Bear Pit. Jon Cleary

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      Aldwych shook his head. ‘We’re spotless, Russ. Since we finally got Olympic Tower up and running, nobody’s troubled us.’

      ‘And we’ve troubled nobody,’ said Jack Junior.

      ‘What about the past?’ said Malone. ‘Jack, you’ve got enemies going back to Federation. Now you’re top of the tree, respectable, retired from the old game, what if someone decided he had to pay off old scores?’

      Aldwych shook his head. ‘I don’t think so, Scobie. The old blokes who had it in for me, they’re all gone. I’m history, Scobie, and so are they. The new lot –’ he shook his head again – ‘the Lebanese, the Viets, they wouldn’t bother with me. They’re too busy doing each other.’

      Malone looked at Ladbroke, who had gone round the big desk and sat in the manager’s chair. He was still shaken by what had happened to The Dutchman, but half a lifetime of working in politics had built its own armour. ‘Okay, like I said, the Old Man has enemies. They want to get rid of him before he calls the election, but they wouldn’t want to shoot him. That would only queer their own pitch.’

      ‘Why?’

      ‘They’d become the first suspects. Who’d vote for them if you proved anything against them?’

      ‘If we prove anything against them, they won’t be running for office. We want a list of all those who’ve been working to toss the Premier.’

      Ladbroke frowned. ‘I can give you a list, but you won’t let ’em know where you got it? I’ve already been approached to work for them if they get rid of Hans.’

      Malone looked at the other three men, raised his eyebrows. ‘Aren’t you glad we aren’t in politics? Would you work for them, Roger?’

      ‘No,’ said Ladbroke, managing to look hurt that he should be thought venal. ‘But I wouldn’t tell them that till I’d found another job. And though the Old Man’s been a pain in the arse at times, I don’t think I could work for anyone else, not after him.’

      ‘You’d be lost out of politics,’ said Malone, and Ladbroke nodded. ‘What happens if he doesn’t recover? He probably won’t, not with a bullet in his neck at his age. Not enough to go back to work.’

      ‘Then the Deputy Premier will call the election – it’s got to be called, two months at the latest, in March. Our time’s up.’

      ‘That’s what Hans said tonight,’ said Aldwych. ‘That his –enemies, we call ’em that? – they reckon his time was up, he’d reached his use-by date.’

      ‘Is the Deputy Premier one of the enemies?’ Malone had had no experience of Billy Eustace. He had slid in and out of ministerial portfolios with hardly anyone noticing. He had never held any of the law-and-order portfolios.

      Ladbroke pursed his lips. Those in political circles, whether politicians or minders, are wary of discussion with outsiders. Discussion and argument are food and drink to them, but they don’t like to share it. ‘Billy Eustace? He could be, but I don’t know that he has the troops. And he’d never hire a hitman, not unless he got a discount and fly-buy coupons. Billy has the tightest fist I’ve ever come across.’

      ‘Oh, I dunno,’ said Clements, but didn’t look at Malone. ‘Jack, can we eliminate you and Jack Junior for the time being?’

      ‘For as long as you like,’ said Aldwych.

      Ladbroke stood up. ‘I’d better get back to the hospital. If the Old Man dies –’ He bit his lip; it was a moment before he went on: ‘I’ll let you know right away. Then get the bastard – whether the Old Man lives or dies!’

      It was the first time Malone had seen Ladbroke raised out of his laid-back, almost arrogant calm. ‘We’ll do that. If he regains consciousness, then tomorrow we’ll have to talk to him.’

      ‘You’ll have to talk to Mrs Vanderberg. She’s running things now.’

      ‘How’s she taking it?’

      ‘Badly, I think. But she’s hiding it. She’s as tough as the Old Man. The bastards who wanted to get rid of him should remember that.’

      He went out and Malone and Clements stood up to follow him. ‘Take care, Jack.’

      ‘You can be sure of it,’ said Aldwych.

      Out in the lobby one of the Physical Evidence team was waiting. ‘We think we’ve found where the shot came from.’

      ‘Where?’

      Sam Penfold was the same age as Malone but looked older. His hair was grey and his thin eyes already faded, as if the search for clues had worn them out. He collected spoor like a hunter, which was what he was. ‘Across the road. There’s a row of shops, half a dozen or so, rising three storeys. There’s a common entrance that leads up to the first and second floors, with a corridor running along the back, connecting them. The rooms above the shops are mostly single tenants. A quick-job printer, a watch and jewelry repair shop, things like that. And –’

      Why, wondered Malone, were so many cops these days using theatrical pauses? Were they all training for TV auditions?

      ‘And an alterations and repairs business, the Sewing Bee. It had been broken into. From its street windows you look right across George Street to the steps outside there.’ He nodded towards the hotel’s front. ‘A good marksman with a good ‘scope couldn’t miss.’

      ‘He did miss,’ said Clements. ‘Or close enough. The Premier isn’t dead.’

      ‘You got anyone over there?’ asked Malone.

      ‘Norma Nickles is there and I’m going back. We’ll have the place dusted and printed in time to give you prints in the morning. I’m not hopeful, though. We had time to try the door that had been busted. The door-knob was clean, so the guy was probably wearing gloves. All we’ll find, I’m afraid, are prints from the staff and customers.’

      ‘Why are you buggers always so cheerful?’

      ‘We’re bloodhounds. You ever see a cheerful bloodhound?’

      He left and Malone turned as he saw Bardia, the manager, approaching. He had the look of a man who wished he were back in Rome or Paris or London.

      ‘Finished, Inspector?’

      ‘No, Mr Bardia. Just beginning.’

      Guests who had been out on the town or visiting friends were coming back, entering the lobby with some apprehension and puzzlement at the sight of the uniformed police and the blue-and-white tapes still surrounding the outside steps. Bardia saw them and smiled reassuringly, as if it was all just part of the hotel’s service.

      Then he turned back to the two detectives. ‘The police will be here for – days?’ He made it sound like months.

      ‘No. Tomorrow, yes. But after that things should be back to normal for you.’ Then he looked beyond the manager into a side room off the lobby. ‘Excuse me.’

      He crossed the lobby into the side СКАЧАТЬ