A Different Turf by Jon Cleary

Author:Jon Cleary
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: HarperCollins Publishers
Published: 2013-09-16T00:00:00+00:00

2

‘He’s a copy-cat killer,’ said Tilly Orbost Saturday morning.

She had come over with Malone from Strawberry Hills to Police Centre. Downstairs the holding cells were almost full, with Friday night’s drunks and rowdies. She had been introduced to Garry Peeples, who looked at her approvingly.

‘It happens,’ said Malone. ‘Not often, but occasionally. It seems to be more an American thing.’

‘Is it ego with them?’ The bruise on Peeples’ cheek had begun to fade under ice-pack treatment.

‘Sometimes,’ said Tilly Orbost ‘Just as often it’s a need to be noticed. Not out of ego, but as a resentment at being ignored.’

Peeples was obviously impressed by her both as a woman and a police officer. He even took her elbow as they went downstairs to the cells; when Peeples’ attention was distracted by a junior officer, she looked back over her shoulder and winked at Malone. He grinned and winked back at her, but his mood was no better than it had been last night. Travis Conrad had thrown a spanner, or rather a gun, into a case where Malone thought he had worked out the parameters.

For all last night’s reluctance and lack of time, Peeples had managed some recruits for the line-up. There were four men and three women, all slim, all medium height’ all dark-haired. Malone recognized a policeman and two policewomen amongst them, but he had no idea, nor did he intend to ask, where Peeples had recruited the others. None of them looked like the usual mix in a line-up.

There were five witnesses: Bob Anders, Walter Needle, Les Coulson, Sam Hindle and Greta Bromley, all of them waiting out in the main charge room. There were shouts and other noise from the cells, which were out of sight, but the witnesses seemed undisturbed by it. They did, however, look – well, toey, Malone thought: like runners who had at long last arrived at the starting line.

He addressed them: ‘You will go into that room across the hall individually and just walk slowly by those in the line-up – each of them will be holding a number. Don’t identify anyone out there, point your finger or anything – come back here, write the number of the person you suspect on the slip of paper and give it to Sergeant Peeples. Remember, take your time. And don’t be afraid. This is important to us.’

‘What if the killer’s in there and he goes crazy?’ said Les Coulson. ‘If he recognizes one of us?’

He won’t: he just stopped himself in time. ‘You’ll be perfectly safe.’

Walter Needle was the first to go into the room, followed by Malone, Peeples and a young constable. It was a windowless room, longer than it was wide: filing shelves against one wall, a table and chair, a raised platform along a wall, small numbered squares in front of the seven people in the line-up. Needle walked slowly up and down, ignoring the three women but studying the four men, all of whom wore horn-rimmed glasses.

‘The women shouldn’t be in this,’ Malone whispered to Peeples.

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