The Caterpillar Cop kaz-2

by James McClure

  The Widow Fourie blushed and never looked better. She was a simple soul at heart.

  “So that’s what was happening when he saw someone sitting on Andy by the bath!”

  “Yes, and I might have reached this point sooner if I hadn’t thought those coded messages were in order-the second one was obviously the other half of the first. Was the girl et cetera. He had his doubts, all right.”

  Kramer had gone over to drink the dregs of the coffee before it went cold.

  “How did Andy die, then?”

  “I’ve got a little experiment to make first before I say anything about that.”

  “Does that mean you get going straightaway?”

  “ Ach, no, plenty of time.”

  Even so, Kramer’s impatience wrought miracles of reconciliation and within the hour he had the Widow Fourie spread-eagled like a charming guinea pig on a laboratory bench.

  14

  Battle stations. The klaxon sounded precisely at 10:30 a.m. the following day outside the CID buildings, bringing Pembrook scrambling to his feet. Kramer saw him take a quick glance out of the window and then emerge seconds later from the main entrance. The nearside front door was already hanging open. He revved the Chev’s engine again.

  The door slammed and they were away.

  “Where’re we going, sir?”

  “Country club.”

  “Did you read the statement from Sally?”

  “Before you got in this morning, drunkard.”

  “Find anything useful, sir?” Pembrook persisted, still somewhat aggrieved that his devotion to duty had not won any acclaim.

  “Bugger all, apart from her saying that she overheard Boetie talking back to her father and what she called a sarcastic line about his having to find himself another girl. What you picked up from the bloke in the sports car was a lot more to the point.”

  “I’m glad, sir. I worked the lift thinking I might be able to pump him a bit.”

  “Don’t flatter yourself.”

  “Sir?”

  “That sort of gossip is the easiest thing to get out of the buggers up at Greenside. We’d have got it anyway if we’d asked. I did just that this morning after I’d been to the Jarvises’. ”

  “But what happened at the Jarvises’, sir?”

  “A lot.”

  “Is it in the bag?”

  “Almost.”

  “Then you know who the mystery girl was?”

  Kramer raised his head slightly to catch Zondi’s change of expression in his rear-view mirror.

  “It wasn’t a girl,” he said. “Now just keep quiet until we’re clear of this traffic.”

  Over on the other side of the valley, three African gravediggers crouched behind a hedge and passed a cigarette between them; not one rolled from newspaper such as laborers made do with, but a genuine Peter Stuyvesant that came to them ready-lit. It was one of the perks, this being able to salvage the shower of good tobacco that fell when mourners arrived without an opportunity to finish their smokes.

  They made sounds of deep content as each took his puff, and argued in low whispers over whether it was less work to make a hole for a child’s coffin. The one who had been to school said it was obviously easier as there was not as much to shift. But the foreman pointed out that the more confined space made getting through the layer of shale more arduous. Their colleague sought a compromise by calling their attention to the fact there was less to put back in again. It was accepted and they looked forward to finishing the job by twelve and taking an early lunch. The hot sun had made them feel excessively lethargic. They saved the other cigarettes for the afternoon and dozed against the spade handles held upright between their thighs.

  As their instructions were to keep out of sight at all times, they had not taken any interest in the funeral proceedings after their snatch-and-grab raid on the area where the cars parked. So the salute fired by a full platoon of cadets from the high schools, which was both deafening and alarmingly ragged, came as something totally unexpected: all three of them immediately fled down the hill, brandishing their spades like spears and yelling in fright-not knowing quite why.

  Mrs. Swanepoel cheered.

  This utterly astonished everyone but Dominee Pretorius. He, better than any, perhaps, knew what a terrible state her mind was in; and besides, the woman had a wonderful, deep-rooted sense of her historical heritage.

  It moved him more than anything that day.

  Pembrook could restrain himself no longer. He rounded on Kramer and begged to be put out of his misery.

  “Then let this be a lesson to you,” Kramer replied. “Always make a point of seeing everyone who might conceivably be involved in a case, however unlikely that possibility. Ah, that’s better.”

  They had reached the dual highway.

  “And another thing, Pembrook: beware of the mistake Boetie made when he tried to be a detective. Our job requires us not to make assumptions based on class, color, or religious belief. His set ideas cost him his life.”

  “But, sir!”

  “I want that in your head before we start to confuse you.”

  Zondi gave a snort.

  “Hey, you back there-stop that listening!”

  “Straightaway, boss.”

  The Chev moved over into the slow lane behind a wattle truck and dropped down to thirty.

  “Well, it was like this, Pembrook man. I left that note in the office for you and then went to Greenside. As I was coming up the drive at No. 10, I see Caroline out there in the garden cutting some flowers. Hell, I think, that’s a quick recovery! So I stop and go over. Guess what? It’s her ma.”

  “No!”

  “At a distance, they’ve both got that wiry sort of body that never changes much. Hair style’s the same, same color, and eyebrows all buggered about to nothing.”

  “Age?”

  “Around thirty-seven. She must have reached desperation pretty fast wherever it was she met Jarvis. But that isn’t the point, is it? She jumps nearly out of her pants when I say who I am, and that I’m investigating the Cutler case. Then she says, ‘But it was an accident!’ Why are you so sure, lady? I ask. She can’t tell me but keeps on that I’m wasting my time. Hell! She should have known what big jumps my mind was taking.”

  “I’ll bet! Did you-?”

  “Stick around. When I was last at their place I told the Captain that we’d caught a loony housebreaker who admitted pushing Andy in. So when I ask her why she’s so anxious it was accidental, she says she doesn’t want the bloke to hang for nothing. That’s all right, I tell her, we know it wasn’t him. And then I say, all calm-like, ‘What happened, Mrs. Jarvis, did you and Andy roll over the edge?’ ”

  “Christ!”

  Zondi made a muffled sound.

  “Next thing she’s laughing crazy but quietly and asking me how I know. That was a good moment to get the hell out, but I waited. Then she asked me what happens next and I tell her, Nothing. Like she says, it was an accident. No sense in dragging up evidence that would not alter the court’s verdict. I explain that was why I was calling by. Her relief, it was fantastic. The Captain had said he would kill her if it ever got in the papers.”

  “But wait a minute, sir; if the two deaths are connected, then what the hell did she think she was doing?” Pembrook said.

  “She felt guilty about the mad kaffir she thought we’d string up.”

  “Since when has guilt been stronger than self-preservation? She could have left well alone. All this implicates her in the other.”

  “Only if she connected them also. Think about it.”

  Pembrook looked round at Zondi. All he saw was the crown of a straw hat tipped well forward.

  “Be fair, sir,” he entreated. “You must have asked more than one question.”

  “ Ach, yes, I’d forgotten. Just as I got back into the car, telling her not to worry, I said, ‘Do you ever wear trendy lipstick when you want to feel younger?’ And she answered, ‘What woman doesn’t?’ Enough for you
now?”

  The wattle truck, laden with bark and a loll of plantation workers, one of whom was playing the concertina, slowed down even further as the long climb up the escarpment began. Delighted to discover he had a following, the musician turned on a special performance. Kramer found it amusing for three bars and then put a mile between them.

  “Slow down a bit, sir. I want to know what’s on or I won’t know what I’m supposed to be doing.”

  “Let me just tell you then and no hard feelings. A lot of this is still shots in the dark, but we’ll be able to verify it before long-that much I promise you.

  “We’ll start with this bloke Andy-Randy Andy, according to the girls, but not getting any from them. We add to him our dear Sylvia, who sounds, from your mate’s description, in much the same boat. What have we got? A bit of whatnot without any too great a stretch of the imagination. Follow?”

  “Surely the Captain-”

  “Go back to Jackson the cook. He told us they slept in different rooms. Caroline felt safe to sneak out again after ten so you have a fair idea of when the old man hit the sack. This left a lot of night for lovin’ in-yes? And one night they’re down at the swimming bath, probably had an hour of it already and trying out a few variations. I think a psychologist friend of mine might even say that Sylvia would go for ‘reversal of roles’ after being married to that bullying bugger for eighteen years. Anyway, there she was, sitting on Andy, right near the edge-”

  “Why?”

  Kramer shrugged.

  “Maybe for a bit of extra excitement. Kicks? Or they could have moved across without noticing. Anyway, they climax and fall in. Andy doesn’t see what’s coming. The water slams into his vagus, he’s dead. Now, don’t start on adrenalin because, if you know anything about the subject we’re discussing, you’ll know how fast it sends you to sleep afterwards. Besides, it’s been proved scientifically to my satisfaction.”

  “In America, I bet.”

  “Uhuh. Can you imagine what it must have been like for her? The boy was dead in an instant. That’s why she didn’t even try to get him out: the fact was so obvious that all she could think of was to run for help. She told me the Captain had said he would kill her if it got out. So she must have gone right to him, or had hysterics, or something, but the fact remains he was aware of the situation. He covered up, not for her sake, you can be sure.”

  “I know: the family name. Remember he got drunk and banned soon after?”

  “You’re learning fast. Now tell me, where does Boetie come into this?”

  A short pause followed as Pembrook prepared himself for the test. He was sweating all of a sudden.

  “Accepting what you have said as basically correct, sir, then we can start when Boetie was crouching behind the tennis court watching something going on between a male and a female on the patio. From the fact he made a mistake in his identification, we deduce he could only distinguish rough forms, length of hair, and so on. Suddenly they…”

  “Heave?”

  “Yes, heave, and roll in. Well, he sees the female surface and run away.”

  “She could have dived a few times but he’d think she was pressing her attack.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Go on.”

  “Boetie expects to-”

  “Just a minute, sorry to interrupt, but I’ve just realized how I hit on the ‘rolling in’ idea. Jarvis quoted Strydom as saying so and it struck because the DS didn’t-never mind.”

  “Naturally Boetie waits a little for her maybe to come back. By the time he gets to the patio, he is sure the male is dead. He looks around for clothing to identify the female with-all he can find is a cigarette.”

  “Gone out in one of the oyster shells.”

  “Hey? He takes it and zooms home, wondering if he should tell the police. Like someone said, he decides they will sort it out. But come Monday and the inquest verdict, he is sure a mistake has been made because-more than that-people are lying and that means something sinister is going on.”

  “What proof did he have?” Kramer asked.

  “He knew one thing for absolute certain, and that was Andy had someone with him when he fell in.”

  “Be careful now and think as though you are Boetie-remember everything you know about him.”

  Pembrook, made irritable by so many interruptions, fought to keep a civil tongue in his head.

  “Lying, to Boetie, implies evil. He appraises the situation again. His confidence in the police drives him to have his doubts about what he’s seen happening-perhaps there is another explanation. It crosses his mind that it might have been a shameful act and hence the silence, but he’s never heard of it done like that. Being a good detective, he checks this out with the Dominee.”

  “First class!”

  “The dates made that one easy, sir,” Pembrook said, very heartened. “The Dominee flips his lid and ‘puts him right’ and we all know what that means. Boetie comes away convinced he had seen a death struggle. Convinced he’s a pretty smart cookie after all. Still, there is a little doubt remaining. If he tells the police and hasn’t more than his story to back him up, then there could be trouble. He was a great one for the trespass laws himself.”

  “I favor the idea he did it to win the Midnight Leopards a big pat on the back.”

  “Or himself.”

  “Certainly. Thank God we didn’t pull the magazine in on this-it didn’t have any responsibility, the more you think about it. And then?”

  “Boetie gives Hester the shove, chums up with Sally, and tries to identify the female. The lipstick on the cigarette makes Caroline Suspect Number One. You know, sir, that ciggie must have been still warm or something for him to link it so strongly.”

  “With Boetie, you can bet your boots on it. Caution all down the line.”

  “That’s really shown in what happened next, sir, I would think. We know there was nothing between Caroline and Andy, so he hits trouble straightaway in trying to connect them. But he keeps at it for a whole month before trying out a bit of the old head-on attack to see what she does.”

  Kramer gestured for him to steer while he lit up a Lucky. The turn-off to the country club was just beyond the next rise.

  “No doubt, Pembrook, our friend Sally must have dropped a few hints about Andy’s morals.”

  “I grant that could keep him hoping, sir, but-hell, that’s as far as I can get. Sorry, sir.”

  “Why?”

  “Because I’m buggered if I can see why Boetie didn’t notice the same thing as you right at the start-the similarities between Mrs. and Miss.”

  “He could have done.”

  “Hey? And not thought about it?”

  “Unthinkable. What if it was unthinkable?”

  “Sir?”

  Kramer yanked the wheel over and the Chev skidded to a halt on the gravel shoulder.

  “What the hell did I tell you to do, boy? I said keep your thoughts about Boetie characteristic! Were you brought up Dutch Reformed?”

  Tact made Zondi spring out to relieve himself behind a portable lavatory dumped in the grass by a road gang.

  “Many thanks, boss,” he said as he climbed back in again, timing it all to a nicety.

  Kramer drove on before addressing Pembrook in kinder tones: “It seems I must spell it all out. You have the Dominee’s word that Boetie was a good little churchgoer who actually listened to his sermons. You have evidence that his parents are good, virtuous folk, who keep their house free from evil influences. And you have the Trekkersburg Gazette from the day before yesterday.”

  “Sir?”

  “You must learn to read, man. Then maybe you would have seen what the synod is asking the government to do. There’s a whole list but two are enough: it wants to have all Sunday papers banned-you know bloody well what I mean about their back pages, all those film star bust-ups-and it wants living in sin made a criminal offense. All right, so that was this week, but I bet you the Dominee’s been preaching that stuff for years. Ever si
nce Boetie was big enough to come out of the babe-in-arms room at the back. All in dark hints, mind you, that only the grownups properly understand. So what did he know of what went on in the world? Only one thing: you mustn’t do anything to a girl until you’re both married and the Lord gives his blessing.”

  “A good world to grow up in, I suppose.”

  “Boetie was very lucky. But in freak circumstances like this, it cost him his life.”

  The Chev slithered off the main road, clattered over the cattle grid, and started up the last stretch through the wattles, making a brace of guinea fowl catapult into the undergrowth. An approaching Mercedes and then a Peugeot pulled over to allow them to pass.

  “ Ach, no,” said Pembrook, “even then I find it hard to believe. He must have heard somewhere that married women fool around.”

  “But is that how he saw Mrs. Jarvis? That’s the crux of it. Whose statue stands outside the Voortrekker Monument? A mother’s. Heroic mothers fill the history books in primary schools. And when you are still a kid, what woman is the one you can least imagine doing wrong?”

  “Your mother?”

  “And what was Mrs. Jarvis?”

  “Sally’s mother,” Pembrook responded, very peeved with himself.

  “Unthinkable.” Kramer chuckled and stopped the car.

  He had parked again above the third and last hole of the pitch-and-putt course. Straight across the other side were the trees in which Boetie had been found; to their left, and cutting off their view of the rest of the golf course, was a windbreak of firs.

  “Maybe that was staring me in the face, sir,” Pembrook said, “but do you know more?”

  “We can guess. Here is Boetie; a month gone by, no corpse left to prove anything different from what Strydom found, and Caroline giving him a hard time. So, like we said, he challenges her and ends up on the carpet in Jarvis’s study. Gets the balls chewed right off him and is told to get the hell out and not come back. Note, Jarvis did not know at this stage what Boetie had said to his daughter.