James McClure - The Caterpillar Cop

Then, having almost fired a live round, he decided to quit playing Russian roulette with himself and find out what it was all about.

The Colonel was surprisingly cordial.

“At ease, Pembrook,” he said in English. “How are things in CID?”

“First class, sir.”

“Good! You’re making nice progress.”

“Thank you, sir.”

“It is time you did some paper work, though.”

Pembrook’s chin came up.

“Sir?”

“We want you to take some statements. These are the addresses-Swanepoel, Steenkamp, it’s all there.”

“What case is this, sir?”

“Oh, something of Lieutenant Kramer’s.”

“ Murder Squad, sir?”

“He’ll be the one to brief you.”

Pembrook could not help it.

“Why me? ” he blurted.

“I’m buggered if I know, Pembrook.”

The deputy headmaster usually acted as starter for the races at the annual interhouse gala because he had an old revolver left over from the war. So, with him away ill, it had been one less thing for Mr. Marais to worry about when Miss Louw’s friend offered to take his place.

But having now come face to face with the volunteer, and having been introduced, Mr. Marais was no longer too sure about that.

“This is very kind of you, Lieutenant Kramer,” he said in his smoothest headmaster’s voice, “yet is it very wise?”

“How do you mean, Mr. Marais?”

“Well, it might just cause an-er-awkwardness. As you can see out there, most of the parents are here this afternoon and some of them are very upset about what happened to Boetie. We even thought of canceling but we’ve got the inter-schools next week and this is how we choose our team. Also, it could make the children nervous.”

“Oh, I’m sure nobody will know who Trompie is-they’re all railway folk,” said Miss Louw.

Mr. Marais took off his rimless spectacles, polished the lenses, and replaced them over his rimless eyes.

“I’m held responsible for everything,” he said plaintively. “Bad language… Smells… You’ve no idea.”

“Look, if you don’t want me here, I’ll go. Only I can’t leave the gun behind for you because it’s government property.”

“Please don’t take that attitude, Lieutenant! We’re very, very happy to have you. An honored guest, you might say. I just needed to think a moment. No, I’m sure Miss Louw is right: nobody will know who you are.”

“That’s the beauty of it, man,” Kramer murmured, as he acknowledged the wave Mr. Marais gave him from the French windows opening out on the pool. Then he turned to Miss Louw.

“Why did you suddenly call me Trompie just now?”

“You forget-I told him we were old friends.”

“ Ach, of course. And you may just have something there, Lisbet. Now what must I do?”

It was all very simple. He was given a box of. 38 blanks, a program annotated to show him from which side each event began, a whistle to impose silence, and a pat on the shoulder for luck. He was also entreated to keep things moving, as there was a lot to get through.

A starter using a firearm is always regarded with some awe by children in bathing suits. There is something about that chunk of ruthless metal being carried so casually between their unprotected bodies that induces respect. A boy’s fascination for weapons plays its part as well, as does a girl’s dislike of loud bangs. With all this on his side, and his innate ability to have commands obeyed instantly, Kramer himself set an unofficial record.

Mr. Marais made a feeble joke about it over the loudspeaker. And then he explained that as it was only four o’clock, the ice cream had not yet arrived for the party after the prize-giving. Therefore there would be a short interval of fifteen minutes’ duration.

Lisbet had already pointed out to Kramer where her class sat in a block on the grass. He wandered down there, reloading his gun.

Although the first boy to speak was a good six years older than Mungo Nielsen, his response was the same.

“Let’s have a look, sir!” he pleaded.

Kramer made a show of reluctance.

“Come on, sir!” said some others.

He sat down.

“Don’t touch,” he warned. “You must never play with guns.”

“Blanks can’t kill you, can they, sir?”

“The wad would hurt, all right. You’d get a bad burn, too. Anyone know what kind of gun this is?”

“Smith amp; Wesson. 38 service revolver, six shots, muzzle velocity of four tons.”

“Not bad! How did you know that?”

“The police have them.”

“Oh, yes?”

“He’s a Midnight Leopard! Big show-off.”

The black-haired boy with a harelip frowned at the girl who had spoken.

“I’m not,” he said. “You know I’m not anymore. Nobody is.”

She stuck out her tongue at him and then smirked at Kramer.

“I know what you are, too!”

“What?”

“Our teacher’s boyfriend.”

The whole class giggled-except for a sulky-looking miss out on the fringe. From the description he had been given, he was sure this was Hester Swart, Boetie’s romantic lead.

“So what? I bet you’ve got a girl friend!”

Kramer flicked a pebble into the lap of the boy who had stopped him.

“Me?” he hooted.

“That’s her there,” said the cheeky girl.

“All right, then here’s your darling little Dirk Botha!”

Accusation and counteraccusation rent the air like a dozen premature domestic disturbances rolled into one. Finally, however, the whole group had been paired off, with Hester again the exception.

“But what about this little lady?” Kramer asked, as guilelessly as he knew how.

“She’s-”

“Go on?”

The speaker glanced at his fellows. They all looked away, very uncomfortable.

“What’s the matter, kids?”

They all turned to Hester.

“I’ve never been anybody’s girl friend!” she declared fiercely.

Harelip appeared as horrified as the others yet managed to speak.

“You can’t say that, Hester! You even put his initials on your desk.”

“Rubbish. I hate him!”

“Hester Swart!”

“I don’t care! I hate him. I’m glad Boetie’s dead. Glad.”

Dear God, not another.

Seated on cane chairs in the Colonial Hotel’s courtyard, Kramer and Lisbet compared notes. The tall glasses of lager were a great help.

“Man, you got to her just in time,” Kramer said. “I thought she was going to have hysterics.”

“She did. In the staff room.”

“Slap her face?”

“No, let her have a go at mine. When she realized what she’d done, she was so startled that she shut up like that.”

Kramer laughed. He hoped it would be infectious. It was. How edible she was.

“Well, it gave me the chance I’d been waiting for, anyway,” he said. “I got Harelip-”

“Jan?”

“Yes, Jan-to one side and bought him an Eskimo Pie. Chatted him up about the Midnight Leopards. I think we can definitely rule the others out now-they packed up when the new sergeant put his foot down. And Boetie kept all his secrets to himself, too.”

“Not from Hester, though.”

“I gathered that. Hell hath no fury?”

“You’ve said it.”

“I thought so. But even then, why the big reaction?”

“The new girl was English.”

“Hey?”

“English-speaking, I mean.”

“God Almighty! No wonder she took it badly.”

Lisbet waved over an Indian waiter and ordered two double brandies with orange juice.

“It’s my turn to pay,” she said softly, pushing across the money when the waiter had gone. Kramer stopped her by placing a hand on hers. And left it there. The rest of him was miles away.

“I want to pay,” Lisbet repeated. “Now that we’re sharing things together, Trompie.”