Dilemma. Jon Cleary
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I was young, condoms were for stopping pregnancies. Then they tell me, sales fell right away when the Pill came in. Now the condom is back as armour-plating. What goes around comes around. When do you reckon they’ll bring back the chastity belt?’ Malone shook his head at the constancy of sex and the others nodded. Then he said, ‘You said the Glazes were at the Golden West Club last night – together. You talked to anyone there?’
‘Just the manager. Only him and the cleaners were there this morning. He said he saw her last night, but not him.’
‘We’ll call in there. You want to come?’
Backer shook his head. ‘Later. I’ve got stuff back at the station I gotta attend to. I told you, four homicides. Things are getting worse.’
‘You think they’ll get better?’ It was Malone’s turn to shake the head. Cops rarely, if ever, felt optimistic about the future. ‘Pigs will fly.’
‘You talk to whoever’s there, call in and tell me on your way back to town. And thanks for coming.’ It was laconic, but sincere. ‘This is another country for you.’
‘It’s educational,’ said Malone, but he would be glad to get back to town. He was neither a snob nor a silver tail, but out here he would have to learn a whole new approach. It was not Bosnia nor Belfast, but over the past thirty years a new culture, a new mindset, had developed out here.
Summer was fading, but there was still heat in the morning. In the bright sunshine a tall tibouchina tree was a frozen purple explosion at the end of the street. A few other trees had been planted, but none of them had colour: the tibouchina stood out like a landmark. Malone wondered what Ron Glaze, the gardener, had thought of it.
In the unmarked Homicide car, with Andy Graham at the wheel, Malone said, ‘You think Sergeant Backer has made up his mind about this one?’
‘I think so.’ Graham nodded emphatically; all his movements were emphatic, as if he were afraid that he would not make his indelible mark on the world. ‘It’s natural, isn’t it?’
‘How?’
‘The easy suspect. I did a bit of door-knocking while you were talking to him. A woman over the road said she’d seen the husband drive up around two o’clock – she recognized his car, said she hadn’t seen it around, not since they’d broken up. She saw him get outa the car, stand for a while in the garden, then he went into the house. She’d got up to go to the bathroom—’
‘What would we do without neighbours getting up and going to the bathroom?’
Graham grinned; even his grin was emphatic. ‘Yeah. Well, she didn’t exactly see him go into the house – she said she had to hurry to the bathroom—’
‘She told you that? She had to hurry? You’ve got a way with women, Andy.’
They drew into the car park of the social club, almost deserted at this hour. Out of the glare and the heat, the inside of the club was cool and almost dark, except for the banks of poker machines, which were either never turned off or had just been switched on. The cavernous room seemed twice as large with no one in it. They asked for the manager, but he had gone to the bank.
‘He’ll be gone about half an hour,’ said the woman behind the bar. ‘You’re police from Sydney, are you? It’s another country, I tell my husband. Twenty-five miles and it’s another country. I can’t remember when I last went to town – that was what we used to call it. Town. Now we’ve got everything we want out here. Almost.’
‘Were you working here last night?’ asked Malone. ‘I’ll have a light beer. We both will.’
‘Nothing strong while on duty, eh? Some of the local guys … Well, no tales outa school. I’m Charlene, incidentally. My husband says there’s a St Charlene, though the Catholics don’t recognize her. As a saint, I mean. He says she’s the patron saint of deaf mutes, but I think he’s having a go at me.’
She laughed. It was probably the way she made her way through life, Malone thought: laughing at herself before others did. She was garrulous; she probably talked to her husband while giving him oral sex, which wouldn’t add to his joy. But she was also observant, a detective’s joy: ‘Yeah, they were in here last night. Things weren’t too good between ’em.’
‘You could hear them arguing?’
She put the beers down in front of Malone and Graham. ‘No, no. But I could see ’em. I been working here – well, never mind. A long time. I don’t have to hear things. Not when a husband and wife are arguing. I’ve seen more barneys than you’ve seen murders – no, that’s a horrible thing to say. But I see ’em – you can’t hear much, not on busy nights, but you read ’em. You just look at them and you see it, you know? You married?’
Malone nodded. ‘But I never argue with my wife in public.’
She laughed again. ‘If you did, I’d be able to tell. You could be on the other side of this room—’ she waved, to Ultima Thule. Or Town – ‘I’d be able to tell. Things were very cool, definitely, between the Glazes.’
‘No bust-up? Ron didn’t get up and storm out, nothing like that?’
She shook her head; the dome of hair didn’t move. ‘Nothing like it. He looked, I dunno, sorta cold-blooded. Ron could be like that at times.’
‘Was he popular here at the club?’ asked Graham.
‘Oh yes. He was a car salesman – they’re born popular, aren’t they? Everybody’s friend. Especially the women’s. Ron was a Wandering Dick, if you’ll forgive the expression.’
‘Of course,’ said Malone politely. ‘Did he have any special lady friends here at the club?’
‘None of ’em special.’ She was busy polishing the beer taps.
‘What about Mrs Glaze?’
‘Nah, never.’ She looked at the beer taps, as if they might spout some memory. She shook her head. ‘No, not Norma. Not here at the club, anyway. She put all her energy into her salon – she was a hairdresser, you know that?’
Malone, trying to avoid looking at the dome of hair, couldn’t stop himself from asking, ‘Did you go to her?’
‘Me? Nah. But she used to do a lotta the women here. She was very popular, very good, always up with the latest styles. She said she was the Lillian Frank of the West.’
Malone looked at Graham. ‘You know who Lillian Frank is?’
Graham sipped his beer. ‘Never heard of her. What band is she with?’
Charlene laughed; she had been laughing at men’s jokes for – well, never mind. Too long. ‘Big Melbourne hairdresser. Always in the news, all dolled up to the nines on Melbourne Cup Day – you must of seen her? Norma wasn’t like that – I mean, all dolled up. She just wanted to be the biggest hairdresser out this way.’
‘Would she have been?’
‘I dunno. I don’t think so. Money seemed to be their trouble, never enough of it.’
‘She told you that?’
She was polishing the beer taps again. ‘No, Ron. He was a great one for confiding, you know? A salesman all the time.’
‘But he could be cold-blooded, you said.’ Malone finished his beer, stood up. ‘Ron sounds as if he could be quite a mixture.’
‘Yes.’ She stopped polishing the beer taps, looked steadily at the two detectives. ‘I’m just surprised he turned out to be a murderer.’
‘People often are,’ said Malone.
‘Are you?’
‘Never … Did Mrs Glaze stay on after her husband walked out? When she left, did she go with someone, someone from the club?’