Pride’s Harvest. Jon Cleary
fall in and out of love ten times a year from now till she’s twenty-one. I know I did.’
‘I never did ask you. How old were you when you lost your virginity?’
‘It’s none of your business. And don’t you ever ask Claire a question like that. That’s my business.’They were out on the tarmac of the main road now, running smoothly; she leaned back against the door of the car and looked at him. ‘How’s the investigation going?’
‘We haven’t really started yet, but it’s already beginning to look murky.’ He noticed in the driving mirror that another car was behind them, but he gave it only a cursory look. A semi-trailer hurtled towards them, front ablaze with rows of small lights, so that it looked like the entrance to a travelling strip show. It went by with a roar, the wind of its passing rocking the Commodore. ‘Bastard!’
‘How long do you think you’ll be out here?’
‘Your guess is as good as mine. A coupla days, maybe more. Depends on what Russ and I dig up.’
‘What’s Russ doing this evening?’
‘I don’t know. I wouldn’t be surprised if he’s investigating Narelle.’
‘Who’s Narelle?’
‘She owns the pub where we’re staying. A very attractive widow.’
‘Does she have a queen-sized bed?’
‘I wouldn’t be surprised. I’ll ask her.’
‘Never mind. I’ll ask Russ.’
‘Mind your own business. This where we turn in?’
They drove up another long track, this one straight and lined on either side by what looked, in the darkness, like poplars. He pulled up in front of another large one-storeyed house, but this one more modern than the main Sundown homestead. The lights were on in the house and the Land-Rover had been taken round to a garage at the back. Off to one side the wire netting surrounding a tennis court looked like a huge wall of spider’s web. Malone wound down the car window and listened to the silence.
‘It’s so peaceful,’ said Lisa.
He said nothing, thinking of Sagawa lying dead in the silence.
But Lisa could shut out the world from herself and him. ‘Every time I’m away from you for even a night, I realize how much I love you. It’s not so bad when I’m home in our own bed, I can feel you there beside me even when you’re not. I’ve even had an orgasm in my sleep.’
‘Sorry I wasn’t there.’
‘But in a strange bed, it’s so empty . . .’ The Commodore had bucket seats; detectives were not encouraged to embrace each other, even those of the opposite sex. But the Malones managed to reach for each other and their kiss was as passionate as if they were back in Randwick in their own bed. At last she drew away from him, taking his hands off her. ‘That’s enough. I don’t want to have to call up one of your girls from the Rape Advisory Squad. Will you be out tomorrow night?’
‘I’ll try. I’d like some time with the kids. Keep an eye on Claire and Tas.’
‘You want to leave your Smith and Wesson with me?’
He loved her for her sense of humour; it kept him anchored. They kissed again, then she got out of the car and he drove off down between the poplars. He went through the main gate, closing it after him, and turned on to the main road leading towards town. He had the feeling of leaving a harbour: town was where the wild waves broke. Or would, if he and Clements stirred them up.
He had gone perhaps a mile before he realized there was another car behind him, not attempting to overtake him but keeping a steady distance between them. He frowned, wondering where it had come from, certain that it had not come out of another gate along the road. He slowed down, but the car behind also slowed; the distance between them remained constant. Then he speeded up again, but this time the following car dropped back, though it continued to trail him.
He was not afraid, just curious. He went into town, slowed as he came to the main street. He looked in the driving mirror, saw the other car slow, then make a quick turn into a side street. He caught a glimpse of it, a light-coloured big car, a Mercedes or the largest Ford, before it disappeared.
He parked the Commodore, locked it and set the alarm and went into the Mail Coach Hotel. The bars were still open and full, but he wasn’t looking for company; he just wanted to go to bed and dream of Lisa and the kids. But first to lie awake and wonder why anyone should drive all the way out of town and sit in their car and wait for him to return to town, as if they wanted to account for every minute of his movements. That was the sort of surveillance that, usually, only police or private investigators went in for.
1
‘You must’ve got in pretty late last night,’ he said to Clements over a country breakfast of sausages and eggs and bacon, toast, honey and coffee. ‘Did you learn anything?’
‘A few things. Nothing to do with the case, though.’
Malone refrained from asking if what he had learned had come from Mrs Potter. ‘Well, we’ll get down to work this morning. We’ll go out to the gin. Get what background you can out of the workers, those in the fields as well as the gin.’ He looked up as the waitress came to offer them more coffee. ‘We’ll be in for lunch, say one o’clock. Can you keep us this table?’
‘I’m afraid it’s taken for lunch.’ She was a stout cheerful woman who liked her job; she gave better service than many of the more highly trained waiters and waitresses Malone had met in Sydney. ‘Gus Dircks is in town. He’s the Police Minister, but then you’d know that, wouldn’t you?’
‘We’d heard a rumour.’
She laughed, her bosom shaking like a water-bed in an earth tremor. ‘Yeah, you would of. Anyhow, when he’s in town he comes in here every day for lunch. He sorta holds court here by the window, if you know what I mean. You gotta vote for him.’
‘Why’s that?’
‘Well, there’s no one else, is there? Not even the sheep would vote for Labour, around here. You’re not Labour, are you?’
‘He’s a Commo,’ said Clements.
The waitress looked doubtful. ‘Well, I wouldn’t broadcast that around here. You oughta get someone to tell you what they done to the Commos in this town back in the nineteen-thirties.’ She looked at them, suddenly dark and secretive. ‘But don’t say I suggested it.’
Later, driving out to the South Cloud cotton farm in the Commodore, Malone said, ‘I’m beginning to think this district has got more secrets than it’s got sheep droppings.’
‘You mean about the Commos? Narelle was hinting at a few things last night. Not about the Commos, she never mentioned them, but just gossip. I gather there was quite a lot of it when her hubby was killed.’
‘It was a shooting accident, wasn’t it?’
‘Yeah. She hinted people said other things about how it happened, but it’s all died down now. Then she suddenly shut up. I’d picked the wrong time to pump her. We – well, never mind.’
Malone could guess what would have been the wrong time; Clements had probably been intent on pumping of another kind. Sensible, experienced women don’t let their hair down, not figuratively, the first time they go to bed with a stranger; and Narelle Potter was a sensible, experienced woman if ever Malone had seen one. ‘Don’t get yourself too involved. This is your commanding officer speaking.’
Clements grinned. ‘You sound just like my mother.’
They