A private investigator says he still has leads. But the deeper question is whether South Africa moves fast enough when a child disappears.
When a child goes missing, the country often discovers the truth in layers.
First comes the panic: the social media posts, the blurry photographs, the community searches, the prayers, the rumours. Then comes the anger: why was this not prevented, who failed the child, why did nobody act faster? Finally, long after the cameras arrive and the hashtags peak, comes the quieter question that South Africa has still not answered properly:
What actually happens in the first few hours after a child disappears?
In a new Truth Report interview, private investigator Tyron speaks with unusual restraint about the Joshlin Smith case, not because there is nothing to say, but because, in cases like this, saying too much too soon can cause damage.
“I do have leads,” he says. “Going forward, I’m going to continue to pursue them. And I’ve told the police I’m going to do that and I’m not working against them. I’m trying to work with them.”
That sentence captures the difficult space where many private investigators, community searchers and citizen-led efforts now find themselves: close enough to the pain to keep pushing, but not formally empowered to direct the case; trusted by families and communities, but still required to hand evidence to SAPS; driven by urgency, but constrained by law.
And in the Joshlin case, that tension is even sharper.
Joshlin Smith disappeared from Middelpos in Saldanha Bay in February 2024. She was six years old. Her disappearance triggered one of the largest and most emotionally charged searches South Africa has seen in recent years, with police, community members, the City of Cape Town, the Navy, drones, dogs and volunteers all drawn into the effort.
In May 2025, the Western Cape High Court convicted Racquel “Kelly” Smith, Jacquen Appollis and Steveno van Rhyn of kidnapping and human trafficking. They were later sentenced to life imprisonment for human trafficking and 10 years for kidnapping, with the sentences running concurrently. But even after the convictions, the central wound remains open: Joshlin has still not been found.
That is why this conversation matters.
It is not only about one case. It is about the machinery that is supposed to activate when a child vanishes, and whether that machinery is fast, coordinated and resourced enough for the reality South Africans are living in.
“Find her and bring her back”
One of the most striking moments in the interview comes when Tyron describes handing evidence to a senior police officer.
“When I handed over the evidence to a particular brigadier,” he says, “he said to me, why don’t you just go and do yourself a favour and find Joshlin and bring her back, and we’ll work from that point backwards.”
Tyron says he was taken aback.
The implication, as he understood it, was that police were not prepared to work from his evidence forward, but might act differently if he returned with the missing child herself.
“I must bring back a six-year-old little girl,” he recalls thinking, “and she’s going to tell you how it all unfolded, and then you’re going to take action on that?”
That exchange raises a painful question: when the system is under pressure, what level of proof is expected before it moves with urgency?
There is a legal reason investigators cannot chase every rumour. There is a reason evidence must be tested, verified and handled properly. A contaminated lead, a reckless allegation or a viral false claim can derail a real investigation. But there is also a practical truth that every parent understands instantly: when a child disappears, time is not neutral.
Time is distance. Time is opportunity. Time is danger.
HELP TYRON CONTINUE THIS INVESTIGATION: https://www.backabuddy.co.za/campaign/searching-for-joshlin
The myth of waiting 24 hours
Tyron points to one of the most dangerous beliefs in missing-person cases: the idea that families must wait 24 hours before reporting someone missing.
“In many cases, when a child is reported missing, they don’t even accept the case,” he says. “For the first 24 hours, any person that goes missing, you got to wait 24 hours before being reported missing.”
That belief is widely repeated in South Africa, but it is wrong. Official guidance is clear: a missing person should be reported as soon as you know they are missing. You do not need to wait 24 hours.
This distinction can be the difference between a live search and a cold trail.
For children, especially, the first hours are critical. Tyron puts it bluntly: “The first 12 hours of a child going missing is the most critical.”
His reasoning is simple. In 12 hours, a perpetrator can move a child from one town to another, across provincial lines, or even towards a border. The early phase is when cameras can still be checked, roads can still be traced, witnesses can still remember details, and border alerts can still matter.
“You need to start doing checks at the borders immediately,” he says. “You need to start closing loopholes. You need to move fast.”
That is the heart of the issue. A child protection system cannot afford to be slow at the exact moment when speed matters most.
A country losing children
South Africa does not lack emotion when children go missing. It lacks a consistent, properly resourced emergency response.
The available figures are sobering. SAPS Missing Persons Bureau data has shown that, over a 10-year period, an average of about 1,697 children were reported missing each year, roughly one child every five hours. Missing-children organisations have also warned that while many children are found, a significant minority are not returned safely.
Those numbers should be treated as a national emergency. Yet the response on the ground often still depends on a patchwork of police capacity, community mobilisation, private volunteers, WhatsApp groups, NGOs, media pressure and, in some cases, private investigators working with limited funds.
Tyron is clear that many people involved in searches are sincere and committed.
“I’ve met amazing people,” he says. “But they’ll all tell you we don’t have funding. It’s up to the police or nothing. That’s it.”
This is where the conversation becomes bigger than Joshlin Smith.
South Africa has campaigns, charities and foundations. It has public outrage. It has Facebook groups and community patrols. But what it does not yet appear to have is a nationally trusted, properly funded, rapid-response missing-children infrastructure that can move immediately, professionally and in coordination with SAPS.
Tyron argues that this gap is obvious.
“I do believe that there’s a need for a private entity to assist and support,” he says.
Not to replace police. Not to run parallel prosecutions. Not to turn tragedy into spectacle. But to help close the gap between a frantic family and a system that is often overloaded before the first call is even made.
The danger of social media detectives
There is another uncomfortable truth in this interview: not every person “helping” is helping.
Tyron repeatedly warns against turning unverified claims into public drama.
“People get excited about something small and then suddenly, boom, it’s on social media and it’s all over the place,” he says. “And in the meantime, it hasn’t been proven. It’s not factual. It’s an emotional piece of evidence.”
That phrase “emotional piece of evidence” is important.
In a missing-child case, emotion is unavoidable. It is human. But emotion is not evidence. A rumour is not a lead. A theory is not a fact. A screenshot is not a breakthrough simply because it has been shared 10,000 times.
The modern missing-person case now unfolds in two places at once: in the field, where searchers knock on doors, check roads and follow information; and online, where speculation can outrun truth within minutes.
The online world can help. It can spread a photograph, mobilise volunteers and generate tips. But it can also poison an investigation. It can falsely accuse innocent people, alert suspects, contaminate witness memories and bury useful information under noise.
That is why Tyron says he has had to hold back.
“I’ve had to hold back a lot until I have something conclusive,” he explains.
This restraint may frustrate viewers who want immediate answers. But in a serious investigation, restraint is not weakness. It is discipline.
A prima facie case — but not a public trial
Tyron says he has already handed over material to police on more than one occasion. He has also sought legal opinions.
“No,” he says, when asked whether lawyers told him he had a “strong case”. “They said I had a prima facie case.”
A prima facie case means there appears to be enough evidence, on the face of it, to justify further consideration or action. It is not the same as a conviction. It is not proof beyond reasonable doubt. It is not a licence to name suspects on social media or build a public prosecution outside the courts.
Tyron seems aware of this line.
“I have to respect the process,” he says. “And I’ve got to be careful where I tread. I cannot be seen to be defeating the ends of justice or interfering in the course of justice.”
That is the difficult balance: push hard enough to keep a case alive, but not so recklessly that the case is damaged.
This is also why the public needs to understand the difference between pressure and interference.
Pressure says: investigate properly, move quickly, use every lawful tool, communicate clearly, and do not let a missing child become yesterday’s news.
Interference says: publish untested claims, intimidate witnesses, spread rumours, expose sensitive leads, or try to force an outcome before evidence is ready.
One helps justice. The other can destroy it.
The Joshlin timeline South Africa cannot forget
The broad timeline of the Joshlin Smith case is now etched into South Africa’s recent memory.
In February 2024, Joshlin disappeared from her home in Middelpos, Saldanha Bay. The first search efforts drew in neighbours, police, volunteers and eventually wider state resources. The case quickly became national news, partly because of Joshlin’s age, partly because of the community’s anguish, and partly because the story seemed to grow darker with each development.
In 2024, arrests followed. Suspicion shifted from an unknown outsider to people close to the child. That shift horrified the country.
In May 2025, the High Court convicted Kelly Smith, Jacquen Appollis and Steveno van Rhyn of kidnapping and human trafficking. The court found that Joshlin had been sold for slavery or practices similar to slavery. Later that month, the three were sentenced to life imprisonment for human trafficking and 10 years for kidnapping.
But the legal outcome did not close the case emotionally or morally.
Because Joshlin is still missing.
That fact is the reason people still watch, share and argue about this case. A sentence can punish the guilty. It cannot, on its own, bring a child home.
What citizens can do — and what they must not do
The interview also raises a practical question: what can ordinary South Africans do when they believe police are not moving fast enough?
The first answer is immediate reporting. Do not wait. Go to the nearest police station as soon as you know someone is missing. Provide a recent photograph, physical description, clothing details, last known location, medical information, phone numbers, friends, routes, and any possible risks.
The second answer is documentation. Keep a timeline. Write down who was spoken to, when, where, and what they said. Preserve messages, photos, CCTV references, vehicle descriptions and names. Do not edit or “clean up” evidence before handing it over.
The third answer is escalation through proper channels. If a station refuses to open a missing-person report, ask for the name and rank of the officer, request the station commander, and escalate. The law does not require a 24-hour waiting period.
The fourth answer is public mobilisation — but responsibly. Share verified posters. Use official contact numbers. Avoid naming suspects unless law enforcement has done so. Do not publish addresses, rumours or vigilante threats.
The fifth answer is support. Families need transport, airtime, printing, food, emotional support and people who can search without turning the tragedy into content.
Tyron’s criticism of “armchair detectives” is sharp because he has seen the difference between opinion and action.
“If you want to go look for a child or an investigation,” he says, “you need to get up, get out of your office and go into the field.”
The gap South Africa must close
The Joshlin Smith case forced South Africa to look at child vulnerability, family breakdown, poverty, addiction, trafficking fears, police capacity and community desperation all at once.
But if the only national response is outrage after the fact, then the next family will face the same clock.
What is needed is a faster missing-child response culture: police stations that act immediately, communities trained to preserve evidence, border and transport alerts that can be triggered quickly, better coordination with NGOs, and a funded field capacity that does not rely on volunteers paying for petrol out of their own pockets.
The country also needs a public that understands the seriousness of the first few hours. Every delay matters. Every false rumour wastes time. Every unreported sighting could be the missed turn in the road.
Tyron says he still has leads. He says he will keep pursuing them. He says he has not withheld verified information from police. He says he wants to work with them.
“If it leads me to Joshlin,” he says, “that will be a prayer answered for millions of people.”
That is why this interview is worth watching in full.
Not because it promises easy answers. It does not.
It is worth watching because it shows the hard, frustrating, legally delicate work that sits behind the slogans. It shows the gap between public emotion and admissible evidence. It shows how quickly a case can become both a search for a child and a test of a country’s institutions.
WATCH THE FULL INTERVIEW HERE: https://youtu.be/qmvmjlyrNgg
Most of all, it reminds us that Joshlin Smith is not only a court case, a headline, or a symbol.
She is a child who disappeared.
And until she is found, the question remains: did South Africa move fast enough, and will it move faster next time?
