The Blood of an Englishman Read Online Free PDF

person he was going to see had no further use for a soothing bedside manner.
    Names like Digby-Smith had always irritated Kramer. They smacked of English-speaking snobs with horse-dung under their fingernails and—after drug-crazed alcoholic clap-struck half-castes—there was no breed of human he distrusted more profoundly. Yet he had to concede that the name Digby-hyphen-Smith had one undoubted virtue. It was listed only twice in the Trekkersburg telephone directory, and to make things even simpler, one entry was marked
Residence
and the other
Business
.
    “I’m sorry, sir,” said the secretary who answered his call, “but Mr. Digby-Smith is out visiting a site with a client at the moment. Can I put you through to his junior partner, Mr. Wells?”
    Kramer sagged fractionally. “Ach no, that wouldn’t be much help,” he said. “Instead, can you do two things for me? As soon as your boss gets back, can you ask him to come down to Jonty’s—you know where I mean, the beauty shop?”
    “Er, yyyyes.… You did say this was the police?”
    “CID. Also, will you please give me the number of his family doctor?”
    “It’s Dr. Crickmay. But what on earth—?”
    “Later,” said Kramer, and hung up.
    He found and tried Dr. Crickmay’s number. It seemed to ring an unpardonable length of time for a surgery switchboard. While waiting for a reply, he glanced around Jonty’s private office, unable to decide whether it was helluva modern or helluva down-to-earth and simple. The floorboards were bare, the walls a plain white, the desk and two chairs were ordinary, the calendar was a trade hand-out, and that was about it—except for a huge family-sized refrigerator in the far corner which added a nonsensical, baffling touch. Helluva modern, was his verdict.
    Jonty slipped into the room and closed the door. “Any luck with that doctor yet? She’s still not quite with us, y’know; keeps mumbling about old Bonzo and then fading out.”
    “That’s who I’m ringing right now, only I don’t seem to—Oh hullo, it’s the CID here. Is Dr. Crickmay available?”
    “Sorry, but Doctor’s out finishing his morning rounds,” said the surgery receptionist.
    “Hell.”
    “Is this something urgent? If so, I could have Doctor bleeped to the nearest telephone.”
    “Ideal,” said Kramer, and gave her the salon’s number.
    Jonty waited until the receiver had been replaced before he asked, “What exactly is going on here? Did you bring her a bit of bad news or other?”
    “Ja, pretty bad.”
    “Concerning her brother?”
    “How did you guess?”
    “Well, from what she’s mumbling, I suppose, Mr.—er.…”
    “Kramer—Lieutenant Tromp Kramer, Murder and Robbery Squad.”
    “
Robbery?
” Jonty’s thick eyebrows shot up. “Poor old sod! Where was this? Here in town? This morning?”
    Kramer was about to set the record straight when he realized that the salon owner might be more helpful if he wasleft holding the wrong end of the stick. Murders tended to be messy, very personal affairs in which other people tried not to become involved, but a robbery on the other hand was close to an Act of God, and nobody minded divulging what they knew of a robbery victim’s circumstances to anyone who appeared interested.
    So instead he said, “Bonzo was found about an hour ago in Gillespie Street. You speak like you know him.”
    “I know
of
him, certainly,” said Jonty. “As you can imagine, we get the lowdown on all our clientele and their belongings, one way or another—there’s what they themselves insist on boring us with, plus the juicier bits of gossip their best friends pass on. It’s a pain at times, but there you go, we’re in the ego business.”
    “Uh huh.”
    “And so I’ve naturally picked up quite a bit on Bonzo, alias Edward Hookham, DFG and bar—now there’s a thought!” Jonty swung open the refrigerator door to reveal about ten dozen cans of chilled beer. “What’s yours, Lieutenant? A