“And Lenny? What did he say to all this?”
“He was still in the reformatory at the time. I told him when he got back and he was angry. He said he would kill her for leaving me.”
That could have been awkward but Kramer said lightly: “So old Lenny has a temper, has he?”
“You’ve never heard the like of it! I don’t know where he gets it from either, my Pat was the quietest of men. But he loved his old mum, you see, and didn’t think it right what Tessa had done. Not until I told him about the other thing.”
“How did he take that?”
“For a long time he was as quiet as can be. Then he came to me in the kitchen and said perhaps it was best she had gone. There had been enough disgrace in the family.”
Kramer was stiff having sat for so long. He stood up and stretched and slumped down again with an encouraging smile.
“Better finish it now, Gladys. Now we’ve got so far. Tell me, how did you know that Theresa le Roux was your daughter?”
Mrs Francis smiled crookedly.
“Because I chose the name for her, sir. It was the one thing I asked of her. I wanted to know in case anything happened, in case she became famous.”
“And you read it in the Gazette? ”
“No, I don’t get a paper. It was Lenny who came round to tell me.”
“Had he left home then, too?”
“He wasn’t trying for white as well, if that’s what you think.”
“I don’t.”
“Lenny’s a good boy, sir. But he is a young man and it is right he should have his own place.”
“Of course.”
“Well, as I was saying, Lenny came round to me two days ago-Tuesday-and told me about the funeral notice. I asked him to drive me up here straight away so I could go to it, but he said no.”
“Why was that?”
“Because he said it could mean trouble for us if anyone found out. I said, what could the police do to us? But he said it was best not to, even if it was hard. I knew he was thinking of his job.”
“Oh? Where does he work?”
“I don’t know exactly-he’s never told me. You see, sir, I think he is a little ashamed of it; a Coloured person’s job somewhere. That’s why I never asked him straight out. He has his rights like his sis-must you hear all this?”
“Just tell me the rest quickly, Gladys.”
“Yes, sir. All right. Lenny said not to fret too much because he would make sure there were some flowers from me at the crematorium. He could leave them there without a card and nobody would know. He’s a good boy to his mother. Anyway, he left and I went by myself to the church where the nuns are.”
Kramer took the Press cutting out and put it on her lap.
“Did they show you this, too?”
She picked it up slowly.
“I haven’t seen Lenny again so far,” she said. “No, what happened was this. Yesterday morning I suddenly wanted to have the paper with the funeral thing in it. I wanted something I could see, if you understand.
“I asked in town where I could buy the Trekkersburg paper and they said at the station. My mind was in such a whirl, you see, that I didn’t think that the funeral was already over and there would be nothing in it. Then I noticed this.”
“It must have been quite a shock. Did you try to contact Lenny?”
“No, sir. He would never let me come here but I had to find out. Besides, I don’t know where he lives.”
So that was it. She had made another sacrifice, given him his privacy, too. Both the little bastards had abandoned her.
“Lenny is going to be really cross when he hears what’s happened now,” Mrs Francis added quietly.
Moosa had been pacing up and down his room for more than an hour. At least that was all Gogol could conclude from the heavy thumping sounds overhead. He stood behind his till and stared fascinated at the ceiling. It showed no movement but one of the neon strips had developed a stutter with the vibrations. Altogether it was quite extraordinary-the old devil was normally so lazy he kept a chamber pot in the wardrobe.
A customer slipped into the shop, a white youth in a T-shirt, jeans and expensive suede shoes. Gogol ignored him.
“I’d like these grapes, please.”
“One pound-two pounds?”
“One.”
He did not want grapes, Gogol knew that. Still, he might as well go through it-every little helped.
The grapes were dumped into the dirty scale-pan, weighed, tipped into a brown paper packet.
“Anything else, sir?”
The old ritual. Gogol realised the youth resented his look of disdain, but no doubt it was preferable to the recriminatory expression of a chemist’s assistant.
“Two, please.”
Gogol reached under the till, palmed a couple of packets of rubber prophylactics and popped them in with the grapes.
“One Rand fifty, sir.”
The youth paid without demur.
It amused Gogol to watch him head for his sleek sports car on the other side of Trichaard Street and make a mess of his take-off. They were always so nervous.
The thumpings had stopped.
Gogol turned from the shop window just in time to see Moosa, all dressed up to the nines, lifting a bag of peanuts from the spike. He must have come downstairs on tiptoe like the Phantom Avenger.
“Hold it!”
Gogol snapped his fingers and extended his right hand. To his immense surprise, Moosa put a Rand note into it.
“On account,” Moosa said airily. Then he walked to the shop-door and opened it.
“Where the hell you think you’re going?” Gogol asked.
“Out on a little business,” Moosa replied. “I’m going to see a man about a car.”
Of all the bloody cheek.
Kramer had one thing on his mind when he arrived back at his office with Mrs Francis: he was hungry. So ravenously hungry that the void had squeezed its way right up his gullet and was now fingering the little button that makes you retch. It reminded him of his childhood and that was intolerable.
As was the sight of Van Niekerk tidying up the remains of a late lunch eaten at the desk off a large white table napkin. The sergeant’s wife was obviously an excellent provider. In the centre of the cloth was a pint-size thermos flask with splashes of gravy on its wide rim. Around it were gathered a number of translucent plastic containers, very like those used for cultures, each containing a scrap of lettuce or some other organic residue.
“All you need now is a ruddy microscope and you’ll really be set up,” Kramer grunted.
“Pardon, sir?”
“This all you’ve got to do-eat?”
“It’s after two, sir. I’ve been busy and I’ve got something for you.”
“Not now. Where’s Zondi?”
“Oh, he’s back. Just fetching my coffee.”
“Right.”
Kramer turned to Mrs Francis, who had been doing her best to remain hidden from Van Niekerk behind his back.
“I’ll take you down to an office where you can be alone for a while,” he said. “The Bantu sergeant will bring you something to eat.”
