Bleak Spring. Jon Cleary

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СКАЧАТЬ mall before shooting himself. All the past week the air had been thick with the clamour for stricter gun laws, a demand Malone totally supported, but the politicians, more afraid of losing votes in the rural electorates than of being hit by a bullet in the cities (who would waste bullets on a politician?) were shilly-shallying about what should be done. The incidence of killing by guns in Australia was infinitesimal compared with that in the United States, but that was like saying a house siege was not a war. Someone still died, one life was no less valuable than a hundred.

      ‘Olive, had Will received any threats from anyone? A client or someone?’

      ‘I don’t think so. He would have told me – well, maybe not. He didn’t tell me much about his practice, what he did, who he acted for.’

      ‘Did he ever refer any clients to you?’ Malone looked at Angela Bodalle.

      ‘A couple. One civil suit, I took that as a favour to him, and a criminal charge.’

      Malone waited and, when she did not go on, said, ‘A murder charge?’

      ‘It was an assault with intent, a guy named Kelpie Dunne.’ She seemed to give the name with some reluctance. ‘I got him off.’

      ‘I remember him. He tried to kill a security guard down at Randwick racecourse. He’s a bad bugger. Some day he’s going to kill a cop. I hope you won’t try to get him off then.’

      Her gaze was steady. She was not strictly beautiful, her face was too broad to have classical lines, the jaw too square, but the eyes, large and almost black, would always hold a man, would turn him inside out if he were not careful. She raised a hand, large for a woman’s but elegant, and pushed back a loose strand of her thick dark brown hair. Malone felt that, with that look, she would make an imposing, if biased, judge. If ever she made it to the Bench, he was sure her sentences on the convicted would be more than just slaps on the wrist.

      ‘If I believe a client is innocent, I’ll always try to get him off.’

      ‘Did Will have any other clients like Kelpie? Innocent but violent?’

      Angela smiled: she didn’t think much of men’s wit; or anyway, policemen’s. ‘I wouldn’t know, Inspector. Will hadn’t passed a client on to me for, oh, twelve months or more.’

      Malone turned back to Olive. She had been watching this exchange with wary, almost resentful eyes, as if she felt excluded from what was her own tragedy. ‘Olive, Will made a mention last night of what he knew about the racing game. Did he have any clients from the game, jockeys, trainers, bookmakers – people like that?’

      ‘I told you he never mentioned his clients to me.’ Her voice had a certain sharpness.

      ‘No, but you did say last night – as I remember it, Will said, if I knew, meaning me, what he knew about the racing game, and you said, Tell them, darling, or something like that . . .’

      ‘You have a good memory.’

      He hadn’t expected to be complimented, not at a time like this. ‘You learn to have one, as a cop. You sounded last night as if you knew something about racing that Will had told you.’

      She shook her head; last night the frilly curls would have bounced, but this morning not a hair moved. ‘It was nothing, I was just taking the mickey out of him. You know what Will was like, he knew everything about everything.’ She said it without malice, but it wasn’t something he expected from a grieving widow.

      ‘Dad had one client, a bookmaker.’ Jason stood in the doorway, all arms and legs and lugubrious expression. But his voice was steady, if the rest of him wasn’t.

      Malone, seated in a low chair, had to turn and look up at him. From that angle the boy looked even taller than he was: Malone had the incongruous image of a basketballer who didn’t know where the basket was. ‘Did your dad talk about the client with you?’

      ‘No. But I was with Dad one day, about, I dunno, about a month ago, he was taking me to basketball practice – ’ So the image wasn’t so far off, after all. ‘We called in at this bookie’s house and when he came out, he was there only about ten minutes, he was ropeable, really angry. He didn’t tell me what it was all about, all he said was never trust a bookie.’

      ‘You know who the man was?’

      ‘Sure. It was Bernie Bezrow, he lives up in that weirdo house in Georgia Street. Syphilis Hall.’

      ‘What?’

      ‘That’s what we call it, the guys, I mean. Tiflis Hall.’

      Angela Bodalle said, ‘I don’t think you should get involved in this, Jason.’

      ‘Is that legal advice or friendly advice?’ said the boy.

      ‘That’s enough!’ For a moment Malone thought Olive was going to jump up and slap her son’s face; but she would have had to jump a fair height. ‘Don’t talk to Angela like that! She’s only trying to help.’

      The boy didn’t apologize, only looked sullenly at Angela; then abruptly he was gone from the doorway, folding himself out of sight. Olive put out a hand and took Angela’s. ‘I’m sorry.’

      ‘It’s all right, darling.’ Angela squeezed the hand in hers, then gave it back to Olive as if it were something that embarrassed her, like a gift of money. ‘Inspector, let’s cut this short for this morning. Give Olive time to get over what happened last night, then perhaps she’ll be able to give you more help.’

      Malone stood up. ‘Righto, we’ll give it a rest for today. But there will have to be more questions, Olive. In the meantime I’d like to go down and have a look through Will’s office. Did he have any staff?’

      ‘Just a secretary. She called me this morning, she’s terribly upset. Her name’s Jill Weigall.’

      ‘Could you get her for me? I’d like to speak to her.’

      He followed Olive in to a phone in the front hallway. She dialled a number, introduced him, then handed him the phone. ‘Treat her gently.’ Then she left him, a little coldly, he thought, as if he had suddenly turned into some sort of enemy.

      As soon as he spoke to Jill Weigall he knew that she was a girl on the edge of hysteria. ‘I was going to ask you to meet me at Mr Rockne’s office – ’

      ‘No, no, I’ll be all right. I’ll meet you there – it’s something to do – ’

      He wondered if she lived alone, but it was none of his business. When he hung up Angela Bodalle was standing beside him. He could smell her perfume, a subtle bouquet, and he wondered why anyone, coming to console a friend on the loss of her husband by murder, would bother to apply perfume. ‘If you are thinking of going through Will’s files, forget it. You can’t get an open warrant. You’ll have to name something specific you want.’

      ‘Is that free legal advice?’

      She looked at him appraisingly. ‘inspector, are you looking to fight with me? I’d have thought we were both friends of Olive, that we’d be on the same side.’

      He backed down; he didn’t know why she irritated him. Perhaps it was no more than that she was a lawyer. ‘Righto. In the meantime I have СКАЧАТЬ