Steeped in Blood by David Klatzow

wrong the basis of their calculation was. It was a technical error on their part, but this case was enough for them to ban me from ever being involved with the Jockey Club again. It’s hardly fair, but no trainer can approach me again to assist them. I am not allowed to cross-examine their witnesses either.
    Unfortunately – or maybe fortunately – Dorothy cut ties with me because of these hearings. So, I was on my own in my fledgling practice and set about finding clients. With great anticipation, I placed an advert in the South African attorneys’ journal De Rebus , only to discover that attorneys either didn’t read it or couldn’t read. I watched my slender reserves of money dwindle at an alarming rate.
    In order to feed myself, I had re-established my handyman business in Johannesburg, and was doing handyman work in and around the city. One of my suppliers was a glazing business called MUG Glaziers. I became friendly with the owners, and they asked me one day if I would be interested in running their shop in Green-side, a suburb of Johannesburg. I thought about it and realised that my resources were good for another two months at the most, so I accepted the offer. I was now an apprentice in the art of glazing – in fitting shower doors. Ironically, I was now learning the business in which my father had been involved during the Standerton days.
    One day, while I was applying silicone to a shower door near Sandton City, my pager went off. (This was the pre-cellphone era – I had a small radio pager in case of emergencies.) It was a law firm. I found the nearest public telephone and called the attorney immediately.
    With great excitement, I spoke to Reg Kossuth, who was acting for an insurance company called Commercial Union Life. Hillel Shapiro, the forensic pathologist I’d met at Wits, had suggested that he call me. The company had a problem and they wanted to know if I would be interested in investigating it. The documentation was delivered to me, and eagerly I started reading.
    It was the case of a young woman who had been found dead in her bed, in Durban, with a packet of antidepressants and a bottle of wine by her side. She ran her own business and had recently taken out a substantial life insurance policy, with her husband designated as the beneficiary. Her death had occurred within the two-year suicide exclusion clause contained in most insurance policies, which prevents people from taking out policies with the sole intention of committing suicide and making money out of it for their beneficiaries. My brief was to determine whether her death had been a suicide or not.
    I flew to Durban to investigate the case, and discovered that the woman had been a severe and chronic depressive. She was on significant doses of antidepressant drugs and had visited several doctors. She had had the scripts from these doctors dispensed at various pharmacies, using different names, and she’d even forged some of the prescriptions. These facts should have been disclosed to the insurers when she took out the policy. In instances where this does not happen, it is known in insurance jargon as a ‘material non-disclosure’.
    I did not conduct any analysis in this case – I obtained information from the mortuary. The results were puzzling. One particularly strange aspect related to her liver. The liver was weighed at the autopsy, but the recorded mass differed significantly from the mass of the liver that was received for analysis. I suspected that there had been a switch in the samples, and that the organs of another body had been sent instead. Whether her husband had had a hand in this was never established, but it was strongly suspected.
    The claim was repudiated successfully because her state of depression had not been disclosed. No one challenged my finding. I now came to the daunting task of submitting an invoice: I didn’t have a clue what to charge. My girlfriend at the time suggested that I charge R100 per hour, a