Crooked (15 page)

Reilly's Maserati had gutted the shopfront clean to the air, exposing the strange assemblage of glass curios and silk parasols that crammed the interior. The floor was scattered with shattered glass and tile, and crosshatched with odd spokes of shadow from gaping brickwork. The wreck itself was spotlit with yellow arc lights, but only the parts touched by the light made any sense. The rest was a dark smudge of metal and shadow and, dimly, in the middle of this, Dick Reilly was slumped against the window, thick-bodied, with one arm swinging loose, fingers curled, spattered with blood.

‘Sweet Jesus.' Tanner pushed a sweat-soaked grey hat to the back of his head. ‘King of the Underworld, they called him, and look how's he's ended up. Just another sad bastard who didn't catch the right break.'

‘Maybe,' said Gus.

Just then, a photographer with a hat down over one eye dodged under the barricade. He jammed his camera right up to the scene.

‘I saw you do that. I saw how you got that picture.'

Tanner held out his hand and the photographer gave up his camera. Tanner extracted the film and let the camera go, the photographer just catching it before it smashed to the ground.

‘He got here pretty fast,' offered Gus.

‘And the rest of his mates will be here any minute. The half-wit that does this, he rings up the radio and says, “This is for Ducky O'Connor and more is to follow –”' Tanner's voice trailed off. He wasn't looking at Gus anymore, but at something over his shoulder.

Gus swung round. Behind him, the street corner was cordoned off with crime-scene barricades and the space in between crammed with tow trucks, demolition trucks, a fire engine, four police cars, and a black mortuary wagon with its doors flung open. Further up the rise, an official-looking car pulled in to the side of the road. Gus watched in astonishment as Allan clambered out, heading their way.

‘Oh God, now they're all coming down on us,' said Tanner.

Allan was evidently winded by his short stroll through the crime scene, because he was puffing a little as he arrived. He gave Gus a stare through his black-rimmed bifocals, then waved an arm as if to indicate a path, along which Allan and Tanner began walking, moving off out of earshot.

‘The Premier called,' said Allan, by way of greeting.

‘Christ, no.'

Allan intimated a lowering of the volume with the flat of his hands. ‘He's particularly anxious. He thinks the shooting will give that Labor mob another good run in the papers. Between you and me, it's the last thing I want.'

Tanner blew out his cheeks, expelled air. ‘Well, I don't see how they can,' he said carefully. ‘Reilly was heavily Labor-connected. He had his finger in a lot of nasty pies. I can't for the life of me see how they can get any mileage from this.'

‘And I think you're missing my point. There wasn't any pie those blokes got a hand in that some dextrous copper hadn't got a finger in first.'

‘It won't be a problem,' said Tanner. ‘Askin wants it gone. It's already finished.'

He made to go, but Allan put a hand on his shoulder. ‘One
more thing. I find out this informant of yours has anything to do with this –'

‘He hasn't.'

But Allan wouldn't be put off. ‘Anything comes back at us, anything at all –' He supplied the rest of the sentence with a gesture.

‘Sure. No worries. I'll deal with it.'

Standing on the footpath several yards off, Gus watched Allan and Tanner disappear before turning back to the shop. Workmen in blue overalls were stepping in and out of the window, carting debris. One bore the arm of a shop mannequin aloft. Another was hauling a tangled display of Japanese rice-paper lanterns. Wally Driscoll, from the Scientific Investigation Bureau, stuck out his head.

‘Who's that?'

‘It's me,' said Gus.

Driscoll appraised him through his inch-thick spectacles. ‘Okay, be careful.'

Gus followed Driscoll inside.

‘How did it happen?' said Gus, taking a closer look at the wreckage.

Driscoll stared at the smashed vehicle with something like admiration or astonishment. ‘I dunno, but I reckon it's the telly that does it. Used to be they'd drill them through with a nice little hole and plant them at Botany, maybe some other sandy-type place. But now they're watching these gangster shows on the telly and they have to get fancy –' Driscoll edged his way around the scene, pausing now and then to peer at some strange piece of metal, the trace of a bullet, a particular contortion, and each time he moved Gus shifted position, following him around.

‘Just look at this bloke,' said Driscoll. ‘I reckon they must've shot him with enough ammunition to murder an elephant, and he just kept on going.' He continued, ‘I'm guessing there must've been one, maybe two, gunmen lying in wait as Reilly comes down
the front steps. The first shot sprays off from a heavy-gauge shotgun. The bloke's badly wounded, but he climbs into his car and reverses, when
bang
– another shot smashes through the front driver-side window. There's blood everywhere, maybe hit an artery. Strictly speaking, the bloke ought to be dead. But he brings the car round and shoots out across the intersection as the last bullet shatters the back window. Anyway, he continues up the hill for a bit before his reflexes give out. The car comes round in a slow arc, mounts the footpath, and the rest – well, I reckon that's the mess you've got here.' Until now Driscoll's gaze had been lowered, fixed on his work. When he spoke again, he was staring at Gus. ‘What's Allan here for?'

‘I dunno,' said Gus. ‘I guess we'll find out.'

‘Yeah, I reckon we will,' said Driscoll, wiping his gloves absently on the front of his shirt. ‘But I reckon it won't be for any good reason.'

Gus made no answer to this, but he stayed for a while, talking over some points, before stepping back into the street. Beyond the area defined by the barricades, the press were arriving in greater numbers, shouting out questions, dropping used flash bulbs into the gutter, crowding the scene.

‘Problem?' said Gus to Tanner, who was crouched on the bumper of an unmarked, staring off into the blue as if he were absolutely alone.

‘Yeah, hell has popped open.'

‘Is it Allan?'

Tanner took out a soft-pack and shook out a fag. ‘Worse. This thing has got politics all over it.'

Tanner smoked off the rest of his fag in dead silence, then got to his feet. He seemed to say and do very little, but soon the investigation was unfolding around him, detectives were canvassing door-to-door, questioning patrons of a nearby restaurant and
idle passers-by. Gus waited for the crowd of detectives to thin before he asked to be deployed to the canvas.

‘Why don't you come with me to see Reilly's moll round the corner? Goes by the name of Aileen Glynn.'

‘Fair enough,' said Gus, thinking that he couldn't have had a better opportunity.

‘It seems Reilly was in the habit of seeing this moll every night. Like you could've set your clock, the times he was coming and going. Maybe he should've sent out an invitation, “I'm here at eight, come round and knock me.”'

Cameras flashed, bright and blinding, as morgue attendants shifted Reilly's corpse from the sheet-covered gurney into the back of the waiting wagon. The photographers closed in, but the wagon was already moving off up the rise, a trail of cameramen running behind it, one trying to grab an extra shot through the blacked-out rear window. Gus stood beside Tanner and watched as the strange cavalcade went by. The night was hot, the air thick and heavy, and it seemed as if the whole weight of the stars and the sky folded over him as they rounded the corner.

The apartment block was bone-white among the night-blackened trees, as they came up the asphalt. Gus knocked on the door, then knocked again, staring through the pebbled glass window by the doorjamb until he saw the hall light come on.

‘I'm not saying a word to any reporters,' Aileen Glynn spoke through the shut door.

‘Excuse me. My name is Detective Gus Finlay, I'm with the police.'

The door came open an inch.

Gus had his badge wallet out and open. ‘Mrs Glynn? We'd like to ask you a couple of questions. May we come in?'

Aileen moved off to one side, and Gus stepped into a startling white entryway with cubed crystal lights shining
down on marble-topped hallstands and chromium pedestals. A rectangular mirror stood at the end of the hall. In it, Gus watched as Aileen turned back to the door where Tanner was standing. Her face was blank and didn't show a thing. But her whole body stiffened.

‘Will this take long?'

‘Could be,' said Tanner.

Tanner gave Aileen a stare, taking in everything from her diamante-clipped beehive to her white satin slippers, then he headed off down the hall. Aileen watched Tanner's departing back, then walked down the hall after him. She sat in a seat that was stiff-backed and modern-looking, and waved Gus to a chair.

Gus took off his hat and fiddled with it, letting his fingers trace round the brim. ‘Obviously you're aware that your … friend, Dick Reilly, was shot dead earlier this evening.'

‘I can think of a better word than friend, detective. And I'm sure your friend Mr Tanner wouldn't hesitate to use it.'

Gus glanced at Tanner, who didn't seem particularly anxious to enter the conversation. He pressed on. ‘I can understand this is a bad time, but surely you'd like to see the people that committed this crime brought to justice?' He felt the last word catch on his tongue. ‘Perhaps you could tell us about his business associates, the people he worked with?'

‘So you can arrest them?'

‘Look, do you want to find out who did this?'

Aileen tried to laugh then turned her eyes away. She got off her chair and put her cigarette in the ashtray. Her face drained so pale it almost vanished into whiteness. ‘Oh, God.' She stumbled.

Gus stepped towards her but she turned on him, her face burning with a sudden fury, as if she'd been soundlessly slapped on both cheeks.

Gus edged away. ‘Was there anyone who had it in for him?'

‘Enemies?' Aileen almost laughed. ‘Oh, plenty.'

‘In particular?'

‘Just people who owed him money. People who pressed him for money they said he owed them.'

‘You think any of these people might be responsible?'

‘Maybe. Some of them had guns. But Dick wasn't worried. He said this lawyer bloke, Gillespie, was making some arrangements that would set things to rights.'

Tanner interrupted. ‘Charlie Gillespie?'

‘Yeah, that's him. Why?'

‘Nothing. Maybe isn't anything important.'

Gus went to say something, but Tanner caught his eye. ‘Okay, detective, guess we ought to push off then. I reckon the little lady must be all strung out.'

‘Why did you do that?'

Tanner glanced briefly at Gus but didn't make any answer. He buttoned his coat, straightened his hat and descended the stairs onto the footpath. Incautious, Gus took the steps two at a time and came up alongside him. ‘Who's this lawyer bloke, anyway? I spoke to him after O'Connor was shot.'