James McCure - The Steam Pig

The stocking on her left leg had got itself twisted. Kramer gave her his arm as she hopped over to sit on the bed while adjusting it.

“So what would you say about a dolly of twenty-two who is her own boss, can do what she likes, but goes around in drab frocks with a rainbow underneath?”

“I’d think there was still something forcing her to.”

“ Forcing her?”

“Of course. What woman wants to give the wrong impression of herself?”

“True.”

Flattered now by the rapt attention being paid to her every word, the Widow Fourie added: “What I say, and I’ve told the manager this umpteen times, I say that a little colour cannot hurt anybody.”

It seemed, however, that Miss Le Roux had feared it might. Hurt her very badly. And as she had been, it was something else to think about. But not now.

“I’ll shave at the office,” Kramer said, dragging on his clothes. He was dressed before the Widow Fourie had found her other shoe. He scrounged it from under the bed, slipped it on her foot, and said: “Okay, Cinderella, the Pumpkinmobile is downstairs waiting.”

She found herself laughing fondly as they reached the passage to the lift.

“You’re a nasty bit of work, Trompie Kramer,” the Widow Fourie said. “But come around again soon, hey? The kids like you.”

“Poor little bastards,” he chuckled-and ducked.

The way Mrs Perkins looked at Kramer when she opened her door made him uncomfortable. So did the dried lather which felt like localised rigor mortis.

“My Bob’s been up all night,” she said reproachfully. “I had no idea.”

“I’m sorry, but I’ll see he is looked after properly.”

“It’s not that. It’s his health. He isn’t very strong you know. Asthma.”

That figured. It also accounted for the yoga books.

“I’m sorry,” Kramer said again. “It’s just he was the only man who could do the job.”

“Oh?”

“Yes, your Bob’s a very clever bloke,” he confided, gaining his entrance and starting off down the corridor to the workroom.

“Lieutenant?”

“Yes?”

“Er-have you had breakfast?”

“Well…”

“You poor thing, you can’t have had a wink either-I’ll bring you an egg and some toast.”

Guilt was not Kramer’s favourite emotion. And he felt very bad when he opened the workroom door to find Bob on the floor in the lotus position, his eyes closed.

But the bulky lad was on his feet in an instant.

“Got it all ready for you, Lieutenant,” he said cheerfully. “Excuse the socks.”

“Good man. Anything interesting?”

“Very, very peculiar. I thought I had it and then I didn’t. Let me show you. You see I carefully spliced in some clean tape exactly the length of each burnt piece. This meant I could play it although there were silences in between.”

“Yes, that’s clear enough.”

“I’ll put it on then.”

The threading took a little longer than before, then sound came from the amplifier. It was piano music. A few bars. Silence. More music. Silence. The tune changed but remained very basic, real beginner’s stuff. Silence.

These continual interruptions worked on Kramer’s nerves. “How many more numbers like this?”

“They stay simple right to the end.”

“Which is?”

“The tape is an hour altogether.”

“Hell, somebody must have been keen.”

“What do you make of it?”

“I can’t bloody well concentrate with all these breaks in it, man. Sorry.”

“Nor could I-that’s why I made this other tape from it, leaving out all the joining pieces and bringing it into one. It’s still a bit of an ear-ache, but easier to follow.”

The reel was already in position on a second tape deck. Bob switched over to it.

Kramer listened for the first ninety seconds and then had enough.

“Okay, thanks Bob,” he said.

“I think you should listen to a bit more than that, Lieutenant.”

“No, I’ve heard what I want to. Is it double-track?”

“Yes, a few Christmas carols and endless Greensleeves.”

“That’s it then, isn’t it? Miss Le Roux was a music teacher and sometimes they use recorders to help their pupils to check their own playing. There were five mistakes just in that little bit.”

“And the way the rhythm stays virtually the same, too, whatever the tune. A heavy-handed amateur dee-da, dee-da, dee-da.”

“Exactly.”

“Well, I’ll go along with you on that, Lieutenant-but only so far.”

“Why, man?”

“Because that’s what I thought until I’d let the tape run on a bit.”

Kramer pressed the on-switch himself.

“So?”

“Sssh, there’s one now.”

The playing suddenly stopped. There was silence. A prolonged silence just like those caused by the burnt sections. And then on again, from the same point on the score.

“We were getting our silences mixed up,” smiled Bob happily. “That silence was recorded. ”

Kramer frowned.

“So what? You heard the wrong note-they stopped and started again. It’s what would happen during a music lesson.”

“Then why don’t we hear the voices? Surely the teacher would have been saying something in that pause? It can’t have taken that long for the pupil just to go back one fingering.”

Which was true. And suddenly something began niggling in a corner of Kramer’s mind, but for the moment he could not recall what it was.

There was a knock at the door and Bob sprang up to allow in Mrs Perkins with a breakfast tray. The egg was wearing a balaclava helmet.

“Ta very much,” Kramer said, taking the tray on his knees, “very kind of you.”

“Has my Bob been a help then?”

“You’ve said it,” Kramer replied, the entire yolk in his mouth already.

“Not really, dear. All I’ve done is set the Lieutenant a real poser that I can’t begin to make head or tail of.”

Kramer started on the toast and Mrs Perkins stared at him with morbid fascination; he was not eating at all but refuelling like some voracious robot. The huge mug of black coffee could have been a half-pint of multi-grade from the way it went down.

“Joking apart,” Bob said, eager to distract his spouse, “does this get you any further?”

Kramer wiped his lips on the paper napkin so thoughtfully provided, swallowed a belch, and stood up.

“Yes, it does and I’m very grateful, man,” he said. “I haven’t had time to think about it properly but I’m certain it’ll help a lot. There’ll be a cheque coming your way as soon as I see the boss at ten.”

“It’s almost that now,” Mrs Perkins said.

“God!” Kramer exclaimed, forgetting himself. “Bob, I must be going.”

Colonel Du Plessis was scratching his backside at the window when Kramer burst in without knocking.

“Good morning, Lieutenant,” he said without turning round. “I have been waiting for a full report. You have it in writing, I hope?”

“The hell with that, I’m interested in printed reports.”

Colonel Du Plessis sidled over to his chair beneath the large portrait of the President. He held his hands to his small paunch and watched Kramer slyly out of the corner of his eyes.

“ Ach, don’t be so liverish, hey? It should be me this morning, my stomach is really in a terrible state.”

He was an old woman and no mistake. He had the face of one, the stature of one, and the voice of one. When he handed you a docket across his desk, you expected to find weak tea and scones balanced on it. Yet he had the reputation of being one of the meanest, toughest men on the force. This was due largely to an unpredictable rage as shocking as having grandmother come for you with her crochet hook.

And he had an old woman’s guile as well.