The Steam Pig by James McClure Page B

notes. Van Rensberg followed them about, talking with inordinate nostalgia of his days on the beat down in Durban where, it appeared, he had done little else than solve famous cases. It soon became obvious that a flash of executive genius had given him the dead for company.
    Dr Strydom stepped out to a warm welcome from him.
    â€œSo we meet again, Doc?”
    â€œYou’d think once a day was enough, Sergeant. What is it this time, Lieutenant?”
    â€œBantu male, a cripple.”
    â€œOh?”
    â€œYour old friend Shoe Shoe.”
    â€œWhat has he been up to?”
    â€œNothing. For too long.”
    â€œI must see this.”
    And away he trotted, blinding himself by pulling the rubber apron over his head and nearly falling right over the corpse. He took a long look.
    â€œIt’s not often these things affect me, but I must say Lieutenant this really gets my goat. It’s the most bloody inhuman …”
    Obscenities failed him.
    â€œI’d say the girl had it easy by comparison,” Kramer murmured.
    â€œToo right you are. Quick and clean. Nothing in this axilla but bugs.”
    â€œWhat?”
    â€œArmpit,” Van Rensberg explained smugly. That was another thing about him: he had all the irritating traits of medicine’s sucker fish.
    â€œFetch the tray, Sergeant Van Rensberg,” Kramer ordered.
    â€œCome,” Van Rensberg ordered Zondi.
    â€œYes, there’s not much more I could tell you now,” Dr Strydom said. “I think you’re right, it’s exposure. I’ll do a check for poison and anything else I think of. No bruises of course, no need to be.”
    â€œThe important thing is: how long?”
    â€œOh, at least three full days out here—today’s Wednesday—make it Saturday.”
    Zondi slouched up, dragging the tray behind him.
    â€œAre we finished now, Doctor?”
    â€œHe’s all yours, Van Rensberg. I’ve just got an internal check to do tomorrow.”
    â€œRight you are, Doctor. Hear that, Zondi? You can use your foot to push him over. Just lay the tray alongside—like so. Now shove hard, man.”
    Shoe Shoe went over slowly with a long belch like a reveller leaving his bench for the straw. A group of startled dung beetles, suddenly exposed in the middle of a round damp patch on the ground, scuttled for cover.
    Kramer felt suddenly much happier about missing his lunch; one of the beetles had gone up his trouser leg.
    â€œShall we leave it to the experts?” Dr Strydom suggested.
    â€œFine,” Kramer replied, stamping the intruder free on the way back to the road.
    â€œBy the way, were the lab reports satisfactory on the girl, Lieutenant?”
    â€œNot bad.”
    â€œAnd you’ve seen Matthews?”
    â€œYes, we had our little talk. Quite a good bloke actually. Careless.”
    â€œWe all are some time or another.”
    â€œNo, I mean he even had her eye colour down wrong in his file—which he only bothered to fill in after you rang.”
    â€œThey’re brown.”
    â€œYes, but he swears they’re blue. Although I bet he never looked before yesterday.”
    â€œHow extraordinary! Old Georgie Abbott does, too.”
    Kramer stopped short.
    â€œIt’s more than that then, it’s bloody peculiar. Now I just took a look through the slits and saw brown—did you open them properly?”
    â€œYes, in the prescribed manner.”
    â€œWhich is?”
    â€œAre you doubting my word, Lieutenant?”
    â€œNo, man, don’t get in a knot. I just wanted to know.”
    â€œLike this then; fingertips on the temples, thumbs facing in on the eyelids, a gentle push up.”
    â€œI see.”
    â€œWhere does that get you?”
    â€œNowhere, I’m sorry.”
    â€œIt’s all right, man.”
    Kramer kicked at a stone.
    â€œHow about that stained-glass of Georgie’s? Could that have affected observation?”
    â€œThe