The Gilded Madonna

by Garrick Jones

“Working upstairs in the accounting section of Lowes. Shit job, but the pay’s okay, and I don’t have her father giving me lip all day long. What about you, now you’ve left too?”

  “I’ve got a private investigation business, Steve. My friend up there has an office next door, runs adventure tours and survival courses in the bush for young city blokes.”

  “How did you two hook up?”

  “Sam Telford left me for my best friend. Best thing he could ever have done in retrospect, otherwise I’d never have settled down with Harry.”

  He patted my knee. “Good on you, Clyde. I mean that.”

  “So after you got thrown out of the house today, you had ants in your pants and decided to come here. Why here, Steve? Last I heard you were living over in Milson’s Point. That’s a long way from here.”

  “Still got the flat there. I don’t do this often, Clyde. Not as much as I need, that is. I don’t go inside toilets, that’s way too dangerous. I go to parks like this and try to meet someone who’s got somewhere to go, or will drive off with me so we can park the car somewhere we won’t be disturbed, or find a quiet spot at the end of one of the beaches.”

  “And you came here because this part of town is a long way from home?”

  “Yeah, and you can check out the goods in the bushes and then spend a few minutes to see if things are going to suit you both before you go somewhere that’s not so public. And there’s this bloke …”

  “Not the one inside?”

  “No, Clyde. There’s a bloke I know from Malaya. Lost a leg in the war. Lives alone and comes here every so often, looking for company. Sits in his car up on the road under that second tree, waiting for someone to walk past and ask for a light. I rather hoped he’d be here tonight.”

  I chuckled.

  “What’s so funny?”

  “I know where you’ll find him most afternoons about five after he knocks off work.”

  “What? Is he someone you—”

  “No, but I’ve seen him. Mate of mine owns the men’s sea baths at the north end of Coogee Beach. Your friend’s a regular there.”

  “Oh …”

  “Don’t tell me you’re hankering for more than a brief encounter?”

  “Maybe … I don’t know. He’s a really nice bloke and we often talk for hours. Besides, he knows what I like and he’s very happy to …”

  “Fill an empty space?”

  Steve laughed quite loudly. “Christ you’ve got a way with words, Clyde.”

  “Tell me about what went on here tonight, Steve.”

  “I’m scared about what might happen if people find out.”

  “About you?”

  “Yes, I have kids to worry about, Clyde.”

  “Look, mate. I’ve already got a few ideas on how to protect you. Keep your name right out of this. But …”

  “But, there’s a price.”

  I nodded. “I told you I’ve seen the pictures; all of them. Those that were taken in Ray Wilson’s studio, and some that were taken without your knowledge or permission through peep holes at Mike Hissard’s house.”

  “What the—?”

  “Hang on. They’re not out there in the public. But in return for your protection and keeping your involvement in what happened here secret, I might ask you to make a deposition in camera about a threesome you had with a certain public figure.”

  “One second, Clyde. If you say you have a picture, why do you need my deposition?”

  “Because the photo’s taken from above and you’re looking over his shoulder with the biggest smile in the world on your face and with your legs wrapped around the man’s waist.”

  “And you can only see the back of his head in the photo? Is that why you need me to identify him?”

  “Yes, mate.”

  He sat back, leaning against the tree, and then gave me a very dirty grin. “There were plenty of those blokes, Clyde. I told you I liked the same thing in bed that my wife wanted from me. But, if I was smiling, I must have enjoyed it.”

  “Does that narrow the field?”

  “Not much, to be honest. If they knew what to do, I always smiled. But, if you can keep me out of this, I’ll do my best. If word ever got out about what I do in my private life, I’d never see my kids again. So yeah, ask me your questions about tonight, and I’ll come in to wherever you are and see if I can’t put a name to the cock.”

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  It was just as well I rang Balmain hospital first thing in the morning, for when I did, I discovered that Dioli had been transferred in the early hours of the morning to the Prince of Wales hospital, not far from Randwick nick, where there was a specialist treatment area for injured serving police officers.

  I knocked on the door of Luka and Gălbenele’s shop not long after eight. Luka came to the door, unshaven, yawning and scratching his tummy.

  “Come in, Clyde,” he said, but I refused his offer, asking him if he’d like to join us for lunch at Craig’s baths. At first he was reluctant, but I told him there’d be around twenty or more of us, many were war veterans who had scars of their own, and therefore he had no reason to worry about stripping off to swim.

  “I dunno …” he replied, but I slapped his back and told him from what I’d seen, people would be too busy looking everywhere else but at his scars.

  “You mean my …?”

  “Your broad hairy chest, cheeky grin, square jaw, and piercing blue eyes? Yes, that’s what most of my friends will be interested in, Luka.”

  *****

  Shirley Watson was on duty when I arrived at the hospital, and she pointed me in the direction of Dioli’s room. I asked after my friend Warwick Samson, who was not only a close pal but who also worked as a consultant doctor at the hospital. Shirley told me she’d round him up, and in the meantime, I could spend as much time as I wished with Dioli. Word had already spread among the nurses he was a surly, angry man who just wanted to be left alone.

  “Fallen down stairs, Shirley?” I asked her.

  “Stairs that might be about two inches square with sharp corners that may have miraculously torn themselves free and then battered his neck, shoulders, and back.”

  “For fuck’s sake,” I mumbled. She’d been describing a bit of two-by-two timber quad or a squared profile metal pole.

  “Always the eloquent one,” she said and then kissed my cheek. “There’s also a history of cigarette burns over his torso and buttocks, and injuries consistent with severe corporal punishment on his back, arse, and upper thighs, some of them fairly recent, I’d say within the last week or ten days—probably a cane and a wide belt or something like that.”

  “Riding crop and razor strop?”

  “Possibly. Whoever did it laid in, that’s for sure. I’m not the expert, but as you know I spent years in a Japanese camp. I’ve seen how those sorts of thrashings can age and how they look when administered over a long period of time. I’d hazard a guess and say he’s been severely beaten for a very long time—probably since he was a child—a few of the scars are showing adhesions, something not common with people with his pale complexion. Hard, brutal beatings can do that.”

  I felt the anger rising in my throat—it tasted hot, bitter, and disgusting.

  “Has his grandfather been to visit?”

  She looked at me long and hard. “His grandfather? He’s responsible for those beatings? What a miserable old bastard he must be …”

  “I didn’t say it was him, Shirley.”

  “You didn’t need to, Clyde. The way your voice sounded was enough. You practically spat out the word. Shall I escort him to the crematorium if he turns up?”

  I chuckled. “I’d be surprised if he shows his face, to be honest.”

  “Coffee?”

  “Do you still have the mocha pot I donated to the nurses’ day room?”

  “You think we’re crazy, Clyde? Of course we do.”

  “I’d love one.”

  “Coming right up. I’ll bring an extra cup, just in cas
e you’re able to soothe the savage beast.”

  “Thank you, Shirley. You always know the right thing to say.”

  “Phht, tell that to the ‘person’ I’m seeing. You won’t get that same reaction from … them.”

  The person she was referring to was the owner of the florist shop in the entrance to the hospital. A neat, carefully dressed young woman, who seemed more nervous than was necessary for someone who sold flowers. I’d bought a mixed bunch for Dioli. Perhaps he’d throw them in the bin after I left, but I found it impossible to visit anyone in hospital, no matter the reason, without bringing some sort of gesture.

  *****

  The room was familiar. It was an exact copy, and in the same corridor, of the room in which I’d spent my first two weeks after being shot and stabbed while I recovered from my injuries and after having had my gall bladder removed.

  Dioli had turned his head to face the wall after I’d knocked and then come into the room. His head was bandaged and his normally painstakingly groomed hair stuck up between the bandages, like some five-year-old before his mum had licked it down with spit and her comb. There were bandages across his torso, crossing from his left shoulder and disappearing underneath the sheet, which covered his lower body at the top of his pelvis.

  “Well?”

  “You’re a lot hairier than I thought you’d be,” I said, sitting on the end of the bed. I couldn’t help notice the pink trails across his chest through the hair. Signs of scars, long since healed, but where the hair hadn’t grown back.

  He snorted. “Come to visit many people who’ve fallen down the stairs?”

  “None with your level of injuries, Detective Sergeant.”

  “I fell down the stairs, Smith.” I supposed by the way he said it, he was sick of people raising their eyebrows at his assertion.

  “You should be more careful,” I said as drily as I could. “People like you, who don’t drink alcohol, don’t usually lose their footing on the steps.”

  “It was the back stairs if you really want to know.”

  “All two of them,” I snapped, but then, before he could protest, added, “I’m not here just to say hello, Dioli. There was another one last night.”

  “Another what?”

  “Another Silent Cop killing. Not too far from here either.”

  “Then why the hell are you here? Why isn’t Paleotti telling me this?”

  “Because he still hasn’t been to bed yet. He’s over at Kensington filling in your new D.I. who’s also been up all night.”

  “What the—?”

  “Major gas explosion at the old forming factory in Barker Street. Three houses destroyed, twelve dead. All the manpower went there.”

  “Still doesn’t explain why you’re here.”

  “The chief superintendent phoned me last night just before midnight and asked me to attend the crime scene as a consultant, to give Vince a hand. I have no input or jurisdiction. I was asked to offer up any connections or historical observations with the cases that happened under my watch.”

  “Is that all?”

  I shook my head. “No. We have a witness this time.”

  “A witness?”

  “Yes. You heard me the first time.”

  “But this is wonderful. It’s a breakthrough—”

  “Just before you get too excited, there’s something I need to tell you, and I’d prefer it if Nurse Watson or Doctor Samson was here when I do.”

  “Whatever for?”

  “Because I don’t want to be responsible for you bursting a blood vessel when I tell you, that’s why.”

  “Ha!” he said. “Whatever you think it might be, I can assure you I’m a professional policeman. Nothing will upset me that much.”

  “I wouldn’t speak so hastily if I were you,” I said, picking up the vase from his bedside table. I’d just filled it with water from the tap in the basin in the corner of his room, when Shirley arrived with two cups of coffee on a tray and ready to perform his vitals.

  *****

  Of course, Dioli had been incandescent with rage. A witness whose name he was neither allowed to know nor could he interview, or even see a photograph of. After Shirley had threatened to put him in the children’s ward, he’d given her a grudging grin and then had settled.

  He was still annoyed, but I sat and waited.

  “Well?” he asked, after draining his coffee.

  “I’m waiting.”

  “Waiting for what?”

  “Unlike you, I don’t respond well to abuse, Dioli. I can walk out the door and leave you fuming. I’ve told you this witness is under our protection, and to be perfectly honest, if I didn’t have a vested interest in the Silent Cop killings, I’d have told you to go fuck yourself and you could do without my information. Your little tirade in front of Nurse Watson was irritating for me, and it did nothing but belittle you in her eyes. Were she a different sort of nurse, you might find your food delivered with a dummy and a rattle left on the tray ‘by accident’.”

  “Do you think I care?”

  “Okay, I’ve tried my best. Good luck, I’ll tell the chief super­intendent you refused my help—”

  “No, wait. All right, I’m sorry.”

  “What is it with you, Dioli? Not every hand that feeds you is going to bite you at the same time.”

  He stared at me for a very long time. I could see some inner process churning away in his eyes. It was almost as if he was afraid to speak. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said what I did,” he said.

  “I’ve been called the C-word more times than you’ve had hot dinners, Dioli. I wasn’t offended for myself, but for Nurse Watson. She might be a serving army officer and has heard worse, but still, it’s not the best thing to say in front of any lady.”

  “She’s an army officer?”

  “Yes, Lieutenant Watson is attached to the army base in High Street, down behind the hospital. She works on this ward, which is dedicated to armed forces personnel, firemen, and police officers. It’s part of the accident and emergency unit. She’ll be able to take her experience with her when she’s posted overseas to our next area of engagement.”

  “I’ll apologise.”

  “And to me?”

  “I said I was sorry.”

  “And?”

  “You make this hard for me, you know.”

  “I’m just trying to get you to behave like any other decent human being on the planet, Mark. I came here in good faith after attending your crime scene to give you information that I’m not really at liberty to disclose. I want you to acknowledge that I’ve gone out of my way and to think about why I might possibly want to do that.”

  He fiddled with the edge of his sheet for a moment and then squirmed in his bed. I told him to lean forward and fixed his pillows.

  “Thank you, Clyde. I mean it. Thank you and I’m very sorry.”

  I patted his shoulder. It had come from the heart.

  *****

  “Our witness noticed the man hanging around under the street light about thirty feet away from the start of the path,” I said, after giving him the broad strokes of what had happened and what I’d learned.

  I had to admit he was on the ball—investigative-wise, that was. Perhaps his interest was showing me he did care about his job, despite reports to the contrary that he was a display detective rather than a dinky-di gumshoe.

  “Under a street light? That’s a bit obvious isn’t it?”

  “Not only that but the man was also dressed very peculiarly.”

  “In an overcoat and with the brim of his hat pulled down over his eyes, yes, you said.”

  “That’s right. It’s really unusual for this time of the year, and it was very warm last night. An overcoat? Who wears an overcoat in the middle of a Sydney summer? It was only later the witness realised it was one of those lightweight, dark blue Aquascutum coats, made from waterproofed cotton.”

  “To cover over the fact that he wasn’t wearing anything under­neath …” />
  “He wasn’t totally naked, he was dressed in a shirt and tie, gaiters, and socks. Apart from that he was naked, yes.”

  “So we suppose standing under the street light with his hat on would have been to hide his face. It would have been in shadow.”

  “Those were my thoughts.”

  “And the witness approached him?”

  “No, according to what he told me, the witness was busy talking to the victim when the perpetrator wandered down to the bushes and asked the victim if either of them wanted to go into the toilet block with him.”

  “And that’s when he opened his overcoat.”

  I nodded. “The witness said the man was well-endowed, but skinny. Very hairy legs, with a dark stain above his left knee. Looked like a birthmark. But it was the oddness of him being basically naked under­neath the coat that made our witness decline and then move away.”

  “And then?”

  I referred to my notebook to make sure I got the words right. “I watched them kiss for a bit, and when the victim began to perform fellatio on the bloke in the overcoat, I left them to it.”

  “But he didn’t actually leave them to it, did he?”

  “No, according to our man, he felt there was something not right, so he thought he’d linger at a distance, to keep an eye on things. After five minutes or so, the killer led his victim into the toilet. Then, not long after, the witness decided he was out of luck for the night, thinking no one else would turn up, and lit one last cigarette before heading home. He’d just finished his smoke when he heard what sounded like a cut-off scream. The witness, who’d been standing under one of the big trees, about ten yards away, had heard the sound and wondered if things might have got a bit rough, so he waited for a few minutes, but then curiosity got the better of him—the killer had been very strange after all. So, he lit up another smoke then wandered down to the edge of the building just in time to see the murderer tearing out of the convenience and running across the oval. He didn’t see where the killer went after he disappeared behind the ladies’ convenience on the other side of the park.”

  “The R.S.L. you said the victim belonged to is on the other side of the oval, a few streets away from the women’s toilet block?”