somewhere, hey?”
The Widow Fourie glanced up at the kitchen clock. “Just five minutes more,” she said, “or I’ll feel a total wreck at work in the morning!”
“Any idea how the two of them got together in the first place?”
“Oh, that,” she said, getting up and going back to the sink. “The story is, Lance met Annika when she was hitchhiking to Eshowe—she was always doing mad things like that!—and the pair of them finished up instead two hundred miles away in Durban that night, going to a show and getting drunk on the beachfront. Her father nearly went berserk when she got back next day—he thought kaffirs must’ve raped her on the road and thrown her in the sugarcane—and went straight to Lance’s boss, wanting him sacked. But Lance turns up at thecamp in the game reserve, tells his boss it’s okay, it was just a little engagement party, and in no time at all they’re married! The whole district was amazed because of her reputation and the fact this Lance bloke comes from a good Durban family—his pa’s a posh lawyer and his ma was an Oppenberg. I know Hans tried to stop the marriage. He said he’d only met Lance the once, but he wasn’t good enough for Annika; that he was a spoiled, private-school kid with a mean streak in him.”
“Terblanche always seems very quick to rise to Annika’s defense,” said Kramer, lighting a Lucky. “Think there could have been something on the go between those two?”
The Widow Fourie gave a surprised laugh. “That’s like asking if I think Santa does rude things to little kids!” she said.
Kramer smiled. “What’s got me puzzled,” he said, “is why Annika didn’t take the advice of an old family friend—why she allowed herself to become entangled with such a well-established little bastard.”
“You get people like that,” said the Widow Fourie, with a shrug. “I don’t know whether it’s the excitement, the risk, or what, but it could also be they want someone else to take charge of them, someone who will not put up with promiscuity, say. She was wild, of that there is no doubt, and maybe it scared her, this wildness, because she knew she couldn’t properly control it.”
“Man,” Kramer said, with a laugh, “have you noticed the irony? What sort of husband did this wild creature choose to look after her?”
“A game ranger!” said the Widow Fourie, laughing too, as she turned from rinsing the sink. “No, I’d never thought of that before …”
Their smiles locked, lingered, then faded together.
“Look at the time!” said the Widow Fourie, snatching up a tea towel to dry her hands, turning from him. “I don’t know what I think I’m doing still up at this hour.”
“Suggesting a few answers that could go a long way to solve a mystery,” said Kramer, rising from his chair. “If there was still trouble between Annika and Lance, and it was now threatening his whole livelihood, a man could find in that a motive for murder—especially a violent man, who might have reasons of his own not to want evidence given in the divorce court.”
“But,” said the Widow Fourie, with a final glance at the clock, “although I can see what you’re getting at, Lance Gillets must have been miles away when the whatsit went off.”
“Which is surely the whole point of using a timing device,” said Kramer. “It allows the killer to get to hell and gone from the scene, and concoct himself a cast-iron alibi.”
“You mean it was a
time bomb
that went off last night?”
“No proof as yet, but ja, I expect that to be confirmed tomorrow.”
“Tomorrow is today,” said the Widow Fourie very firmly, moving to the passage doorway, “and I’ve an early start with masses of bed linen to check at the hospital, so—”
“You do
what
there?”
“Ach, you know, supervise the linen rooms, count the pillows—all of that. Let me see, is there anything else you need? I’ve put a towel in your bedroom and the maid’ll give you
The Widow Fourie glanced up at the kitchen clock. “Just five minutes more,” she said, “or I’ll feel a total wreck at work in the morning!”
“Any idea how the two of them got together in the first place?”
“Oh, that,” she said, getting up and going back to the sink. “The story is, Lance met Annika when she was hitchhiking to Eshowe—she was always doing mad things like that!—and the pair of them finished up instead two hundred miles away in Durban that night, going to a show and getting drunk on the beachfront. Her father nearly went berserk when she got back next day—he thought kaffirs must’ve raped her on the road and thrown her in the sugarcane—and went straight to Lance’s boss, wanting him sacked. But Lance turns up at thecamp in the game reserve, tells his boss it’s okay, it was just a little engagement party, and in no time at all they’re married! The whole district was amazed because of her reputation and the fact this Lance bloke comes from a good Durban family—his pa’s a posh lawyer and his ma was an Oppenberg. I know Hans tried to stop the marriage. He said he’d only met Lance the once, but he wasn’t good enough for Annika; that he was a spoiled, private-school kid with a mean streak in him.”
“Terblanche always seems very quick to rise to Annika’s defense,” said Kramer, lighting a Lucky. “Think there could have been something on the go between those two?”
The Widow Fourie gave a surprised laugh. “That’s like asking if I think Santa does rude things to little kids!” she said.
Kramer smiled. “What’s got me puzzled,” he said, “is why Annika didn’t take the advice of an old family friend—why she allowed herself to become entangled with such a well-established little bastard.”
“You get people like that,” said the Widow Fourie, with a shrug. “I don’t know whether it’s the excitement, the risk, or what, but it could also be they want someone else to take charge of them, someone who will not put up with promiscuity, say. She was wild, of that there is no doubt, and maybe it scared her, this wildness, because she knew she couldn’t properly control it.”
“Man,” Kramer said, with a laugh, “have you noticed the irony? What sort of husband did this wild creature choose to look after her?”
“A game ranger!” said the Widow Fourie, laughing too, as she turned from rinsing the sink. “No, I’d never thought of that before …”
Their smiles locked, lingered, then faded together.
“Look at the time!” said the Widow Fourie, snatching up a tea towel to dry her hands, turning from him. “I don’t know what I think I’m doing still up at this hour.”
“Suggesting a few answers that could go a long way to solve a mystery,” said Kramer, rising from his chair. “If there was still trouble between Annika and Lance, and it was now threatening his whole livelihood, a man could find in that a motive for murder—especially a violent man, who might have reasons of his own not to want evidence given in the divorce court.”
“But,” said the Widow Fourie, with a final glance at the clock, “although I can see what you’re getting at, Lance Gillets must have been miles away when the whatsit went off.”
“Which is surely the whole point of using a timing device,” said Kramer. “It allows the killer to get to hell and gone from the scene, and concoct himself a cast-iron alibi.”
“You mean it was a
time bomb
that went off last night?”
“No proof as yet, but ja, I expect that to be confirmed tomorrow.”
“Tomorrow is today,” said the Widow Fourie very firmly, moving to the passage doorway, “and I’ve an early start with masses of bed linen to check at the hospital, so—”
“You do
what
there?”
“Ach, you know, supervise the linen rooms, count the pillows—all of that. Let me see, is there anything else you need? I’ve put a towel in your bedroom and the maid’ll give you
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