A Different Turf. Jon Cleary

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СКАЧАТЬ he had his own image and he had killed off as many image-makers as he had political opponents. He had a face like an evil parrot, one that mothers tried to prevent their babes from seeing when he was on the campaign trail; but when he actually got to leer at the infants they, seeing in his face their own potential perfidy, actually gurgled in glee. Ladbroke was a plump forty-five, an expensive dresser though somehow never immaculate, with a face as bland as pink custard; he could tell lies, which was his job, yet at the same time convince the State press gallery that The Dutchman had only the voters’ welfare at heart, even though there was no evidence that Vanderberg had such an organ. They were a formidable pair.

      ‘I’ll talk to Leeds—’ said The Dutchman. Leeds was the Commissioner of Police, an honest cop suffering at the moment from the revelations about bent cops and their corruption. ‘Get him to ginger up the investigations of these killings, find out who’s doing them. We can kill two birds with a brick, get on side with the homos and polish up the image of the police.’

      ‘If they catch the killer and he turns out to be gay, how’s that going to get the gay vote? I’ve heard from Bill Zanuch—’ Zanuch was the Assistant Commissioner, Crime. ‘He says there are probably three or four killers, maybe more. Some guy has been phoning Inspector Malone, saying they are a consortium—’

      ‘Malone?’ said the Premier. ‘Is he on this?’

      ‘He is in charge of Homicide, South Region. It’s in his territory.’

      ‘Well, I suppose better him than some of those bent bastards.’

      There had recently been a royal commission into police corruption and dozens of police and criminals, once they realized the commission had video evidence of their corruption, had been rolling over like sinners at a Eucharistic Congress. Evidence at times had been hilarious and honest cops, the majority of the Service, had had a hard time proving they were not part of the joke.

      ‘Is he gay?’ asked Vanderberg.

      ‘Who, Malone? I shouldn’t think so. He’s got a wife and three kids.’

      ‘Doesn’t prove anything. Did you know animals are homosexual? Cows, for instance?’

      ‘I’d heard that. But I don’t think there are any cows or heifers in this case.’

      ‘Don’t smarten your arse, son. I’m being serious here. We’re the homosexuals’ partner, as from this minute. Give ’em the works in your press release. In the field of human endeavour, never had so few had to rely on the many, et cetera et cetera …’

      Ladbroke would sort out the rhetoric later. ‘Will you be flying a Spitfire up Oxford Street or just catching a bus?’

Chapter Four

      l

      When Malone and Kagal got back to Strawberry Hills, Kate Arletti was waiting in Malone’s office with a young uniformed policeman. ‘This is Darren Beane. He is the gay liaison officer at Surry Hills.’

      He was a slim young man with close-cropped dark hair, regular features and an air of balance and restraint. He was what he was, he accepted it, and, without being aggressive about it, you could take it or leave it. He had a pleasant smile and a firm handshake. ‘Inspector. It’ll be a pleasure to work with you. Hello, John.’

      ‘You two know each other?’ Malone looked at Kagal.

      ‘We were at university together,’ said Kagal with a smile that said, What else were you thinking?

      He went out to his desk in the big room and Malone sat down behind his own desk, motioning to Kate and Beane to take a seat. ‘How’d you get on with the lesbians, Kate?’

      The question had a blunt rudeness to it that Malone hadn’t intended; but he noticed that Beane didn’t flinch. Kate said, ‘Not much response, sir. One of them, a reporter on the lesbian paper, was bashed on Saturday night, but they didn’t bother to report it to us. It’ll be in Friday’s issue of the paper.’

      ‘Did they say why they didn’t report it?’

      ‘They were a bit snarly. They think the boys are getting all the publicity.’

      ‘That’s because of the killings,’ said Beane. ‘So far the killers don’t seem to be riding herd on lesbians, only gay men.’

      ‘Maybe that will change now there’s a woman with them,’ said Malone. ‘With the killers, I mean. Do you go into the baths and pubs where the gay men congregate?’

      ‘Yes, sir. You want me to show you around?’

      ‘No, thanks.’ Malone smiled in an effort to take the edge off his reply. ‘No offence. It’s just not my scene. I’m going to have to rely on you younger people there. Have you picked up any gossip in the baths or the pubs? Are they discussing the murders?’

      ‘They weren’t at first, but they are now. There’s lots of guessing going on as to who the killers are, but that’s all it is – guesses. The one thing they’re all agreed on is that the killers must belong to the gay community.’

      ‘Do you think they are?’

      Both young officers looked puzzled. Kate said, ‘Don’t you think they are?’

      ‘I have an open mind,’ said Malone, leaning back in his chair. ‘Which means I haven’t a clue. What if these people just like to kill and have chosen to do a public service, as they call it? They could be killing gangs that attack old ladies or girls travelling alone at night on the trains.’

      ‘I don’t think so, sir,’ said Beane. He had a certainty about him, a faith in his opinions. ‘These people are avenging gays.’

      Even Kate looked at him, at the assurance in his voice.

      ‘You say that, Darren, as if you’re on their side.’

      For the first time Beane looked uncertain; he beat a retreat

      ‘No, I’m not But doesn’t the evidence suggest that’s what they’re doing? I think all we can do is go on the evidence we have so far.’ Then he looked back at Malone and added, ‘Sir.’

      ‘Would you like to take a guess at who they might be?’ Malone’s voice and expression were bland.

      Beane was just as expressionless. ‘No, sir. I’ve never been any good at guesswork.’

      This bugger has his suspicions, but he’s not letting on.

      ‘It was suggested to me this morning by one of the bash victims that he wasn’t unhappy about the killers. The secret little army, he called it. Our secret little army was what he actually said. I don’t believe he has a clue who they are, but he felt no qualms about what they were doing. Killing people.’ He was still leaning back in his chair, but he was not at all relaxed. I’m pinning you down, son. ‘I hope you don’t feel like that?’

      ‘Not at all, sir. But if the killings stop the bashings, then something has been achieved, don’t you think?’

      ‘Darren,’ СКАЧАТЬ