Thicker Than Water. Lindy Cameron

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      "No," Kit laughed. "But this tendency of yours to get things arse-about is a worry. I meant that if you're not honest with me, with us, then some people may not want to talk to you coz - and this may be an alien concept to a journalist - they won't trust you. Quite frankly my dear we don't give a damn what you are, as long as you are it - whatever it is."

      "Oh," said Carrie, shaking of the serious huff she didn't need any more. "I don't suppose there's any chance we could go inside and talk about all this, O'Malley?"

      "No," Kit smiled. "Only family is allowed in there today. Police orders."

      "But you're not family, are you?"

      Kit shrugged "As a concept that word needs redefining," she said enigmatically, "but not for you by us today. We're still trying to get over the startling melodrama in which you encased the banal in order to support your dubious facts."

      Carried screwed up her face. "What are you talking about?"

      "Your beat it up, stretch it out, make it fact by claiming it is, quote the anonymous, then reduce everything to the lowest common denominator kind of reporting."

      Carrie was about to protest, probably too much, when Kit raised her eyebrows and continued, "Unless of course, as they tend to do, your editor laid a heavy and brutish hand on your story; and it wasn't you who described Angie's as a place run by women for lesbians."

      "Why? What's wrong with that?" Carrie demanded, putting on her huffy hat again.

      "It's stupid and it's not accurate." Kit decided she was tired of standing, so sat down cross-legged on the grass before continuing, "And it's almost tautological."

      Carrie sat down beside her. "You've lost me."

      "If you must use a superfluous qualification to emphasise the nature of this establishment, then at least get it right. The Terpsichore is, in reality, a bar run by lesbians for women."

      Carrie still looked lost.

      "Carrie, Carrie," Kit shook her head. "To say that women run the bar for lesbians implies that only lesbians are allowed in. What's more by saying that, you'd already overkilled the point you were hammering, so much so that the follow-up 'men aren't usually allowed in' was in the really-fucking-obvious department - don't you think? Or don't you think?"

      Carrie assumed a contrite visage. "Could we start our relationship again, O'Malley?"

      Kit pretended to asses the request by examining Carrie's reasonably attractive face, noting that her pale green eyes featured specks of brown. "Will you be wanting to get back into Angie's in a completely non-professional capacity?"

      "Yes," Carrie smiled.

      "Then we'll have to start over," Kit shrugged, "because I promised my friends in there that I'd be nice to you if you turned out to be genuinely gay."

      Carrie sighed deeply. "What if I'm not sure."

      "Was that why you were here? To find out, because you think you might be?"

      "Yes."

      "That's okay then."

      "It is?" Carrie looked bemused.

      "Of course it is," Kit explained. "I told you this was a place for women - gay, straight, bi, transgender, even liberal-voting at a pinch; not to mention newbies who get sidetracked by a dead guy on the premises while they're trying to find their inner special-girl."

      "Bet you wouldn't let her in," Carrie indicated the wife of god's-image-incarnate.

      Kit's raspberry said it all. Well, almost. "Sadly, we might have to," she sneered. "She is the female of her species after all."

      Carrie laughed, then decided it was time to get serious. "So O'Malley, will you talk to me about what happened here?"

      "I don't know any more than you do, Carrie," Kit stated. "In fact, it's possible I know less than you. Will you tell me who your source is?"

      "No. You know I can't tell you that."

      "Aw, come on Carrie," Kit grinned. "I don't want to break my promise to be nice. Who's the source who told you Anders had a financial interest in Angie's?"

      Carrie slapped her hand over her mouth; so Kit got to her feet with a sigh. "I don't want to do this, Miz McDermid," she said, "but I think it's my civic duty to trot over there and give that steroid-filled TV reporter the name of your 'witness at the scene when the body was discovered'. What do you think?"

      "You wouldn't!" Carrie was horrified.

      "Hey! If you can't write all the truth, then don't bloody exaggerate," Kit snapped. "Sorry, I forgot I was being nice." She grinned to make up for it.

      "Are you for real, O'Malley?" Carried stood up and jabbed her fists defiantly into her hips. "I cannot reveal my source - end of story. Do your worst."

      Damn, Kit thought, bluff called already. "Okay," she changed tack, "can you tell me whether you've managed to have the allegation verified?"

      "What do you mean?"

      "What do you mean, what do I mean? Good grief woman, how long have you been a reporter?" She held up her hand. "Bottom line here, Carrie, is that Gerry Anders had no financial interest in the Terpsichore, unless it was in his own now-dead imagination. So, if you're planning on reprinting that nonsense, you should check out its likelihood."

      "O'Malley, my source is nothing if not reliable."

      "No such thing, Carrie, but it's sweet that you believe in something."

      "Okay, if you must know, Mrs Riley herself verified it this morning."

      Kit snorted. "Oh yeah? And what did she say? Exactly."

      "She came up to me, introduced herself and invited me to call on her to do an interview. She said, and I quote, 'we must talk about this financial interest of Gerry's and this sad business." Carrie's expression said: 'so there - exclamation mark'.

      "Marjorie Riley approached you?" Kit said. "Had you met her before?"

      "Yes she did, and no I hadn't," Carrie replied.

      "But she knew who you were?"

      "Yes," Carrie smiled, as if this was a good thing.

      "Shit girl, she wants to know what you know. She didn't verify anything."

      "That's an interesting take on a discussion you weren't party to." Carrie's lips were actually pursed.

      "You are a dead woman." Kit threw the comment away.

      "What are you talking about?"

      "Oh sweetie," Kit moaned. "Euphemisms aside Carrie, you described Queenie Riley as a well-known Melbourne businesswoman in the same article that you called her dead nephew a career-criminal, an ex-con, a murder suspect and a crime lord."

      "So? What's wrong with making that connection. They are СКАЧАТЬ