A Different Turf. Jon Cleary

young officers looked puzzled. Kate said, ‘Don’t you think they are?’

      ‘I have an open mind,’ said Malone, leaning back in his chair. ‘Which means I haven’t a clue. What if these people just like to kill and have chosen to do a public service, as they call it? They could be killing gangs that attack old ladies or girls travelling alone at night on the trains.’

      ‘I don’t think so, sir,’ said Beane. He had a certainty about him, a faith in his opinions. ‘These people are avenging gays.’

      Even Kate looked at him, at the assurance in his voice.

      ‘You say that, Darren, as if you’re on their side.’

      For the first time Beane looked uncertain; he beat a retreat

      ‘No, I’m not But doesn’t the evidence suggest that’s what they’re doing? I think all we can do is go on the evidence we have so far.’ Then he looked back at Malone and added, ‘Sir.’

      ‘Would you like to take a guess at who they might be?’ Malone’s voice and expression were bland.

      Beane was just as expressionless. ‘No, sir. I’ve never been any good at guesswork.’

      This bugger has his suspicions, but he’s not letting on.

      ‘It was suggested to me this morning by one of the bash victims that he wasn’t unhappy about the killers. The secret little army, he called it. Our secret little army was what he actually said. I don’t believe he has a clue who they are, but he felt no qualms about what they were doing. Killing people.’ He was still leaning back in his chair, but he was not at all relaxed. I’m pinning you down, son. ‘I hope you don’t feel like that?’

      ‘Not at all, sir. But if the killings stop the bashings, then something has been achieved, don’t you think?’

      ‘Darren,’ Malone said patiently, leaning forward, ‘if all the wife-beaters were killed off and the wife-beating stopped, do you think we – we police, I mean – do you think we should be satisfied with that? I don’t know what the attitude is over at Surry Hills, but here in Homicide we are paid to bring murderers to justice. That’s what these people are – murderers. If we catch them, they can argue their own case in court But I’m not playing advocate for them and neither is anyone who works for me. Understand?’

      ‘Yes, sir.’ Beane’s expression still hadn’t changed.

      ‘So long as you do understand it, Darren, we’ll be glad to have you working with us. Let me know if you hear anything, go around the baths and see what the gossip is.’

      Beane stood up. ‘I’ll be in touch, sir. Will you be coming over to Surry Hills?’

      ‘Later, probably. Kate and I are going out to Homebush to talk to one of the other bash victims. Surry Hills has a stack of evidence on the four killings, but it still doesn’t add up to anything concrete. Maybe I’ll stumble on something you missed.’

      ‘Good luck, sir,’ said Beane and it sounded as if there was just a faint note of sarcasm to his voice.

      He left and Malone looked at Kate Arletti. ‘I can see you think I was rough on him.’

      ‘You’re the boss, sir.’

      ‘You sound like my wife, Kate. Or my daughters when they think they know better than I do. Young Darren looks like a bright young cop, but he has a lot to learn about a cop’s conscience. We’re not supposed to have any, Kate. Not when it comes to catching murderers.’

      ‘He’s our best contact with the gay community—’

      ‘I know that. But he has to make up his mind what comes first – being gay or being a cop. Yes?’

      ‘Nothing, sir.’

      ‘Come on, Kate. I know that look – you have something you want to say.’

      ‘Well, let’s say the killer, or killers, let’s say they were killing thugs who were bashing up cops.

      ‘I’d still be after them,’ he said and hoped he sounded convincing.

      Kate considered his answer; then she stood up. ‘Do you want me to keep covering the lesbian scene?’

      ‘Yes, for the time being.’ Eventually he would have to talk to the lesbians; he might even have to go into the gay baths. For the moment, though, he was still shedding prejudices: he was treading a different turf. Objectivity, something he needed in these cases, was never iron-clad. He looked at his notes. ‘In the meantime you can come with me out to Homebush. We’re going to talk to the second feller who was bashed, back in July, see if he remembers anything about the killing.’