The Steam Pig by James McClure

Author:James McClure
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Tags: ebook
Publisher: Soho Press
Published: 2010-06-30T16:00:00+00:00

10

AS IT HAPPENED, there was no need for Kramer to say anything. Van Niekerk said it all, out aloud to himself, over and over again.

“So she lied to you,” Kramer interrupted.

“The bitch.”

“Cut it out now, Sergeant. I want to get after her while there’s a chance. She didn’t lie to you anyway, she lied to us—the force. Why?”

This stopped Van Niekerk taking ridiculous punches at the wall.

“Well, because she was trying to hide something. Cover up a connection with the girl.”

“Right. What gets me is this address she cooked up. How did she come out with it? Did she stutter or anything?”

Van Niekerk closed his eyes.

“No, it was pat enough. First the number. I wrote it down. Then the street.”

“Biddulph Street. She knew the name but not much else about it.”

“Most probably the first one that came to mind, sir.”

“Or the only one she knew in Trekkersburg. Funny choice, I must say.”

“You mean she could be a stranger here?”

“Yes, I do and that’s what makes me feel we’ll have to move fast on this one even if she isn’t too good on her legs.”

“We could put out a radio call to all the vans.”

Kramer was in half a mind to do just that but the other half rebelled.

“How long is it since you left her at Abbott’s?”

“About ten, maybe fifteen minutes.”

“Not so long I can’t chance a call to him first then,” Kramer replied and began dialling the funeral parlour. “He might have picked up something.”

Mr Abbott racked his brains. No, he didn’t ask her about where she lived. Never thought to. Kramer urged him to remember everything which had happened after Van Niekerk left. Negative. Wait a minute though, now he came to think of it he had seen her from his doorstep stop to ask the newsboy at the corner something.

“Get going and ask him what she wanted,” Kramer ordered.

Van Niekerk suddenly clicked his fingers, took out one of the reports and typed out a short list from it on pink paper.

“Yes?” Kramer said as the other receiver was picked up again. “She asked the way to Biddulph Street? Boy, this is a lulu. Ta.”

He went over to the map.

“I’ve got it!” he exploded suddenly. “The Biddulph Street out-of-town bus terminus! Why the jesus didn’t we think of it before? It fits.”

“I’ll say—shall I come with you, sir?”

“Best you stay here to liaise with Zondi if he comes through.”

“Then maybe you’d like to take this with you, sir?”

Kramer took the pink slip and looked blankly at the figures on it.

“Vital statistics,” Van Niekerk explained. “What every dressmaker should know.”

There were other times when he excelled himself.

Zondi had bought an ice cream for the urchin who had finally admitted, amid the jeers of his companions, to having looked after Shoe Shoe over the weeks before his disappearance. And Zondi had bought himself one, too.

They sat together behind the war memorial and talked between licks. It had been a shameful confession, for even the most wretched Zulu hates to have it known he has had to accept women’s work, but a Vanilla Glory brought total absolution.

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