A high whine came from the print glazer in a corner of Photographic. Prinsloo slouched over and spat on the revolving chrome-plated drum. His saliva jittered into steam.
“Hot enough-we can begin,” he said.
Van Niekerk took a handful of small prints from the sink and handed it over.
“Not too many at once, Willie, I’ve got to lay them out on this cloth belt and it moves slowly.”
“Going to take a long time?”
“Ja.”
“He wants them by ten.”
“So? Your Lieutenant bloody Kramer is going to learn he can’t do everything in a hurry. And next time he’ll ask the blokes with the original negative for his prints.”
Van Niekerk took a snack from his left nostril unnoticed.
“Zondi’s the one who gets on my wick,” he grumbled. “What’s this with him and Kramer?”
Prinsloo shrugged.
“I can let you have them in batches if that’s any good,” he said, pulling over the guillotine ready to trim off the excess paper.
“Fine.”
“You can let me have some more now.”
“I slept here last night.”
“Oh, yes? He works you hard, does he?”
“Non-stop. And you should see him this morning, you would think he was up against the clock.”
“His nerves must be shot to hell.”
“Dead jumpy.”
Kramer cleared his throat two feet behind them.
Moosa was almost inconsolable. But Zondi managed it in the end.
“Where should I go, Sergeant?” he asked, accepting the photograph of Lenny.
“You can forget about Trichaard Street, Gershwin’s given it a bad name for a while. I’ve got some people at the market, the station, the beer halls. I don’t know-where you like.”
“I see. It’s all hands to the wheel.”
“What’s that?”
“You’re calling in all of us.”
“Sure, you’ve got it.”
“Then I might take a little stroll over towards the river. I’ve not seen that part for some time.”
“You won’t see much either. It’s white now.”
“Oh dear.”
“But go where you like, man. Just keep your eye on the cars-that’s the important thing. If you see him in one, get the number and ring in.”
“But will that rude Boer master answer me?”
“I’ll be there.”
“And the name? I meant to write it down.”
“Leon Francis-they call him Lenny. He was seen leaving his place in a blue suit. Five foot six.”
“Thank you.”
“So long then.”
Moosa got up to open the door for him.
“One minute, Moosa, another thing. You haven’t gone talking big all over the place, have you? Nobody knows?”
“Indeed to goodness, no! Allah forbid.”
But Zondi left still pondering the very different reception he had had from Gogol-and the knowing little wink.
Kramer was waiting for him in the Chev at the corner.
“Get in, man, we haven’t got all day. I want you for a job.”
They drove off.
“Moosa’s talked.”
“Let him. It’s a good idea to let them think we have to use Moosa.”
“We’ll still pay him, boss?”
“Why not? People may tell him things, revenge or some crap like that. Make it piece rates.”
“I’m sorry, boss.”
“I tell you Moosa was a good idea. But didn’t you pick up anything from the others?”
“Nothing.”
“Or weren’t they saying?”
“They are very worried about something, but I do not think they have ever seen this Lenny before.”
“Man, this is strange, Zondi. It was the same with mine. They would tell me if they knew-even just for protection.”
“Quite so, boss. A bad spirit is hiding here; it is like when the birds in the bush go quiet and yet there has been no sound.”
“Of course, I don’t think Lenny operated in Trekkersburg and we didn’t give them the link-up. So that leaves us with trying the pie-cart trick again. Remember his mother said that she had asked him to put flowers for her at the crematorium?”
“Mr Abbott he said no flowers.”
“That was only while he was there, man. Lenny could have come by later.”
Zondi put a Lucky in Kramer’s mouth and lit it. He took one for himself.
“So that is why we go this road?”
“Yes, I want you to have a word with the boys there. The ones who work in the garden. Ach, what’s the matter, man?”
“That fellow would not put flowers for his mother-he’s a bad one.”
“It would be hard for him not to do it if she asked him.”
“But I thought he was frightened to come here?”
“You’ve got to be careful, Zondi, you’re mixing up what we think with what we know.”
“But boss-”
Kramer thumped the steering wheel with his fist.
“Listen, kaffir, ” he bellowed. “We’ve got nothing on this case worth a pot full of snot and we’ve got until tonight to get somewhere or I’m in trouble. You too.”
Zondi immersed himself in his fingernails until they arrived at the crematorium.
“Wait,” Kramer said, and went into the building.
He found the white-coated superintendent coming out of his office.
“Good morning, I’m Mr Byers, can I help you?”
“CID, Mr Byers. Can my boy ask yours some questions?”
“He’s not going to upset them, is he? They’re hard enough to get out here on the hill.”
“No, the inquiry has nothing to do with them.”
“Go ahead then. I was just going to ask where the tea had got to-would you like some while he’s busy?”
Kramer hesitated. He was still angry, but angry now at himself.
“Ta, I’d like some. I’m Lieutenant Kramer, by the way.”
“Ah! Just the chap I want to see, I’m told. But you go and get rid of the boy first.”
Kramer went over to the big plate-glass doors and beckoned Zondi over.
“Round the back here, there’s a bloke making tea. Chat him up for a start.”
He winked. Zondi smiled back.
“Then trot over to that place with the wall around it. There’s a garden inside with name-plates and flowers in the middle. Look them over and talk to whoever works there. The boss wants to speak to me.”
“Thanks boss.”
Kramer went into the office. Byers was taking a cardboard box out of a cupboard.
“There you are, Lieutenant. The tea’s coming-so’s Christmas. Now what do we do about this?”
The box was much lighter than Kramer had expected. He shook it.
“What is it?” he asked.
“The old dear that Georgie Abbott sent us by mistake.”
“Hell, I’d forgotten about her. Can’t you-er?”
“Sprinkle her about a bit? Oh, a little more wouldn’t hurt, but I’m afraid I must abide by the old by-laws. No papers, no last resting place here.”
“Then I suppose I’d better take it back with me meantime.”
“Good chap. Just sign this receipt, would you? Thanks.”
“Now I’m here, Mr Byers, perhaps I could ask you a few questions?”
“Certainly, delighted. But first I must ask you to come with me through to the control room. I’ve Maxwell amp; Flynn arriving any minute now. Friday is our busy day.”
Kramer followed him across.
“Please just go ahead, I’m going to fiddle about a bit but I can listen,” Byers said, closing the door.
Kramer sat down. He tapped the box in his lap.
“You know then, Mr Byers, that this lady was not intended for you. We’re interested in the one that was.”
“Naturally.”
“Mr Abbott has given us a statement in which he said that there was nobody attending this funeral and no flowers.”
“Well, he got that right anyway.”
“How would you know?”
“You’ve been here for a funeral, I suppose? You will then have noticed the officiating clergy presses a floor switch at the appropriate moment. That lights this up and I know when to start the music and get it rolling. Right?”
Kramer nodded. He had not asked for a detailed lecture but he should have realised the control panel had the look of a fancy toy about it.
“Now what if that bulb in there should go? There would be no red flash for me and what could happen then?”
“You’d hear the slow clapping begin.”
That was a mistake.
“I believe in a little levity at times, Lieutenant, but never in respect of the living. This is an important service we provide. It is not as simple as it looks. Timing is vital. And remember, the slightest hitch can cause immense distress to the bereaved who are already suffering enough.”
It took Kramer a moment or two to recover.
“I’m sorry, sir. Go on please.”
“It wasn’t anything, really. I was just going to point out to you this peephole gadget I’ve had installed for just such a contingency. I make a practice of regular inspections and can assure you that at no time did I see anyone present at that funeral besides the clergy and the funeral directors.”
“Is it one of those wide-angle lens things?”
“It is. Rather neat I think.”
Kramer put his eye to it.
“You didn’t see anyone hanging about before or afterwards?”
“No. Not that there’s really anywhere for them to hang, as you put it.”
There was a tap at the door and a sulky Zulu man entered with a tea tray.
“It’s taken you long enough, Philemon. Got your girl-friend in there, have you?”
Philemon kept his eyes on the brimming milk jug.
“All right, put it down over there and then go and give the front steps another wipe over. There’s been a dog sniffing about, leaving dust marks.”
“Yes, my boss. The policeman he wants to talk to his master.”
“I say, old boy-don’t go, have your tea first. I’m sorry I snapped like that, you just touched on rather a sore point.”
“I’ll come back,” Kramer said.
He returned in less than a minute.
“Any luck?”
“None at all.”
And Kramer’s face showed it.
“I’m just letting it stew a bit. Old Philemon never bothers to warm the pot first. Any more questions?”
“I can’t think of any, Mr Byers. Can you? Did anything unusual happen at all on Tuesday?”
“Hmmm. Why, it did, come to think of it.”
“What?”
“Oh, nothing you chappies want to know about. Milk?”
“Ta.”
“Oops, not ready yet. We’ll give it another minute.”
Claustrophobia had never been one of Kramer’s problems but now he began to exhibit signs of susceptibility. He disregarded the no smoking sign and lit a Lucky.
“Now where had we got to? Oh, yes. Seeing as we’ve got a moment or two, I may as well tell you. Quite the nicest thing happened; the chairman of the Parks Committee, no less, paid a call on me. He is nominally in charge of us, you see, and we are, in turn, responsible to him. Yet despite this I’ve never known a chairman before take the slightest notice of us personally. Milk, you said?”
Kramer poured his own.
“Some of these councillors have no right to be in office, if you ask me. They give you a job and expect you to get on with it. The only time you hear from them is when things go wrong. But Councillor Trenshaw not only called on me in my office, he also asked to see over the whole establishment. It was the end of the afternoon so I was happy to oblige him.”
“Why did he decide to come at that time? Did he know your hours?”
Kramer felt he had to say something.
“That was the most heartening aspect of it all, Lieutenant. He had been a mourner at the last funeral of this day but, as he said, he’d not let that make him forget the backroom boys.”
Councillor Trenshaw sounded a bit of a ghoul. Kramer’s interest picked up.
“And you showed him all over the place, you said? What about his dead friend?”
“More of a family acquaintance, I gathered.”
“Still, it seems a funny moment to pick. Do you mean he was there when the oven was going?”
“Of course.”
“Christ.”
“Good heavens! I see what you’re getting at, old boy. They were still taking the handles off in the preparation room when we went through to the incinerator. It was the girl who was being done-or so we thought at the time. We even discussed her case.”
“Really?”
“Councillor Trenshaw was very interested in her. He had arrived early for his friend’s funeral, which was immediately after hers, and had noticed how sad it was there were no people or flowers. That’s why he asked me who it was.”
“You gave her name?”
“Well, that’s all I knew-wasn’t it? And I told him her age because Farthing had mentioned it to me in passing.”
“I see. Well, it takes all kinds. I don’t think I’d have stayed around in that room. Too morbid for me.”
“I’m surprised to hear you say that with your job. Councillor Trenshaw wasn’t the least troubled. Why, he waited there to see the procedure when we opened the doors again. It gave me an excellent opportunity to press for some more up-to-date equipment.”
“You could say then, Mr Byers-and don’t get me wrong-that Councillor Trenshaw enjoyed his visit?”
“I would rather say that he seemed very satisfied with everything he saw. He congratulated us all.”
Mr Byers glanced up at the clock.
“I must be mad. Here am I, gabbling away about nothing, and I’ve got the new tapes to put on. You must excuse me.”
Suddenly there were a lot of questions that Kramer wanted to ask. Far more than he knew would be prudent. So he left.
And all the way back to town he remained silent.
Zondi was changing down for the turn into De Wet Street towards the office when Kramer ordered him to carry straight on. He did so without question. He understood.
Presently they arrived at Trekkersburg Bird Sanctuary. Apart from the water fowl on the lake, and a giant tortoise, it was deserted. The thousands of egrets which also lived there commuted to the countryside during the day-returning at dusk to shriek and squabble deafeningly in the trees. This was what brought the crowds; no show, no humans.
It was quiet.
The tortoise ignored Zondi. After one hundred and nine years, or so claimed the brass plate bolted to its shell, there was nothing new in the world.
Zondi dropped a burning cigarette stub in front of its head to see what would happen. Nothing.
But Kramer had to react to smoke when he sniffed it.
“Zondi!”
“I come, boss.”
The door was already open for him.
A black Oldsmobile made its way swiftly along De Wet Street. The driver, a tough, red-faced man with oiled grey hair, handled it well-braking neatly out of the flow of traffic and slipping into the parking-prohibited area in front of the main branch of Barclay’s Bank. A freckled youth in shirtsleeves sat chewing beside him.
Van Niekerk paused to watch them.
The driver took a careful look around. Then he nodded to the youth and they got out. Both were armed.
A passing shorthand typist, hurrying back from a hair appointment, heard Van Niekerk’s sigh and half-turned. But his eyes were on the men.
The driver had tucked his revolver into his waistband and was unlocking the boot of the Oldsmobile. His young companion stood self-consciously over him, the automatic in his hand really far too large to dangle casually by the trigger guard.
“You’d better look out how you handle that thing,” Van Niekerk reprimanded. “The safety’s off and there could be trouble if it dropped.”
“Mind your own bloody business,” the driver said, heaving two bulky briefcases out of the car.
The youth insolently blew a bubble with his gum. It burst and stuck to the embryo ginger moustache.
Van Niekerk had to laugh.
“We’d soon change your ways in the Force,” he said mildly, turning his back on an outburst of apologies.
And then he sighed again.
Of all days, the Lieutenant had to pick a Friday to send him on a check of the banks. Friday when money was pouring in by the bagful, struggling out by the walletful, and every teller in the town had a queue long enough to buy the Mona Lisa.
Van Niekerk had been shrewd enough to ask the managers to accompany him to the counters in each case, but even this was not much help. They were harassed, too, and as impatient as their staff in trying to identify a customer from a photograph. Computers had made faces redundant.
“If only you could let us have an account number,” they repeated.
“Miss Theresa le Roux?”
“No.”
“Miss Phillips?”
“Not any of our Miss Phillipses.”
And so a long, tedious, fruitless task had come to an end. The main branch of Barclay’s had not been able to help either.
Van Niekerk stepped back into the sun.
“I’m buggered if I know why people use banks,” he muttered to himself. “I wouldn’t if I didn’t have to.”
Then he realised there was no reason why the girl should use a bank-she didn’t have a wife like his who enjoyed flashing a cheque book around.
He walked quickly down to the building society branch nearest to Barnato Street and went in. There were the usual three or four customers trying to make the tethered pens write.
“Can I help you?”
“Yes, miss. CID. Just look at this snap, please.”
“Not her surely?”
“Who?”
“That funny Miss What’s-her-name. Beryl, come over here a minute.”
There were times whenVan Niekerk felt that his church was quite wrong in what it said about the mini-skirt. The pleasure he experienced was supremely innocent and so, he felt sure, was Beryl.
“That’s Miss Phillips,” she said firmly. “She always pays in ten-Rand notes. But she took them all out again last week and hasn’t been in since.”
“Oh, Beryl, you can’t say that without asking Mr Fourie first!”
“Never mind, I just wanted to know if you knew her,” Van Niekerk soothed. “I’ll see Mr Fourie now, please, but I won’t tell, girls.”
Beryl smiled and walked very innocently across to fetch Mr Fourie from his office.
A lone egret flapped slowly overhead. They watched it bank, identify a particular nest, and come in with its flaps down hard.
“Must have got the sack,” Kramer murmured.
Zondi frowned.
“Forget it, man. Just tell me what you’re thinking now about what I said.”
“Hau, it can mean big, big, trouble.”
“And even bigger trouble if we’re wrong, Zondi. That’s the bugger of it. One mistake and it’ll be the Brigadier for us this time. And the bloody chop.”
“Maybe it is best that this time you talk with Colonel Dupe.”
“It’d give him a miscarriage.”
“You whites,” Zondi shook his head. “Why is it when a man becomes a big boss like with the council you think he can do no wrong? With my people we make our chiefs by the blood, this way we do not get the skelms telling us what to do. No man does all this work for nothing, like you say this boss Trenshaw does.”
“It’s called democracy, man. They don’t do it for nothing though, many of them like to help.”
“By telling other persons what to do?”
“All right then, they’re after the power it gives them.”
“You can like that thing too much, boss.”
“True.”
“There have been other gangs with a white boss, like the one robbing the stores in Zululand.”
“Joey Allen’s mob? But he was white rubbish, not a bloody city councillor.”
“That’s why they catch him so easy, I think. Could be this boss Trenshaw is a clever one. He is white-he knows the white people must respect him.”
“OK, man, OK. So what do I tell the Colonel?”
“He knows what Shoe Shoe’s telling Gershwin about the bosses.”
“He doesn’t believe it.”
“Tell him the other thing then.”
“Fine, I just walk into his office and say I’ve linked Councillor Trenshaw with the murdered girl. How? Oh, easy, sir. You see he did a strange thing. Right after going to a friend’s funeral he went round the back and saw what he thought was the girl in question being burned up to nothing. He waited until she was nothing, sir, and then said how pleased he was with how things were going.”
“You’re talking a silly way, boss.”
Kramer shared out the remainder of the meal they had bought in Durban at the pie-cart. Zondi took his portion gratefully.
“Let me try again, then. I’ll say I have reason to believe that Councillor Trenshaw was seen and heard acting suspiciously at the crematorium on Tuesday this week. Asked to give an explanation for this allegation, I will state that whatever a man’s sense of responsibility, there is a time and a place. I will point out that this girl’s funeral was advertised in the Press that morning and that, according to information received from the superintendent of the crematorium, the aforesaid Councillor Trenshaw did not admit to a close relationship with the deceased party involved in the funeral which followed.”
He paused to take a bite from his fragment of pie.
“I will then add that, in my opinion, Councillor Trenshaw displayed an unnatural interest in the workings of the establishment-and an unnatural interest in the incineration of a body, believed to be that of the girl in the funeral advertisement.
“I will state that his interest went beyond the casual interest of a normal person observing such proceedings in that he insisted on staying until the body was totally destroyed.
“And at this point I will ask permission to introduce a hypothesis which may shed some light on the matter.”
Zondi snorted, showering crust flakes all over his suit.
“What’s the matter? Do I sound like Sam Safrinsky?”
“Supreme court, boss! Not just Jewboy lawyer.”
“Thanks. Do you know what a hypothesis is?”
“Very dirty talk that, boss.”
The laughter did a lot for both of them.
“Listen and learn then, kaffir. My hypothesis is that Councillor Trenshaw is taking part in some illegal enterprise of a nature so serious that it involves the liquidation of certain of its members when they prove difficult or of no further use. Furthermore, I suggest that a man of Councillor Trenshaw’s education and intelligence could well be the head of this enterprise. This is improbable but not, with respect, impossible.
“And on this basis, I suggest that Councillor Trenshaw went to the crematorium with the express purpose of reassuring himself that certain evidence had been satisfactorily destroyed-to use his own words.
“Furthermore, there is the question of the method used. If we allow this hypothesis to include the death of Bantu male Shoe Shoe, we will note that this was carried out by proxy. It was done badly but did not in any way provide an obvious link to this alleged enterprise. You could say that whoever ordered the killing was satisfied that the victim could not reveal anything specific-from this we deduce the victim had already been interrogated-and that it was much safer to have it done in this way.
“But then we come to the girl. There need be no scruples in killing her for she is a Coloured and they know her position. But as far as the world is concerned, she is a white. The gang, if I may call it that, takes the precaution of importing an assassin from the Rand. All goes according to plan but Councillor Trenshaw is understandably anxious there will be no hitches. How very natural for him to display such an interest in her final disposal.”
It was still very quiet beside the lake.
“You are right, it is no good, boss,” Zondi said after dusting himself down. “This ‘high’ thing you are talking about does not put Tessa with Boss Trenshaw before she gets killed.”
“I know it doesn’t, Zondi. It’s all bloody bull probably. And we can’t risk our necks on that. I’m not even sure that Byers bloke was telling the exact truth. He could have been building up his story to make it sound even better for him. Look, it’s half past twelve now. Take me up there again quickly and then we’ll get back to see what Sergeant Van Niekerk has found out.”