The Steam Pig Read Online Free PDF Page A

love-struck; he felt lighter than air, eager and ready for action. All he wanted was to go charging out and get his man. Sick. It was altogether a condition to be profoundly distrusted. So he decided to sit back, talk a little, ponder a little, be nice to Georgie who was not bad for an English-speaking bloke.
    â€œYou see,” he said, “it was a case of all or nothing with the bastard who did it. You can bet your last cent he had a lot at stake. So what does he choose?—the ultimate weapon, a bloody bike spoke. Only, things have gone wrong and it’s like getting caught in your own fall-out. Anyone can shoot a gun, or stab with a knife, but very few can handle a spoke. That narrows it down.”
    â€œI’d say.”
    â€œAnother thing: what was a white girl doing getting mixed up with kaffir gangster tricks? That’s a good one for you.”
    â€œIt is indeed, marvellous.”
    â€œGo easy on that stuff, Georgie.”
    â€œNever fear, old boy, Ma’s gone home to mumsywumsy. Even worse, she is. Still alive only because she doesn’t want me to get my hands on her.”
    Kramer laughed.
    â€œTell you what, bring the bugger back here when you get him,” Mr Abbott offered, “I’ll see to him for you.”
    His leer was frightening.
    â€œNot a chance,” Kramer replied, standing up. “This one’s all mine. He won’t know what hit him.”
    Mr Abbott raised his glass to toast the sentiment.
    â€œJust you see he doesn’t get to hear of what happened today,” Kramer warned softly. “This gives us a good start as long as we keep it quiet. Understand?”
    â€œAbsolutely, old boy.”
    Mr Abbott’s company had suddenly become tedious. Besides which, Kramer no longer felt rarin’ to go. So he went.

 
    3
    T HERE WAS STILL no one in the Murder Squad offices when he got back, but a ridiculous note had been left in the typewriter. It said that Colonel Du Plessis had an important engagement and should be contacted at Trekkersburg 21111 only if absolutely necessary. That was the Brigadier’s home number. Of course, he was holding a braaivleis to celebrate his dragon daughter’s betrothal to some fair maid of an architect. Ordinarily, this would have invited a stock outburst from Kramer—what a bloody time to go stuffing yourself on barbecued sausage with an eye on the main chance. But, under the circumstances, he could not have wished for anything better. Whether something was “absolutely necessary” or not was entirely a matter of opinion. He could get on with the investigation without interference at least until morning. It was also pleasing to find the others were still out for this meant no pressure to delegate. The case was all his—and Zondi’s, when that idle kaffir bothered to look in.
    He buzzed the duty officer.
    â€œKramer here, just back from Abbott’s place. White female Le Roux definitely murdered. Stab wounds. Suspect Bantu intruder.”
    The duty officer’s silence was as loud as a yawn. Good, without lying he had made it sound sufficiently commonplace; after all, dozens of whites surprised burglars, to be fatally surprised in turn.
    â€œBut keep it from the Press, will you, Janie?”
    Captain Janie Koekemoor reassured him of this on the grounds he knew bugger all about it anyway having just come on.
    Perfect. He replaced the receiver.
    Where to begin? There were already quite a number of people to see: Farthing, Dr Matthews, the Trinity agent, and the occupants of 223A Barnato Street. He would arrange for Ma Abbott to make her statement to the local police rather than recall her, it was the least he could do.
    With speed as an essential factor, the party in 223A seemed the best bet. For a start it was likely they were Miss Le Roux’s landlords and that would save a bit of digging about. Kramer knew the properties down that side of Trekkersburg. Since the Act which kept