A Different Turf. Jon Cleary

was set in the one grave expression. His dark blue eyes and his sleek dark hair accentuated his paleness.

      ‘The doctors had to re-build his face,’ said Needle, still moving around the room. ‘I could have killed – well, I shouldn’t say that to you, should I?’ He had a wide smile. ‘But why come back now?’

      Malone explained about the three murders since last February’s. ‘It’s a consortium, they call themselves. We suspect they are gay—’

      ‘What makes you say that?’ said Stratton.

      ‘Righto, maybe they’re not. But for the time being we’re focussing on the gay community – they may have talked to someone, let slip who they are and why they’re committing these murders.’

      ‘It’s pretty obvious why they’re committing them, isn’t it?’

      This pretty boy is going to be difficult. ‘Yes, it is, Mr Stratton.’

      ‘If we had heard anything of these – these murderers, don’t you think we’d have been in touch with the police?’ Stratton had not taken coffee or biscuits, just sat without moving, one leg still crossed over the other.

      ‘Perhaps,’ said Kagal. ‘But perhaps you felt that justice had already been done. I mean, for what happened to you. Were you bashed too, Mr Needle?’

      Needle sat down at last, a buffalo in a Regency chair. ‘A little, nothing like Will was. I managed to hold them off for a few moments – I used to play rugby when I was young, thirty, forty years ago. It was like being in a ruck – you know, fists and boots. Then the – the killer appeared, fired his gun and it was like the referee blowing his whistle to stop the mayhem. Everything stopped for a moment, then the – the killer took off. One of the bashers made a grab at him and that was when he lost his wig. And—’ He stopped. ‘God, I’d forgotten all about them. Where’s my cream linen jacket, Will?’

      ‘In your closet—’ Stratton looked at Kagal and suddenly smiled; or rather his face seemed to crack. ‘It took Walter a long time to come out of it’

      ‘All right, all right,’ said Needle. ‘Look for it, will you? There should be some glasses in one of the pockets.’

      Stratton rose leisurely, taking his time, and went out of the room. Needle looked after him. ‘He hasn’t been the same since – since the bashing. He’s developed a real hatred of the world.’

      ‘It’s understandable,’ said Malone. ‘Certain sections of it, anyway. You have your offices upstairs?’

      ‘No, I have a suite of offices in town – that’s where my staff work. But since what happened to Will, I’ve worked at home – to be with him. He is all I have,’ he said and all at once looked old and sad.

      Malone and Kagal remained silent Malone glanced at the younger man, but Kagal’s face showed nothing. Was he feeling pity for Needle, was he seeing himself like this years down the track? But, of course, Malone reminded himself, Kagal’s loved one could be a woman.

      Stratton came back into the room; he moved with the grace of a dancer and Malone wondered if that was what he had been. He handed a pair of horn-rimmed glasses to Needle, sank gracefully into his chair again and crossed his legs. There was an indifference to him, an attitude that he was outside the discussion, that he had built up a screen between himself and what had happened to him last February.

      Needle passed the glasses to Malone. ‘You see? I think they’re fakes, stage glasses. That’s clear glass, not prescription lenses.’

      Malone squinted through the glasses. ‘Did the police see these? Forensic?’

      Needle shook his head, looked embarrassed. ‘No. I picked them up, I don’t know why, it was just a reflex action. Then I turned round and saw what had happened to Will—’ He looked sympathetically at his partner. ‘I must have put the glasses in my pocket without thinking – I forgot all about mem. It must have been about a week later, when I sent my jacket off to be dry-cleaned, that I found them. By then I was so worried about Will – they had operated on him and said there would have to be more … I should have passed them on to the police, but frankly, by then I didn’t care whether they caught the man with the gun. I still don’t care.’ He didn’t say it belligerently, but there was no doubt he was adamant.

      ‘You put the glasses back in the pocket of the jacket when it came back from the dry-cleaners? Why?’

      Needle shook his head again. ‘I honestly don’t know. I haven’t worn the jacket since, I’ve even thought of giving it to the St Vincent de Paul. I guess I just, subconsciously, want to wipe that out We both do,’ he said and looked at Stratton, who showed no reaction.

      ‘You saw the man who fired the shot?’ said Kagal.

      ‘Of course. Not clearly, everything was so mixed up, a brawl. When six or eight hoodlums are bashing you, you don’t exactly have your wits about you. But yes, I caught a glimpse of him. He wasn’t big, medium-sized, I’d say. I couldn’t tell you whether he was blond or dark, but he wore a dark wig – that was the one the police found. I do remember he was very spry – he took off like a rabbit after one of the gang tried to grab him.’

      ‘Can you remember if he said anything when he first appeared? If he yelled at the gang to back off?’

      ‘I don’t think so. It was almost as if he was there to kill, not to save us.’ He looked at Stratton, but the latter was still impassive. ‘One minute there was just the bashers and us – the next, there he was. He came in from one side, held up his gun and fired it I didn’t hear the sound of it – I heard later he had probably used a silencer. One of the kids who was kicking Will just suddenly went down – the police told me he’d been shot in the head, but I didn’t bother to look. I was concerned for Will—’

      ‘What happened then?’

      ‘Well, like I said, he just took off. I think one of the thugs tried to chase him, but gave up. The gang turned their backs on me and Will – I think they’d been shocked stupid by what had happened to one of their mates. Then other people started coming towards us – I remember yelling for someone to call an ambulance—’ He stopped, his voice trembling.

      ‘That’s enough,’ said Stratton. He rose unhurriedly and went to him and put his arm round him. ‘That’s enough for you, too, Inspector. We want to forget it ever happened.’

      Malone rose. ‘I can understand that, Mr Stratton. But the fact remains there are killers still loose—’

      Both men looked at him. ‘Killers?’

      ‘I told you they call themselves a consortium.’ It occurred to him that they really hadn’t been listening to him when he had explained about the other murders. ‘Saturday night’s killer was a woman. Or a transvestite, maybe even a transsexual, we don’t know. But we’ve had a couple of calls, they say they’re a consortium—’

      ‘Well, well.’ Stratton for the first time seemed to relax; the mask cracked again. ‘We have our own secret little army. You can’t expect us to be unhappy about that, can you?’

      ‘You don’t expect me to answer that, Mr Stratton … I’ll take these glasses, Mr Needle. It’s too late for Forensic to do anything about them, but they are evidence. Thank you for your co-operation this morning.’

      ‘Don’t flatter us, Inspector,’ said Needle. ‘We haven’t cooperated, all we have been is polite. The bashings will go on, I suppose? And mere will be further killings? It’s rough justice, but that’s better than none at all, isn’t it?’

      ‘Police are not supposed to engage in polemics,’ said Kagal. ‘That’s left to lawyers.’

      Stratton escorted them to the front door. As they stepped out on to the portico Malone said, ‘I admire your garden.’

      ‘So just-so, you mean? My life used to be the same,’ said Stratton and shut the door in their faces.

      Malone