Pride's Harvest by Jon Cleary Page B

Then I drove home.”
    â€œAlone?”
    â€œOf course.” He didn’t attempt to explain why of course he would drive home alone.
    â€œWhat sort of car do you have?”
    â€œA Mercedes, last year’s model. A 500SEL.” He did not say it boastfully, but as if mocking Malone’s questioning of him. He looked at Clements taking notes. “Got that, Sergeant?”
    â€œColour?” said Clements.
    â€œBeige, I think they call it. I don’t have a good eye for colour, I’m colour-blind.”
    â€œDoes that apply to people, too?”
    â€œJesus Christ!” Dircks sat up in his chair. Hardstaff had left his drink in the study, but the Police Minister had brought his with him and now the ice rattled in his glass like dice. “That’s enough of that sort of insult, Malone! The interview’s over!”
    My bloody tongue again, thought Malone. But Hardstaff’s air of arrogance, his apparent resentment that the police should interrogate him without making an appointment, acted on Malone like a burr in his pants.
    Hardstaff did not appear disturbed by the question. He looked at Malone with new interest, as if the detective were an adversary who might prove hard to put down. Weak opponents bored him. Without looking at Dircks he said, “It’s all right, Gus. Perhaps the inspector has some point to his question?”
    Malone saw that Hardstaff suddenly had some respect for him. “Yes, there was a point to it. I’ve heard that there is some strong anti-Japanese feeling in the district.”
    â€œNot from me, Inspector. I brought the Japanese investment in here. Mr. Dircks will confirm that. He’s one of the partners in South Cloud.”
    Malone saw Clements’s ball-point suddenly slip, scratching across the page of his notebook. Then the big hand was steady again, waiting to make a note of Dircks’s reply.
    â€œI didn’t know that, Mr. Dircks,” Malone said.
    â€œIt’s in the records. You’d have seen it if you’d looked at the books of the company.” But Dircks sounded as if he wished the connection hadn’t been mentioned.
    â€œWe’ve only just started. There’s a lot we still have to look into. Have you visited the cotton farm lately, Mr. Hardstaff?”
    â€œNo, I have no financial interest in it.”
    â€œDid you know Mr. Sagawa?”
    â€œYes. He came to dinner once. And he came out once or twice to tennis parties we had. He was an enthusiastic tennis player. He was enthusiastic at everything, come to think of it. Everyone liked him.”
    â€œExcept the person who murdered him.”
    â€œChrist, you’re blunt!” said Dircks, a politician never known for his subtlety in parliament.
    Malone stood up, ignoring the Minister’s remark. “Did you know anything about Mr. Sagawa other than that he was enthusiastic and popular?”
    The other three men were now on their feet. Hardstaff said, “No, I don’t believe I did. Perhaps the other Japanese out at the farm, the assistant manager, Mr. Koga, might help you there.”
    â€œYou know Mr. Koga? I thought you said you had no interest in the cotton farm?”
    Hardstaff smiled, a crack in the stone. “I’m interested in everything that goes on in this district, Inspector. This is my turf, I think is the expression.”
    â€œOh,” said Malone, letting his tongue have its way this time, “I thought it was the Minister’s.”
    â€œ Enjoy your stay, Inspector,” said Hardstaff, the crack widening. The bugger’s enjoying this, thought Malone. “Come and see me again if you have any more questions. Just telephone me first, that’s all. I’m not always available to every Tom, Dick and Harry.”
    â€œScobie and Russ,” said Malone. “Thanks for your time.”
    As he and Clements went down the steps from the wide front veranda, Dircks came hurrying out the