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

and his parents. People could say what they liked about me. They could point fingers as much as they liked, but it was all just hearsay, and I had the experience of nine years upholding the law to be able to use it as a weapon if anyone even dared try to expose my private life.

“See you tomorrow?” he said.

“Tell your mum and dad I’ll call by in the morning to pick up Baxter.”

“One day Mother isn’t going to relinquish him, you know.”

“There’s plenty of strays, Harry, why don’t you get one for yourself?”

“Oh, I’ve got one already, and he’s more than I can handle.”

He gave my bum a quick grope with our final kiss, and I stood in the gateway and waved to him as he opened his front door.

“Coming up for a drink?” I said to Vince as soon as I was back in the car.

“A drink?”

“Yes, a drink, Vince. And while we’re having one, how about you tell me what’s on your mind. I guess you need help with something at work?”

He grinned and shook his head. “Am I that transparent, Clyde?”

“If you didn’t want to talk to me, then it would have been Philip driving the car, not you. Am I right?”

“Got me.”

His deep sigh told me I was probably not going to like what I was about to hear, and I’d bet my boots it had something to do with Randwick police station.

*****

“Tom’s resigned?”

“Yes, Clyde. He couldn’t take it any more.”

“What about the new D.I., didn’t he stick up for him?”

“The new D.I. hasn’t arrived yet. We’re being co-managed by the head of Kensington branch, and he turns up one day a week on Fridays at four in the afternoon for a progress report. It’s an arse of a thing, either running back and forward to his office or telephoning his senior sergeant for instructions, or—”

“When’s he due to finally move in?”

“First week of January.”

“That’s almost a month away!”

“If it wasn’t so soon, I’d be handing in my badge too. I tell you, Clyde, the new D.S. is a piece of work.”

“Dioli, you said his name was?”

“Yeah, Mark Dioli. I know it’s an Italian name, but he says it goes way back.”

“And he called Tom a poofter?”

“He’s a bully, Clyde. You know what a nice kid Tom is. He’s quiet, he’s a good worker, he’s polite. Dioli doesn’t like him because Tom smiles a lot and he’s not one of the lads.”

“He’s hardly a kid, Vince. He’s how old, twenty-one, twenty-two?”

“He’ll be twenty-three in April. But he’s still shy—you remember what he’s like. When I stood up for him against what I considered Dioli’s inappropriate language and behaviour, I got an earful and a bollocking too.”

“Jesus, this guy sounds like a real arsehole.”

I asked Vince to tell me more about the new detective sergeant while I poured us another scotch. I’d left the cake tin open on the kitchen table. The fruitcake, although I’d made it nearly two weeks ago, was still delicious. It made me smile as I watched Vince dunk his slice into his scotch and then eat it, holding a paper serviette under his chin to catch any drops and crumbs.

“Mark Dioli is twenty-nine, he passed his sergeant exam in September, and this is his first posting as D.S. As soon as the first vacancy popped up, he held his hand up. Sam walked out the door and Dioli entered it on the backswing.”

“You miss Sammy?”

“I miss my nights with him when you were on late shift.”

I shook my head and smiled. Vince had been one of Sam Telford’s standbys when I wasn’t available or away for work.

“So things have been a bit dry then?”

I knew a smirk when I saw one, and the way Vince pretended to be interested in the slice of fruitcake he was lowering into his glass told me more than words.

“Someone I know?”

“I’ll tell you later, Clyde. I don’t want to jump the gun, and I think it needs to come from the horse’s mouth.”

I had no idea who it could be, and I wasn’t that interested right now, my mind was focused on the trouble at the police station and on Tom. I really liked him. He’d been one of the best, despite his relative youth.

“So Dioli,” Vince continued. “He was a D.C. in Marrickville before he came to us. I wish it was just temporary, Clyde, but you know these D.S. jobs, if he likes the place he could be with us for decades. Hopefully when the new D.I. arrives to take charge, he’ll sort Dioli out.”

“Any dirt?”

“Haven’t looked yet.”

“Leave it to me,” I said.

“He’s one of those glamour boys, Clyde. I’ve no idea whether he’s good at his job yet or not because all he seems to do is to allocate tasks and shake hands with people who count.”

I grunted. The only thing I hated more than bent cops were career cops. They’d ride roughshod over all and sundry and hold their hand out for a reward when it was their subordinates who’d done all the work.

“Not only that, Clyde, you know the thing I like about him the least?”

“What’s that?”

“Remember Daley Morrison’s study? Every book ranged in size and grouped in colour in the bookcases, every pen and pencil all neatly lined up? Well, Dioli’s worse. His desk looks like a newspaper advertise­ment for the perfect office. He even has two shirts and a spare suit in his locker at work, just in case he manages to get something on either of them.”

“And then there’s the poofter jokes and taking out his aggression on those who work in the office who are the meekest. I bet he goes to town on Jack Lyme …?”

“Jack’s threatened him, and in writing. Says if he doesn’t start treating him with respect and doesn’t curb his strong language and rudeness, they can look for another forensic medical officer.”

I chuckled.

“You know what they say about the squeaky wheel?”

“The squeaky wheel gets the oil?”

“You got it, Vince. Man who