He nodded, slowly at first and then more rapidly.
I was good at threats I knew I was incapable of carrying out. That’s what made a good interrogator, and I’d done more than my fair share with captured collaborators and German prison guards immediately after the war. I was very, very surprised how quickly and easily it had come back to me. I didn’t like it one bit, but threats of violence always carried rewards greater than physical punishment ever did—at least that was my experience.
“Now, before we get down to the nitty-gritty, I want the names and addresses of Mark’s, I mean Pieter Strickland’s, aunt and uncle in Holland. After you’ve given that to me, we’re going to have a chat. I don’t have a lot of time before I have to leave, but I’ll be back to talk to you, wherever you might be. Maybe not today, but perhaps tomorrow or the day after, or the day after that. Sometime in the future when you least expect it. Maybe I won’t come at all, but I know you’ll keep thinking I might … one day … maybe never.”
The kettle whistled, so I turned off the gas and filled the teapot. He glared at me as I went to the fridge and held up the milk jug. “Milk?” I asked. He shook his head, but didn’t speak, so I continued.
“Just before I leave here at midday, an army vehicle will arrive to take you to Holsworthy army base, where someone else will talk to you about war crimes. It took a bit of arranging, but that’s what men like me who think ahead can do, especially when it comes to garbage like you. And, just in case you decide to tell me porky-pies, I should let you know I’ve had a nice chat with your old friend, Lionel Greyson, who, as we speak, is undergoing interrogation in the old lockup of the Randwick cop shop.”
I think my last sentence was the deal-breaker. The glimmering defiance and anger in his eyes faded quickly, just as if someone had turned the lights off.
There was one thing about the military, they kept to schedule. I was relieved to hear the knock on Terrence Dioli’s front door at precisely three minutes to twelve. I knew I’d be late arriving at Craig’s baths to meet our friends, but the satisfaction of seeing Dioli being escorted into a khaki-coloured Holden with military number plates on it was worth it.
*****
Of course Harry was furious.
I arrived about forty minutes late, only because the Glebe Island Bridge was open to allow a coal hauler to steam past. But my lateness wasn’t the reason he was angry. We’d been standing in a corner at the pool, me with a bottle in my hand and Harry with a scowl on his face, while I’d told him about what had happened since I’d telephoned him from the hospital earlier that morning.
“Clyde—” I kissed him. Right in front of everyone. I put my beer down and grabbed his face with both hands and kissed him. I needed it.
“Next time you pull some stunt like that, I’ll—”
I kissed him again. “Chew me out later if you must, Harry, but for now just hold me.”
I was still shaking after my encounter with Greyson, and my self-loathing for having lost control so completely I might have killed Terrence Dioli, had I not snapped out of it.
Harry put his arms around me and rocked me back and forth slowly.
“Clyde. We’re a team, for heaven’s sake. You could have been in terrible danger. What might have happened if Dioli had a gun hidden somewhere and had taken a shot at you through the door? Did you think of that?”
“I didn’t stop thinking of it, Harry. I know … it was stupid. But you looked so worn out. I didn’t have the heart to wake you. And besides, I don’t care about what happens to me, but if anything happened to you, I don’t know what I’d do.”
“If anything happened to you, don’t you think I’d feel the same? Listen, Clyde, you’re speaking to me. Remember? The guy you asked to mind your back, the man who dodged bullets with you on the roof of the Strand Arcade, the man who shot Larry the Lamb’s trigger-happy mate who was holding the machine gun on you, the man who killed Marvin Keeps who was about to shoot you, the man who’d lay down his life for you—”
Craig interrupted whatever Harry had been about to say. “Here’s another beer, Clyde, your bottle is empty. Now kiss the man, tell him you’re sorry for putting him through whatever it is you’ve done without telling him, and get some bloody food in you. You look like you’re about to fall in a heap.”
“You heard the man, Clyde,” Harry said. The annoyance was gone. All I could see was my big man, love and care in his eyes.
I crossed my heart. “I’m sorry, Harry. I’ll never do it again.”
“Until next time,” he whispered, a moment before our lips touched.
*****
I felt a whole heap better after almost half a cold chicken, which I devoured with my hands. I dipped pieces ripped from the carcass into Harry’s excellent homemade mayonnaise, alternating each bite with wonderful, freshly baked, buttered bread slices, cut the thickness of doorstops. I had grease everywhere.
“Hello there, Clyde.”
“Why hello, Luka. Where have you been?”
“I’ve been talking with that man over there, the one sitting on the edge of the pool. He’s an usher at the Boomerang theatre. Thank you for inviting me. Who knew there were so many nice blokes living so close by?”
“Some of them are friends of friends. You know how it goes. There aren’t many places men can meet socially and feel open and free about who they are and what they do. So, when someone throws a party and tells their mates to invite their friends, even if we only have two or three acquaintances the others don’t know, the network gets bigger of its own accord.”
“Is that why you called it your ‘circle of friends’?”
“Sure. Despite the number of blokes here—how many are there? Thirty, thirty-five?—I’ve only slept with three of them since I got back from the war. Three in nine years isn’t a bad score in anyone’s game … well four, if you count my ex, but I think I omitted him on purpose. There’s Craig, his mate Harley, and of course Harry. For some reason the ‘regular’ guys think that every man, no matter his age, his shape, his personality, is fair game and that we queer men want to sleep with every bloke we run across. It doesn’t work like that, as well you know.”
“Maybe someone should start a private club somewhere. A place where men like us could spend a bit of time and just be, I don’t know, like any other bloke in the country with his mates, but feel free to talk about private things we can’t discuss with our married friends or those who have girlfriends.”
“Maybe one day. There used to be a pub like that in Alexandria, but it was more of a pickup place.” Luka raised an eyebrow. “Used to be. Closed ages ago.”
“Well, I’ve made a dozen new friends here today since I arrived, and there’s plenty more guys I haven’t said hello to yet.”
“There’ll be more dropping by during the afternoon.”
“You look exhausted, Clyde.”
“I’ve only had a few hours’ sleep.”
“Why? Harry keep you up?”
I laughed. “Wishful thinking. Not last night. You remember I told you to keep away from public toilets at night?”
“Yes, and I told you they’re not my thing.”
“Well, I like you, Luka, and I don’t want to see you get caught up in anything dangerous. Just make sure, no matter how interesting or attractive the man might be, never follow someone into a cubicle.”
“I know you don’t believe in my special ability, Clyde. We’ve already established that. But trust me, with it comes a sixth-sense for danger. This might come as a surprise to you, but I don’t always find company on the nights when the urge comes upon me. I get a feeling whether someone’s going to turn up or not. Sometimes I go prowling and then after about ten minutes, I know nothing’s going to come of it, so I go home.”
“Well, maybe after today you might get to meet a few new people through the blokes you’ve met here and you won’t have to go ‘prowling’, as you called it … stranger things have happened.”
“Clyde …”
&
nbsp; “Yes, mate?”
“On Christmas Eve, when I ‘disappeared’ for a while, and after you’d carried me up to my bed, you didn’t ask what I’d seen.”
“I know.”
“Well, I don’t know if you understand how it works. It’s not like I get a vision, like a few minutes of a scene from a movie rolling by in my mind. It’s flashes of images, of feelings, sometimes words or even names.”
“Why are you telling me this, Luka?”
“Because if the day ever comes that you feel you want to know, I’ve written down what I saw on a few sheets of paper and sealed them in an envelope, which I gave to Harry when I arrived. Open it only if and when you trust that I’m not faking what I see or feel.”
“Luka—”
“All I can tell you is that it has something to do with that bloke over there in the corner. The one who can’t keep his eyes off you, even though he pretends not to. I don’t know who he is, but he’s involved somehow.”
“Which bloke do you mean?”
“The tall, dark-haired man standing with his back to us, holding a half-full bottle of white wine.”
I had to admit a small shiver ran through my body when I realised he was talking about my best and oldest friend, Billy Tancredi, who I hadn’t seen arrive.
*****
Harry shook my shoulder. “It’s two o’clock,” he said. “You asked me to wake you.”
I’d fallen asleep with my head on his knee, lying on my back. There seemed to be an impromptu game of water polo going on in the pool.
“I told your boss I’d call him at two. I’ll just nip up to Craig’s office and ask to use the phone.”
“Want company?”
I wound one hand around the back of his neck and pulled his face down to mine. “I want more of this,” I whispered and then kissed him.
“Careful, I’m not wearing swimmers. No one is. Craig made an announcement while you were asleep.”
“Is this some sort of strange party game? Close your eyes, retrieve a pair from the pile, and then go home with the owner?”
He laughed. “Billy said to find him when you wake up.”
“Righto, will do.”
I made my way up the stairs to Craig’s office, which was on a level cut into the sandstone cliff behind the pool, and phoned the lockup. Jeff Ball told me that not only had Howard arrived from Bowral but also that he’d heard Terrence Dioli had been delivered safely to Holsworthy and seemed very acquiescent. I told him I’d call in with Harry a little after four to see how things were progressing.
I’d only just hung up the phone when a shadow appeared in the doorway.
“Hello, Philip! I didn’t expect you here? Where’s Vince?”
Philip Mason was naked. It rather surprised me, because he had a reputation for being very shy around strangers.
“Orders of the day,” he said, blushing lightly. “I was told I couldn’t come in unless I stripped down.”
“Nice to see you … in the flesh.”
He laughed loudly. “Sorry to disturb you, Clyde. But Vince called me at home and told me to come here. He dictated something in Italian and I took it down letter by letter. He said to apologise for his Italian—he’s not used to writing, only speaking—but it’s something you should know immediately, and you should come up to the station straight away.”
“Why couldn’t he just tell you, or phone me? He knows we would be here; you were both invited.”
“He says you’re not supposed to know, and he didn’t want to get me involved, and he couldn’t speak over the police telephone.”
The switchboard was monitored. Sam and I had always been careful about communicating personal stuff when either of us was on duty and the other one was at home.
“And?”
“And, he said to tell you it’s supposed to be una sorpresa—whatever that means. I memorised the word.”
A surprise? What he really meant was to act surprised. His message was about something I was not supposed to know about before I got there.
“Okay. Where’s this note?”
Hanno trovato il tuo biglietto da visita in tasca all’ultima vittima. Il tuo nome è scritto sul retro con lo stesso inchiostro verde.
The message was clear and, despite his protests, was very well written. Faultless, even. They’ve found your business card in the pocket of the latest victim. Your name is written on the back in the same green ink.
I ran out of the office and leaned over the balustrade and yelled out down below. “Harry! Grab your clothes, we have to go!”
Of course everyone turned around and stared, which wasn’t what I’d wanted—to draw attention to myself. But I was so rattled I hadn’t thought of the consequences.
“Where we going?” he asked breathlessly at the top of the stairs, clutching both his and my clothes under his arm.
“You said we were a team?”
“Yes. What’s wrong, Clyde?”
“Then let’s team up. I think someone’s linking me to the Silent Cop murders.”
“What?”
“I’ll tell you on the way.”
“The way where?”
“Randwick police station, and when we get in the car, put your foot down.”
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
“Pull in here,” I said.
“Where?”
“This driveway, next to the police station, the one between it and the old lockup.”
Harry put his arm out of the car window and signalled a left-hand turn. He was pretty fastidious about hand signs. I usually just made vague gestures out of the car window as I turned left or right, invariably ending with a two-finger salute as the car behind me tooted its horn and the driver called out obscenities to the idiot who’d turned with little warning.
“Does this lead around to the back of the police station?”
“Nah, it’s the driveway to the forensic department entrance. There’s the doorway in which I was arguing with Dioli … remember? It’s where the photographer took the picture of him and me.”
“I see now. All the months I’ve been coming next door on a weekly basis and never bothered to look down here from the street.”
“Why should you? It’s just a driveway.”
“Why are we parking here, Clyde?”
“Because Vince’s note to me said what he wrote was secret—a surprise is the word he used—it’s a bit of a code to say no one else knows about my business card.”
“So, we’re going in the back door because …?”
“Because I really don’t want anyone to know I’m involved, Harry. It’s bad enough for Vince, who’s trying to establish some authority and run both the Silent Cop case and the Bishop abductions, but think of Dioli, who’s shop it is now. What’s it going to be like for those two if I turn up and seem to be taking charge of things? It would put them in terrible positions and make both of their jobs impossible. You’ve seen how the guys gravitate towards me in the pub. They still think of me as their boss. They even did after I left and while Sam was in charge. I can’t tell you how angry it made him.”
He rubbed my knee. “Sorry, Clyde. I’m too used to the army where rank counts, retired or active service. But I do understand. I’ll leave you to it if you don’t mind. I’ll pop in next door to see how Howard and Jeff are getting on with Greyson. Let you get on without me getting in the way.”
“I’d be happier if you stayed with me, Harry, and you won’t be in the way. I trust your instincts, and I’m far too close to this case … or should I say cases. Because now it seems what Vince suggested could be true, that the Bishop kidnapping and the Silent Cop murders are somehow connected and by one common denominator—me. I don’t like being that lynchpin, and I’d appreciate your tall manly looks at my side, steering me out of murky waters.”
“Aww …”
“Besides that, there’s your eye for detail and puzzle solving.”
“And there I was thinking—”
I glanced out of the back windo
w and then kissed him, full on the lips. “And I need you there, okay?” I added. “Isn’t that enough? Remember the team thing, you and me?”
“You got me, Smith.”
“Let’s go, then.”
*****
Jack Lyme was sitting in his oak swivel chair with his feet up, munching on a thick sandwich made from what looked like half a loaf of bread, stuffed with a few inches of ham, lettuce, and sliced tomato. He had a lab coat tied around his neck, and half of the filling seemed to have already fallen out of his lunch and onto his chest. His heels rested on the slab, inches away from the bloodied corpse of last night’s victim. I’d seen a lot of deaths, a lot of bodies, but I still couldn’t bear the idea of eating food quite so close to a stiff and quite so nonchalantly.
“Afternoon, Jack,” I said. “Where’s Vince?”
He lifted his eyes to the ceiling and then swallowed before replying. “On the blower to the new D.I. He said to give him a buzz on the intercom when you got here and he’d come down. Doo-whacky, doo-whacky, doo, doo, doo.”
Harry raised an eyebrow, but I rolled my eyes and then went to the instrument, pressing the buzzer lever of Vince’s intercom connection with the rhythm of Jack’s phrase.
“It’s on the top of the filing cabinet,” Jack said.
I picked up the clear Cellophane envelope and held it up to the light. In it was my business card, on the back my name in the expected green ink elongated capitals. The card was stained with blood across one corner.
“Yes. I know it looks like a faecal smear, but it’s blood, dried quite dark. His colon was clear, some soap residue and a little semen, but it looks as if he came prepared to have anal sex.”
“Somehow I thought he came to the park straight from the R.S.L.?”
Jack nodded towards an evidence bag on his bench. “Found in his flat in the bathroom. Douche kit, prophylactics, and a few vials of hospital-grade morphine and a reusable syringe.”
The Gilded Madonna Page 24