The Gilded Madonna Garrick Jones (ebook reader online .txt) 📖

continued. “If I was one of those men, no matter how much I thought I’d be helping the police, I’d lie my arse off, just in case one of the crooked ones came back to me in the future and tried to blackmail me, no matter what guarantees I was given.”

“And that’s why I’ll be the one asking, Howard. A private investigator with maybe a fiver for your trouble and no questions asked about who you are or where you live.”

“And you’ll go to these meeting places yourself?”

“I’ll be watching, ready to jump in if the killer turns up, but I intend to recruit guys I fought with to be the bait.”

“Can I come to auditions?”

“That’s what Mark Dioli asked.”

“But I’m sure he was joking,” Howard said.

I really liked him.

*****

New Year’s Eve was a quiet celebration. Just Howard and Dai, the triplets, Augusto’s cousin the chef, five groundsmen, three men who worked in the stables, the two ladies who cleaned—who we met for the first time that night—and Harry and me.

Eighteen in all. Everyone dressed up, and instead of the usual sit-down silver service we’d had every night for dinner, we all took food from a buffet and then returned to our seats around Howard’s enormous dining room table, which had been extended for the evening. Some dishes were kept warm in bain-maries and in chafing dishes, and I kept prevaricating over choices. There was simply far too much to eat.

We raised our glasses to absent friends and toasted the new year. It felt like something from another age, the guests dressed in evening clothes, the table laid in gleaming silver with a sea of polished crystal glassware, and lively chatter as we swapped places throughout the meal.

“Did you have enough to eat?” I asked Harry, as I fell onto our bed face down, groaning with the amount in my tummy combined with an excess of alcohol, something I’d kept under check until tonight, or last night, as it was three in the morning when we’d eventually staggered upstairs to bed.

“I don’t think I’ll eat until the end of the month,” he replied, stretching out on top of me.

“Oh, don’t jiggle, I’m so full I might throw up.”

He laughed and then rolled off my back, lying on his at my side. “Here, Smith, roll on top of me for a change.”

I turned my head and peeked at him through one eye, keeping the other firmly closed. “Do I have to?”

“I could always put my head out into the hallway and summon that groomsman you were talking to. You know, the one who looks like William Holden?”

I chuckled against the bedding. “Isn’t it a bit late to be playing fantasy games?”

“Uh huh, no, Clyde. While I’m unbuttoning your pants and pulling them down to your knees, I could whisper to him, this stallion needs breaking in. Don’t bother about a saddle, just ride him bareback, I’ll—”

Someone knocked at the door.

“Hello?” Harry called out.

“Safe to come in?” It was Howard’s voice.

“At your peril!” I yelled back and then dissolved into laughter.

“Sorry to disturb you, Clyde,” Howard said, his head around the door, “but there’s a phone call for you.”

“What? At three in the morning.”

“It’s Vince, otherwise I’d have told him to call back. He said to tell you there’s been another one, and Dioli’s at home so drunk he’s almost unconscious.”

“Sorry, Harry,” I said. “I better take this.”

“I think we’re going to hit the road by the sound of it, Howard,” I heard Harry say as I left the room.

“Neither of you are fit to drive. I’ll get One to take you in my car and then I’ll drive Clyde’s back tomorrow in the afternoon.”

“Thank you,” Harry said, and that’s the last I heard because I picked up the telephone in the hall landing and took Vince’s call.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

Speed limits did not exist on N.S.W. country roads, and Howard’s Rover seemingly glided effortlessly, although I was rather nervous while watching the speedometer hover around one hundred miles an hour for most of our trip home.

I didn’t realise how much and how often I’d been applying invisible brakes in the back seat until we pulled up at the dog leg of Neptune Street, on the edge of Trenerry Reserve in South Coogee—my calves were cramped.

“I’ll leave you here, Clyde,” Harry said from the front seat. “I’ll get One to drop me home to pick up my car and then drive over to check on Dioli. He’s alone, and even if he’s dead drunk, like Vince suggested, he’ll need sobering up.”

The first indication this murder was going to be particularly gruesome was the sight of the young photographer I’d spoken to briefly at the last murder scene. She was leaning against the wall of the public lavatory, alternately holding her handkerchief to her mouth and then removing it quickly as she vomited.

I spied Dave, so made a beeline for him. “Hey, Dave, where’s Vince?”

“In his car, taking a breather, Clyde. He’s parked up there, you can see him sitting in the passenger seat with his legs out and his head in his hands.”

“That bad?”

“I only saw one, Clyde, and that’s done me in for a week.”

“One?”

“Yes, Sarge, there are two bodies. One inside the toilet, the other down the hill a bit.”

“I’ll go have a quick bo-peep inside first before I chat with Vince … and, Dave? I’m not your sergeant anymore.”

“You’ll always be my sergeant, Clyde … and my mate, I hope.”

“We’ll have to catch up and have a beer sometime. Light yourself a smoke, that’ll calm you down. Anyone says anything about having a fag while on duty, tell them I said you could and they can take it up with me.”

“Right you are, and thanks.”

Sunrise was due at six. I checked my watch. Five forty-five. One had driven us from Bowral to Sydney in two and a half hours, quicker than the train service from memory. I looked around the inside of the facility. Although there was ambient light from