Dark Summer. Jon Cleary

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СКАЧАТЬ man in his early thirties with a pale blond moustache and almost white eyebrows; yet his eyes were dark brown. The first impression of his face was that his features were totally unrelated, that he could be the mix of half a dozen fathers. He had the air of a man not quite sure of source or destination, but Malone knew that he was, at least, on top of his job.

      ‘What have you got, Wayne?’

      ‘We found some heel impressions around the side of the house. It looks like he was carried in here by one guy.’

      ‘He was small enough,’ said Wal Dukes, who was big enough to have carried a couple of men of Grime’s size.

      Malone looked past him, saw the TV cameraman come round the back corner of the house, camera already whirring. ‘No!’

      ‘I’ll fix him.’ Clements had come out of the screen door, was moving on heavy, deliberate feet towards the cameraman, who was still glued to his eye-piece when he was grabbed by the shoulders from behind and spun round out of sight beyond the corner.

      ‘Jesus!’ Malone could feel himself quivering.

      Romy Keller and the two policemen looked at him sympathetically; he was surprised that it was the GMO, the outsider, who put her hand on his arm. ‘They’re always scavenging, you know that. It’s part of the business.’

      ‘I’ll see there’s a guy posted out the front to keep the vultures out,’ said Dukes. Relations between the Department and the media were always touchy. The media were fortunate, they were responsible only to toothless tribunals. The police were responsible to public opinion, which has fangs. ‘I think it’d be an idea if you moved out for a day or two, Scobie.’

      ‘No!’

      Then Malone abruptly simmered down. It was unusual for him to allow his anger to erupt as it had; he was not without anger, but normally he could put a lid on it as soon as it started to bubble. But these were not normal circumstances; not that murder in itself was a normal circumstance. His home had been invaded, his family threatened: he did not immediately think in such melodramatic phrases, he was too laconic for that, but his feelings were dramatic enough. Now he had himself under control again, he was mapping out the immediate future.

      ‘No.’ His voice was quieter. ‘That’d be a point scored for whoever did this.’ He gestured at the pool, empty now of Scungy Grime but still surrounded by members of the PE team. ‘I’m moving my wife and kids over to the in-laws, but I’ll stay here.’

      ‘Have it your way then,’ said Dukes. ‘I think I’d probably do the same. We can’t let the shit get away with it. Sorry, Doc.’ He was the old-fashioned sort who didn’t swear in front of women, at least women he didn’t know.

      Romy smiled. ‘I think I’d better be going. I’ll call you, Inspector, at Homicide as soon as I have something.’

      She left them, stopping at the corner of the house to speak to Clements as he came round from evicting the cameraman. Then she was gone, but not before she had put her hand on the big man’s arm and left it there a moment, a gesture of intimacy beyond her sympathetic touch towards Malone.

      Clements looked at Murrow as he joined the three men. ‘Any prints or anything, Wayne?’

      ‘They’re trying to get some prints off the pool gate. Did you touch the gate, Inspector?’

      Malone nodded. ‘I wasn’t thinking . . . Whoever dumped him in the pool made sure of the security lock when he was leaving.’

      ‘Nice of him,’ said Clements. ‘Didn’t want some toddler from up the street wandering in and falling in with Scungy.’

      ‘Anything on Scungy?’ Malone asked. ‘Wallet or anything?’

      ‘Nothing,’ said Murrow. ‘He’s skint. Anyone know where he lived?’

      ‘I do,’ said Malone and looked at Clements. ‘I’ll get changed. You and I can go and have a look at his flat.’

      ‘You haven’t had breakfast.’

      ‘I don’t feel like it.’

      ‘Tell that to Lisa.’ Clements was not only an adopted uncle, he was sometimes an adoptive brother. ‘Get something into you. You know she won’t let you leave the house till you’ve eaten.’

      ‘Women!’ Dukes and Murrow, both married men, looked at Malone with sour understanding. Then Dukes said, ‘I’ve got men interviewing everyone in your street, in case they saw something, a car or something.’

      Malone was grateful that he had not had to go out and confront the neighbours. He valued his privacy and respected theirs. Last week, in the northern suburbs, a small tornado had struck; neighbours had rallied together, help had been generous and welcome. But murder was another storm altogether.

      ‘I’ll get things tidied up here, Scobie, then I’ll hand the running sheets over to you and Russ. Call on me if there’s anything further. Or do you want me to set up a Crime Scene room down at the station?’

      ‘Let’s keep it small for the moment. Handle it without too much fuss, Wal. I don’t want our street turned into the Mardi Gras.’

      Lisa had Malone’s breakfast on the table when he went back into the kitchen: apple juice, muesli with sliced mango, toast, honey and coffee. ‘I heard those remarks out there. You’re right, I wouldn’t let you leave the house with an empty belly.’

      ‘Any clues, Daddy?’ Maureen had recovered. Given her head, she would have been out in the street giving interviews to the media. Her father had the most interesting job in the world: solving murders was heaps better than making a fortune buying and selling crummy old buildings or being a general fighting a crummy war. ‘I heard you say his name. Scungy something. Scungy – what a name!’

      ‘What’s it mean?’ said Tom, adding another word to his catholic vocabulary.

      ‘Creepy,’ said Claire, his teacher. ‘Sleazy. God, tomorrow it’s going to be absolutely stoking at school! First day of term and all everyone will want to talk about is our murder!’

      ‘What’s wrong with that?’ said Maureen, story already rehearsed.

      ‘Our murder?’ said Lisa, looking at Malone from the other end of the table. ‘If I hear anyone say that again, there’ll be another murder. Okay?’

      The children suddenly sensed their mother’s displeasure; what disturbed them was that it seemed to be directed against their father and not them. Malone himself felt the impact. He chewed on a mouthful of muesli, chewing on the right words too: ‘There’ll be no more cops here, I promise. They’ll get everything cleared up today and that’ll be it.’

      ‘I wanted to take pictures.’ Tom had been given a camera at Christmas, a present from Lisa’s parents who, in Malone’s view, always lavished too much on the children. The pool outside had been a present from Jan and Elisabeth Pretorius and when Malone had first dived into it the water had stung him like a bathful of vinegar.

      ‘If he’s going to take pictures, I’d like copies of the running sheets,’ said Maureen. ‘I’ll write an essay for Social Studies –’

      Malone abruptly got up from СКАЧАТЬ