James Mcclure - The Sunday Hangman

“Where they got the money from we’ll never know, of course.” Mrs. Roberts steamed straight on. “I mean, they lived only around the corner from here, in some flats not nearly as nice, and his father wore the greasiest overalls you’ve ever seen.”

“So where did it all come from? I certainly couldn’t tell you. Not from their pockets, you can be sure, because when it came to sending them back where they belonged, that was only possible through the generosity of others-or so I was told.”

Kramer gave a bemused grunt, and found it instantly mistaken for one of disapproval.

“Not that you must think for one moment there were any sour grapes on our part, Lieutenant Kramer-well, certainly not to begin with. In fact, when we heard Tony was getting Mr. Colgate, our feelings were quite the reverse. It wasn’t until Sergeant Prins-”

“Cecil Colgate?” Kramer interrupted to ask, realizing just how little notice he’d taken of the case at the time. “Do you mean Vasari was represented by the advocate himself? Or by the son who’s just started?”

“ The Mr. Colgate.”

“Hell.”

“Now you see what I meant about the money! Of course, I was a proper dunce about these matters then, and thought that anything which helped Tony was bound to help Peterkins as well; I just wouldn’t have suspected for one moment what was really going on. Then, thank goodness, Sergeant Prins came of his own accord to explain it all. What an eye-opener that was!”

“Uh huh?”

“Surely you don’t need me-”

“Please, I’m interested.”

Zondi slipped him a note to say Jonkers had rung, and would be ringing again soon.

“Well,” said Mrs. Roberts, “when you have two people accused of something, Sergeant Prins said, and they both come up in court together, then it isn’t just the prosecutor who comes after them with his long knife. Oh, no; each person has to watch out for the other one’s lawyer, who’ll try to push the blame on him as quick as a flash, especially if they’re being paid lots to do it! And all my Peterkins had was the free lawyer, who wouldn’t be free if he was much good. Do you see?”

Kramer saw, all right. Prins had offered Ringo the immunity of turning state evidence as his only hope of escaping the rope. The irony being that Colgate would never have risked attacking Ringo if he’d stayed in the dock; he would have simply secured an acquittal for both accused by using his cross-examination to corroborate Vasari’s evidence. As tricks went, this one ranked dirtier than pricking holes in condoms, especially as it’d had the opposite effect.

“Hello-are you still there, Lieutenant?”

“Still here, ma’am.”

“Then you do understand, don’t you? Tony Vasari was only thinking of himself. Trust an Italian! Sergeant Prins said they were often very funny people, and not just because they’re Catholics. Very cowardly, I believe, and Mr. Kleint, who lives below and fought against them up north, says they aren’t clean either, not in their personal habits. Was Peter expected to stick his neck out for one of these? ‘Heavens,’ I said to Sergeant Prins, such a fair-minded man, ‘I must talk to my son immediately.’ And before I knew it, he’d got me special permission to go to the prison right then and there. Peterkins was horrified.”

“I bet,” said Kramer.

“Being the sweet boy he is, I still had to talk to him for rather a long time-and so did Sergeant Prins and some other kind men-before he’d stop his nonsense about telling tales on Tony. It made me feel a little awful, and I had to keep reminding myself of what those dreadful people were trying to do. What it came down to, of course, was that we simply hadn’t any choice in the matter.”

“Uh huh.”

“And then, as you know,” Mrs. Roberts said, sighing almost contentedly, “it all happened just as Sergeant Prins had told us it would, but my Peterkins was quite safe. Oh, you should have heard some of the things that Mr. Colgate accused him of! It was wicked. I had a good mind to write to his wife and tell her what I thought about her husband and how they’d made their money. All that swank and posh! The late Mr. Roberts may have been only a-”

“Are you sure,” Kramer cut in, circling an estimated R16,000 on his memo pad, “that Mr. Colgate wasn’t appearing pro deo ? For nothing, in other words? He does do that sometimes.”

“No, he wasn’t,” she said firmly.

“And how would you-”

“Our own lawyer told me. In fact, he said he believed there was something very mysterious about the money-and I’ll leave you to decide what to make of that!”

Kramer changed the receiver over to his other ear, and took the cigarette Zondi was offering him.

“They couldn’t have sold some property, Mrs. Roberts?”

“What property? They were renting, the same as us. Mind you, they always found enough for all those trips up to Pretoria, but they didn’t think to save anything for later. Typical! The funeral was a disgrace.”

“Oh, ja? You went?”

“Hardly! Mrs. Kleint did-she’s ever so religious-and she swears she’s never seen anything cheaper or plainer. Isn’t that awful? You’d have thought they would care more about what they did with their own flesh and blood. I know my Peterkins won’t even dream of skimping on my arrangements, bless him, when the time comes!”

“You’re damn right, lady,” said Kramer, then found an excuse to ring off. “Jesus.…”

Zondi shifted uncomfortably under his blank stare.

“I’ve just learned something, old son.”

“Boss?”

“It’s the ones with the empty eyes who do the bloody sucking, not the other way round.”

Then Kramer listlessly repeated what else he’d learned, before wandering off along the balcony to the lavatories, fully intending to stay there until the world was a better place. But he was recalled almost immediately by the promise of some comic relief.

“Witklip on the line,” said Zondi, handing him the receiver.

“Get the dictation set on,” Kramer whispered, and waited until he was plugged in. “Hello, Frikkie? What is it, man?”

“Sorry to trouble you, Lieutenant, but you did say if I had any information I should-”

“Hold it! I’ll put this on scramble.”

Kramer clattered a pencil in his mouthpiece, gave the dial a slight twist, and saw, out of the corner of his eye, Zondi gag himself.

“All clear. You can speak freely now, my friend.”

“Well, sir”-Jonkers began faltering-“I don’t know if this means anything to you, but I think I know why Tommy chose to come here.”

“Uh huh?”

“I’ve heard, shall we say, that he once had a friend who stayed here with a rich uncle. A long time ago, but it’d made an impression-such an impression that Tommy had always wanted to see it for himself. I think that’s right. He also used to boast he was a really bad boy when he was younger. Errol Flynn the Second, he described himself as. Not in the criminal sense of bad; just a bit wild-five or six girls chasing him all the time. Is that what you want?”

“What do you mean, you’ve ‘heard, shall we say’? What’s your source?”

“Well-er-”

“Security must-”

“Yirra, I’m not arguing, hey?” said Jonkers hastily, lapsing into a long, sweaty pause which ended in compulsive fluency. “He apparently made this statement to one of the farmers at the hotel bar, Lieutenant. Everyone was talking away about him last night, wondering where he was, and fortunately I caught the words, but owing to a coon waiter getting in the way, I’m sorry to say my view was obscured. I thought it best, in the light of the warning you gave us, not to draw too much attention by asking for the person’s name who made this report, and I’m sure you’ll feel I acted correctly under the circumstances.”