Autumn Maze. Jon Cleary

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СКАЧАТЬ the shortest course home, even if it was crooked. ‘No, not at all. He was, I think anyone will tell you, a very popular, hard-working young man.’ He appealed to his wife and sisters and the three women nodded like a wordless Greek chorus. Though, of course, these were three girls who had risen out of the chorus. ‘If my son was murdered, as you seem to suspect, I have no idea who would have done it. None at all.’

      ‘Unless it was someone who broke in?’ said Rosalind. ‘It’s happening all the time these days.’

      Malone glanced at Clements. It was an old ploy: keep changing the bowling, keep the batsman off balance. He still thought in cricket terms, though he no longer played the game. Clements said, ‘There’s no sign of forced entry, Mrs Sweden.’

      ‘Rob could have opened the door, expecting someone else.’

      ‘They still would’ve had to get in through the security door downstairs. The night doorman doesn’t mention any visitor for your stepson.’ Clements looked at the list Kagal had given him. ‘There was a visitor for you, Mrs Casement. You live here?’

      ‘We have the penthouse,’ said Ophelia Casement, making it sound as if she and her husband lived above the clouds, up where the hoi polloi never reached; Malone saw a slight smile on the face of Juliet, the youngest sister. ‘We may have had a visitor, I’m not sure. I was out, but my husband was home. People from his office often drop by at odd hours. It’s just across the road there.’

      She nodded west, towards the end of the long curved glass wall; the vertical edge of the tall Casement building showed there like a sun-reflecting border. A jigsaw was falling into place in Malone’s mind. He was not ignorant of the men and money that ran this city, but homicide detectives rarely, if ever, had to sort out the skeins of power.

      ‘Rob liked girls.’ Juliet had a throaty voice. To Clements, a late-night movie fan, she sounded like the crop of actresses out of old British movies, when they all tried to sound like Joan Greenwood. To Malone, a man with a biased ear, she sounded phoney. ‘Perhaps one of them came here and brought someone? A boyfriend followed her?’

      Rob was told he was never to bring girls unless we were here.’ Rosalind sounded like a headmistress.

      ‘I’m sorry, Inspector—’ Juliet made a poor attempt at looking innocent. ‘I’m playing detective. Forgive me?’

      ‘The doorman says he didn’t let in any visitors for Mr Sweden. But we think Mr Sweden must’ve been expecting someone.’

      ‘What makes you think that?’ The Minister’s voice was sharp.

      ‘Detective Kagal has interviewed your maid. She says your son gave her fifty dollars to go to the movies. We think he wanted her out of the way.’

      ‘Fifty dollars to go to the movies?’ Ophelia made it sound as if, up in the penthouse, she added up the housekeeping money every night.

      ‘Rob was generous, you know that,’ said Rob’s father, his voice still sharp. ‘Money didn’t mean anything to him, easy come, easy go.’

      ‘He was generous to a fault,’ said Rob’s stepmother, the sound of violins in her voice, and Malone waited for honey to run down the walls. It struck him that though Derek Sweden was upset by his son’s death, the three women and Rufus Tucker appeared to be labouring to show any real grief.

      ‘What did your son do, Mr Sweden?’

      ‘He was a broker on the Futures Exchange – or he was up till a few weeks ago. He worked for a brokerage office owned by my brother-in-law, Mr Casement. A few weeks ago he transferred to Casement Trust, the merchant bank side of the corporation.’

      Malone nodded as if he understood; but he would have to ask Russ Clements, the human data bank, to explain what futures brokers did. Russ, he knew, would also almost certainly know what Cormac Casement did. ‘Mrs Aldwych mentioned that he liked girls. Did he have a regular girlfriend?’

      ‘No,’ said the stepmother. Rosalind was as composed as her two sisters, but whereas the other two were relaxed in their chairs, she sat stiffly, even primly, on the long couch. She wore a simple black woollen dress, as if already prepared for the funeral, but the double strand of pearls lying on her full bosom suggested she might also be prepared for lunching out. ‘He preferred to play the field. He had no difficulty in getting girls to go out with him. He was a very handsome boy.’ She looked at her husband, then suddenly smiled; it was so unexpected, Malone wondered if what had gone before was no more than an act. ‘Your looks, darling.’

      Her two sisters nodded in agreement; Sweden looked unembarrassed. Then Tucker glanced at his watch, a large old-fashioned gold hunter that he had taken from his waistcoat pocket. ‘Minister, I think we’d better be going—’

      Sweden looked distracted; there was no doubt his shock and grief were genuine. But he would never let himself fall apart; he was not called The Armadillo as a joke, his crust could withstand mortar bombs. He had been bending over the couch, his hand on his wife’s shoulder, but now he straightened up, even squared his shoulders like a bad actor. ‘There is a Cabinet meeting—’

      ‘Oh God,’ said Ophelia, ‘can’t politics be forgotten for a day? They won’t miss you, Derek.’

      ‘Yes, they will,’ said Sweden firmly and with some asperity. Since the unexpected election defeat a couple of weeks ago the Conservative coalition had, it seemed, been meeting every second day for post-mortems. To be absent was to miss the chance of being influential.

      ‘You go, darling.’ Rosalind turned her head to look up at her husband; with the movement she turned her back on her sisters. ‘I was going to lunch at the Rockpool with Juliet and ‘Phelia, but I’ll stay in now.’

      ‘We’ll cancel,’ said Juliet. ‘We’ll all stay in and have lunch here.’

      ‘No, we’ll have it upstairs,’ said Ophelia. ‘Something light. I have no appetite, anyway.’

      Crumbs, thought Malone, she’ll give us the menu in a moment -

      ‘An omelette. Asparagus.’

      Malone looked at them critically, but decided none of the three sisters was feather brained. Like Sweden they would never fall apart, they would face the world with teeth bared and it was up to you to tell whether it was a smile or a threat. He put them on the list of suspects, out of prejudice more than evidence, and said, ‘Well, that’s all for the moment. There’ll be more questions – there always are. Where do you live, Mrs Aldwych? Here in The Wharf?’

      ‘No.’ Juliet looked amused. ‘Are we all on a list of suspects or what?’

      ‘Not at all,’ said Zanuch, literally stepping into the conversation; he moved a pace forward. He had been unexpectedly quiet during Malone’s questioning and it struck Malone only now that the Assistant Commissioner was only on approval here in this circle. ‘I’m sure Inspector Malone has no thoughts along those lines, right?’ He looked at Malone: it was an order.

      ‘Of course not, sir. It’s just for the record, just in case.’ He was looking east past the AC, down the harbour. Out at sea, beyond the Heads, he could see a giant waterspout, a dark frightening funnel. It was unusual and he wondered if it was some sort of omen.

      I live at Point Piper,’ said Juliet. ‘Wolseley Road.’

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