Dark Summer (25 page)

Malone sipped his beer, nodded approvingly. Then: “You didn't ask me who Jimmy Maddux was.”

“I don't wanna know.” Pelong's beer remained untouched in front of him. He was not a pleasant sight, a broad mix of muscle and fat mossed with damp black hair, his stomach bulging like a soft boulder over the electric-green trunks he wore. His face had all the sensitivity of a bull's, but he had never led a life in which sensitivity counted for much.

“
You didn't ask me anything about Scungy Grime, either. But I guess you knew
him?”'

“Yeah, I knew him. He worked for Jack Aldwych one time, dint he? A sneaky little shit.”

Malone looked at Luisa. Her shapely legs were crossed, in that pose of women who know they have good legs and can manipulate them provocatively. There was no expression on the thin pretty face under the dark glasses, but a little colour had come back into her cheeks, as if she were beginning to enjoy herself.

“Don't take no notice of my hubby's language. I tried to make a silk purse out of an old jockstrap, but I didn't have any luck, did I, sweetheart? He talks like that to the neighbours, too—when he talks to 'em at all.”

Pelong picked up his beer and buried his face in it. Malone said, “Did any of those men I named ever come here, Mrs. Pelong?”

Pelong's face abruptly appeared above his glass; the black eyes squinted even more as he glanced at his wife. She ignored him, smiled at Malone. “You know better'n that, Inspector. What sorta wife contradicts her hubby?”

“An honest one?” asked Clements.

“You a married man, Sergeant?” Clements shook his head and she smiled again. “You got a lot to learn, hasn't he, sweetheart? No, Inspector, I never heard of any Leroy Lugos or Scungy Grime or Jimmy Maddux.”

“You remembered all their names.”

“I got a phonographic memory—I hear something once, I remember it. I do all my hubby's book-keeping in my head, nothing's ever written down, is it, sweetheart?” She was mocking all three men; yet Malone found he couldn't dislike her. She would never wear her bruises with pride, but they would always be only skin-deep, just below the surface and never on her psyche.

“What about Joey Trang, a Vietnamese?”

“Oh yeah, we knew him. He was our gardener, before we took on Fred.”

Malone looked back at Pelong, who appeared to have relaxed again. “Did you sack Joey, or
promote
him?”

“I had nothing to do with him. He worked for the wife.”

“What did he do for you, Mrs. Pelong?”

“He just gardened, nothing else. I fired him because he was no good. He could only grow rice—you don't get much scope for rice-growing in Sansuzy. Put him amongst the roses, he was always pricking himself.” She smiled again: take that, or leave it.

“You know he was murdered?”

“Yeah, we read about it.” She was answering all the questions now; Pelong sat quiet and expressionless. “There's been a lotta murders lately, hasn't there? You must be busy.”

“Busy enough.” Malone finished his beer, put down his glass on the wrought-iron table. “You have anything you want to ask, Sergeant?”

It was an act between them: swap the bowling. “Just one thing—” said Clements, taking off his dark glasses, squinting like the other two men. “We've got a man in custody, says his name is Syd Mitre. Actually, we know his name is Sydney Mitre Pelong. He a relation? He deals in drugs. We understand you do that occasionally. Nothing in the books, of course.” He grinned at Luisa Pelong.

“You got anything on me about dealing in drugs?” said Pelong. “You're pissing inna the wind.”

Clements ignored that, looked at Luisa. “You said you'd never heard of Leroy Lugos. You were inside the house when Inspector Malone mentioned him.”

“That's probably why I've never heard of him.” Her smile was brazenly defiant: catch us if you can.

“What about this other Mr. Pelong? Syd?”

“I've never heard of him, either. But then I dunno any of my hubby's family. He says he don't have any, isn't that right, sweetheart?”

“I'm a fucking orphan,” said Pelong, and a crack of a grin flickered for a moment in the rock of his face. “An only child.”

“Syd has heard of you,” lied Malone, taking up the bowling again. “He told us to give you his
regards,
Mrs. Pelong. A really good sort was how he described you. He didn't have much to say for you, Mr. Pelong, not as a husband.”

The squinting eyes closed just a trifle; but it was enough. “How me and the wife get along is none of your business.”

“I didn't say it was. It's how you and Syd Mitre get along that's our business. He's being held without bail on a charge of being in possession.”

“Possession of what?” said Luisa.

As if you didn't know.
“Heroin. We're also holding him on suspicion of murder.”

“Syd?” Pelong's growl squeaked a little.

Luisa's eyebrow went up above her dark glasses in resigned exasperation. “You've goofed again, sweetheart. You'll never learn.”

Men are bad-tempered with unintelligent wives; intelligent women just shrug resignedly at their dumb husbands; it is the difference between the species. Luisa had made her bed, wanting someone who would supply it with silk sheets; Denny had been her choice, the worst mistake of her life. She had all the creature comforts she had craved, but got the wrong creature. One foot paused above the menopause, she felt the urge for someone younger, less of a brute. She had been attracted to Leroy, but she had her standards: you didn't sleep with the help. Not with a hubby like Denny to burst in on you.

Pelong felt the near-impossible, the anger at himself of the egotist. He jammed the dark glasses by his hand into the patterned ironwork of the table-top; the glass of one eye-piece broke. He shouted across the pool, his voice carrying on the still water, “Fred! Get rid of these visitors before the fucking neighbours complain!”

“Stay there, Fred,” said Luisa quietly, her voice carrying just as effectively, “I'll attend to this . . . Yes, Inspector, we know Syd. We were always afraid he'd turn out to be the black sheep of the family.”

Malone had never seen any sin in admiring the enemy: that way you never underestimated him. Or her. “What is he? A brother? Cousin?”

“A cousin,” said Pelong, struggling hard to contain himself; his stomach was fluttering, as if he
might
be having labour pains. He had indeed goofed, as Luisa, the bitch, had told him in front of these cops; but he was not going to sit here and act fucking dumb. “We give him some dough to start his pastrycook shop. What are you grinning at?”

“Your joke, sweetheart.”

“What fucking joke?”

“Never mind,” said Luisa. “Inspector, we dunno anything about what Syd does outside his cake shop. My hubby isn't his cousin's keeper. Have you finished your questions?”

“Not quite, Mrs. Pelong. You own a company called Coolibah Investments Services, part of a company called Thursday Island Holdings. Coolibah paid for a gold pass membership, six thousand dollars' worth, for Jimmy Maddux at the Sydney Cricket Ground and the Football Stadium. Why was that? In case you didn't read it, Jimmy Maddux was murdered the day before yesterday. His neck was broken. He worked on the wharves over at Glebe Island.”

There was a swift change in the bowling: Clements came on at the other end: “Leroy Lugos was murdered, too. He had a portfolio file marked Coolibah Investments Services.”

The Pelongs looked at each other, then Luisa said, “I don't think we wanna say anything more. Not without our lawyer.”

“That's Caradoc Evans, right? Nice guy, for a Welshman. We're surprised he's not already here. He must've rung you last night to tell you about Syd's troubles.”

Malone came in again: “I think you've got trouble, too, Mr. Pelong. We found a Colt Forty-five in the glove-box of Leroy's car. Besides his, it had your prints on it, too.”

Luisa turned her head, held it stiffly, as if she could not believe what she had just heard. Pelong glanced at her almost sheepishly, addressed himself to her rather than to the two detectives: “I give it to him to protect himself! Jesus, he was scared shitless—”

“Don't say any more, not till we see Mr. Evans.” She stood up, tucked in her halter top, showing the outline of her bra-less breasts. She liked attention, even from busybody cops; it was another way of showing contempt for Denny. “Say goodbye, sweetheart.”

Pelong
said nothing, but Malone said, “Not goodbye. We're putting a twenty-four-hour police surveillance on your house, don't attempt to leave till you're ready to talk to us, with or without Mr. Evans. If you try to leave, we'll haul you in and hold you at Police Centre. You'd better be ready to talk to us by ten o'clock tomorrow morning. Thanks for the beer.”

Luisa led the two detectives through the house to the front door. “Nice house,” said Clements. He was no judge; the waiting room at Central railway station was
nice
compared with the dump he lived in. “All in your name?”

“How'd you guess?” These two cops were all right; she wondered where they had been all her married life. Christ knew, there had been enough other cops in that life. She opened the door, told the snarling Rottweilers on the doormat to get lost and they went meekly away. Once again Malone had to admire her. She looked at him. “Denny had nothing to do with those murders, Leroy and Jimmy Maddux.”

“Let him tell us all about it tomorrow morning, Mrs. Pelong.”

She closed the front door on them, stood leaning with her back to it. She wondered what life would be like in Europe, where most of their laundered money was banked. But she knew she could never take Denny there to live, not amongst the snobs of Switzerland, where, she had been told by Caradoc Evans, they looked down upon everyone else from their mountain-tops. She couldn't imagine the bankers of Zurich taking to being called the fucking neighbours. Not for the first time, she began to wonder how she could get rid of Sweetheart.

7

I

“THERE'S NO
two ways about it,” said Snow White, watching a lone yacht hurrying home across Botany Bay. “We gotta do Denny Pelong.”

“Do him?” She knew what he meant, but something, a thrill of fear (like the first injection of heroin?), made her want to hear him state it explicitly.

“Kill him.”

When Janis had come down into St. Sebastian's underground car park three-quarters of an hour earlier, The Dwarf had been waiting for her, towering over her small Capri as if it were a Dodgem car in a fairground. “Snow wants you to meet him out at La Perouse. He'll be waiting for you.”

It was she who had suggested La Perouse as their first meeting place. It was half an hour's drive from the centre of the city, the last several kilometres open enough for one to see if one was being followed. On this steaming hot day she wished he had suggested somewhere closer. She had just finished a counselling session with an addict who had been violent and she had had to call on two of the hospital wardsmen to restrain him. She had been looking forward to meeting Jack Junior at his apartment and having a swim with him in the condominium's pool. She could not suggest that Snow White join them there.

“All right, Gary. You coming with me?” She was relieved when he said no; she wasn't sure he would fit into the Capri. “Thanks for the message.”

“A pleasure.” He gave her an almost sweet smile, then he went out of the car park, walking light-footed on his small feet, almost mincing, though she doubted that anyone would use that word in describing him, at least not in front of him. He always treated her with the utmost respect, never swearing
in
front of her as Snow White did, and she trusted him more than she did White. But only up to a point: she had no experience of how far one could trust a murderous thug and that was what The Dwarf was.

She picked up her car-phone to dial Jack, but waited as a Toyota van drew in beside her and two of the hospital cleaners got out. She said hello to them, though she didn't know their names, and then when they had gone she called Jack. “I'll be late. I have to see Mr. Black—” He had warned her that no real names were to be used over the phone and nothing was ever to be put to paper. He was teaching her business principles; or lack of them. “No, I don't know what it's about. I'll be at your place as soon as I can.”

“We'll have a swim, then we're taking Dad to dinner. Chinese.”

That would be the third time this week they had been with his father; Jack Junior was getting to be as bad as a previous boyfriend, who had always wanted to bring his mother. Or had Jack Senior begun to suspect something?

“Lovely. I'll wear my jade.” Which she would do some day soon: jade, emeralds, rubies, diamonds. Normally she was as level-headed as a calculator, but occasionally she went giddy at the thought of being rich.

She drove south out of the city, towards La Perouse on the northern arm of Botany Bay. The sun beat in at her from the west, scorching the side of her face, but occasionally it disappeared behind clouds scurrying up from the south. Out here the terrain was sandy and small one-storeyed houses sat behind sparse brown lawns. In the main this was battlers' territory, where no one dreamed of jade or diamonds but every week bought lottery tickets, where to survive without debt was some sort of riches. She gave none of the locals a thought as she drove past the houses; sympathy was not one of her weaknesses. Beyond a ridge to the east was Long Bay Gaol, but she was glad she could not see it; she did not like to be reminded of the rewards of unsuccessful crime. She kept her eyes on the road ahead, except for the occasional glance in her driving-mirror, though she could think of no reason why anyone should be following
her.
If Snow White was not at the meeting place, then she would know
he
had been followed.