A small two-door Corsa hatchback pulled up at Extension 12 in Gaborone and parked facing the car wash there not far from a little complex of bars and shops. It had three occupants. Two sat at the front and one at the back. The man at the back was John Kalafatis. He had spent that day drinking with his friends. He had no weapon either on him or anywhere near him. None of the two persons he was with had any weapon. Unarmed! No sooner had the car parked than was the tranquility of that fateful night ruptured by the staccato echoes of coordinated and targeted gunfire.
The target was John Kalafatis. He took a bullet around the top of his head. Another was planted at the base of his head. He took several other bullets. All of them were fired at close range, from behind. They left him still, as they had found him, but lifeless. Dead. It was a scene of unmitigated horror! It bears all the hallmarks of an execution. The number of bullets fired attest to the grotesque brutality of it all. Imponderable horror. The two remaining occupants were bundled out of the vehicle and made to lie on the ground.
