“Forget it!” Kramer said, raising a finger to his lips, then dived through the door into the inner passage.
“Hello,” chirped the old lady with bandaged legs. “It
He gave her a quick peck on the cheek and got by when she drew back in delighted surprise. The fly screen filling the doorway at the end of the passage gave him an ideal position from which to see without being seen. It wasn’t needed: Willie and de Bruin were standing in among the kids’ games with their backs turned to him, talking earnestly together.
“And these are the fish I was telling you about,” de Bruin said as Kramer came within earshot. “He’s very clever with his hands when he wants to be. Does that look like a bean can to you?”
Willie looked up at the tin fish spinning and glittering at the end of a short line. The magnet lost its grip and the fish fell. In picking it up, both men became aware of Kramer’s long shadow on the grass.
“There you are, Boshoff; I’ve been looking.”
“Er-hello, sir.”
“Can I have a word with you for a moment?”
Kramer took Willie aside, and said quietly, “Well, Judas, which one was it?” He noted the jerked nod. “You’ve done a first-class job. Stick around here, watch for Number Two, and I’ll handle this bastard.” Walking up to de Bruin, he stuck out his hand. “Lieutenant Kramer, here for the weekend.”
De Bruin’s grip was unsure. “Pleased to meet you. Karl de Bruin is the name.”
“I’ve just been speaking to Boshoff here.”
“Ja?”
“He’d like to stay on for the party-in fact, he’s got a message from Mr. Ferreira for the chef. But I’ve to get back to the station, so I wondered if it’d be too much of a favor to ask for a quick lift?”
For an instant, the man dithered. “Why, certainly, I’d be pleased to help out. My work here is finished for-”
“Ta, very much,” said Kramer, giving Willie a dismissive wave. “Don’t be too late, Cinderella, or you know what’ll happen to your pumpkins.”
Then he forced the situation by beginning to stride for the car park. De Bruin caught up, but said nothing until they’d reached the trees.
“You’re standing in for Sergeant Jonkers, I hear?”
“After a fashion.”
“Must be a rest cure after Durban.”
“Uh huh. You farm around here?”
“About twelve kilos out.”
“The place with the buck on it?”
“Could’ve been mine; ja, I keep a few head. Won’t be a moment.”
De Bruin did something Kramer had never seen done in the country before: he unlocked the driver’s door to his Ford three-quarter ton. Then he reached across and released the catch on the other side.
There was a sheen of sweat over his forehead which caught the cab light. The doors slammed. In silhouette, the profile was that of a prim, introverted, sensitive man.
“Judas?” said Willie. “Cinder who?” said Willie. “Jesus,” said Willie, “whatever will the bugger think of next?” And having reassured himself that none of these epithets had been derogatory in their intention, but merely good- humored banter, he settled for a score of five tin fish landed from the zinc tub of blue-dyed water. He tugged the fifth from the dangling magnet, wound the line a few times around the toy rod, and replaced them, ready for the children. “Having good sport, Willie?”
He started. “Ach, Piet! Where did you spring from?”
“Had a tough day,” replied Ferreira, standing there with his hands in his pockets, not coming any nearer. “They didn’t have the tread I wanted in Brandspruit, so I had to go down the road until I found a place. And you?”
Willie closed the gap. “We nailed him,” he said, pride thrusting aside the numbness he’d felt up till then. “De Bruin’s already on his way to the station. But you mustn’t tell anyone, hey?”
“God!” Ferreira was deeply shocked. “Karl? Kramer’s made a hell of a mistake!”
“We tested him: he knows all about hanging.”
“But last night-”
“Ja?”
Ferreira turned slowly to face the hotel. He began walking, and Willie tagged along at his side.
“Why such a reaction, Piet? You knew from last night, didn’t you?”
“Hmmm? Huh, I don’t know! I’ll have to think about it for a minute. Did you search the farm?”
“Nothing, but we know he’s got it hidden someplace else.”
“How?” The question was asked sharply.
“Well, because,” Willie said, then realized how imprudent he was being, “because of-I’m not sure actually.”
They mounted the steps. Of course, thought Willie, it had been seeing Piet back again that’d put him right off his guard. Perhaps, on reflection, he had no need to feel he’d dropped a clanger. Now that they were together, it was impossible to see his new friend as part of the conspiracy. Fanciful nonsense.
“Is de Bruin’s son here tonight?” he asked at the doorway.
“He’s away. Left Wednesday for army camp.”
“Oh? Tell you what, Piet-can I buy you one?”
“Ach, there’s-”
“You gave me lunch yesterday, hey? Fair’s fair.”
With something of a smile, Ferreira followed him to the far end of the bar, away from the knot of jolly fanners and the few guests who had now joined them. Willie looked covertly at Swanepoel, wondering what it must be like to have a daughter like that. Wondering what it might be like to have her himself, and imagining the moment when she pulled him down into her. A fantasy like this, deliberately evoked within a few feet of the father, revived a mixture of feeling in him that he’d grown to like. He ordered two Scotches.
“What’s up?” Ferreira inquired, trying to read his face. “You look like a cat that smells kippers.”
“I smell my transfer, hey? The Lieutenant can fix it for me.”
“Down to Trekkersburg? The CID? That’s pretty good!”
A move quite so radical as this hadn’t occurred to Willie, but suddenly he saw how just that would be. “Uh huh. It’s just a shame we didn’t get together before, Piet. I want you to know that.”
“All the best,” said Ferreira, clinking glasses. “I’m sorry, too, but-like they say-opportunity only knocks once.”
“Very true,” said Willie.
Then he raised his glass and drank. As he did so, his eye caught sight of an invoice tucked into the pocket of Ferreira’s white nylon shirt.
Karl de Bruin sat as invited on the chair in front of the desk in the station commander’s office. He watched Kramer close the door, lock it, and return to sit opposite him, arms folded. He gave the appearance of being bewildered.
“Tonight in the bar at Spa-kling Waters hotel, you saw fit to contradict certain remarks made by my colleague. I think you will know which remarks I refer to, Mr. de Bruin.”
“Ja; so what? Surely you haven’t brought me in here to say that’s an offense!” De Bruin laughed uneasily, taking his hat off to twist it by the brim. “The lad had got his head full of cock-and-bull stories.”
“How would you know? What are your sources of information?”
“Usual place: newspapers, magazines, things I’ve read.”
“Published in this country?”
“I don’t buy papers from-”
“That is a lie!”
De Bruin made to get up.
