The Sunday Hangman by James McClure Read Free Book Online Page A

kak! You had nothing to do with it!”
    “Then why did you, Tromp? Even Van Heerden looked a bit surprised.”
    “It was a job he could do best.”
    “So you might believe, but—”
    “No, in
his
bloody opinion!” Kramer chopped across. “It was also his idea.”
    Strydom put his glasses back on and stared for a while.
    “Can you explain that some more to me?”
    This wasn’t a topic Kramer liked in the least, and he wished he’d not responded at all, but the damage was done, and he had to go on.
    “It would have been hard on the man to say no. Zondi has never done less than his best.”
    “Nobody’s arguing. But you know that it’s my duty to report on the fitness of all CID staff, and that I depend on all senior officers for help with my assessments. Not once have I had anything from you, and that is making my position with Colonel Muller very difficult. I can’t keep writing ‘Progress as expected’ week after week without him wondering when all this progress is going to stop, and he has an A-l Bantu again. You do know that he insists on every member of CID being 100 percent fit, hey?”
    “I heard it was 100 percent efficient.”
    With an uneasy laugh, Strydom said, “And I’d always understood that the two went together.”
    “So what do you want me to say? Chuck him on the scrap-pile?”
    “We didn’t say that when you got yourself shot up in that Portuguese café, Tromp. Please don’t get unreasonable.”
    It was on the tip of Kramer’s tongue to point out how unreasonable a comparison that was, and to do this very forcibly, when a much simpler solution occurred to him.
    “Doc, just listen,” he said gruffly, like a man baring his soul. “I’ve had that boy for how many years now? Do you know how many hours I’ve spent training him? You should know what slow learners some of them are, man, even if you’ve never had to work with them. But I tell you, and others would say exactly the same, that when you get a good boy, then you want to hold on to him. You must know as well as I do what could happen if mine was—”
    “Say no more,” Strydom interrupted. “I’ve got the same thing with Nxumalo down at my morgue. And besides, you sound like my wife, when the cookboy wants to give in his notice! But seeing as we are talking like friends again, the way we ought always to talk, then please take some friendly advice. Your noncooperation in this matter could have far-reaching effects, and I wouldn’t want to be party to that.”
    “Up to you, Doc.”
    “Damn and blast, Tromp! You don’t seem to appreciate what I’m trying to do for you off the record. Very well; I make out my next report on him this coming Monday. You send me a memo anytime before that you like. But if I don’t get your memo, then you and the Colonel can argue the toss over what it is he requires. And I don’t envy you trying to prove your version either!”
    Kramer felt he’d gone some small way towards providing that proof when Zondi, looking very chipper, if in need of a good dry-clean, flagged them down at the picnic spot. He clearly had something useful to impart—which, as it turned out, far exceeded any expectations.
    “Let’s hear it,” Kramer said, winding down his window.
    “Two things, Lieutenant.”
    “Shoot.”
    “Number one, I have reason to believe,” replied Zondi, who was such a flagrant mimic most of his subjects never noticed, “that the body of the deceased was brought to this place after his demise.”
    “What?” said Strydom, leaning across. “Did someone see this?”
    “Not in as many words, Dr. Strydom, sir, but observations were indeed made. My witnesses stand over by the fence.”
    Two potbellied, small Zulu boys, possibly aged five and eight, dressed in a man’s ragged shirt and a woman’s tornsummer shorts, respectively, peered at them from behind hands shyly raised.
    “Part of the raiding party here today,” Zondi explained, a smile flickering. “I thought it expedient to