In the shadowy depths of Cape Town, where crime often casts a long shadow over communities, one man emerged not through brute force or intimidation, but through a profound sense of empathy. Captain Jonathan Morris, brilliantly portrayed in Michael Behr’s memoir “Confessor Cop,” transformed the way confessions were elicited from some of South Africa’s most notorious criminals, boasting a staggering 99% success rate over four decades of dedicated service. This captivating tale unfolds at the intersection of crime and humanity, revealing a detective whose inner struggles mirrored the darkness of the cases he solved.

Jonathan Morris’s journey began at the tender age of 19, when he joined the police service in Philippi. Rising through the ranks to become a crucial member of the Serious and Violent Crimes Unit—later known as the Hawks—Morris navigated gruesome cases from the heart-wrenching Sizzlers Massacre to the notorious serial killer Jimmy Maketta. His narrative, woven into the pages of Behr’s memoir, offers readers not just a chronological account of high-profile investigations but an intimate, personal insight into the toll such work can exact on an individual.

One of the most gripping moments recounted in the book unveils the intricate psychological dance between Morris and a suspect named Trevor Theys. In a quiet office high above the buzzing city, Theys sits nervously across from Morris, who uses silence as his primary weapon. As Theys asks what evidence exists against him, Morris lists the facts with an unhurried ease, demonstrating his adeptness at coaxing a confession without raising his voice or wielding intimidation. It is a testament to his method—building trust through conversation rather than fear.

Here is an extract from the book: 

CHAPTER 7: CONFESSION

A nervous-looking Theys is sitting across the desk from Jonathan in a sixth-floor officecommandeered for this long-cherished moment. It is one of the quietest in the Serious andViolent Crimes Unit’s headquarters.Jonathan wants the silence.

“I told Trevor Theys to relax. That this was not the end of the world. That we all make bad decisions in life.”

Theys, a 43-year-old taxi driver who ferries sex workers to and from clients at night, doesn’t reply. So Jonathan lets him ponder his words in silence while he pretends to page through his docket. It’s a show. Jonathan knows the docket backwards. But he wants to surreptitiously watch Theys so he can read his body language. He wants to assess who he’s up against.

Theys asks if he can smoke. Jonathan obliges, lighting up Theys’s cigarette before dragging deeply on his own. Now the silence hangs in the smoke. Jonathan’s good at this. During our interviews he’ll sometimes remain so quiet on the phone I’ll think he’s hung up. And then when I inquire if he’s still there, he’ll reply, ‘I’m listening’. Even though I’m not the one under interrogation, it’s disquieting.

But today especially, Jonathan the Confessor Cop is in no hurry to say anything. Patience is the key. And the listening. That’s where his power lies, not in the gun or the fistor the truncheon. Suddenly, almost on cue, Theys blurts out a question: ‘‘What evidence do you have against me?”Jonathan smiles. Then he lists the white BMW getaway car, the pistol, the cartridges found at the scene, the stolen 9mm.Theys says nothing. He looks scared. He can’t hold eye contact and keeps shifting his eyes to the floor. After weeks of disillusion and frustration, Jonathan can’t believe it’s going to be this easy. He dials down the tension by complimenting Theys on having aged gracefully since his mugshot. Theys asks for another cigarette and the two light up again.

In the haze, Jonathan asks a few questions and has to suppress a smile when Theys tells him to relax. ‘‘I just wantto finish my smoke.’ Then Theys says, ‘You’ve got the right person.’ “He sounded embarrassed,” recalls Jonathan. What happens next is a bizarre first for Jonathan.

“This man who has murdered sobrutally and callously asks if he can hug me.” And as Jonathan lets him, Theys tells him: ‘My life is in your hands.’ Theys then cries and reveals he has a heart condition. Jonathan offers him his sandwich so his suspect can take his meds.Then he listens without comment while Theys blames his partner in crime, 27-year-old restaurant manager Adam Woest, for his role in the Graham Road slaughter.

‘I feared for my life because Adam said he wanted no loose ends. So I cut the victims softly.’ While Theys eats, Jonathan reflects. None of this would be happening right now if it weren’t for Anna Louw. “If she hadn’t told De Villiers about the old albums and he hadn’t said bring them, then Theys wouldn’t be eating my sandwich in front of me. I was grateful to them both.”

Afterwards, Jonathan would thank Anna whenever he bumped into her at Sea Point Police Station. “For the rest of my career I couldn’t stop thanking her. That’s the thing about being a detective. It’s teamwork. There are so many people who helped me crack my cases and made me look like a hero. Without them I was nothing.”

Back to Theys. Once he had taken his meds, Jonathan knew he had to get him to a magistrate chop-chop or his confession was worth nothing in court.

“I was a warrant officer atthat stage,” he reiterates. “Only commissioned officers or magistrates can take a legallybinding statement.”

By late afternoon, Theys’s full confession is signed and sealed. He has also pointed out Woest’s Bordeaux flat, which has a bird’s eye view of Sizzlers from its walkway. Soon Jonathan joins his undercover colleagues watching Woest’s workplace, Quay 4, at the V&A Waterfront. Identifying himself and asking the manageress for privacy, Jonathan spots Woest frying seafood in the kitchen as she guides him to her office. “The manageress almost fell onher back when I told her why we were there.”

Back at Sea Point Police Station, Jonathan sits an anxious Woest down in the conference room. ‘How do you know about me,’ blurts out the mass murder who thought hehad left no loose ends.‘Trevor spilt the beans,’ says Jonathan, watching Woest’s every twitch. ‘You supplied the rope, the balaclavas, the surgical gloves and the petrol. Trevor supplied the guns and the white BMW.’Woest is astonished. A total look of disbelief in his eyes. Then Jonathan brings it home: ‘Trevor made a full confession to a magistrat implicating you as the mastermind. He told me everything.’ ‘Woest was shocked,’ recalls Jonathan.

“I knew then we had him. Die koeël was deur die kerk.” “First Woest said it was Trevor’s idea, then he asked to make a confession before a magistrate. By 10.30pm Jonathan had his second confession in the bag. It had taken 23 days, Jonathan’s longest wait ever.Two days later the two men appeared in Cape Town Magistrates’ Court on nine counts of murder and one of attempted murder.

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