The Sunday Hangman by James McClure Read Free Book Online

ENDS .
    “I must say I’ve always preferred a blue myself,” said Strydom, folding the Telex message and handing it back. “But where would this bloke find mountains to stare at?”
    “Probably the bloody mine dumps,” answered Kramer, giving the Chev the gun as Doringboom petered out.
    “You’re a bit upset?”
    Hearing it put this way, Kramer had to smile. “Ach, not really, Doc. At least it backs up what we collected on Tollie: he’d never have bought himself a motor that was warmer than a sodding Easter egg.”
    “I suppose it’s over to Jo’burg now?”
    “That side of it. Christ, it was lucky you were around today.”
    They covered a silent kilometer.
    “No, I meant what I said to young Myburgh, Tromp; he’d not have missed the brandy, nor would he have left matters after the firearms find. He could have received the same help from several sources besides myself—Prinsloo, for instance. The basic trouble was our dependency, to a degree, on textbooks from England.”
    “Oh, ja?”
    “The English are not, you see, taken on average, a very big race. Or at least this appears to be true of their criminal classes, and so these misunderstandings occur when generalizations are made. Now, don’t mistake me; the English had hanging down to a fine art before they chickened out, but all that doesn’t go into a forensic handbook. Myburgh reacted as I would have done under similar circumstances.”
    “All the same,” said Kramer, accepting his light, “I still say it was one hell of a coincidence.”
    Strydom looked away. “Okay, so I admit it.”
    “What?”
    “That this trip wasn’t so coincidental. It didn’t even have anything to do with Erasmus, except maybe indirectly. You could say it sort of triggered off an idea.”
    “I’m not with you, Doc.”
    “Er—this really ought to have come up naturally. You know? I just thought it would be a good opportunity for you and me to have a little chat. Man, you don’t know how impossible it is normally to get you alone in one place for more than two minutes. However, you brought Zondi to do the driving and—”
    “
Ach
, I see!”
    “No, Tromp, I don’t think so,” Strydom replied grimly.
    Kramer, whose thoughts had been trying to fit around the idea of an execution, which was harder than grabbing wet soap with boxing gloves on, realized abruptly what was being said. While he couldn’t read the innuendo, some kind of trouble layvery plainly between the lines. This baffled him because, whatever they might say behind each other’s back, he and Strydom got on well together, being always careful whom they said it to. And when it came down to sorting out a stiff, the Doc seldom let you down. Yet morgue work was only a single aspect of the DS’s duties, Kramer remembered now, and felt himself tensing up. Strydom was also required to attend corporal punishment at the triangle, to investigate complaints by political detainees, to give yellow fever shots to air travelers, and to care for the health of all police personnel and their dependents, under the force’s free medical scheme. Being rather dull by comparison, this latter function wasn’t one that sprang readily to mind—as it certainly should have done.
    “Doctor, what the hell are you trying to say?” Kramer demanded. “It’s about Zondi, am I right?”
    Strydom sighed, turning the sound into a low chuckle of respect. Then he took off his glasses to clean them—an old ploy of his when he wanted to appear defenseless—and began speaking again in an entirely different tone. At a guess, it was intended to be soothing, but its effect rivaled the scrape of fingernails down a whitewashed wall.
    “I know you’re a bit touchy in this regard,” Strydom said. “You even proved as much this afternoon, by making him walk five kilometers just to impress me.”
    “Rubbish.”
    “You had no special need for the information at that stage, Tromp. I know it was my presence that influenced—”
    “Ach,