“And the button?” asked Marais, dropping his pen.
“She was the one with all the time to shoot upstairs,” Kramer said. “She had a quick look for the shirt, tricked Ma Shirley over the right number, and all without really knowing what the sod was going on.”
Zondi spoke in Zulu to Martha and then confirmed this had been the sequence of events-although she had nearly been seen by her employer.
Marais got an attack of the old trouble and hastened off to the bog.
Martha said something else.
“She asks if she can now know what girl has made a complaint against her master,” Zondi explained. “She is not stupid, this one.”
“What we need now,” said Kramer, rising to the surface, “is that husband of hers to testify about the time. Where does he live? Bloody Durban, I suppose?”
“ Hau, no, Lieutenant. He is the first one I catch.”
“Hey? How come?”
“The story Boss Wessels told about a man in her kia sounded strange in my ears, because I can see she is a churchwoman and would not give away her favors.”
“Where was he, then? You had only-”
“Right next door at number thirty-two. I said to him there would be no trouble about the permit offense this time if he was willing to be of assistance.”
“Quite right,” said the colonel, and then noticed it was half-past four.
Marais had been sent on his own to bring Shirley in for questioning, so Wessels shot over to the canteen to buy himself a quick Coke.
He was drinking it in the doorway, glorying in what he knew and yet had to keep to himself for the moment, when Warrant Officer Gardiner waved him over; then, realizing Wessels was armed and couldn’t enter, actually made his way across to him.
“How’s the case going?” Gardiner asked.
“Not bad at all, sir.”
“Then you’ve found the third guy?”
“Oh, that one, you mean. We haven’t had time for that business today. When I left CID to come over, the lieutenant had just started getting brainwaves that the shooting was done by the one at the back door.”
Gardiner’s eyebrows did their thing.
“Ja, and then there was the problem of where did the passenger go, and Mickey said why not under the dashboard?”
“I must be pissed,” said Gardiner.
“No, even for a coon, that’s logical. They used old cars, which still had the high doors, and there are no pavements in Peacevale to give passers-by the extra elevation, no double stories either. And as Kramer says, you count the number of persons in a vehicle by counting the heads, and if one suddenly goes you think you must have missed looking that way for a moment.”
“Let’s talk in the passage,” said Gardiner, pushing Wessels out with a friendly poke in the belly. “Now try and explain this better where I can hear you.”
“It’s dead simple, the way he’s got it now. The one round the back in the bandages-maybe they are even hiding the gun-arrives at the scene independently and on foot. The other two roll up in front of the shops, and the passenger gets his head down. It’s the driver that keeps the lookout for when the pedestrian traffic drops, then he gives a honk like I heard him do, but the kaffirs are so used to their own kind doing noisy things like that they forget. And the shots have them-”
“And the one with the gun?”
“By that time, when the horn goes, he has found a shop that isn’t being guarded at the rear. He goes in, looks round to see there are no customers, shoots the storekeeper, grabs the money, and he’s out the back way while everyone is coming up off the grit watching the car tear away. Now even if that car hits a roadblock, the two in it have no money, no gun-nothing to worry them. And they meet up again later.”
Gardiner shook his head.
“It’s not all just imagination, sir. It seems that the lieutenant warned this Lucky bloke, for instance, and now he points out that Lucky was shot, not near his till, but up near the shopwindow, as if he’d seen the car and was watching it. Plus Doc Strydom said he’d been shot on the turn-the turn towards, not away, you see? And wouldn’t Lucky have backed towards his till if the man came in the front? Just think how many times that car may have stopped at different places and the back doors were shut. Or they could have got the record shop instead of the butcher-maybe that was their intention Pot luck, Kramer says!”
“Sick!” Gardiner laughed Three prisoners were led between them down to the cells.
“And another thing about Lucky-his shop is built so high off the ground it’s possible he could see the passenger was ducking down and felt no immediate danger. Then he hears a sound, turns, and the shot gives the car its signal-”
“Okay, okay, I’ve got the picture,” Gardiner said, handing his glass to the small black helper. “But there’s a few things wrong with it. Fine as far as Peacevale goes, but there was no way that bugger could have attacked from the rear in the cafe. I drew the plans.”
“They’ve got them out now. Kramer’s working on the theory he came in through the bog window and out through the gents’ door under those stairs. I admit that once the car was gone I didn’t think to seal off-Jesus!”
“ Aikona, he couldn’t have had time to grab even the small change and get back to the bog door before the coolie looked out of the kitchen.”
“The lieut’s thought of that. He could have stood behind the kitchen door when it came open.”
“And how long did you take to come in the front?”
“ Ach, these aren’t my ideas, you know! That Mickey is now suggesting they’d thought of a better plan and that’s why they came into town, to try it on an easy place first. He’s just copying one of Kramer’s old ideas, thinking it’s smart.”
“Still, maybe he’s got a point there worth reminding.”
Wessels sneaked a look at his watch, making it obvious.
“I can take a hint, Wessels,” reproved Gardiner. “Only it’s you who has been doing all the talking and I came over to see if you’d save me a journey by telling Kramer something.”
Wessels nodded, and shook the fizz out of his Coke so he could drink the rest quickly.
“It’s just this: he’d better nail that other bloody psychopath quick so this lot can get some sleep.”
“Who, sir?”
“There’s no less than five Portues in with us tonight, all asking questions about the Munchausen. They were put on to me to hear about the car crash and the print and all the rest, but they keep on like they’re not so sure we’re just bulling them. You know-giving each other looks. It’s not making them popular with the blokes, and it’d be a pity if we have to ban outsiders if this goes on.”
It did not sound like a message that Kramer would receive sympathetically, but Wessels promised to relay every word. Then he ran back to the CID building in time to see Marais leading a very cool-looking young man about town up the stairs.
14
On the stool where Martha Mabile had sat, Peter Andrew Shirley now reposed, languid and unmoved by all that had been said to him over the past six hours.
Kramer had never seen a man conceal his feelings of guilt so completely. Even the innocent always showed some signs of tension as they began to attach wild fears to trifles. And yet that unconscious act of his with the underpants had shown beyond a doubt that the smooth-talking bastard suffered a bad conscience.
Prick it hard enough and the rest would explode in a gruesome mess of sobbed confession. But so far every dart of fact had bounced off.
Kramer, working on his own now, tried again. “You advanced your mother’s clock before waking her, you advanced the girl’s clock outside her kia door-you did this to regain the twenty-five minutes you lost while causing the death of Sonja Bergstroom by strangulation!”
He might as well have said by giving her whooping cough.
“You had the opportunity to retard both timepieces-and so nobody would notice you were twenty-five minutes behind the proper time, you made a long journey that swallowed it up in alleged stops. The truth is you drove hard all the way.”