The Gilded Madonna, Garrick Jones [best fiction novels txt] 📗

Any excuse for one of your special meals, Clyde.”

I smiled. “All right, then, I’ll see you at around seven. We’ll eat around seven thirty if that’s all right with you.”

“See you then, sweet man.”

“I’ll give you sweet,” I said with a chuckle.

“Then make sure there’s no asparagus with dinner,” he said and then hung up in my ear.

I loved his out-of-the-blue smutty talk … far too much!

*****

Tom returned while I was making tea. I saw him park his car on the other side of the road through our kitchenette window, which I threw open and then whistled loudly. He looked up and I mimed, pointing into my mouth. It was half past three.

He gave me a thumbs up and then disappeared out of view under the awning that covered the entrance to our shop. I hadn’t missed the bunch of flowers in his hand, which had mysteriously disappeared when he eventually came into my office with a paper bag containing two custard tarts, bought from the milk bar across the road. It often stocked pastries and cakes.

“The flowers were for me?” I asked.

“What flowers? You’re imagining things, Clyde,” he replied, unable to meet my eye, but blushing.

It was Harry who’d alerted me to the blossoming romance between our shared factotum and Miss Evans who worked in the employment agency downstairs and who babysat Baxter if all three of us had to go out at the same time unexpectedly. I realised it explained his newly acquired car. It made me smile and I winked at him.

“What?”

“Nothing,” I replied. “Tea?”

“Sure thing.” He poured while I went through my notes again.

“The cat?” He opened his wallet and passed me a folded five-pound note. I put it in my billfold and returned two-pound notes to him.

“I owe you five bob,” he said.

“Keep it, Tom. Flowers are expensive, and consider it an invest­ment in your future happiness.”

He half-scowled at me over his custard tart, from which he’d just taken an enormous bite. A glint of pleasure showed in his eyes. I knew he hadn’t had a girlfriend before, and Miss Evans was a hardworking, pleasant young woman. I’d known her parents for years.

“Tomorrow morning, I’m going to the gym to try to recruit some of my pals to see if I can talk them into being decoys.”

He had his daily agenda on a clipboard. It was marked into three columns and divided horizontally in half-hour blocks from eight in the morning until seven in the evening. I noticed he’d already filled in a few things for both Harry and himself. Column three, which was mine, was empty.

“What time, Clyde?”

“I’ll get there at nine, that’s when the early birds start to arrive. Might do a bit of mat training while I’m there, so block me out until half past ten. Then at eleven I’ll catch up with Steve Davidovic.”

“Who’s he again?”

“The bloke who witnessed the murder, remember? Used to be a cop, but he’s working as an accountant at Lowes these days. I wanted to check in on him and see he’s okay. There’s another reason too, Tom. It would always be handy to have a backup with senior detective experience if we get overloaded with those no jobs too big or too small cases.”

Tom’s scowl turned to a grin when I winked at him. “And after that?”

“I’ll be back here, no later than midday. I’ve asked Billy Tancred to find something out for me while he’s at the Children’s Court tomorrow morning. His application hearing should be done by half past twelve. I’m expecting him to call me.”

“Children’s Court?”

I told Tom about my morning. He was gobsmacked. Perhaps it was because he was younger than I, but he was far more prepared to be open-minded about what Luka’s letter had revealed. I ended up by telling him what Harry had said about the boys’ home.

“Why didn’t I think of that?” he said. “It’s something one of us should have picked up early on.”

“Well, Harry did, Tom, but he assumed we’d investigated it already.”

“So, Mr. Tancred’s going to ask to have a look at court records tomorrow?”

“If there was an assignment to an orphanage or an institution, it will be on record.”

“And if, by chance, your friend Johnny was also at Petersham Boys’ Home, Clyde?”

“Mark Dioli’s too young to have been there at the same time as, but there are two other people we could ask.”

“Howard Farrell?”

“I knew I hired you for more than your devastating ways with women, Tom.”

“Please, Clyde,” he said in the most exasperated tone, rolling his eyes.

We both laughed. “And there’s also that scumbag, Greyson. He’s in protective custody at Long Bay right now, but as he’s petrified of what might happen to him if he ever gets moved into the general population at the jail he’ll tell me what I want to know.”

“If, Clyde.”

“Yes, Tom. If—and it’s a big if. There are half-a-dozen orphanages in and around Sydney. It’d be one hell of a coincidence, but I’ve learned during my life that nothing’s worth dismissing out of hand.”

“You mean like Luka Praz’s visions?”

I know my mouth flapped open. Hoist by my own petard.

“You’ve been listening to that Harry Jones way too much, Tom.”

“Or not enough, by the look on your face.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

“Are you sure, Craig?”

“Never surer, Clyde. But as I said, I haven’t seen him in years.” Craig had recognised the man in Art’s sketch almost the moment I’d shown him the photo I’d taken of it.

I’d finished explaining why I’d pissed off so unceremoniously on Boxing Day at my own party. He’d laughed and told me that it was so typical of me no one really cared.

“How long did he come here for? I mean not hours in the day, but over how long a period?”

“Only about three months, Clyde. It was nearly four years ago. I remember exactly because it was when I had the railings last painted and the silly bastard hadn’t read the signs and had sat on one. He was so hairy I had to