The pathologist stated that the deceased had had a quantity of tranquilisers in her blood – a fairly high dose of Ativan, to be precise, but not lethal. A bottle of Ativan had been found in her suitcase and another on the bedside table in her suite at the Silverman house. The bruises and cuts on her body appeared to confirm speculation that she had fallen down a long flight of stairs, while her actual cause of death was heart failure as a result of a severe hypoglycaemic episode, brought on by a lethal dose of insulin. The deceased had had no reason to have taken insulin as she was not diabetic.
The prosecutor led each of the witnesses through their testimony, at the end of which Henti merely said: ‘No questions for this witness at this time, my Lord. However, I may wish to recall the witness later.’
‘Call the next witness,’ the court orderly said.
Yair swallowed the lump in his throat as Stembiso Tshabalala shuffled towards the witness stand, twisting his cap in his hands. Yair recognised the cap. He’d bought it for the old family driver when he was a child and Stembiso had been the only person in the Silverman household who gave him the time of day – apart from Zivah, of course. He desperately wanted to smile reassuringly at him, but heeding Henti’s warning, he merely nodded and looked away.
‘Yes, I did hear Master Yair and Miss Tiffany shouting,’ the old man said.
‘So, you heard them fighting?’ the prosecutor asked.
‘I heard shouting. I don’t know about fighting.’
Yair smothered his grin. Good for you Shakes, he thought, reverting to his childhood nickname for the driver.
‘And this was after the party, when everyone had left?’
‘Yes. But the very drunk ones who didn’t want for me to drive them home, Master Yair he let them sleep in the little lounge.’
‘No more questions,’ Mr Lefidi said.
Stembiso turned to leave the witness box.
‘Please wait a minute, Mr Tshabalala. Ms Weinberg may have some questions for you,’ the judge said.
‘I do indeed, my Lord,’ Henti said, pushing herself to her feet.
She smiled at Stembiso. ‘Hello Stembiso, Yair tells me you were like a father to him when he was young, so I know how hard it must be for you to stand here in this court and tell us things you think might get him into trouble.’
The old man nodded, and sniffed.
‘Well, Yair told me to tell you that you must just tell the truth. If you don’t you will get into trouble and that will make him very sad. Do you understand?’
Another nod.
‘Right. So, let’s talk about the deceased – about Tiffany,’ she clarified.
‘I... I... Miss Tiffany, she is dead. I don’t want...’
‘That’s alright. You told my learned friend that you heard Yair and Tiffany shouting. Could you hear what they were saying?’
‘No, not really.’
‘But did it sound like they were angry?’
‘Master Yair, he sounded very cross. He never shouts, not even when he was little, and he was fighting with Miss Avi.’
‘Was that the first time you had heard them arguing?’
‘Yes.’
‘How long had Tiffany been staying at the house?’
‘A few days – three I think.’
‘Do you know if Yair and Tiffany shared a bedroom?’
‘No. Miss Tiffany had her own bedroom.’
‘And you know for a fact that she slept in her own bedroom?’
‘Yes. Thembi said Miss Tiffany made a big mess all over the room and she had to clean up her stuff that was everywhere.’
The prosecutor was on his feet, objecting to the hearsay.
Henti conceded, and continued: ‘Now, you’re a man of the world, Stembiso. Did Yair ever have young women stay over and sleep in his room?’
Yair flushed, but then realised that in the 21st century, people would be extremely surprised if he hadn’t had girls stay over.
Stembiso nodded slowly.
‘I’m sorry, Mr Tshabalala. You can’t just nod your head. You need to say yes or no,’ the judge instructed.
‘Yes.’
‘So, didn’t you find it strange that he didn’t share a bedroom with Tiffany?’ Henti asked.
‘No.’
‘Why not?’
‘Because Miss Tiffany was not his girlfriend.’
The judged banged his gravel and demanded that the crowd in the public gallery settle down.
‘How to do you know that?’ Henti asked.
‘Because Master Yair, he told me he was going to ask... he said he was going to get married. He even showed me the ring.’
‘Wasn’t he going to give the ring to Tiffany?’
‘The ring was not for Miss Tiffany. Master Yair, he told me he no like Miss Tiffany, but he sorry for her because she not have anywhere to go and she was having a baby. Master Yair, he is a very kind man.’
‘Did he tell you who he was going to ask to marry him?’
Yair found he was holding his breath. He prayed Stembiso wouldn’t compound his humiliation by revealing who had rejected him... and how.
‘No, Master Yair didn’t tell me,’ Stembiso said, and Yair hissed a premature sigh of relief. ‘But I know. I know because she stay in his room before Miss Tiffany come and he was so happy.’
Yair could have kissed Mr Lefidi for objecting to Stembiso’s cheerful speculation before he could let the cat out of the bag.
***
Yair stifled a yawn as one after another, his friends—seemingly every person who had been at the party—took to the witness stand to be grilled about the events of ‘that fateful afternoon and evening’.
And one after another they testified that it had been a great party, they’d had lots to eat and drink, they had seen Tiffany and Yair—together and apart—and there had not appeared to be any tension between them.
‘Tiffany was in great form. She was swanning around like the queen of the castle,’ Zelda Levy said. Yair worked hard to keep his features under control. Zelda had never liked Tiffany, and the feeling had been mutual.
‘Did you speak to her?’ the prosecutor asked.
‘Of course I did. We were great friends. I miss her so much.’ Zelda wiped her eyes. Yair looked at her in astonishment, and then fixed his eyes on his shoes.
‘Did she talk about her relationship with the accused?’
‘Oh yes. We never had any secrets from each other.’
‘What did she tell you?’
Henti lumbered to her feet and objected. ‘Hearsay, my Lord.’
‘I’ll allow it,’ Judge Goliath said.
‘Well,’ Zelda’s voice dropped conspiratorially, and the judge told her to speak up. ‘She told me she was pregnant. I thought it was so romantic they’d got back together and everything.’
‘Did she actually tell you that Yair was the father?’
‘Yes – no wait, let me think. Actually, I don’t think she actually said it – I just presumed that Yair was the father because they were getting married and they’d been, well—you know—sort of together, at high school. I was sooo shocked when she upped and married that old man and ...’
‘Was it possible that she could have been pregnant with her late husband’s baby?’
‘No! Of course not – he was an old man. My god, I wonder if Yair knew? I mean, I suppose it could have been either of their babies. Tiffany was never shy about putting out,’ Zelda said spitefully.
The judge called for silence again and the public gallery settled down.
Yair was horrified when all Henti did was have Zelda confirm that Tiffany was pregnant and that he was stupid enough to have wanted to marry her while she was possibly carrying another man’s child.
***
‘Carol Aronowitz.’ The social worker confirmed her name and stood in the witness box, her hands clasped so tightly together Yair could see her white knuckles from the dock, at least ten to fifteen metres away.
She confirmed that she too had
been at the party, courtesy of an invitation from Yair to inspect Zivah Silverman’s new accommodation. Yes, she said, she had briefly seen the deceased, but she hadn’t spoken to her. She hadn’t spoken much to Yair, except to congratulate him on the wonderful suite of rooms he had built for his little sister. She hadn’t spoken to Zivah either. She had only had a small Sprite Zero and left.
Henti rose for her cross-examination. Yair shut his eyes and hoped that Carol would be the last witness of the day. He was dreading the drive—through rush-hour traffic—from central Johannesburg to Sun City, squashed like a sardine into the police van, but he was looking forward to throwing himself onto his thin mattress in his single cell and going to sleep.
‘Ms Aronowitz, how you know the accused and his younger sister, Zivah Silverman?’
‘I’m afraid I don’t understand the question.’
Yair opened his eyes. Why was Carol Aronowitz being defensive? It was a simple enough question and Henti didn’t look impressed.
‘I’ll rephrase, my Lord,’ Henti said. ‘Miss Aronowitz, where and when did you meet the accused and his sister?’
‘I... I’m not sure I can – client confidentiality, my Lord,’ she appealed to the judge.
Henti nodded. ‘May I approach, my Lord?’
Yair watched as she and the prosecutor went and spoke to the judge. Then they returned and Henti turned to the witness box again.
‘It’s all right, Ms Aronowitz. We appreciate your concern about professional ethics. But the court’s proceedings take precedence so I must ask you to please answer any questions put to you by Mr Lefidi and Ms Weinberg,’ the judge said.
‘Yes, my Lord,’ Carol muttered, looking decidedly unhappy.
‘Ms Aronowitz, will you confirm that you are a senior social worker at the Johannesburg Chevrah Kadisha – the Jewish Helping Hand Society?’
‘Yes.’
‘And the accused’s late mother, Brenda Silverman, was your client?’
‘Yes.’
‘Is or was Miss Zivah Silverman your client as well?’
‘She is.’
‘Please will you tell the court what happened to Mrs Brenda Silverman.’
Yair’s blood ran cold. No! Henti wouldn’t... she couldn’t. He wanted to shout that his mother’s death had nothing to do with this murder trial. Mr Lefidi appeared to have read his mind.
‘Objection, my Lord. What is the relevance of this?’ he said.
‘If it please the court,’ Henti said, ‘may I have a little latitude? The relevance will become clear soon enough.’
‘Overruled, but Ms Weinberg, you had better get to the point quickly,’
‘Yes, my Lord. Ms Aronowitz, can you briefly tell us what happened to Mrs Silverman?’
‘She died.’
‘Do you know what caused her to die?’
‘Well, I only know about the evidence that was presented at the inquest. I don’t have any direct knowledge...’
‘Yes, Ms Aronowitz, we appreciate that. However, could you please tell the court what her inquest found to be the cause of her death.’
‘An overdose of drugs,’ Carol muttered.
‘I’m sorry, Ms Aronowitz. I didn’t hear you – please repeat your answer,’ the judge instructed.
‘Drugs, an overdose of drugs.’
‘Can you name the drugs that were responsible for her death?’ Henti asked.
‘Ativan and insulin. She overdosed on Ativan and insulin,’ Carol spat out.
Yair buried his head in his hand – then remembered that that was what Oscar Pistorius always did and he sat upright again, his jaw clenched.
‘Isn’t that the same combination of drugs that killed Tiffany Horwitz Zaldain?’ Henti asked, with a note of triumph in her voice.
There was dead silence in the courtroom as Mr Lefidi got to his feet. ‘Objection. The witness cannot know the answer to that.’
‘Withdrawn,’ Henti smiled.
The prosecutor remained standing. ‘With respect, my Lord, is my learned friend suggesting that the same modus operandi was responsible for the demise of the deceased and the accused’s mother? Is she telling the court that her client should be facing not one, but two murder charges?’
Yair ignored the nervous giggles in the public gallery. He was too busy glaring at his advocate and willing her to shut up.
‘Not at all, not at all,’ Henti said. ‘I merely wanted to bring the similarities between the two cases to the court’s attention. I would also like to place on record that my client had absolutely nothing to do with his mother’s death. He was not at the house at the time and only returned when summoned by the housekeeper after her body was discovered.’
‘So what are you getting at?’ Mr Lefidi demanded.
‘All in good time,’ Henti responded. ‘Right, Ms Aronowitz, if we can continue. Did you and Zivah Silverman ever discuss her mother?’
‘Of course.’
‘Did she ever say anything about her mother’s death?’
Carol hesitated. The judge instructed her to answer the question.
‘Not directly, my Lord. She was clearly very upset and somewhat angry about her mother’s passing.’
‘How do you know that?’
‘Well, she seemed to blame her mother.’
‘Blame her? For what?’
‘For dying.’
‘Can you tell the court what she said to give you that impression?’ Henti persisted.
Carol looked defeated. ‘She said that her mother was stupid to have died as she was only supposed to get sick.’
‘Did you ask her to explain what she meant by that?’
‘No.’
‘Why not?’
Carol didn’t respond.
Henti stared at her, and then continued: ‘Okay, let’s move on. Did she ever talk about Tiffany Horwitz Zaldain?’
Again Carol remained silent and the judge instructed her to answer.
‘Yes. She spoke about Tiffany.’
‘And what did she say about her?’ Henti asked.
‘She said Tiffany was stupid.’
‘Stupid?’
‘She said Tiffany was stupid to have died.’
‘Similar words to ones she used about her mother’s death. Didn’t that strike you as strange?’
Carol didn’t respond.
‘Just a few more questions, Ms Aronowitz. Where did Zivah Silverman live just prior to moving back to the family home?’
‘In The Lodge – it’s sheltered accommodation for Jewish people with mental illness and impairments.’
‘Am I correct in stating that some of the medications kept for residents of The Lodge disappeared a day or so before Zivah moved to the Silverman house?’
‘Yes.’
‘Were those medications ever recovered?’
‘No.’
‘Please tell the court what types of medications disappeared.’
‘All kinds. A lot of the residents are on chronic medication.’
‘Can you name some of them?’
‘I’m not sure – there was quite a lot...’
‘If I put it to you that Ativan and insulin were among them, would that be correct?’
Carol nodded. ‘Yes.’
Yair didn’t care what the media thought of him. He buried his head in his hands.
Chapter 35
Tracy
Tracy sat on a hard wooden chair in the witness room and read Dudu’s report about the first day of the Yair Silverman trial. She frowned. It was a pathetic article, especially when compared to the other newspapers, and the reports on the various online news sites. But the stupid prosecutor had decided to call her as a witness, which meant she could not report on the trial – or at least not about those parts of the trial that occurred before she had testified as she wasn’t allowed to set foot in the courtroom until she had done her witness bit. So Duduzile Zulu had at last managed to get her shot at the story. And Tracy hadn’t been able to do a thing about it.
&nbs
p; ‘Can’t I claim journalistic privilege or something so I don’t have to testify?’ she’d appealed to Mafuta when the summons for her to present herself at the Johannesburg High Court on 8 May 2017 at 09h00 had arrived.
‘Nope. You will just have to do your duty as a conscientious citizen,’ he’d chortled, and winked at Dudu who was perched provocatively on the edge of his desk.
So at 9am on Monday morning, Tracy had dutifully and conscientiously presented herself at the Johannesburg High Court – only to be informed that she wouldn’t be called to testify until day two of the trial, possibly even day three. The relief she felt had only slightly less to do with the fact that she wouldn’t have to face Yair for another twenty-four hours than with the opportunity to finally get her hands on the last bits of evidence she needed to blow the whole case out of the water.
She waved a cheerful goodbye to all the other witnesses crowded into the witness waiting room, retrieved Buttercup from the dubious safety of the secured parkade on Main Street, and drove to her father’s firm’s offices in Sandton. Moira, his long-suffering secretary, met her at their regular table in the downstairs coffee shop. Tracy adored her. Moira had lasted longer than any of his marriages, despite regularly bearing the brunt of Maxine’s and the three other members of the Morris Jacobs ex-wives club’s tantrums and verbal abuse.
Moira hugged Tracy and handed her an innocuous looking white envelope. ‘You didn’t get this from me. Understand?’ she said.
‘Thanks, you’re a darling. But you could have just emailed it,’ Tracy said
‘And risk those smart young IT guys figuring out who had leaked it? I’m old, but I’m not senile – yet.’
‘Won’t they be able to trace the photocopy back to you? I’d hate you to get into trouble or even lose your job over this.’
‘Your father would never fire me! Who else would he get to pick out his next floozy’s engagement ring? Don’t worry – I make hundreds of photocopies every day. No one will notice a few additional pages.’
Tracy kissed Moira’s soft cheek, paid for their drinks, and all but ran back to Buttercup. Safely ensconced on the lumpy driver’s seat, she tore open the envelope and speed-read the documents. And then she burst out laughing. She had it!
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