Endpeace. Jon Cleary

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СКАЧАТЬ daughter, and her husband live there – they have a child, but she lives out.’

      ‘What about Nigel and his wife? And Linden and her husband?’

      Akers looked surprised that Malone was so well acquainted, but he made no comment. ‘Nigel, the actor –’ He uttered ‘the actor’ as he might have said ‘the poofter’; the theatrical profession obviously got no rating with him. ‘He and his wife, she’s an actor too, I hear. Or was. They have a flat at Point Piper. He has two kids, a boy and a girl – he’s been married twice before. The kids are from different mothers. The younger sister – Linden, did you say? – she and her husband – actually, he’s her de facto – they live out in the country, somewhere south of Bowral. They have no kids, though she’s been married before. They stayed here last night. In the Big House,’ he said and just managed not to simper.

      ‘Nice rundown, Jim. You been here before?’

      ‘About two years ago. There was an attempted break and enter, but they were disturbed and got away.’

      ‘Righto, let’s go and talk to someone. Derek, the eldest, first.’

      ‘He’s in the garden room. Got three guys from the Chronicle with him. I’ll leave him to you and Russ. I’ve gotta report to my boss at Waverley.’

      ‘Tell him I’ll check with him later.’ It was the old territorial imperative, everybody protected his own little authority. ‘He didn’t put in an appearance?’

      ‘Superintendent Lozelle leaves the silvertails to us. I think he finds the riff-raff easier to deal with. Don’t quote me.’

      Jim Akers, having had no rank for so long, had no respect for it. But he was not disrespectful of Malone and the latter let him get away with it. ‘Maybe he’s wiser than either of us. Give him my regards.’

      Then he and Clements turned into the garden room, next door to the library. The entire wall that faced the harbour was one big bay window; the room was half-conservatory. Sections of the huge window were open, letting in some of the mild nor’easter, but the room was still warm. Derek and the three men with him were in their shirtsleeves. They stood as if lined up for a team photo, backed by a bank of palms in big brass-bound wooden tubs. There were no pictures decorating the walls, but flowers cried out for attention in a profusion of vases of all shapes and sizes. It was a room, Malone guessed, where the watering-can would be used more than tea- or coffee-pot.

      Derek stepped forward, raised his hand as if to shake Malone’s, then thought better of it. He didn’t smile when he said, ‘So you’re here officially after all, Scobie.’

      Malone kept it official: none of the old cricket mates’ act. ‘That’s how it is, Mr Huxwood. This is Detective-Sergeant Clements. Who are these gentlemen?’

      Huxwood looked surprised, as if he had expected Malone to be less formal. Then: ‘Oh yes. This is Mr Gates, our managing editor –’ He seemed to emphasize the Mr. ‘Mr Shoemaker, the Chronicle’s editor. And Mr Van Dieman, of –’ He named one of the three top law firms in Sydney. ‘We’ve been deciding how to handle the story of – of what’s happened.’

      ‘How are you going to handle it?’

      ‘It’s difficult. My own impulse – a member of the family, all that – my own impulse would be to bury – no, that’s the wrong word –’ Despite what Kate Arletti had said, Derek did sound flappable, something Malone had not expected. ‘Put the story on one of the inside pages. But it’s Page One stuff, let’s face it. What the Herald and the Australian and the Telegraph-Mirror, especially them, will make of it, God only knows. And every other paper in the country.’

      ‘Not to mention radio and TV.’ Gates was a plump little man with soft brown, almost womanly eyes, a neat moustache above a neat mouth and an harassed air that did not appear to be habitual. Malone had no idea what a managing editor did, but Mr Gates was not managing too well at the moment. ‘Christ knows what rumours they’ll spout. I can hear them now ...’

      Shoemaker couldn’t hear them; or if he could, he gave no sign. He was a tall, wide man with black kinked hair; he had fierce black eyebrows and a bulldozer jaw. Malone could imagine his scaring the pants off cadet reporters, boy and girl alike; but whatever his approach, it must have pleased the Huxwoods. He had been editor for ten years, a long time in modern Australian newspapers. ‘We’ll run the story straight, as if it was some other proprietor, not our own, who’d been murdered. Will you be in charge of the investigation, Inspector? Can I come to you for progress reports?’

      ‘I’ll let you know,’ said Malone. ‘For now it looks as if I’m in charge. But I could be out-ranked by lunchtime.’

      Shoemaker grinned; or gave a grimace that might have been a grin. ‘I follow. It could be like our Olympic challenge, everyone jumping into the act. Well, I’d better be getting back to the Haymarket.’ Huxwood Press, its offices and printing press, was in an uptown area of the city, had been there for a hundred and fifty years. ‘Give my sympathy to the family, Derek. I’ll come back this afternoon, be more formal.’

      ‘I’ll come with you,’ said Gates and was gone out the door ahead of Shoemaker.

      ‘What does Mr Gates do?’ said Clements, who liked everyone labelled. ‘Managing editor?’

      Derek looked at Van Dieman before he replied. ‘It’s a title we borrowed from the Americans and changed it a little. He sort of manages the editorial side.’

      This, Malone realized, was office politics and he didn’t want to get into that, not now.

      ‘Do you mind if Alan stays?’ Derek gestured at Van Dieman. ‘Or will that look as if I’m preparing some sort of defence?’

      ‘Do you expect to be on the defensive?’ said Malone.

      ‘No.’ Derek sat down on a cushioned cane lounge, waved to the other three men to take seats. ‘But it is murder. Christ!’ He abruptly put a hand over his eyes, was silent a long moment. The others waited; then he withdrew his hand and blinked. But Malone could see no tears. ‘No one deserves to go out like that.’

      ‘We want no sensationalism,’ said Van Dieman.

      Resentment shot up in Malone like a missile; but it was Clements who said, ‘The Police Service doesn’t go in for sensationalism, Mr Van Dieman. It’s the media does that.’

      ‘That’s what I mean,’ said the lawyer, but he sounded a little too hasty to convey that.

      Though he was no more than forty, he was a grey man: grey-faced, grey-haired, grey-suited. The only spot of colour was his tie, but even that was plain purple rather than the strips of regurgitation that had been the fashion for the past couple of years. He had a soft voice, a grey voice, and a composure about him that hid his reputation. Malone had never met him, but knew that Van Dieman was considered the toughest corporation lawyer in town, if not the country.

      Malone decided it was time to get down to cases. ‘It’s only a guess at the moment, but we think the murder occurred last night somewhere around midnight. Had the dinner party broken up by then?’

      Derek nodded. ‘I think so. My wife and I were over in our house by eleven-thirty. The others who weren’t staying here had gone.’

      ‘Leaving СКАЧАТЬ