I leant back in my chair. ‘All right. Who’s new here? The actors?’
‘They’d be my first guess. And your task for when you next have a free moment, my dearest, is to get talking with them and see if you can discreetly find out which of them comes from there. But we have another candidate, too, though we can’t talk to her – or, rather, she can’t talk to us.’
‘Philomela?’
‘Who else? She’s been traumatised by something horrible. It may have happened to her, or it may just be something she’s seen. We need to find out more about Philomela if we can.’
‘I’ll have to leave that with Professor Monk, I think. And what about Anwyn? She’s new here too. Could she be involved?’
Daniel got up and paced around the room, rubbing his sinewy hands through his hair, which was longer than usual and beginning to come over all corkscrews. This is something of an occupational hazard with the Children of Israel unless they guard against it ceaselessly. He shook his shaggy head and sighed. ‘This is getting too complicated. Let’s start from the beginning again and talk our way through it all.’
I made herbal tea (peppermint for Daniel, rosehip for me) while Daniel stroked Horatio’s face and ears. My guardian cat had wanted to know when he was getting his supper, and had put in a silent but trenchant protest. Daniel watched me turn out a packet of salmon mix into his bowl. Horatio sat down in front of it, wrapped his tail around his front paws and offered up a fervently silent prayer to Bast, goddess of cats. I hoped his prayer also included us, his devoted servitors. Grace concluded, he addressed himself to the fish and licked the bowl clean. He gave us both a thoughtful look while washing his face and paws, then sauntered off towards my bedroom.
We sipped our tea and went through the whole bizarre series of events again. I brought out my favourite Spirax notebook and wrote careful notes, using an actual ballpoint pen. Eventually I looked up at Daniel, smiled, and began our summary.
‘Item the first: Sergeant Alasdair Sinclair – late of Her Majesty’s armed forces serving in Afghanistan – turns up with his tale of mugging and dognapping. We have CCTV footage of said assault, and he’s definitely not making it up. They leave him on the footpath and take his dog Geordie. This makes no sense at all because the streets of Melbourne are crawling with dogs of every conceivable breed, size, shape, disposition and fur colour. What’s special about Geordie?’
Daniel shook his head. ‘I can’t imagine. The only thing that occurs to me is that this is a drug cartel and maybe they think Geordie can smell out drugs.’
‘That would make sense.’
I turned a page in my notebook and briefly admired my calligraphy. It was better than I expected, given that like most twenty-first-century folks I hardly ever write with a biro. ‘Geordie, meanwhile, has vanished off the face of the earth, and the only clue we have is two words that sound like somebody clearing phlegm from their throat, and mention of a borough town in the Scottish borders that may or may not also refer to a suburb on our city’s outskirts. But it could also mean You have a big nose and exceedingly bad breath in whatever eldritch tongue the gang was conversing in. And so far, that is all we have.’
‘So far, that is all we have,’ Daniel confirmed.
‘Item the second: Cafe Delicious. A ransomware attack, cured by our resident Nerds Inc. Suspects? Could be anyone, really.’
Daniel nodded without comment.
‘Item the third: lots of new people come to Insula, to whit Anwyn from Adelaide, a bunch of actors from RMIT, and Philomela, who could be from anywhere.’
‘And tomorrow being Saturday, Corinna the baker–sleuth will be able to find out all sorts of things about all these people without attracting suspicion. What do we need to know?’
I ran my forefinger down my list. ‘Has Anwyn ever been to Kilmarnock, and has she any information that might shed light on these strange happenings? Also, I am to cultivate the actors if possible and see if they know anything or have any connection to Kilmarnock themselves.’
‘Correct. And we must ask the same question of Philomela, and hope she can be induced to answer.’
‘Yes. Which leads us to item the fourth: that something traumatic has happened to Philomela and we have no idea yet whether there is any connection with our Happenings. But we wouldn’t be surprised because neither of us trust coincidence as an explanation of our concurrent weirdness. Professor Monk seems to be our best option there. If she talks to anyone, he will be the one, I think.’
Daniel’s agate eyes gleamed. ‘Yes. But really, why should that be, I wonder? Is it something to do with his classical library? There may be other reasons, but I can’t think of any right now.’
‘Neither can I. Items the fifth and sixth: the serial break-ins. Now here we definitely do have two different sets of burglars. The ineffable Jordan King is currently in the protective custody of Sister Mary and the redoubtable Ma’ani.’
‘Are we sure about that?’
Daniel grinned. ‘Yes, we are, because I asked. Sister Mary isn’t letting him out of her sight. You can rely on a devout Catholic to obey orders from nuns. And in his case, at least, we know what he was looking for.’
I paused for a moment’s recollection of Jake and Elwood Blues and their insane devotion to the Penguin. ‘The new scroll, which he has determined is filled with a heresy so dreadful that there was nothing for it but inept burglary. Can we find out more about that?’ He took my hand again and held it. ‘I think you can. Go and see Sister Mary, if you have time. She will be able to get more out of him than any of us could, and she may pass it on to you.’
‘Unless it’s under the confessional seal. No, wait: nuns can’t do confession, can they?’
Daniel lifted his hands and gazed at my white plaster ceiling, which was accumulating some long strands of cobweb. Yet another reminder to me of my interrupted life of late. ‘Who knows? I can’t see why a creepy parish priest can take confessions, but a nun of invincible virtue can’t. But, then, Christians are a mystery to me. Anything he’s willing to let on to her, she will probably tell you. And your sixth item?’
‘My ninja burglar, who was a lot more efficient than poor deluded Jordan. And this is the bit that I don’t understand at all. Do you, Daniel?’
He frowned. ‘I can’t connect the two burglars. I can’t match Jordan’s medieval obsession with heresy with your ninja. I doubt he cares about missing gospels. He was after something different. And he hasn’t found it. If anyone here is a coincidence, it has to be Jordan King. But an efficient burglar, targeting this apartment block, is far more likely to be connected with one of our other cases. But which? Not the dognapping, surely. You don’t have a dog, you have cats. And I can’t envisage a crime gang trying to use a cat for anything at all.’
On cue, Horatio strolled across the kitchen floor and sat pointedly in front of his munchies bowl. Daniel reached for a packet, shook some of the contents into the ceramic bowl and watched devotedly as Horatio began to munch his way through the endangered species of the Southern Ocean. And I admired my beautiful lover, reaffirming my conviction that men who love cats are far more trustworthy. My ex-husband James refused to have cats in the house. As part of my Declaration of Independence from the squalid, petty tyranny of my marriage, I had acquired Horatio within days of moving out.
Daniel resumed his seat and folded his hands on the tabletop.
‘No. There’s something else here. And we have no idea what it is. Yet. It may not even be a thing we actually have on the premises. But it would be well worthwhile to see if any of our inhabitants, new or old, have acquired something that could be noteworthy. Ask around, please.’
‘All right. But if you don’t mind my asking, my beloved, what will you be doing while I spend my precious weekend sleuthing around here and at the Soup Run?’
He grinned. ‘I shall divide my time between my own flat, where I shall give aid and comfort to Sergeant Sinclair; and Uncle Solly, to see if he knows anything new; and scouting aro
und for information about Kilmarnock. Which may be the most scarlet of red herrings, but we have to check it out anyway.’
Suitably mollified, I said, ‘Tell me more about Kilmarnock. Who lives there?’
‘All sorts. Anyone who wants to buy a house and can’t afford the ridiculous prices closer in to the city. I’ve heard whispers about an Azeri crime gang. There’s some sort of turf war happening. There aren’t many Azeris there; and most are, as you would expect, law-abiding but not exactly willing to talk to strangers. But they’re a possible lead. They might feel that all this crime is bringing down the neighbourhood and giving them all a bad name.’
‘Daniel dearest, please pardon my utter ignorance, but who are these people? I’ve never heard of them.’
‘From Azerbaijan, one of the former Soviet republics. They’re not as terrifying as the Uzbeks, but you don’t mess with people like that without a really good reason. And the Eastern Bloc countries specialise in cyberwarfare.’
‘Do you think they could be responsible for the ransomware attack on Cafe Delicious?’
‘Why not? If this little community of ours has attracted their attention, why would they stop at burglary? Crime gangs always need money, for girls, guns, gambling habits and the rest of it. And it may also be a deliberate distraction, to keep us off balance.’
‘It worked, then. No, wait. What religion are the Azeris?’
Daniel leant over and kissed me. Hard, on the lips. ‘Corinna, you are a genius. Of course. They can’t have kidnapped the dog, can they?’
‘Because they’re Muslims, and dogs are haram?’ I ventured.
‘Yes. So even if the Azeris are behind all this, someone else took the dog. Damn! Still, all information is useful. All right. You talk to the actors.’
‘Oh, one more thing?’ I tried to recall the melody, or whatever it was, from the ninja burglar. I hummed it as best I could, while he looked at me steadily. ‘Does that mean anything to you?’ He shook his head.
‘No. Where did you hear it?
‘From Ninja guy. He was intoning while casing my apartment. It sounded unbelievably creepy, no? Daniel, we really have more than our fair share of mysteries, don’t we?’
He gave me a wry smile. ‘We do. Are any of them connected to each other? I don’t like coincidences any more than you do, my beloved, but really: how could any of these things be related? I can’t see it at all. So, let’s concentrate on Geordie, shall we? And that can wait till tomorrow, because right now I have other things on my mind.’
And thereupon he lifted me to my feet, and without further ado, he carried me to by bedroom. I do so admire strong men.
Philomela: So close today! He is such a kind, patient man. He just sits with me, and brings me cups of tea and biscuits. And he talks about anything and everything: Herodotus, Thucydides – whom he does not admire at all, and I admire him for that – and stories from all over the world. Maybe he’s telling me stories his dad told him. He seems to have the idea that I was attacked by a gang. He didn’t say the word ‘rape’, but that’s what he was thinking. And of course that’s all wrong. It’s worse than that. But I can’t get the words out. We’ll try again, though. And we will get there. We must.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
’Tis an ill cook that cannot lick his own fingers.
WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE, ROMEO AND JULIET, ACT 4, SCENE 2
Four am again. My least favourite time of day. I blinked wearily at the digital alarm clock as it flickered from three fifty-eight to three fifty-nine. I have taken to waking a couple of minutes early so I can forestall the alarm with my finger. Otherwise, sooner or later, I am going to forestall it with a ballpein hammer.
My bed was so warm! I stretched out my toes and found they were impeded by Horatio, who moved in his sleep for a moment. I could feel his tight body stretch out then subside gratefully back into slumber. And my back was also warm: far more so than normal. Sometimes I dreamt that Daniel was with me in bed, warm and chocolate-scented and utterly adorable. The alarm clock ticked over to four. I reached out my hand, but there was no stentorian clangour. I felt Daniel’s achingly warm stillness, and realised that (a) yes, Daniel really was here in bed with me, and (b) the alarm had not been set and therefore (c) it must be Saturday. As my drowning senses subsided into grateful oblivion, the last remnant of my conscious mind provided me with the inevitable conclusion that (d) it really was Saturday and I could go back to sleep.
I awoke refreshed and invigorated by the gentle, yet persistent scraping of what appeared to be a small strip of bacon-flavoured sandpaper. I opened my eyes to find Horatio giving me the benefits of a thorough dermabrasion. His paw was resting on my cheek, and I felt him applying the finishing touches to my nose. Usually you have to pay good money for this. Mostly he stops there, though if I manage to sleep through the facial he has been known to proceed to pedicure. This gets me out of bed and vertical in seconds. I stroked him, and he arched his back in luxurious contentment and sauntered down to the end of the bed to resume what was manifestly going to be a post-breakfast nap. Which also meant that Daniel was up and about, and had already performed this most essential service. He was nowhere to be seen, but the delectable scent of Someone Doing Things to Bacon began to waft from without. I arched my back in sympathy with my cat and wrapped my arms around a pillow. I opened my eyes long enough to take in the clock face telling me it was now nine-thirty-two am and all was tremendously well with the world. And suddenly I was asleep again.
‘Corinna? Breakfast is ready.’ I opened my eyes again to find Daniel kneeling by the bed and holding my hand. His hands are always warm. I lifted my head and kissed him. He carefully kissed me around my eyes. I imagined I could feel the bruising retreat under his kisses. I stood up and he held out my dressing-gown for me so I could climb into it. I tied the cord around my waist, and he led me into my kitchen, drawing out a chair for me. On the plate in front of me was a perfect eggs benedict on light rye toast with fresh broadleaf parsley from Ceres and a side order of bacon – several rashers thereof – along with a glass of freshly squeezed orange juice and a steaming mug of coffee. I fell upon it like Saul smiting the Philistines, admiring as Daniel sat opposite me and tucked into not so much a big breakfast as a breakfast to feed a medium-sized school canteen. There were poached eggs, grilled tomatoes, sautéed mushrooms, Cumberland sausages, spinach leaves, guacamole and a double helping of fried bread.
I drank my coffee thoughtfully and wondered if I dared to raise the subject with him. Jewish dietary laws were matters we had skirted around and never really discussed. Most people know the word kosher, though I gathered it was far more complex than pork and seafood. These were undoubtedly traif, or forbidden, but there was a lot more to it than that. I wondered how modern Jews felt about rules that probably made a lot more sense when you were wandering around in an unrefrigerated desert. I had no memory of raising the question of traif before, and debated the respective merits of asking, or keeping a tactful silence. I decided upon the former. ‘Daniel, darling, I hope you don’t mind me bringing the subject up, but I’m curious. This bacon is amazing. Made no doubt from animals raised in a spa and massaged daily by muscular youths in exciting loincloths, but … what is the story here?’
My beloved smiled his most melting, sloe-eyed smile. ‘Oh, you mean the zebra? Yes, it’s really good, isn’t it?’ And he shovelled another strip of it into his delectable mouth.
‘Zebra? Black-and-white-striped horses with attitude? Those zebras?’
‘Oh yes. Just outside Tel Aviv there are huge zebra farms. And it tastes just like bacon, or so I believe.’
I considered this while helping myself to more of it. ‘So, as you drive past these zebra farms, do the inmates make any noise in particular?’
He gazed at the ceiling. ‘Oink?’
I gave up. His personal interpretation of Judaism’s dietary laws was no business of mine anyway. I gazed at the Saturday Age to see if anything took my fancy, but after a few minutes of that
I folded it up and put it face down on the chair. I exchanged a look with Daniel and his chin inclined. ‘Quite right too. I think I would prefer to read a book. The News from Abroad will only spoil your breakfast, and that would be a pity.’
‘A tragedy,’ I concurred, but made no move towards my bookshelves. First things first …
Before long I was gazing at a platter swept clear of everything that had so recently adorned it. Even the hollandaise sauce had been mopped up with my toast. ‘And so … before you set out upon your adventures, Daniel, let us consider our sources. Is there anyone we have forgotten who may be able to help us?’
Daniel thought about this and blinked. ‘Kylie and Goss? I don’t think so. Nice girls, but they’re from Nunawading, aren’t they? But maybe worth a shot.’
‘Keep guessing,’ I suggested, and his dark eyes opened wide.
‘Of course. If anyone knows anything about the drug scene, it is your worthy midshipman. Why not summon him?’
I did so, with the promise of breakfast, and Daniel and I exchanged glances. Jason would more likely divulge confidences to me, so without a word my beloved returned to the kitchen to prepare a midshipman-sized breakfast. My doorbell rang almost immediately, and I opened the door on my devoted second-in-command. He looked offensively healthy. He had filled out wonderfully from the emaciated junkie I had adopted. His hair, formerly limp, broken and filthy was now aggressively blond and curling. His skin shone with healthful vitamins. And his eyes! Blue as cornflowers, with dazzling white instead of yellow as their backdrop. He was wearing a tight black T-shirt (plain, for once) and the muscles on his biceps seemed to be fighting to escape. He saluted smartly, though I saw his eyes widen at my particoloured eyeshadow.
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