was an armpit. A small, hairy armpit. The girl had not used a razor, unusual but without significance.
âNow look again,â Dr Strydom urged, parting the tufts with a retractor.
âFlea bite?â
âAll quite simple if you have the stomach for it,â Dr Strydom explained. âYou take your spoke, nicely sharpened up on a brick, and slide it in here between the third and fourth rib. Your targetâs the aorta where it ascends from the heart.â
âYirra, you call that simple,â Prinsloo scoffed.
âOh, but it is. You just aim for the high point on the opposite shoulder. The artery is pretty tough so you know when youâve hit it. An expert can do it first time, a novice may take a few shotsâlike trying to spear spaghetti round on a plate.â
Prinsloo backed off a pace. Big and paunchy, he looked a man who enjoyed his food.
âAnd then?â Kramer was engrossed.
âMan, the pressure in that aortaâs fantastic,â Dr Strydom continued. âIâve seen blood hit the ceiling with an aneurism that burst during an op. But as you withdraw a thin thing like a bike spoke, it seals off, see? All those layers, muscles, lungs, tissue, close up. You just wrap a hankie or rag round the spoke in the armpit and that takes care of any on the way out.â
Kramer straightened up, patted his pockets for cigarettes and took one the district surgeon proffered.
âNot bad, not bad at all, Doctor.â
Dr Strydom attempted modesty: âOf course I tracked it down from all the blood loose in the cavities. One canât really blame Matthews, I suppose.â
âWhoâs that?â
âHer doctor, a GP out Morninghill way. The visible signs were identical to certain types of cardiac arrest. She had a history, Iâm told.â
That was a slip. In Kramerâs experience death certificates never mentioned case histories. This meant that the DS must have already been in touch with Matthews. Pity, now he would have all his excuses off pat, but that was the medical brotherhood for youâmore closely-knit than the Mafia and often as deadly. Still, he would let that pass, too. He had one or two questions to go.
âHow long would it have taken her to die?â
âTen minutes, fifteen at the outside; although if the shock itself was great enough Iâd say almost immediatelyâ
âUhuh. Scream?â
âShe couldâve but itâd only take a pillow to muffle it. Thereâs no facial bruising. Anyhow, with her brain starved of blood sheâd be out pretty quickly.â
âWhat about this bruising on her arm?â
âCanât be positive. Easily come by when youâve been thrashing round in a convulsion.â
This association of violent action with the violently inactive Miss Le Roux had the subtle obscenity of a warm lavatory seat. Kramer decided he had had enough.
âSheâs all yours, Sergeant. When youâve finished the ones for your private album, Iâd like a set of six head-and-shoulders not looking too glum.â
Dr Strydom accompanied him from the room.
âWhereâs Abbott?â Kramer demanded in the passage.
âHere, officer,â came a meek voice from the chapel. And although Ma Abbott had gone, and Farthing was out doing a country removal, he insisted on being interviewed in his showroom, which had a soundproof sliding door.
At this point Dr Strydom took his leave, having suddenly remembered his daily appointment beside the triangle in the central prison. Those sentenced to strokes would already be lining up and waiting for him. He had to certify them fit for punishment, see the kidneys were properly protected, and keep an eye on responses. Buttocks are a common vehicle of abuse, but it is not prudent to abuse them overmuch.
âOkay, but I want the laboratory reports tonight,â Kramer said, turning abruptly away. He let Abbott see to the door while he chose the