By 2015, Electus per Deus was broke, and the skills they'd built murdering for the Lord transferred seamlessly to murdering for cash. In part two of The Krugersdorp murders, Liz takes Jess and follows the money: A fictional orphanage, a faked death, a R3.57 million insurance claim, and the appointment murders that gripped the West Rand in fear. Then comes the detective nicknamed Bliksem, an ATM camera that unravels everything, a trial that transfixed South Africa, and a judge who needed just two words for Cecilia Steyn: puppet master.

We name and honour all eleven victims.

Content warning: this episode discusses murder, religious manipulation and coercive control, fraud, and violence involving a minor.

Listener discretion advised.

Krugersdorp, 2012. A woman claiming to be a high-ranking witch fleeing the satanic church walks into a West Rand ministry, and instead of doubt, she finds devotion. Within five years she's assembled her own chosen people, bound by tattoos, terror and murder. She will never touch a weapon, but people will die.

In part one of this two-part series, Liz takes Jess and traces how a country primed by decades of satanic panic handed Cecilia Steyn exactly the audience she needed. And how a schoolteacher, an insurance broker and a fourteen-year-old girl ended up inside a group calling itself Electus per Deus. Chosen by God.

Content warning: this episode discusses murder, religious manipulation and coercive control, claims of ritual abuse, and violence committed by a minor. Listener discretion advised.

Daisy de Melker didn't leave Johannesburg when she died, or so the stories go.

In Part Two, Jess and Liz follow her into local legend: the Turffontein house where a curtain is said to move on its own at six o'clock, the old children's hospital ward she's said to haunt, and her cell at Constitution Hill, where her story now sits, strangely, alongside some of the country's most important human rights history. Along the way, a real South African urban legends researcher weighs in on why these stories persist even without a shred of hard evidence, and why one convicted killer turned into a household phrase for messy hair and slamming doors.

This one's lighter than Part One, more legend than true crime, but every bit as strange.