The Song Dog by James McClure Read Free Book Online Page A

guest room at that hour?”
    “Sorry? I’m not quite with you, Tromp.”
    “I’ve seen blast injuries before,” said Kramer. “You get a lot of them on the mines in the Free State. To be actually blown to pieces, she’d have had to be practically standing on the bloody thing—not lying in bed in another room.”
    “Well, I suppose Annika could’ve heard a noise in the night and come through here to the guest room to investigate,” suggested Terblanche.
    “Sounds logical,” agreed Kramer. “Ja, you’re probably right. By the way, what are these funny marks in the mud?”
    “Ach, that’s just crocodile spoor,” said Terblanche. “I remember once, when I came over for a few beers with the builder who put the place up, there were these big old crocs under the house. He said they were there often and weren’t any trouble. You just had to be careful that one didn’t do a snap at your leg when you came down the front steps.”
    “Ja, my auntie had a fox terrier like that once,” said Kramer, “until I trod on the bastard. But this I don’t understand: crocodiles that live in the sea?”
    “No, in the estuary—it’s still fresh water, you see.”
    “Ah, I get you …”
    Kramer turned his attention to the estuary for a moment. It was a silty brown, like tea with a dollop of condensed milk in it, and it had a margin of scum the same as the mouth of a sherry tramp. A little way out, some mud banks rose like small, flat islands only a couple of inches or so above the water, and on these were about a dozen crocodiles. They lay totally inert, armor-plated, some with jaws agape, their hideous teeth on show.
    “At least with lizards,” said Kramer, “you can see when the one you’re up against is a bloody psychopath, hey?”
    Terblanche smiled wearily. “Ours has never been an easy job,” he said. “Time to go, hey?”
    Heading back through the cane fields toward Jafini to retrieve his car, Kramer said nothing for a long while, but reflected on what he had learned so far. Admittedly, it wasn’t much, but there were definitely some intriguing aspects to the case.
    “You know, Hans, what I find most significant?” Kramer said, stirring to light a Lucky. “It’s the way Kritz hid his car out of earshot of the house and then came sneaking up on foot with his gun at the ready. This can only mean he knew in advance something bad was on the go at Fynn’s Creek last night—and tried hard not to give away his approach.”
    “Ja, that’s a fact, Tromp.”
    “And so the big question becomes: How did Kritz come by such knowledge? Who tipped him off that some maniac was going to blow—”
    “Totally beyond me!” said Terblanche. “The tip-off can’t have been long before, though, or surely he’d have asked for some backup from the rest of us.”
    “Good point, unless he was overplaying the Lone Ranger,” said Kramer. “You’re positive Kritz hadn’t mentioned anything to you recently that could have a—”
    “No, nothing, Tromp. Of that I’m certain. In fact, I’ve been thinking, and it’s two whole days since I last saw him, typing up a statement in his office. His family last saw him yesterday morning, since when nobody seems to have seen him at all.”
    “What about his sidekick Malan?”
    “The same. So far as he was aware, his boss was out working on just routine Bantu cases. Nothing special.”
    “Hmmm,” said Kramer. “Who else might know what Kritz was up to lately? Did he talk to his wife about his job?”
    Terblanche shook his head. “I doubt that very much,” he said. “Hettie’s a nervous little thing, always biting her nails and getting stomach cramps almost for nothing. I remember the time she told my wife she hated being married to a policeman because of all the dangers and so forth. Five of us had just been stabbed to death doing a marijuana raid in the reserve.”
    “So Hettie will be taking this badly?”
    “Too true! Doc Mackenzie’s had to put a big injection