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

sat back in my chair, falling easily into my thinking pose, my head tilted to one side, staring at a random patch of nothing where the ceiling cornice met the wall.

“Don’t forget Luka said he might be able to help you, Clyde. If—”

“Yes, I know, Harry. The gilded Madonna … I hadn’t forgotten.”

“Barring the unexpected, Clyde,” Luka said after lighting a cigarette, “and as we were talking about luck, the chances that I might be able to help you are more than just carnival fortune telling—me spouting some random fact, or pulling something out of the ether are very slim, wouldn’t you say? Maybe I’ll only be able to tell you things you already know. But now that you’ve given me a lot to go on, perhaps my skills of connecting loose ends in my ‘other mind’ could prove useful. Depends on how brave you are, because there are always unknowns in every reading, and some of them can’t be linked to any logical explanation. I don’t understand how it works myself.”

I met his gaze. There was a dare there. I drummed my fingers on the table for a moment and then glanced at Harry. He smiled. Whatever I did or said next, I knew he’d back me up.

Very softly, Harry patted the back of my hand and said, “La Verna, Clyde.”

All right. I’d deal with the unknowns when I came to them. If his mind could work the way he said, perhaps he’d tie up some loose ends I couldn’t myself. I could do brave.

“What do you need, Luka?” I asked.

“I need to speak to Saint Sarah, and to hold her in my hands again.”

“I’ll make sure you do, Luka.” My mind was decided. In for a penny in for a pound. “Although I don’t know how I’ll convince Dioli.”

“I have an idea,” Harry said. It was so like him to have figured something out and then to have waited for the right opportunity. “Vince is working on the case too, isn’t he?”

“Yes.”

“Luka, has anyone actually verified that the statue that was sent to Clyde was the one that belonged to you and your sister? There must be plenty of statues of Saint Sarah around.”

“No, no one has, Harry.”

“Maybe all it would take would be a phone call from Vince telling you that he needs you to come in to make a proper identification. Failing that, are you sure Dioli wouldn’t agree to Luka seeing what he can find out, without going behind his back?” Harry asked.

I shook my head. “Doubtful … in the extreme. Unless the idea came from him, and that’s highly unlikely.”

“There is one way,” Luka said. “But I think Clyde will say no.”

“What’s that?” I asked.

“I told you before, he has a fear of failure. I hear it in your voices whenever either one of you talk about him. He’s a bully, am I right?”

“Well …” I began to feel awkward.

“I’m not making judgements, Clyde, if that’s why you’re being so hesitant. You also feel his pain, that’s why I get the impression you’re trying to protect him from himself.”

Harry snorted and I glared at him. What Luka had said was right of course.

“Yes, he can say things that come across as harsh, as a way of establishing and maintaining his status.”

“You know what stops bullies in their tracks, Clyde? People who are bigger bullies than they are. If you were to stand up to him, to ask him what he had to lose and be really tough about it, he’d back down. It’s like the bull kangaroo once he’s been beaten by the newcomer. He licks his wounds and stays in the background, having been shown his place. You could do that to Dioli. I see that ruthlessness inside you, no matter how hard you try to hide it.”

Despite myself, I felt the colour rising to my cheeks. I hated it when someone saw through my mask—except for Harry, of course. “Well, in his case, I couldn’t, Luka,” I said. “I’ve lived through torture and mistreatment myself. I only had it for three years, but he’s had it his entire life. I can’t destroy the fragile framework he’s built inside himself that allows him to keep on going as a human being. That’s not manipulation, that’s likely to destroy the man. I never want to have that power over anyone, unless they deserve it. What do you take me for, Luka?”

He leaned across the table and kissed me on both cheeks and then firmly on the lips.

“You gave the answer I knew you would, Clyde. For all the tough-guy acting, you have your own fragile framework there inside.”

Harry ruffled his hair. There was no arguing with what he’d said, and he’d seen right through me again. I wasn’t happy that he had, but it made me feel that I could perhaps let the inner Clyde show through with him—so few people ever got to see that man. It was as my mother had always said: the less you hide of yourself, the easier it is to get on with people.

“So, I guess we’re playing the ‘going behind Dioli’s back’ strategy then, are we?”

“Your call, Clyde.”

“Let me make a quick phone call,” I said, after emptying my glass of scotch. Harry held up the bottle, but I said no. The look of content­ment on his face was worth it.

I went to the phone in my study and dialled Vince’s number.

“Ciao, bello! Sono io, raccontami un po’ dell’agenda quotidiana del tuo capo …”

I returned to Harry and Luka about five minutes later, after Vince had told me what Dioli had planned for the week.

“Friday morning, I’ll be at your shop at nine. Vince will ring there. Maybe you’ll have a sore foot and I’ll offer to drive you.”

“It’s what? Two hundred yards from our shop to the police station?”

“Dioli has a meeting with Brendan Fox over at Kensington. We’ll meet Vince downstairs in the forensic office. Your gilded Madonna will be waiting there for you. I’ve