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

well it’s good enough for us. And besides … your reputation. You’re famous here, whether you like it or not. Local boy made good, cracking the skulls of the villains—”

I couldn’t help but force out a half-smile, despite my constant glances at the package on the corner of my desk. “I’m not a skull cracker, sir, no matter what you read about it. But, hear me out. I’m happy to lend a hand if Detective Sergeant Dioli is in agreement. I can perhaps spend some time following threads—the local boys are very, very busy. But, as I said, it would all depend.”

“He’s such an unfriendly sod,” Mr. Bishop blurted out. “Margaret’s gone to bed sleepless and crying over his callous remarks more than once. And, he’s younger than me. Surely you—”

“There are regulations and fines, Mr. Bishop. I’m sorry, but I can’t break the law. Now, please, let me call him and ask him to come here, and we’ll discuss it like civilised human beings.”

“Hello,” Harry said from the doorway, his hat in his hand, looking as cute as a button. It was perfect timing, so I introduced him and then asked Tom to pour him a cup while I went to the other office and put a call through to Dioli.

*****

He didn’t take long to arrive; perhaps fifteen minutes. I went down to the street to intercept him before he went upstairs to my office. I had something to get off my chest.

“What the hell, Smith?” he said to me as he climbed out of his car.

“Don’t blame me, they turned up out of the blue and I rang you straight away.”

He jammed his hat on the back of his head and started towards the doorway that led to the stairs. “One moment, there’s something I need to say before you go upstairs.”

“What?”

I offered him a cigarette, which he took and then leaned forward for me to light it.

“I owe you an apology, Detective Sergeant. I was way out of line last Saturday and I’m very sorry. Sometimes stuff from the past just boils up, and I was wrong to take it out on you.”

He almost gaped, but not quite. “Did someone put a rocket up you? Because I never mentioned what happened to anyone—”

“No one said anything. The only thing that spoke to me was my conscience. I can’t blame you for having the shits with me, and my violence was inexcusable. I’m sorry if I hurt you.”

“You didn’t hurt me, Smith. I was surprised that’s all.”

“The man who had my place at the station before me died—that’s how I got to be in charge of investigations. I’d have been just as annoyed as you, had he lived, and if he’d interfered with any of my cases from the sidelines too. I just wanted you to know that I’m very, very sorry, and in the long run, all of us, whether in the service or private, like me, simply want to put wrongs right.”

“Oh—”

“Anyway, my apology is heartfelt. And, I think we might be forced to cooperate, so I felt it best to clear the air.”

“Cooperate?”

I handed him the composite photo of us Howard had given me and told him to turn it over.

“Where did you get this?”

“It was sent to someone who’s peripherally involved in the investi­gation for the commission I’m sitting on. So, I’m not at liberty to tell you who it is. I know it’s a pain in the bum, but as it was given to me last night, I’m showing you now.”

“Someone is linking you and me to the Bishop case?”

“Most likely. Wait until you see what’s upstairs.”

“I can hardly wait.”

The tone of his voice told me that wasn’t the absolute truth, but I ushered him through the doorway.

*****

It didn’t take me long to work out what Mrs. Bishop had interpreted as brusqueness was in fact an extremely dispassionate investigatory technique that was much the fashion among newly trained detectives who’d been taught using the new Scotland Yard manual.

I wasn’t fond of it, but for an inexperienced dick, it did help to keep one’s emotions out of the picture. Unfortunately, for someone like Dioli it came across as cold and callous.

He wasn’t at all happy one whit about the Bishops’ insistence that they wanted to hire me to work privately. However, I’d already had time to work out a few ways to pour oil on the expected troubled waters.

“I promise you I won’t step on your investigation, Detective Sergeant, and whatever leads I’ll follow, I’ll report to D.C. Paleotti before I do anything. I’ll even send you a written weekly report on what I’ve done.”

“I’m not sure the Bishops will be able to afford such a thing to be honest, Mr. Smith. However—”

“Consider it my pro bono work. I don’t intend to take more than one guinea from them to make our contract legal and binding, and so I can lodge it. I consider it part of my contribution to the community. Someone with my experience should be able to augment the policing forces available, especially at a time like this when there are other important investigations under way. I wrote a paper about cooperation between the police forces and private investigators, which I presented to the first-year detectives of the Victorian Police Force a few weeks ago. I can send you a copy if you like. There’s a large section about working within the law and the policing system, but without taking any responsibility away from operational officers.”

“A paper?”

“Yes, it’s to be published in the January edition of the N.S.W. Police Force magazine.”

“We’ll talk about this privately, later on, if you don’t mind. Now, what was it you wanted to show me?”

Tom handed him a pair of cotton gloves and then retrieved the box the Bishops had brought with them and placed it on the desk. His eyes bulged when he saw the telltale writing on the package.

“When did this arrive?” Dioli asked.

“While I was hanging out the washing,” Mrs. Bishop said. “About