The Gilded Madonna by Garrick Jones (ebook reader for comics TXT) 📕

“Thank you very much. I’d appreciate it,” he said. “Now about your involvement in the Bishop case. I can’t say I’m thrilled, but as they’ve approached you, I can hardly ban them. I could advise they don’t muddy the waters with an external investigation, but—”

“I’ve had a few ideas,” I said. “Ones that don’t involve treading on your toes.”

“Go on …”

“I don’t think it would be wise if the other men in the station got to know of my involvement; to them it’s just as if I left last week, not last year. I think you’re probably going to be up to your eyes in the Silent Cop cases—”

“Cases?”

“Well, assuming it’s the same murderer, he killed regularly, once every seven to eleven days. There’ll be another body turn up if he operates like he did last time. Anyway, as I was saying about not wanting to appear to be too involved, I can work with D.C. Paleotti here in my office, away from the station. I’ll liaise with him and he can report to you.”

“I’m glad you understand how difficult it would be for me, if it was to seem like you—”

I held my hand up. “I don’t have time to take over the case if that’s what you’re worried about. I’ve got too much of my own work on my plate, but my offer to help is there.”

“All right, under those circumstances I’ve no objections. However, I’d like everything passed by me first, unless it’s something trivial.”

“Excellent,” I said.

“So, how do you intend to proceed?”

“The first thing I’ll do is to call in to see the Bishops later this afternoon to get them to sign my private contract, which will allow me to ask questions as their representative. But there’s something else I think I need to do while I’m there.”

“And what is that?”

“How about I just make up a story and say to the Bishops that the mannequin of their son has been returned and it was just a stupid prank by some school children?”

“Why?”

“Did you think of the anguish it might have caused them to think it might have been a message from the kidnapper? How easy it would be for a grieving parent to misinterpret the missing mannequin as a message that the boy was dead and now only the girl still remained alive?”

The blood seemed to drain from Dioli’s face. “I only meant it as a way of reviving the case in the eyes of the public …”

“I understand your motives, but I’d have let them know first, just to save any heartache.”

“I didn’t think—”

“No one’s blaming you,” I said, almost through gritted teeth, for that’s what I felt—it had been a stupid move, despite any benefits that may have arisen from new public interest and possible leads.

“I—”

“Sergeant, I have a five-inch column for the Mirror due tomorrow. I’ll write a report that the mannequin has been returned, and that you’ve spoken to the parents of the children and because of the age of the perpetrators, you’ve decided not to make a charge of public mischief. I’ll write it up in a way that it sounds like that’s what actually happened, and I got the information directly from you. When I visit the Bishops this afternoon, I’ll tell them the same story, to put their minds at rest. I hate making things up, but in this case I think you’ll agree that it’s best for everyone concerned … including yourself.”

“Thank you …”

“No need to thank me. It was a good idea and it’s something I wouldn’t have thought of myself. The idea of the mannequins, was that yours?”

He looked rather taken aback at my slight praise. I was being on my very best behaviour, mainly to help Vince not because I wanted to pitch in to help Dioli’s career move forward. In my opinion, he needed a lot more time pounding the pavement and getting his hands dirty before he earned any respect.

“The Americans do it,” he replied. “I didn’t think of the family. I can see how they might have misinterpreted it. But, in my defence, we locked up both mannequins in the storeroom after the report went into the paper—to discourage time-wasters stopping for a gawk.”

“Well, I’m here to offer you advice any time, Detective Sergeant. Always happy to help out.”

I was grateful he couldn’t see Harry’s face—the expression combined disbelief and amusement at my uncharacteristic response.

“Yes, me too!” he piped up from behind the detective sergeant.

*****

“What was that for?” I asked Harry after Dioli had gone.

He’d moved behind me and wrapped me in his arms and then had kissed the side of my neck.

“This new, caring Clyde Smith, who didn’t tear into that young bloke, but appeared to be sensitive and thoughtful.”

“Sensitive and thoughtful is my middle name, Harry,” I said, turning in his arms.

“That’s two words and since when?”

“Since I heard about what happened to him in the orphanage and what Clarrie’s son told me about the beatings. When I got into bed last night I hugged the pillow and thought about the cruelty I saw go on in the war … and we were grown-ups, Harry, not innocent children who couldn’t fight back and who were at the mercy of people who were supposed to look after them. As much as he’s full of himself, I can almost understand why.”

“What can I do to help?”

“If you feel up to it, come with me once or twice when I go to see Dr. De Natalis. Although you might hear some things you might not want to, you’re as part of my life now as my arms or my legs, Harry Jones. I don’t know if I can go on without you knowing what’s made me the way I am. I don’t want to talk about it much after the sessions with the doctor, but I just feel I need the rock that you are to be there with me, otherwise I won’t have the