“Naturally. And the microscope picked up a tiny smear of Tasty Tangerine.”
Ye Old Englishe Tea Shoppe off De Wet Street was crowded by office girls buying roast beef sandwiches with luncheon vouchers-and the smoothies who preyed on young lamb. There were also the usual parties of intrepid elderly shoppers who built laagers of parcels around them as if anticipating an attack by the Zulu waiters.
However, the Widow Fourie had booked a table, so Kramer was able to sit down and ease his extremity while waiting for her. It had been sly on her part to leave simply the time and the place, and the rest to his conscience. Not that guilt had brought him there; it was more the excuse of having an engagement which would postpone confronting the Jarvis household.
For he still lacked the clincher. Some spark of insight that would arc between Boetie and Andy, galvanizing him into action.
Zondi, who had done well solving the Texan riddle, was understandably impatient for him to proceed. But he chose to largely ignore the fresh questions his deduction presented. While Kramer could accept that Boetie would hardly carry the Texan around unless he thought it important, and that it was probably a vital clue in the child’s estimation, this did not account for the fact it had been found six yards from where the T-shirt lay. Zondi’s argument that it fell out during the struggle was too feeble, as the pocket was deep and the T-shirt tight-fitting. Besides which, the medical evidence canceled out any rough stuff.
“Hello, Trompie.”
Kramer pushed out her chair.
“Thanks. I hope I haven’t kept you waiting long. We’ve got a sale on.”
“Keeping busy, then?”
“Oh, yes-and you?”
“Never stop.”
“Still on the boy up at the country club? There’s been nothing in the papers.”
“How are the kids?”
“Fine. They ask after you.”
“Uhuh.”
The waiter asked for their order.
“I’ll have an omelet,” the Widow Fourie said without consulting the menu. “A cheese one with no tomatoes. Bring the boss a rump steak, very rare, with some tossed salad and potatoes in their skins.”
Kramer smiled.
“So you haven’t forgotten my little ways?” he asked, watching her burrow in her handbag.
“After three years, I’ve got a lot to remember, Trompie.”
She opened an affectionately inscribed cigarette case and held it out. He made no move to take one. What a dirty trick.
“Come on,” she said. “Your steak will be ages.”
Perhaps there was no guile.
“What’s this, then?” he asked flippantly, noticing she had changed her brand. “Smoke a Texan and cough like a cowboy?”
The Widow Fourie laughed.
Then frowned, bewildered. Kramer’s chair was empty-he had left without another word.
The headmaster’s secretary had the afternoon off, so Lisbet was at liberty to speak to Kramer as intimately as her waning modesty would permit-and for as long as she liked, too.
But when she got through, an unfamiliar voice answered the call in his office. The name was impossible to catch.
“Are you a Bantu?” she asked finally.
The reply was in the affirmative.
“Then where is your boss? It doesn’t matter who I am, boy, just tell me what I ask. Oh, it’s an order he’s given you, is it? I’m Miss Louw from the school. Are you satisfied?”
Completely, and with apologies.
“ Ach, don’t waste time. Just tell me where he is and how long he’ll be. Three hours? What’s that?”
She listened attentively, occasionally interjecting a question.
“Thanks,” she said at the end of it. “Don’t worry, I won’t tell him. You’ve done me a favor.”
There was no point in stopping off for Zondi-the investigation had moved outside his terms of reference. But Kramer did manage a telephone call from the nursing home where Caroline Jarvis had had the cyst removed.
“So there weren’t any messages? Fine. Well, I’ve made the breakthrough and now I’m on my way up to the Jarvises’ place. No, she isn’t-discharged this morning, but still must stay in bed for a few days, so she’ll be home for sure. Argyle? That’s good. Bugger off and see him if you like. Ach, I haven’t got time, man, but I’ll give you a clue: the word ‘cowboy’ in the first code was Boetie’s way of recording an exhibit. Exhibit A! Work it out for yourself.”
He smiled nicely at the matron, who had insisted on vacating her office while he spoke, and limped fast for the car park.
Damn, there had been another point he wanted to try out on Zondi: his theory as to how the Texan came to be found six yards from where Boetie’s clothes lay. It was based on the reasonable assumption the boy regarded it as a vital clue-and that, as the killer had not removed it from the scene, its presence must have remained undetected. Put the two together and it was plausible that Boetie, sensing he might be facing danger, had ditched the Texan to prevent it being found on his person. A simple test had shown he could have thrown it that far. However, this left him trying to explain how it was that such a throw had been missed by the killer, who surely kept a careful eye on his victim, and why, in the first place, Boetie had taken the clue along with him.
Kramer entered Redneck territory with a large locust riding shotgun on the Chev’s bonnet. It had no difficulty maintaining a grip because, back yonder in the last of the skyscraper canyons, he had slowed right down to figure the odds for the last time. After all, he was about to risk his scalp. But they still looked pretty good now ten minutes later, provided he avoided shortcuts and went the long way round.
Having made his decision, Kramer pulled up outside the house at 10 Rosebank Road and rested the horses.
Captain Jarvis himself answered the door after the third clatter of the brass knocker.
“Damn maid was due back half an hour ago,” he grumbled. “Didn’t expect to see you again, old boy.”
“Always a good sign,” Kramer replied, not waiting to be invited inside.
“Can I be of service?” Jarvis asked stuffily.
“Your daughter Caroline-I’d like that interview.”
“But if it’s about that Swanepoel lad, I’ve already-”
“It isn’t, Captain. I’ve handed that case over to a subordinate. I’m conducting further investigations into the death of Andrew Cutler.”
“Good Lord! I thought that whole wretched business was over.”
“So did we-until we caught this housebreaker who’s been doing the rounds up here in Greenside. He’s got some funny stories to tell.”
Jarvis patted his pockets and drew out a gnarled pipe. He poked the stem at Kramer.
“But how does this involve Caroline?”
“It involves everyone in this house, Captain,” Kramer answered solemnly. “But I’d like my first statement from her.”
With a surprisingly swift movement, Jarvis positioned himself across the foot of the stairs.
“You will not proceed beyond this point, Lieutenant, until you make yourself perfectly clear. This is worse than the confounded Gestapo!”
Kramer had heard that one before.
“Has it not occurred to you, Captain, that Cutler’s death was strangely sudden for someone his age-just falling in your swimming bath like that?”
“According to the police surgeon, your police surgeon, it could have happened if he had simply rolled in. A matter of chance.”
“But he could have been pushed.”
“By whom, sir?”
