The Bear Pit by Jon Cleary

Author:Jon Cleary
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: AudioGO
Published: 2013-06-11T16:00:00+00:00

6

I

THE COUNTRY had never known such police cooperation. The State Premiers, even the Prime Minister, suddenly were aware that back-stabbing could be lethal. Certainly they were a wild bunch in New South Wales, always had been, and no one should be surprised at what went on there. But assassination? The other police services had been told there was a suspect under surveillance and they had told their political bosses. They were also told there was no evidence against the suspect and that he was not a known political ratbag and, as far as could be ascertained, had no connection with any subversive group. The Premiers and the Prime Minister breathed no more easily, because they knew that, now an example had been set, copies could follow. For the first time in a hundred years the nation’s leaders felt as if they were family.

“The bugger hasn’t given us a thing to go on,” said Malone. “He’s going about his handiwork as if we didn’t exist. He asked the fellers watching him last Friday if he could give them something from Meals on Wheels.”

Clements was at work at his own desk, fumble-fingering his way through a bibble-babble of papers; true to bureaucracy’s rule, nothing should be said briefly that could be said at length. Homicides hadn’t stopped with the shooting of Hans Vanderberg; there had been seven murders in the past seven days. Clements had the look of a man who had fallen into a quicksand, one he knew but which he had been unable to avoid.

“Don’t come to me with your troubles—”

Malone was sitting on the edge of Clements’ desk, his bum a paperweight on a sheaf of reports. “Who’s got shit on the liver now?”

“I have.” Clements pushed the papers away from him and sat back. “Scobie, I’ve got enough problems. There’s one here—” He searched amongst the papers, held up a report, “Some couple murdered their two-year-old son and skedaddled—they’re druggies. Bondi wants us to handle it because the guy, the father, is the son of a local alderman. They don’t want to shit on their own carpet. I’m turning it back to them—I haven’t got enough personnel to handle what we’ve got. So you go chasing Mr. August or Mr. June of whatever he calls himself and I’ll go back to all this crap and ask myself why I still have some respect for human nature.”

“Join the club,” said Malone and left him as he heard the phone ring in his own office.

It was from a member of the task force: “Inspector Malone? This is Detective Constable Heston. We’ve been looking into Peter Kelzo and the guys with him, Gandolfo and Joe St. Louis. We’ve come up with something. John June did some finishing work for Kelzo’s building firm—he’d be brought in after all the major work was done. I thought you’d like to know,” he added with the satisfaction of someone who knew he had come up with a nugget that might turn into gold. “You want us to bring in Mr.

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