The Steam Pig Read Free

happened.
    So Kramer sighed and Prinsloo mistook relief for agitation. Not that the sergeant was stupid, simply new to CID and as yet poorly acquainted with the men in the Murder Squad—something which Kramer intended to exploit. His ploy was to invert the unwritten law No. 178/a which states it is an officer’s prerogative to pretend ignorance in order to establish the efficiency of subordinates.
    â€œRight, Sergeant, what were your orders?” Kramer challenged.
    Orders was a rather strong word to use in the context of a routine assignment, but Prinsloo recognised the ritual and replied very properly: “I was told to report to you here and to take what pictures seemed necessary.”
    â€œOf?”
    â€œSome dolly or other.”
    â€œName?”
    â€œEr—something Le Roux, sir.”
    â€œTheresa le Roux?” Kramer snapped, inducing the required degree of discomfiture.
    Predictably, in an attempt to appease, it now all came out in a rush: “Look sir, I was in the darkroom when the chief starts yelling through the door that I’d better get down here quick because you are on your way and Doc Strydom has done a p.m. on the wrong body because Abbott made a balls and it’s murder.”
    Kramer remained silent—which took some doing.
    â€œThat’s all he said, sir. Plus the name. But you—”
    â€œNo need to get like that, Sarge,” Kramer said soothingly. “Got to keep you new boys on your toes.”
    So that was it. A murder. And for once it sounded like the real thing.
    Prinsloo just had time to grab his gear before Kramer disappeared through the curtains. Beyond them was the chapel, which reeked of stale vase water, and then a passage lined with floral tributes waiting to be distributed to the sick. Stepping carefully, they reached a door marked mortuary and pushed it open.
    Dr Strydom was alone. He turned sharply at the sound of the door slamming back on its spring and hurriedly waddled over.
    â€œAh, Lieutenant, I’m delighted to see you.”
    â€œDoctor.”
    â€œGot my little message, did you?”
    â€œSort of.”
    â€œAh.”
    â€œWhat’s been going on here, then?”
    Dr Strydom overtly looked round Kramer to see if there was anyone standing behind him.
    â€œYou’ve not seen Mr Abbott? Strange, I thought he was out there. This little affair is rather delicate.”
    â€œOh yes?”
    A deep breath, then: “In a nutshell, Lieutenant, I’m afraid there’s been a bit of a muddle. Two cadavers, both female, and my official one got cremated this afternoon.”
    Prinsloo clucked his tongue like a wog washerwoman finding pee stains.
    â€œWhere does that leave us?” Kramer inquired coldly. He had not moved since entering.
    Dr Strydom paused to pick his words.
    â€œYou could say a lot better off—if not too much fuss is made.”
    Now Kramer was certain that the district surgeon had been party to the little affair, as he called it. Georgie had not accomplished it all by himself. However, that side of it could be dealt with later when the old dodderer’s co-operation and self-confidence were not so essential. He shrugged negligently.
    â€œUhuh. Who went in the oven?”
    â€œI took the liberty of checking while you were coming over,” Dr Strydom replied. “Some poor old dear found under a bush down near Mason’s Stream where the sherry tramps hang out. Just a routine. Age? Booze? Both probably. Somebody to sign the certificate. A right tart in her day I hear.”
    Kramer turned his gaze to the table.
    â€œAnd this one? Another tart?”
    â€œI very much doubt it,” Dr Strydom answered, snapping the cuffs of his rubber gloves.
    â€œBut you’re sure it’s murder?”
    â€œOh, yes! Why not see for yourself?” His tone became curiously gleeful, rather like an amateur magician’s opening patter. Friends, I am about to utterly astonish