“Oh, somebody knocked his block off.”
“Hey?”
“Murdered him,” Kramer mouthed from the door, and then added aloud, “Not in front of a lady.”
People often ask policemen what it is like to go around breaking the news of sudden death. It can be a lot of laughs.
Japie Vermaak was also an engine driver, a somewhat more prosperous one than Boetie’s father because he was in command of an electric unit. This in turn meant that the car in his garage was American rather than English and twice the size. But that was not what he was pointing to.
“There’s Hennie,” he said. “You can just see his feet. Been in there from when his ma gave him a bath, she tells me. Now don’t ask me why because I don’t know.”
“He’s upset!” his wife said.
“Naturally,” soothed Kramer. “I’m sorry-”
“No, man, it was best he should know. Maybe it’ll stop him going off without telling his ma or me what the game is.”
Mrs. Vermaak clucked. She made a good hen to his rooster, what with her small, bustling body and his slow strut and red hair. Sad they had managed only the one egg.
“Besides,” Mr. Vermaak continued, “it was rather you than me who had to tell him. He and Boetie were big pals-that was half the trouble.”
“What was?”
“Them charging about at night God knows where. I’m working then, you see, and it was a worry for the wife.”
“Has this been going on long?”
“What do you say, Lettie?”
“Not recently it hasn’t, but it was very bad at one time.”
“Whilst he was in the Detective Club?”
“Oh, no, that was only Fridays.”
“I see.”
“Suppose he’s been spoilt a bit,” Mr. Vermaak admitted. “Always difficult when they’re on their own. They need company their own age.”
“He seemed a very nice, well brought-up boy to me, sir. Sure I can talk to him again so soon?”
“Man, it’s our duty, isn’t it, Lieutenant?”
“I’m not so…” began Mrs. Vermaak.
But Kramer was already striding down the drive toward the garage.
The Security Branch offices lay out of earshot at the rear of the stone-faced CID building. The Murder Squad occupied the rest of the first floor, apart from a small section for Housebreaking, with most of its barred windows overlooking the street and the raw material passing by.
There was a window and a pair of men to each room; a system sound enough in theory, as they were assigned opposing shifts, but one at best congenial in practice. Which was why Kramer had pinned his name to the door of one of the interrogation rooms and called it his own.
Zondi went in ahead of him and opened the blind. The sun straight in his eyes made him sneeze. It was odd, that.
“Time?”
“Half-past five, boss.”
“God, I was a long time at the Vermaaks’ place. That kid wasn’t easy.”
“But you haven’t told me what he said yet.”
“I’m still thinking about it.”
Kramer sat down at his desk. He took a toffee tin from his pocket. He placed it carefully before him.
“ Hau, what’s that?”
“All in good time. Run down to Records and get me a crime summary for last month.”
As soon as Zondi had slouched out, Kramer dialed the Widow Fourie’s home number. There was no reply. He used a finger to depress the telephone’s disengage button and then tried again. Still no reply. He prodded the button automatically. Suddenly an idea occurred that both surprised and pleased him enormously. What a resourceful fellow he was. Leaving the receiver to purr like a cat in his lap, he opened the directory.
This time the response was immediate.
“The headmaster, please… Oh, Mr. Marais?… Yes, they would all be gone by now but I guessed you’d be catching up on paper work left over from this morning… That’s right-Lieutenant Kramer… Terrible, terrible… Naturally… As a matter of fact, you could: I’d like a word with Miss Louw tonight-do you have her home address handy?… Thanks… Flat 36, Aloe Mansions. Fine. Of course I will. Bye now.”
It was always a pleasure to deal with a genuinely busy man when you wanted something in a hurry.
“Nothing big, boss,” said Zondi, reappearing with the summary. “What special do you want?”
“Serious crime while we were away on that job in Zululand.”
“Murders? Five of them.”
“Forget the Bantu stuff. Just concentrate on Greenside.”
Zondi looked mildly surprised. The posh suburb of Greenside was seldom of any interest. As Kramer had said often enough, when you had the money, there were other ways than murder, all as effective.
“Only one grievous bodily harm on the first-sorry, Bantu employee on Bantu employee-and eight housebreakings. Hau, this skelm didn’t do badly! Same m.o. each time and nearly a thousand rand in stolen property.”
“Yes, I know about him already. Anything else, though?”
“One firearm recovered and the owner charged as well.”
“Uhuh. When was the last housebreaking?”
“On the fifteenth.”
“Damn.”
Kramer took the paper and stared at it moodily. He had entertained high hopes for what it might contain.
And, inviting Zondi to take a seat opposite him, he began to explain why.
Hennie’s story was that he, Boetie, and five of their classmates had joined the Detective Club back in July. The club encouraged its members to form gangs with colorful names and so they called themselves the Midnight Leopards. Sergeant Wolhuter, who was station commander in Railway Village at the time, had a daughter at the school and had seen copies of the magazine sponsoring the club. He made them welcome and gradually allowed them to do more and more. It had been very exciting.
Then at the beginning of November the station changed command. The new sergeant told them to get lost- and he collected up the equipment that had been loaned. They had all been very upset by this, but Boetie took it worse than anyone. He had two rows with the sergeant and then suggested that everyone’s parents should get together and do something. This backfired when the parents said that with exam time coming, and a good pass needed to get into high school next February, it was probably just as well. Their kids had to get down to some hard swotting. However, Hennie had not told his parents of this and Boetie’s parents were too busy with their church activities to take his entreaties seriously.
The Midnight Leopards became extinct. Or so it seemed until one afternoon when Boetie told Hennie he had a brilliant plan that would have them reinstated with full honors. He had noticed that the Trekkersburg Gazette was publishing story after story about police failure to put an end to the spate of housebreakings in Greenside. There had even been an editorial about it. His idea was for Hennie and himself to begin their own investigation up on the hill. While the burglar might be keeping an eye open for any grownup, he was hardly likely to feel it necessary to hide in a hedge when two boys came round the corner. There was no need to make an arrest, Hennie was assured- just a good description would do. Although, of course, what Boetie hoped for was actually seeing the crook climb in through a window; then they could ring the police and have him caught red-handed. Boy, after that they would be welcomed back, all right.
Hennie finally gave in and the pair of them cycled over to Greenside every evening after doing their homework. They saw nothing but learned that it was a very suspicious neighborhood. Big as it was, there were not
