Dark Summer (33 page)

“Probably wonder why their sins took so long to catch up with them. Would you send my uniformed copper out here for a moment?”

The officer came out, a slim, good-looking young man obviously set like a jelly from sitting so still and silent in the small ward. It took him a moment to relax. “Sorry, Inspector. It's a bit like being in a morgue in there. I'm afraid to cough, even.”

“Being in a morgue is easier. Has Pelong had any visitors?”

“Just his wife, sir. She's still here somewhere, I gather.”

“Nobody else?”

“We've got a guy downstairs, he's vetting anyone comes in asking for Pelong. But nobody's come up here except staff, cleaners and that . . . Sir, are you really expecting someone to come in here and finish off Pelong?”

The ward sister was standing a few yards away, pretending to be busy with a chart-board. Malone glanced at her, then looked back at the young constable and lowered his voice. “I don't know. Someone might try it.”

“Shit! What am I supposed to do, then? Do I use my gun? It goes off in there, the other three guys are likely to die of shock.”

It
was just the sort of dilemma to make a cop's day. “Show your gun if you have to, but don't use it. If someone attempts to get at him, don't get too close to him—” A thought had just hit him hard: “It might be someone trying to finish off Pelong with a poisoned needle.”

“You mean those curare killings I've been reading about? Geez, to think that last week I was complaining because I was on booze-bus duty!”

Malone patted him on the shoulder. “Take it easy. You'll survive.”

“I hope so.” He looked at his watch. “Another hour, then I'm safe for four hours. Maybe he'll die in the meantime.”

“
A
nice thought.”

The young officer went back into the ward and Malone turned and walked towards the ward sister. “He looked worried,” she said.

“He's like you, careful of the hospital's reputation.”

“Did I hear him say something about using his gun in the ward?”

“No.” His gaze was direct. “Where can I find Mrs. Pelong?”

“If your officer uses his gun in that ward, I'll personally cut him open with a scalpel. Is that understood?”

“Don't deny it, you
are
an angel of mercy.”

“Balls,” she said, who had none. “But don't quote me to the Mother Superior. Mrs. Pelong is in the waiting room at the end of the corridor. A bit rough, but she's too nice for him.”

“Do you pass opinions on all the patients and visitors you have in here?” But he said it with a smile.

She smiled, too. “All the time. Why should doctors be the only ones with an opinion?”

He went down to the waiting room. Luisa Pelong was wearing no jewellery today other than a small diamond brooch pinned to the navy-blue dress she wore. The beehive hair-do had been flattened and was worn close to her head, held in place by a blue velvet band. Everything about her looked discreet, as it should on a near-widow. She was watching an umpteenth repeat of
Barnaby Jones
on the television set
in
the corner when Malone walked into the room.

“Oh, Inspector.” She got up, turned down the television and sat down again. She looked and sounded more amicable than she had last night. “They let you see my hubby?”

“No. Have you spoken to him?”

“Just for a few minutes. He hardly recognized me. He's gunna be in a wheelchair for the rest of his life, you know that? Tough, eh?”

“Tough for both of you, I should imagine.”

“That's what I meant.” Then she added, “For our two girls, too.”

“Who shot him, Luisa? Did he say?”

“I asked him that and he told me to get—well, you know what he's like. I think he honestly don't know.”

“We've ruled out Jack Aldwych and Les Chung. We've got one or two other leads, but they're pretty vague. What were your relations like with your husband?”

“My relations? You mean my mum and dad?” She was good at playing dumb, it was expected of her. The diamond brooch winked, but she couldn't be blamed for that.

Malone grinned. “Come on, Luisa, you know I don't mean them. How did you get on with Denny? Things weren't too happy between you, were they?”

“Where'd you get that idea?”

“You were taking the mickey out of him all yesterday afternoon. There's that bruise under your jaw . . .”

Of its own accord her hand touched her jaw. She said nothing for a moment, staring at the television set as if she were hoping Barnaby Jones would step out of it and offer her some of his homespun advice. “Okay,” she said at last, “Denny and me, we fight like Kilkenny cats most of the time.”

Kilkenny cats: that was an Irish expression his mother used. He wondered where Luisa, an Italian, had picked it up. But he guessed she had picked up a lot of things: expressions, defences, lurks, anything that would enable her to survive, especially with Denny Pelong, her hubby, who was more
dangerous
and brutal than any Kilkenny cat would ever be.

“I have to ask you this, Luisa, just as an elimination. Did you have someone try to kill your husband?”

“No.” Her gaze was as direct as his own had been with the ward sister. He knew all at once that she was lying.

“Will you run his business if he's not capable of it?”

“He's just gunna be in a wheelchair. He's not gunna have his head in a sling.”

He couldn't help it: he leaned back in his chair and for the first time in twenty-four hours he laughed, more than just smiled. “You're one of a kind, Luisa. I don't think Denny deserves you.”

“Neither do I. But that's just between you and me.” She looked up at him as he stood up. For the first time, standing above her, he noticed the odd grey hair showing in her parting. “Is that all you want?”

“If I stayed here till they send Denny home, you wouldn't tell me any more, would you?”

“No.”

“I think we both know the truth, don't we?”

“I dunno. Living with Denny, you don't get to know much about the truth.”

“But you've learned to live with it?”

“Oh sure. It's got its compensations.” She would sit down tonight, before they brought Denny home, and add up just what she and the girls were worth. Denny, as far as she was concerned, was already on the breadline, her breadline. “We could of been living in a caravan park out in the western suburbs and him still beating the shit outa me. Excuse the language.”

“You know we're going to keep a police guard on him till he's discharged from hospital? If anyone comes in here and tries a second time to kill Denny, our men are under instructions to do what they can to stop it. I just thought I'd mention it.”

“You mean they might start shooting in here? Won't that be bad publicity for you cops?”

“I don't think Denny'll care, do you? Not if we save his life. That'd look good on the Hinch
programme,
wouldn't it? Denny justifying police shooting. Good luck, Luisa. Stay out of the line of fire.”

He went out and along to the lifts, pressed the button and waited. When the lift doors opened he stepped in and stood beside Peter Keller.

“Hello, Peter! You work here?”

Keller was in his usual immaculate overalls, but without his cleaner's gear; he could have been mistaken for one of the more trendy doctors. “The company I work for, they sometimes call us in here. They have the contract for the Police Department and some of the hospitals. You are here visiting that man Pelong?”

“How did you know?”

“You mentioned him last night when we were leaving, remember? Everybody in the hospital knows he is here. How is he?”

The lift reached the ground floor, the doors opened. “He'll probably make it.” They both stepped out. “You get home okay last night?”

“Oh yes. Thank you for dinner. It was a most enjoyable evening. I took the liberty of telephoning your wife to tell her so. You are a lucky man, Scobie, having a wife who approves of what you do.”

“Not all the time, she doesn't.”

He left Keller and went out to the police car waiting for him in one of the spots reserved for doctors. The concrete driveway had the reflective glare of snow; he passed cars that reflected heat as if they were about to explode. He would have to start wearing dark glasses, a habit he had always avoided. He was squinting too much, not seeing things clearly.

9

I

“I THINK
Mrs. Pelong got a hitman to work on Denny,” he said. “But I don't know that we can prove it, take her to court on it.”

“Do we want to?” said Clements.

They were sitting in Malone's office eating pizza and drinking coffee, his only culinary achievement, that Clements had made. Tired of instant coffee in paper cups he had, just before Christmas, brought in a percolator and cups and saucers. Three or four times a day the Homicide room stirred to the aroma of fresh coffee. But only when crims and other outsiders were not in the room.

The two detectives exchanged glances, then Malone said, “Should you have said that?”

“I don't believe I should have. But you know how things slip out.” Clements took another mouthful of pizza, wiped a string of cheese from his chin. “If we arrest her, is that gunna make Pelong happy? Who's gunna look after him in his wheelchair? It'll save a lot of taxpayers' money if we let him be her jailer. Or vice versa.”

“She could try to kill him again.”

“Okay, then's when we try to nail her. Scobie, let's be practical. We've already got more than enough on our plate. If Pelong dies, who cares? Do you? Does the man in the street, whoever the hell he is, does he care? Pelong's scum. I'm just sorry whoever shot him didn't do the job properly. You feel the same way, if you're honest.”

“Righto, so it's between you and me. Will you sleep easy?”

“Like a baby. So will you. More coffee?”

“Ta.” Malone held out his cup. “How did you get on with Mr. Mitre?”

“
He's suddenly got scared. Lee-roy getting the needle in his bum, then Pelong getting those bullets in him last night. He's willing to make a deal, start singing in exchange for a lighter sentence, maybe a bond, something like that.”

“Is he likely to give us anything on Mrs. Pelong?”

“I dunno. So far he hasn't mentioned her. Irv Rubens and a guy from the Drug Unit are gunna talk to him. It's not our turf, but Irv will keep us informed.”

“Righto, that's one side of the paddock. The other side, I think, is Janis Eden and Snow White and The Dwarf.”

“Not Jack Aldwych?”

“I don't think so. I don't know about Jack Junior. Maybe he's no more involved than just getting into bed with Janis.”

“I don't think I'd fancy that. She's one of those women who smile at you while you're going cock-eyed with effort. Her idea of foreplay would be to spray dry ice on your balls.”

“You get around, don't you? Anyhow, I think they're the ones to watch.”

“Okay, that's two teams. But who's the solo player, the guy with the curare needle? If it is a guy. It could even be a woman, despite what Romy said about semen being found in Sally Kissen's whatsis. Those two hookers, Ava and Tuesday, they knew all the victims.”

Malone took a sip of coffee before he said, “Russ, did you know Peter Keller was a cleaner at St. Sebastian's?”

Clements was stirring sugar into his coffee, but now he paused, the spoon still in his cup. “What are you getting at?”

“Last night at dinner, when we were talking about where the killer could pick up Alloferin and Romy mentioned it would be comparatively easy for anyone familiar with hospital routine to get hold of some, he said nothing about him working at St. Sebastian's. He had a comment on everything else we talked about last night, but I can't remember him saying anything about working in a hospital. Has Romy ever said anything to you about him working there?”

“
No-o. I can't think of any reason why it should've come up. She's told me he's interested in her work at the morgue. She has a computer at home that's connected to the morgue's system—I think it covers the whole Division of Forensic Medicine in the Department of Health. He occasionally helps her prepare her reports, using the computer—”

“He
what
?”

“He—what's the matter?”

Malone put down his cup, spilling coffee into the saucer as his hand jerked. “He told me he hadn't a clue how to work a computer. He said something about technology making him feel an idiot. He was talking to me about ours, that one out there—” He nodded towards the big outer room. “He could've tapped into it, got what information he wanted—”

“He'd of had to have an access code.”

“Russ, we're all careless with that. We scribble 'em on a piece of paper, they're on the print- outs. Do you shred your printouts, every one of 'em? No, of course you don't. None of us do unless I give a direct order. I think we might do a little work on Keller. Get on to Criminal Intelligence, ask them to have Interpol check on him. He was on the force in—I forget the name of the place. You know it?”

Clements nodded. “Starnheim, a town near Munich.” He looked worried. “This isn't gunna be easy, mate. Romy's not gunna like it.”

“I'm sorry about that. But this isn't like it is with the Pelongs. We can't let this one run its course. I may be dead wrong about Keller, but I'd just like to know I am for sure. Maybe we'll turn up nothing on him. But I think I'm getting desperate, Russ.”

Clements got slowly to his feet. “He's just not my idea of a serial killer. He wouldn't fit the profile . . .”