James McClure - Caterpillar Cop: A Lieutenant Kramer and Detective Sergeant Mickey Zondi Investigation (Kramer and Zondi Investigations Set in South Africa)

The Caterpillar Cop

ALSO BY THE AUTHOR

KRAMER AND ZONDI NOVELS

The Steam Pig (1971)

The Gooseberry Fool (1974)

Snake (1975)

The Sunday Hangman (1977)

The Blood of an Englishman (1980)

The Artful Egg (1984)

The Song Dog (1991)

OTHER NOVELS

Four and Twenty Virgins (1973)

Rogue Eagle (1976)

Imago: A Modern Comedy of Manners (1988)

NON - FICTION BOOKS

Killers: A Companion to the Thames Television Series

By Clive Exton (1976)

Spike Island: Portrait of a British Police Division (1980)

Cop World: Inside an American Police Force (1984)

Copyright 1972 by James McClure

All rights reserved.

First published in Great Britain in 1972.

This edition published in 2010 by

Soho Press, Inc.

853 Broadway

New York, NY 10003

Library of Congress Cataloging in Publication Data

McClure, James, 19392006.

The caterpillar cop/James McClure.

p. cm.

ISBN 978-1-56947-653-6
eISBN 978-1-56947-895-0

1. Kramer, Trompie (Fictitious character)Fiction. 2. Zondi, Mickey (Fictitious character)Fiction. 3. PoliceSouth AfricaFiction.

4. ChildrenCrimes againstFiction. 5. Child molestersFiction.

I. Title.

PR9369.3.M394C3 2010

823dc22

2010008173

10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1

Table of Contents

To Bay and Ella

The Caterpillar Cop

THE SOUTHERN CROSS marked the spot where Jonathan Rogers laid his dinner jacket and prepared to lay Penny Jones. Stretched out side by side, just their elbows touching so far, they could see the constellation framed directly above them by a small, wavering gap in the wattle trees surrounding Trekkersburg Country Club. And it seemed somehow so much more romantic than the moon.

That was the secret of the thing, after allmaking out this was the Big Romance, soon to be filmed in fabulous Technicolor on a wrapround screen. Even if you, for one, knew nobody would be out fooling with a glass slipper come morning. Even if you were doing it only because they said it had never been done before. At least to Miss Jones.

Jonathan found her hand, gently broke its clasp on a paper tissue, and mated his fingers with hers. Then he had his thumb describe tight, tickling circles on the moist little palm.

Dont! she whispered.

Instantly he went limp as a scolded spaniel.

Im sorry, she said. It was just I

Never to worry.

No, honest. I dont want you to be cross.

Im not.

Promise?

Take your time, Pen.

She squeezed and sighed happily.

But dont take all night about it, darlingthey had put a deadline on this one. The singles play-off would begin at nine sharp and the team were expected back in town at the hotel by midnight. Jonathan lad, they had said when they fixed him up with her, Jonathan lad, we give you until eleven-thirty, okay? They were a good bunch of blokes in the team, but never liked having any of their traditions broken. In fact, it was considered an ill omen if they were not all gathered together again for a final round before leaving. And as the law dictated that no female might venture into a South African bar, it meant Jonathan would have to get it all over and done with outdoors. Pronto.

He set his thumb to work again.

Whats it like? she asked timidly.

Hey?

Being a tennis champion.

Im not really that.

You will be, thoughtomorrow.

Going to watch again?

Of course!

His turn to give a squeeze, sigh, and say nothing. It worked.

Whats wrong? Dont you want me there?

Got to keep my eye on the ball, havent I?

She laughed.

You say youve seen me spectating all last week?

Gave me a hard time of it, you did.

Where was I sitting, then?

He gave it a pat.

Jonathan!

Silencethe kind judges use before calling for a verdict.

Now youre cross, Pen. Arent you?

No.

Sure?

Im not.

Can I kiss you then?

If you want to.

He tried another. It was no better than the first half-dozen; her lips were soft enough but they parted wrongly so their teeth clinked together and she had pretty hard teeth.

Oh, Jonathan

He sat up slowly and looked about while he wondered if he dared risk his tongue.

It was surprising how bright it seemed inside the forest once your eyes had adjusted from the fluorescent blaze of the ballroom. He could see very well, in fact. The wattle trunks rose quite distinctly above the bracken ahead of him. He could even pick out spiders eyes glinting in tiny clusters on the invisible webs strung between them. And a strip of rag left on a sapling as a marker in some cross-country run. The moon was lurking about somewhere, that much was obvious, and doing its best to curry favor. Only he was impatient for it to edge its way through the trees and do miracles with a pair of bare, if otherwise unremarkable, breasts. He closed his eyelids to see what his imagination could find to project onto them.

That was the moment, as he so often said later, when he should rather have glanced back over his shoulder into the undergrowth. Just a quick glance and everything would have been so different. Horrible, of course, but not in the same way. Then he would shudder and think of Miss Jones, while his friends would try to make of their embarrassment a silent tribute to her memory. Poor old Penny Jones, spinster of the parish. Forevermore.

Whats the matter?

He kept his eyes shut and his slight smile turned away.

Nothing.

Youve gone all funny, Jonathan. Why are your eyes closed?

I was listening.

Oh? Is there someone ?

I told you wed be all right here; theres not a wog for miles. Its something elsecant you hear it?

Music?

Yes.

Its coming from the clubhouse.

Thats right. And the tune?

Trust old Steve. Every team had its funny man and he had the ability to be funnier than most. Right now he was up on the bandstand doing a takeoff of Sinatra, belting out a ballad, and making damn certain it would reach his doubles partner in the woods. No doubt the rest of the crew were falling about the place busting a gut.

Dont know it. But I never listen to the radio much, just the Hit Parade when my sisters got it on.

Which was as well, perhaps. Steve was giving with the oldie Have You Met Miss Jones?

Its our tune. Jonathan chuckled.

Really?

More than that: it was a challenge. On court or off, the lads depended on their captain to boost morale by doing the impossible. There was no going back now with his shirttail between his legs.

Jonathan began peeling the bark from a fallen branch, slyly twisting his body so that she could see nothing but his back. He waited. The singing petered out. He waited some more.

There is something the matter! she said.

He shrugged.

You must tell me. What is it?

Hell. I suppose its because youre different.

In what way?

Just different, thats all. Not like the others.

Who?

The girls at these dances for usyou know what I mean. No, I dont.

No, I dont.

Then you must have a very sheltered life. Havent you heard why most of them come? Its like being a pop star. You know.

You mean ?

Yes.

I see.

Count to ten slowly.

No, you dont. Im not talking about that. Not exactly.

Oh?

Pen, I think I love you. Isnt that crazy?

One, two, three, four, five, sixWhy should it be?

Why should it be?

Seven, eight, nine, ten.