kidneys rested in a kidney bowl on the third table along, and his intestines awaited further inspection in an enamel bucket.
“So far, so good,” commented Strydom, drawing his knife point over the head from ear to ear, and then tugging free the flaps of scalp down either side. “Your bone saw, if you please, Sergeant.”
“Oh, so I have my uses after all?” muttered Van Rensburg.
“Don’t sulk,” said Strydom, turning aside to Kramer. “Well, Tromp, have you made anything of that interesting piece of cord?”
Kramer was toying with the length of cord taken from the dead man’s wrists. “The only thing unusual about it is that both ends have been recently severed. You say it wasn’t much of a knot under all that muck?”
“That’s right. Once over and once under—half a granny knot, you might say. But what about that slightly frayed section in the middle?”
“Ach, it looks like the cord was once looped round—or slung over—something that caused friction.”
“A pulley, perhaps?”
“Ja, I’d thought of that myself. It can’t be a sash-cord from a window though, because it’s a little too thick really. We’ll have to see what Forensic can come up with.”
Strydom nodded. “Of course, but what’s got me going is how strong a man would have to be to cause fractures like that. Could
you
pull so hard?”
“Not a chance.”
“Er-hum,” ventured Prinsloo.
“Go on, Fanie,” sighed Kramer. “Let’s hear it.”
“What if it wasn’t so much a case of strength as the bloke having a lot of weight behind him, Lieutenant? If I can make a suggestion, why not get Van here to—”
“Watch it!” snarled Van Rensburg, who was struggling to make both ends of his saw-cut meet.
The telephone rang in the outer office, and Prinsloo slipped away to answer it. Kramer went on examining the length of cord. It seemed logical that one end of it should be cut, because God alone knew how long the thing had been in the first place, but why the other end as well?
“That was Ballistics,” Prinsloo reported back. “The youngster I sent with the bullet has just arrived.”
“And?” said Kramer, suspicious of a message so inane.
“Well, there could be a bit of a hold-up, Lieutenant.”
“
Hey?
”
“Until they’ve found their comparison microscope or something. They had a promotion party in the lab for Mitchell last night, and some practical joker—”
“Jesus!” Kramer cut in. “What sort of delay? If they think I’m going to—”
“They promise some sort of result by tonight, sir, so if you.…”
But Kramer was already striding across the duckboards, stuffing the length of cord into his jacket pocket as he went. Thanks to the formalin fumes in the mortuary, his sore throat had returned with a vengeance; the feuding between Strydom and Van Rensburg was beginning to make his nerves scream; and now, just as some progress seemed to have been made, this had to happen. He almost tripped straight over a body being removed by a tearful black family.
Nxumalo hastened to his side. “Boss? Can the boss please ask Sergeant Van to come and give these people the papers for them to put their mark on?”
“In a minute, man! Can’t you see I’m busy?”
Kramer went into the office off the refrigerator room and dialled Ballistics. While he waited for them to answer, he explored the cluttered drawers of Van Rensburg’s desk, found his half-jack of Cape brandy, and took a nip of it for his throat. Then, having waited a full three minutes—it wasn’t his morning for telephone calls—he lost patience, slammed down the receiver and almost tripped over the same family again. They had the body in a long electric appliance carton that they’d salvaged from somewhere.
“Boss?” begged Nxumalo.
“Ja, Ja, I won’t forget.”
Van Rensburg, who had just completed his chore, was picking pink sawdust from the teeth of his saw. Prinsloo was focusing his camera, and Strydom was easing off the vault
“So far, so good,” commented Strydom, drawing his knife point over the head from ear to ear, and then tugging free the flaps of scalp down either side. “Your bone saw, if you please, Sergeant.”
“Oh, so I have my uses after all?” muttered Van Rensburg.
“Don’t sulk,” said Strydom, turning aside to Kramer. “Well, Tromp, have you made anything of that interesting piece of cord?”
Kramer was toying with the length of cord taken from the dead man’s wrists. “The only thing unusual about it is that both ends have been recently severed. You say it wasn’t much of a knot under all that muck?”
“That’s right. Once over and once under—half a granny knot, you might say. But what about that slightly frayed section in the middle?”
“Ach, it looks like the cord was once looped round—or slung over—something that caused friction.”
“A pulley, perhaps?”
“Ja, I’d thought of that myself. It can’t be a sash-cord from a window though, because it’s a little too thick really. We’ll have to see what Forensic can come up with.”
Strydom nodded. “Of course, but what’s got me going is how strong a man would have to be to cause fractures like that. Could
you
pull so hard?”
“Not a chance.”
“Er-hum,” ventured Prinsloo.
“Go on, Fanie,” sighed Kramer. “Let’s hear it.”
“What if it wasn’t so much a case of strength as the bloke having a lot of weight behind him, Lieutenant? If I can make a suggestion, why not get Van here to—”
“Watch it!” snarled Van Rensburg, who was struggling to make both ends of his saw-cut meet.
The telephone rang in the outer office, and Prinsloo slipped away to answer it. Kramer went on examining the length of cord. It seemed logical that one end of it should be cut, because God alone knew how long the thing had been in the first place, but why the other end as well?
“That was Ballistics,” Prinsloo reported back. “The youngster I sent with the bullet has just arrived.”
“And?” said Kramer, suspicious of a message so inane.
“Well, there could be a bit of a hold-up, Lieutenant.”
“
Hey?
”
“Until they’ve found their comparison microscope or something. They had a promotion party in the lab for Mitchell last night, and some practical joker—”
“Jesus!” Kramer cut in. “What sort of delay? If they think I’m going to—”
“They promise some sort of result by tonight, sir, so if you.…”
But Kramer was already striding across the duckboards, stuffing the length of cord into his jacket pocket as he went. Thanks to the formalin fumes in the mortuary, his sore throat had returned with a vengeance; the feuding between Strydom and Van Rensburg was beginning to make his nerves scream; and now, just as some progress seemed to have been made, this had to happen. He almost tripped straight over a body being removed by a tearful black family.
Nxumalo hastened to his side. “Boss? Can the boss please ask Sergeant Van to come and give these people the papers for them to put their mark on?”
“In a minute, man! Can’t you see I’m busy?”
Kramer went into the office off the refrigerator room and dialled Ballistics. While he waited for them to answer, he explored the cluttered drawers of Van Rensburg’s desk, found his half-jack of Cape brandy, and took a nip of it for his throat. Then, having waited a full three minutes—it wasn’t his morning for telephone calls—he lost patience, slammed down the receiver and almost tripped over the same family again. They had the body in a long electric appliance carton that they’d salvaged from somewhere.
“Boss?” begged Nxumalo.
“Ja, Ja, I won’t forget.”
Van Rensburg, who had just completed his chore, was picking pink sawdust from the teeth of his saw. Prinsloo was focusing his camera, and Strydom was easing off the vault
Similar Books
