established that it was completely secure except for an almost invisible hole in the wire fence hidden within the high hedge alongside the road.
He stood with his back to it and studied the lie of the land. There was a long stretch of lawn, a flower bed, more lawn, some large shrubs, the tops of the tennis court poles, and, out of sight, but very much in mind, the swimming pool. The house was also impossible to see from this point-and, presumably, impossible to be seen from.
It was an excellent access for the uninvited. Kramer headed in a straight line for the shrubs, taking the flower bed in a single stride, and not halting until forced to by the shrubs. There was a gap in them slightly to the left and he pushed his way into it. The sun had been out for an hour but the leaves were still very wet. He scowled but persevered.
Finding he had not far to go. Quite suddenly the tennis court lay before him, and-beyond its walls of wire netting-the pool. He examined the ground at his feet. Nothing.
The patio was on the far side of the absurdly blue water; a pebbled wedge of concrete on which stood some cast iron furniture painted white, a furled cafe umbrella, and a child’s swing missing its seat. He could take in every detail. Even the oyster shell ashtrays.
Another, more careful, examination of the ground where he stood revealed nothing.
Then Kramer had an inspiration: he bent at the knees until he approximated Boetie’s eye level. The patio was now blotted out of view by some azalea bushes in the foreground.
So that was it. Edging along like a bad case of piles, to keep his head at the right height, he discovered a gap in the azaleas through which he could see very clearly.
Still nothing on the ground. But a sapling just to his right caught his eye. Someone had been tearing the twigs off it. Someone who had not seen it bore an important-looking botanical label. Maybe because it was dark.
And anyway, a Midnight Leopard probably did not give a damn where it sharpened its claws.
The dispatch manager at the Gazette finished his day at two in the afternoon, having had to be there before sunrise to supervise local deliveries. He was about to take a farewell ogle at the new filing clerk when Grandfather Govender hobbled in.
“Out!” shouted the manager.
“Master, one more time I am asking you to come help by Danny’s side. That poor children, master, he-”
“I don’t want to know.”
“Please, master. God blessing you. I can see you are a kind man in your heart.”
“But I won’t be so kind if you come back again, Sammy. I’ve already told you the kid was too good to be true-always knew he was up to something. Now the cops have him and I’m not interfering with them for you or anyone else. Bugger off.” Grandfather Govender struck the floor with his staff, in the manner of Moses installing a plague, then withdrew with patriarchal dignity.
Whereupon the new filing clerk said he had given her goose pimples all over.
And the foreman asked to see them.
Three cups of coffee from the Greek cafe were very welcome. Zondi poured one into his tin mug and retired to the corner.
“Too bloody hot!” said Kramer, sucking his upper lip. “Any milk?”
“No, boss.”
“ Ach, I’d better just get started then. But first, did Zondi give you Sally’s address in Jo’burg, Johnny?”
“It’s 39 Woodland Drive, Parktown.”
“Or Avenue-the driver was not positive about that.”
“I’ll find her, sir. But what line do I take?”
“There is one thing about Boetie we know for absolute certain,” Kramer said, “and that is he behaved out of character for the four weeks before his death. Or seemed to.”
“Sir?”
“I don’t believe anyone changes so much so fast. What we have to do is keep both Boeties in mind and see how they can work together. Okay?”
Zondi gave a nod of understanding.
“Right. The next step is to pinpoint when this-shall we say-apparent change took place. Any suggestions?”
“On Sunday he overslept.”
“Perfectly normal if he was very tired. Nor is there anything really remarkable in the fact he didn’t do his homework and seemed somewhat peculiar on Monday morning. This was all very passive, if you get me.”
“Then what about when he bought the paper?”
“We’re getting closer, but even that action appeared acceptable when he said he wanted it to better his English. The first time he actually did anything that shocked anyone was on Tuesday when he gave Hester the boot.”
“Yes, it was crazy, that. He could easily have two-timed her. The girls lived worlds apart.”
“What about spies like Doreen West, who saw him at dancing?”
“Just a chance he had to take, sir. Anyway, he could have lied. Hester would believe him sooner than a spiteful English dame.”
Kramer shook his head.
“But this is Boetie Swanepoel you’re talking about,” he said. “Lying and two-timing are not part of a strict Christian upbringing-and we know he had a hatred of cheats. I think he would have taken steps to avoid having to do either if he could.”
“Huh! And what about the lies he must have told Sally?”
“Perhaps they could not be avoided. Some lies make you feel bad; others don’t, if you feel you have good enough reason for them.”
The coffee was now cool enough to drink. The three of them sipped in thoughtful silence.
“Even so, sir, if Boetie was the upright bloke you say, then it couldn’t have been easy to drop Hester without telling her why.”
“I’m sure it wasn’t. Not something to be done on the spur of the moment. I’m sure Boetie gave it a lot of thought. How long would you make it?”
“A day, sir?”
“Agreed-although it’s purely arbitrary. The interesting thing is to count a day back from Tuesday lunchtime and see where you end up.”
“With him buying the newspaper?”
“And whose name appeared in that story?”
“Sally’s?”
“It also gave her age.”
Zondi tipped his head sideways like a puzzled jackal.
“Age was the common denominator, you see,” said Kramer. “Something he could work on if he wanted an ‘in’ to the Jarvis family.”
“But why-”
“Once upon a time,” Kramer interrupted, “there lived a bloke called Boetie who wanted to catch a burglar.
“Bonita told us that on Saturday, November 15, he went out at night on his bicycle; Hennie told us he was still patrolling Greenside; Mr. Swanepoel told us Boetie overslept; and so Boetie was out very late on patrol in Greenside on the night of Andy’s death.
“There are not many street lights in Greenside and most of the properties are difficult to see into. Boetie was going along, relying on his ears to alert him to suspicious circumstances.
“We have one address in Greenside with which we can connect him-10 Rosebank Road. He also claims to have seen something. This couldn’t have been at No. 10 unless he entered the property.
“So what we have is Boetie passing by when he hears a sound or sounds that make him curious. He finds a hole in the fence inside the hedge and crawls through. All he sees is lawn-and it’s dark, too, remember. He makes for the next bit of cover.”
“The shrubs where you-”
