The Gilded Madonna by Garrick Jones (romance novel chinese novels .TXT) 📗

your friend Allan was very lucky, Boyd. I’ve reason to believe that the man he met in January, 1953, was this same bloke, the one in the photograph we were talking about earlier, the man with the green eyes Max ran into just before Christmas and who Neil and you saw walking his dog. Instead of your friend Max being found dead in the toilets under the grandstand at Coogee Oval, it was some young army bloke who copped more than he was prepared for.”

“But there’s been nothing in the papers? I—”

I put my hand on his thigh and shushed him. It was the thigh of the leg that was missing, but he didn’t react, and I knew better than to show that I’d made a mistake.

“And you won’t see anything just yet. Please, don’t even tell Neil, Boyd. If you find the razor I’d be very grateful if you could give me a call, and I’ll get my assistant to come around and collect it.”

“But I thought you’d left the police force, Clyde?”

“I did, but they’ve brought me in as a consultant. Now do I have your word you won’t say anything to anyone about what I’ve just told you?”

“Yes. You have my word. I won’t have to make a statement or anything will I? I mean I—”

I patted his thigh. “No, mate. I have the information, and if I need details I’ll visit you in person. No one will ever know where what you’ve told me came from. All right?”

“You’re not my type, Clyde Smith. Far too rugged and shut off, but you’re a bit of all right as a bloke, you know that?”

“Thanks, Boyd. Maybe we could get to know each other a bit better once this business is all over and done with. Harry’s a great guy and we have a very discreet bunch of pals. Everyone’s very laid back and friendly. No pressure, but we’re always looking to expand our circle of friends—for social reasons only, in case you get the wrong idea. Now, remember, my friend, mum’s the word. All right?”

“All right, Clyde. I promise.”

*****

“What are these?” Luka asked, as I piled a handful of soft, yellow and red strips into my Mouli.

“Here, try a bit,” I said, handing him the jar and a fork from the kitchen drawer.

“The flavour’s familiar, but the texture is so soft … and it’s delicious.”

“Capsicum,” I said. “Peperoni sott’olio. I preserve my own. It’s simple—come around one day and I’ll show you how—”

“Anyone home?” Harry called down the hallway, closing the front door behind him.

“Kitchen!” I yelled.

He’d taken off his hat and jacket by the time he entered the room, a bottle of red in his hand, and kissed me on the cheek before embracing Luka. “What’s for dinner?”

“Chilled capsicum and roasted tomato soup, chicken thighs with garlic potatoes and beans, and fresh apricots and ice cream.”

“See why I love him,” Harry said, standing behind me with his arms around my waist.

“I’m sure you love him for more than his food, Harry,” Luka said. “But his cooking is a bonus for sure. How do you two stay so slim if you eat like this all the time?”

“I run five miles every morning before breakfast and then go to the gym three or four times a week,” I replied.

“I work a lot off in bed,” Harry said with a grin. “Clyde’s very demanding.”

“Harry!”

“Don’t protest too much, Clyde,” Luka said. “Some would say you’re the luckiest man in the world.”

“Or I am,” Harry said, kissing the back of my ear.

We decided to have a break between mains and dessert. A long one. There was a lot to tell Harry, and I really didn’t mind if Luka overheard.

*****

“… so according to Craig’s receipt and his recollection of asking Green Eyes to leave the baths and never return, it was just fifteen days after Craig gave the man his marching orders that the first ever murder took place, on the fifteenth of March,” I said, waiting to see their reactions to how I’d figured out the timeline.

Their reaction wasn’t what I expected. Both Harry and Luka fell silent.

“So you think that—”

“That’s a huge leap of logic and I’d never ever mention it to Craig,” I said, realising they’d jumped to the wrong conclusion, one that hadn’t crossed my mind. “It would be unfair to assume that being barred from the baths was what tipped him over the edge. Besides, I’ve already told you about the aborted attempt earlier in January. Had he not been disturbed, his first murder would already have happened long before Craig told him not to come back again.”

“That was a bit of luck, Clyde,” Harry said. “Finding out that information.”

“My people would say there’s no such thing as luck, Harry,” Luka said. “Only probability.”

“As someone for whom numbers and mathematics have played a big part in my life, I’m inclined to agree with you, Luka,” Harry said.

I opened my mouth when the best thing would have been to stay silent—nothing out of the ordinary for me. “But I thought that people like …”

“If you say people like me or my sister, Clyde,” Luka said with an enormous grin. “I might just jump over the table and bite your nose.”

“He might like that,” Harry said.

“Well, maybe not my nose,” I replied.

“Cheeky bugger, aren’t you,” Luka added. “No, Clyde. Gypsies and luck? How often we’re both misnamed and saddled with the burden of bestowing good fortune on some and curses on others, neither of which true Romany people do. That’s carnival stuff.”

“So, according to you, luck doesn’t exist, it’s merely a name one gives to the chance of fulfilling a probability?”

“Eight horses in a race, Clyde. One has to win. The probability is that the fastest and the best, barring an accident, will be the winner. That’s how bookies decide on the odds: the probability of a horse winning. Not whether the nag is going to be ‘lucky’ on the day. That’s the future and no one can tell that.”

I