about an intruder could not be true. In the presence of his lawyer, Lieutenant-Colonel Schoombie van Rensburg read Oscar Pistorius his rights and formally arrested him for the murder of his girlfriend, Reeva Steenkamp.

The phone on the bedside table vibrated and woke Justin Divaris from a deep slumber. It was 3:59am on Valentine's Day.

Justin rolled over, looked at the screen and mumbled to his girlfriend Samantha Greyvenstein, ‘Oscar's phoning me.' He ignored the call, but when it rang for a second time Samantha urged him to answer it. ‘Answer the phone, maybe it's something serious,' she said.

‘Hi, Oz,' Samantha heard Justin say, followed by, ‘Don't speak shit!'

Oscar had told his friend that he had shot Reeva.

‘What are you talking about? I don't understand you,' Justin repeated.

‘There has been a terrible accident – I shot Reeva.'

It was at that point that Carice had taken the phone from Oscar and continued the conversation with Justin. She told him it was true and that he should get to the house.

‘Is she okay? Did the gun go off by accident?' Justin wanted to know.

‘No. She's not okay. You need to get here.'

Samantha heard him say, ‘I'm coming now, I'm coming now,' and he shot out of bed, turned on the lights and changed into a tracksuit.

‘Is everything okay?' she asked Justin, who had turned a ghostly white.

‘No,' he said. ‘Oscar's shot Reeva.'

‘
What?
'

‘Get ready, we need to go.'

Samantha had heard a woman's voice on the other end of the phone and had assumed it was Reeva's. She thought the incident couldn't have been that serious and didn't think to question Justin further about the gravity of the situation. She thought it must have been an accidental discharge and that her friend had been wounded in the leg or somewhere like that and her life wouldn't be in any danger. Samantha had assumed that Oscar was just ‘freaking out' unnecessarily. She wasn't overly panicked when she climbed into Justin's car.

But Justin was driving at speed in a McLaren and was still horribly pale. He hadn't said a word since taking the call.

‘Is everything okay? What's wrong?' Samantha asked.

‘I just hope she's okay,' Justin responded.

‘What do you mean, you hope she's okay? She was on the phone to you now,' Samantha quizzed him, her voice increasingly anxious.

‘No, Sam, that was the neighbour. Apparently it's not very good.'

It was then that Samantha started to panic.

‘Oh my God, just get there. We just need to get there now!'

The 60-kilometre trip took Justin and Samantha just over a quarter of an hour, not entirely unlikely for a man who sells luxury sports cars. The couple barely said another word to one another for the rest of the journey as they lost themselves in their respective worries.

Samantha kept telling herself everything was going to be fine. ‘As soon as the ambulance gets there, she will go to hospital and as soon as you get to hospital everything is fine, you know,' she convinced herself.

When they arrived at the gate to the estate security was reluctant to allow them in. ‘No, it's fine, phone the house and they'll let us in,' Justin tried to explain to the security guard.

‘I was hanging out the window saying, “Is the ambulance here yet? Have they come yet?”' recalls Samantha. ‘Eventually the guy said to me, “The ambulance has come and left but they didn't take her with.” I thought, ah well that must mean she's fine … They've patched her up and your mind tells you the best-case scenario all the time.'

It was still pitch dark when Justin and Samantha pulled up outside Oscar's house at 4:20am. The guards were trying to keep vehicles away but Samantha was already ‘
borrelling'
(tumbling) out the car before Justin had even brought it to a stop.

‘I just wanted to get inside and go and see her but the neighbours came to Justin and said, “I don't think she should go in,” and I said, “No! I'm going in!” The neighbour actually tried to hug me and I said to him, “Who are you? That's my best friend, I'm going in there!” Then Justin said, “Is she dead?” and they went, “Ja.” And then I broke down and said, “Fuck all of you, I'm going inside.”' But the police kept her away from the scene anyway.