The Big Read: The mystery of Milton Road

10 March 2017 - 09:58 By Darrel Bristow-Bovey
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ON THE CASE: Sleuthing sometimes involves funny hats and strange stances
ON THE CASE: Sleuthing sometimes involves funny hats and strange stances
Image: PARAMOUNT/GETTY IMAGES

I adjusted the brim of my hat and popped the collar of my shabby trench coat. "Cover me," I said. "I'm going in."

"Wait," said RD. "Shouldn't we case the joint first?"

We hovered on the pavement, looking at the joint. Was that casing? Or just surveilling? How do you know when you're surveilling and when you're casing? This was our first case on these mean streets and we had a lot to learn, but there was no turning back. The city depended on us.

I don't know if you know, but there's a drought in Cape Town. Every week some new notification arrives warning that we have 100 days of drinking water left, urging citizens to be sparing. Last month the city posted a list of the 100 worst water wasters, but just the streets where they live, not their names or numbers.

I scanned the list eagerly. Like everyone else, I was expecting to see loads of streets in Constantia and Camps Bay and Green Point, because those people are creeps and deserve to be publicly pelted with bad eggs and green pineapples, but I was confident Sea Point wouldn't feature.

Sea Point is the best place in the city, which isn't saying much, but also the world. Sea Point is filled to the brim with residents of good quality and high moral fibre. We are neighbourly and civic-minded and attractive on the eye, and every day I feel sad for those sorry souls who do not live here. Seapointers do bad things sometimes but always fun bad things, the things you'd like to be committing yourself, and it's simply inconceivable that a Seapointer would be a water waster, so imagine my shock when I reached number 92: "Milton Road, Sea Point, 133000 litres per month."

How is this possible? You can't give away that much water. Who is this master-villain lurking in our midst? He must be exposed! I turned to RD, excellent fellow Seapointer, part-time Nancy Drew. Would she take the case?

Milton Road is a short road running between Main Road and the sea, lined with apartment blocks and a couple of small houses. At the top is a party-supplies store. We tried to think of ways a small emporium selling witches' hats, helium balloons and bulk confetti might possibly require loads of water. What if they also sell ecstasy, and their clients hang out there hydrating? We surveilled it a while. Unpromising.

Opposite that is the building where SABC3's morning show Expresso is shot each day, but their whole set is upholstered in glorious astroturf, which is vile but doesn't require watering. Anyway, the tastes of the SABC's bosses run more to champagne than extra glasses of H2O. We couldn't investigate Expresso, if only because neither of us could face getting to the depressing bottom of why it is spelt that way.

A little way down there's a suspicious house with blank grey walls and closed metal shutters. Why so secretive, guys? What are you hiding? We gave each other a leg-up and peered inside. Unremarkable. No sign of promiscuously running taps or wild water slides connecting the lounge with the bedroom.

Our best bet was Milton Manor, a deceptively opulent apartment block nearest the sea. It had two subterranean levels of parking garage. Extravagance! Who's to say that the lowermost level wouldn't slide back at the touch of a Bond villain's button to reveal a grotto of sharks? That would take a lot of water.

"It would be sea water," RD pointed out.

"Piranha then! Unless you have any better ideas?" I replied tetchily. Fieldwork frays even the closest of comrades.

We were poking around, testing the lawn-soil with our forefingers for excessive watering, when security sidled up, wanting answers. Clearly, we were getting too close. He escorted us to reception.

"Do you have any swimming pools here? Imitation Trevi fountains? Private fisheries?" we asked the guy behind the desk. He kept a poker face.

"Any residents who always seem to have just emerged from an overly deep bath?" I asked with mounting desperation. He was a tough nut to crack.

"If you were us, where would you be looking?" RD whispered, leaning closer. "Point with your eyes."

Slowly, he reached under the desk and pressed a button. We looked at each other in alarm. Was this it? Was he calling Mr Big? No, he was just buzzing someone in.

We left Milton Road beaten but not broken. I don't know who's wasting all that good Sea Point water, and I certainly don't know how: there's no swimming pool or open tap anywhere to be found. Whoever's heisting the aquifer is good, very good, but we'll get 'em, you count on it. Just not today. It was supper time, and we were both feeling peckish.

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