A Different Turf. Jon Cleary

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СКАЧАТЬ must have put the glasses in my pocket without thinking – I forgot all about mem. It must have been about a week later, when I sent my jacket off to be dry-cleaned, that I found them. By then I was so worried about Will – they had operated on him and said there would have to be more … I should have passed them on to the police, but frankly, by then I didn’t care whether they caught the man with the gun. I still don’t care.’ He didn’t say it belligerently, but there was no doubt he was adamant.

      ‘You put the glasses back in the pocket of the jacket when it came back from the dry-cleaners? Why?’

      Needle shook his head again. ‘I honestly don’t know. I haven’t worn the jacket since, I’ve even thought of giving it to the St Vincent de Paul. I guess I just, subconsciously, want to wipe that out We both do,’ he said and looked at Stratton, who showed no reaction.

      ‘You saw the man who fired the shot?’ said Kagal.

      ‘Of course. Not clearly, everything was so mixed up, a brawl. When six or eight hoodlums are bashing you, you don’t exactly have your wits about you. But yes, I caught a glimpse of him. He wasn’t big, medium-sized, I’d say. I couldn’t tell you whether he was blond or dark, but he wore a dark wig – that was the one the police found. I do remember he was very spry – he took off like a rabbit after one of the gang tried to grab him.’

      ‘Can you remember if he said anything when he first appeared? If he yelled at the gang to back off?’

      ‘I don’t think so. It was almost as if he was there to kill, not to save us.’ He looked at Stratton, but the latter was still impassive. ‘One minute there was just the bashers and us – the next, there he was. He came in from one side, held up his gun and fired it I didn’t hear the sound of it – I heard later he had probably used a silencer. One of the kids who was kicking Will just suddenly went down – the police told me he’d been shot in the head, but I didn’t bother to look. I was concerned for Will—’

      ‘What happened then?’

      ‘Well, like I said, he just took off. I think one of the thugs tried to chase him, but gave up. The gang turned their backs on me and Will – I think they’d been shocked stupid by what had happened to one of their mates. Then other people started coming towards us – I remember yelling for someone to call an ambulance—’ He stopped, his voice trembling.

      ‘That’s enough,’ said Stratton. He rose unhurriedly and went to him and put his arm round him. ‘That’s enough for you, too, Inspector. We want to forget it ever happened.’

      Malone rose. ‘I can understand that, Mr Stratton. But the fact remains there are killers still loose—’

      Both men looked at him. ‘Killers?’

      ‘I told you they call themselves a consortium.’ It occurred to him that they really hadn’t been listening to him when he had explained about the other murders. ‘Saturday night’s killer was a woman. Or a transvestite, maybe even a transsexual, we don’t know. But we’ve had a couple of calls, they say they’re a consortium—’

      ‘Well, well.’ Stratton for the first time seemed to relax; the mask cracked again. ‘We have our own secret little army. You can’t expect us to be unhappy about that, can you?’

      ‘You don’t expect me to answer that, Mr Stratton … I’ll take these glasses, Mr Needle. It’s too late for Forensic to do anything about them, but they are evidence. Thank you for your co-operation this morning.’

      ‘Don’t flatter us, Inspector,’ said Needle. ‘We haven’t cooperated, all we have been is polite. The bashings will go on, I suppose? And mere will be further killings? It’s rough justice, but that’s better than none at all, isn’t it?’

      ‘Police are not supposed to engage in polemics,’ said Kagal. ‘That’s left to lawyers.’

      Stratton escorted them to the front door. As they stepped out on to the portico Malone said, ‘I admire your garden.’

      ‘So just-so, you mean? My life used to be the same,’ said Stratton and shut the door in their faces.

      Malone looked at Kagal. ‘I meant it as a compliment.’

      Kagal said nothing till they were outside the front gate, standing beneath a canopy of plane trees. The street was deserted, as quiet as the back street in a pleasant country town. Bashings and murder were something in another country.

      ‘I’m not sure whether he remembers me, but we met at a couple of parties – that would’ve been before he came to live with Needle. He was beautiful, too beautiful. Women and guys fell over themselves to get to him.’

      ‘You too?’

      Kagal smiled. ‘I’ve never fallen over myself to get to any man. Or woman.’

      Malone could well believe it.

      3

      ‘We’ve gotta strike while the irony’s hot,’ said the Premier.

      Where did he dig up that one? Ladbroke wondered; some bugger’s trying to sophisticate him. He would have to tell the other minders to mind their own business.

      ‘Send out a press release today, we’re gunna protect the homosexual community by hooks and crooks.’ That was more like The Dutchman, who would have made a fearsome trio with Mrs Malaprop and Dr Spooner. ‘Nothing specific, you know, your usual airy-fairy stuff, something they can’t pin down. Make me sound like Churchill or Roosevelt.’

      ‘They’re a bit dated, Hans. I don’t think they ever had to deal with homosexuality.’

      ‘You got another think coming, Roger son. What I read, Eleanor Roosevelt was a lesbian. Maybe it’s just gossip. I hate gossip—’ The way he hated breathing. ‘Just gimme some nice airy-fairy rhetoric—’

      Ladbroke, the Premier’s press secretary and principal minder, made a pretence of making a note. Hans Vanderberg was too wise to believe mat rhetoric was argument; but he never credited a voter as a man with any wisdom. Rhetoric they would get, airy-fairy stuff, Churchill let loose on the crime scene, law and order fought on the beaches, et cetera et cetera …

      ‘Hans, aren’t you a little premature? Daley Girvan hasn’t resigned yet. The poor bugger’s dying, don’t chop him up before he’s dead.’

      ‘You think I have no sympathy for him?’

      Yes, thought Ladbroke; but kept the thought to himself.

      ‘I’d give him a State funeral, only the homos would wanna turn it into a Mardi Gras parade. But he resigns, we gotta have a by-election, right? We take Bligh, we get the homos on side, and we don’t have to worry about the bloody Independents arguing with us about which way they’ll vote in the Assembly. We can stuff it up the do-gooders and the Greenies and the wowsers in the Council, too.’ He worked his mouth as if he were chewing up those who tried to thwart him. ‘From today I’m the homosexuals’ – what do they call ’em?’

      ‘Partner.’

      ‘That’s it, the homosexuals’ partner.’ And a more unlikely partnership could not be imagined. Except maybe Lady Thatcher in bed with Arthur Scargill or Newt Gingrich hand-in-hand with Eddie Murphy.

      The СКАЧАТЬ