not.”
De Bruin swallowed, and tried to hide his confusion behind a weak smile.
“They’re not?”
“To make sure, I’ve only this minute checked with the man in Trekkersburg. A total misunderstanding all round, although I will make a full apology for my part in it.”
“Well, naturally I wouldn’t.…”
“Good! And I mustn’t forget to return your keys.”
Kramer slid them to the midpoint of the desk. His strategy was crude, but, very roughly, it came down to this: the complete innocent would be only too glad to grab them and get the hell out; the sinner, for want of a better word, would suspect a trick. De Bruin squashed his hat onto the back of his head, and tucked his thumbs behind his braces-as if half of him wanted to go and the other half to stay. Very curious.
The keys remained untouched.
“Is that all, Lieutenant?”
“Definitely.”
“I’m still lost to know quite why my remarks caused this reaction.”
“Prisons Act, Number Eight of 1959.”
“But that-” de Bruin began, as though he knew equally well that the act merely made it an offense to publish false information about prisons.
“Ja?”
“Doesn’t mean a lot to a layman.”
“Ah!” said Kramer. “Then take my advice and don’t concern yourself with such dreary matters. Haven’t you got a party waiting? Hell, I’ve kept you long enough!”
“Trying to get rid of me?” de Bruin joked without much conviction.
Kramer thought he caught a whiff of what was going on then: the man seemed to be acting compulsively, to be forcing himself, not only to prolong the converstion, but to take it into deeper waters as well. More than one self-confession had come his way with this sort of preamble.
“Not before you’ve had your compensation!” he said, bringing his feet down. “Now, I know Frikkie keeps a bottle of the same in here somewhere.”
“Well, I won’t say no,” chuckled de Bruin, sitting again.
Fortunately Luthuli had seen to it that the two tumblers were clean, and the brandies were poured in a trice. That was another thing: for a churchgoer, de Bruin was being fairly intemperate, and his strained look had never left him.
“Cheers,” Kramer said.
“All the best.”
The brandy became a momentary preoccupation.
“So you must be an abolitionist, Mr. de Bruin? It explains why you’re so chock-full of information.”
“In a way, I suppose I am. I’ve got an interest, certainly.”
“Uh huh.”
“I-er-knew someone involved once.”
“You don’t say?”
“A youngster.”
“In this district?”
“On the coast. Durban, as a matter of fact. Or, more exactly, I knew his mother-lodged with her during the war, while I was working at the post office. Tragic. It was terrible what it did to her.”
“Uh huh?”
De Bruin stalled, sipping at his drink. His eyes had changed: the hardness had gone-now they were wary and expectant. Kramer, who had been under the impression he’d been holding the rod, realized abruptly that he was, in fact, the tin fish. The man was trying for a rise out of him.
“Of course, Mr. de Bruin, in my job you can’t afford to consider that side of it too much. It’s true as well that the people we get to know best are the victims, and we see how little mercy went into their big step into the hereafter.”
“I can appreciate that, Lieutenant,” replied de Bruin, relaxing before his eyes.
The transformation was striking; in a couple of blinks, the farmer was all Ferreira had described him as being: an easygoing-looking man, with a kindly mouth and the air of a peacemaker. De Bruin downed the rest of his drink, stood up, and held out his hand. “Must be getting back, as you said. At least you know where to come now if you’re wanting to speak to the local expert on hanging, hey?”
“Is that what Piet Ferreira told you?” Kramer asked softly.
The hand trembled.
“Is that why you hid those books in your car?”
“You’ve-you’ve only just said there was no law against having them!” de Bruin blustered.
“True. But there are other laws concerning what you
“Do with them? I’d lent them to somebody.”
“In Witklip?”
“Brandspruit. I picked them up last night-”
“And wrapped them in this morning’s newspaper?”
Kramer wasn’t sure at all what was going on, but knew that he’d turned the game in his favor, and that-very soon-he’d have all the answers.
“It’s no good.” De Bruin sighed wearily, letting the hand drop and his shoulders slump. “I’m not cut out for this sort of thing.”
“You lie very badly.”
“I didn’t exactly come prepared, Lieutenant.”
“I can see that. I can also see that you’re a man who isn’t accustomed to trying to pervert the course of justice.”
“I’m not trying to do that! God forbid!”
“This time, a full explanation?”
De Bruin nodded, returning once again to his chair.
A cockroach scuttled behind the dagga sacks. The night closed in tight, squeezing all that mattered into that small circle of yellow light. The horse clip-clopped in its stable.
“Where do I begin?” de Bruin began, “I’m in such a muddle-I didn’t sleep for worrying over which course would be right to take.”
Kramer gave him another double tot. It went ignored.
“Yesterday evening I called to see Piet Ferreira to finalize tonight’s arrangements-I’m chairman of the party committee. He took me into his office and behaved so strangely, asking the most peculiar questions, that I tackled him-pretty hard, I’m afraid. One way or another, I found out that you were in Witklip looking for a man who knew about hanging, and that you’d decided it must be me.”
“Just keep talking,” Kramer encouraged him, leaning back with his fingers laced behind his head.
“Probably things would have worked out very differently if he hadn’t also told me who you worked for. I really don’t know. But as soon as Piet said Security, I realized someone might be caused a lot of unnecessary distress.”
As soon as de Bruin said that, Kramer’s stomach fell through a trap on a very long drop.
“Because,” the farmer went on, “whatever his other failings, nobody on earth could accuse Gysbert Swanepoel of any form of disloyalty to his country. I was going to say just ‘a friend,’ but I have to trust you, and give you the reasons behind the foolish things I’ve done today. At first, when I got home and talked things over with the wife, we decided to let you get on with it. Gysbert has never spoken about his obsession to anyone else, and there seemed little chance of him becoming involved. Then Piet rang me and said there would be a search of my farm-he still sounded very scared of me, which neither of us could understand-and that started me worrying. There was always the chance, you see, that you’d try other farms if you found nothing on mine. Lettie-my wife-suggested Piet’s story sounded too incredible to be true, so we compromised. Did you go to my place today, by the way?”
