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

“Sure thing.”

I watched the young man walk away and then turned to the bloke who was sitting with his knees up, his arms around them, and his head down.

“Smoke?” I asked, offering my packet.

“Hello, Clyde,” he said.

“Well, I’ll be fucked sideways! Steve Davidovic, what the bloody hell—”

Steve Davidovic was one of a trio of young coppers who’d done “artistic poses”, ostensibly for a men’s magazine in the United States. Ray Wilson, the local photographer who’d been pivotal in the crime and corruption investigation we were working on, had bribed the trio to do more than pose in jockstraps, and on more than one occasion, with some well-placed politicians, businessmen, and even gangsters for considerable sums of money.

“You left the force, Clyde?” he asked.

“A year ago.”

“Then what are you doing here?”

“First of all, Steve. What are you doing here? Last I heard was you threw the police force in, what is it now, four years ago? Started up working as an accountant for your father-in-law.”

He sat with his head down, playing with a bit of grass. I knew shame when I saw it, even when it was in the dim light of a street lamp off in the distance.

“Clyde, there’s something …”

“I know, Steve,” I said quietly, lighting two cigarettes and then passing one to him.

“Know what?”

“About what you get up to. I’ve seen the pictures.”

“Ah fuck me.”

“Yes, those pictures,” I said. “The ones in which you’re doing what you just said.”

“Christ, Clyde, I—”

“Steve, stop! See that tall redhead who’s leaning against the car up on the street?”

“What of him.”

“He and me, we’re together, you know what I mean—together, like in bed sort of together. And me and Sam Telford for six years before him.”

Steve Davidovic gaped. “Wha—?”

“Yup, guilty as charged, Steve.”

“I had absolutely no idea, Clyde, and that’s God’s honest truth.”

“And why should you, mate? I don’t go around with a sign over my head. But always been queer and always will be … is that why you were here, tomcatting around in the dark on Christmas night, looking to meet up with other blokes?”

“I went to see my children today, Clyde. She left me you know, for a fucking train inspector. Took the kids and set up in some shithole out west, Toongabbie or Wentworthville or something. One of those new suburbs, I can’t remember which, they all look the same—I just know how to get there. Anyway, I turned up with presents for my children, expecting to be asked to stay for dinner at least, but she gave me an hour with my son and daughter and then told me to fuck off.”

“What went wrong?”

“She and me, we both wanted the same thing in bed, if you get my drift. It never worked. It was a miracle she got pregnant twice. I tried and tried, but it just wasn’t for me. She got sick and tired of it, accused me of having affairs with other women. In the end, I got so fed up with the nagging I told her that it wasn’t her, it was me. I might have been a bit too honest, because she hit the roof.”

I knew he needed to be comfortable with me, and as anxious as I was to find out about the murder, I encouraged him to explain. “Why, what did you say?”

“I told her that I didn’t find her sexually attractive anymore. I tried to explain it had nothing to do with her—”

“I guess that didn’t go down well?”

“She wrecked the joint, Clyde. Broke everything that wasn’t nailed down. Eventually, she just sat in the middle of the heap of my clothes she’d ripped to pieces and then guess what she said?”

“She’d been rooting your best friend for years behind your back?”

“Not quite my best friend, but someone she went to school with.”

“The train inspector?”

“The very one.”

“And after she left you, the job with the father-in-law?”

He shook his head. “That lasted about another week.”

“So you didn’t think of going back to the police force? They’re always short of experienced detectives. You were pretty good, Steve. Everyone was sad when you left.”

He shook his head. “Nah, they were a bunch of lazy shitheads where I worked before. I thought about it, but I got used to coming home at night, putting my feet up, having a few beers with my mates.”

“So what are you doing for a crust now then?”

“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