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

man, Larry the Lamb, about their protection racket in the inner west. I took down notes of the conversation, and when I read the victim’s charge sheet, I recognised his moniker: Fava. It means “broad bean”, but colloquially it’s a nickname given to a man with a large penis.”

“So?”

“So, if his gang name refers to the size of his dick and he sleeps with men, one or two of the other gang members have either seen it, or have been better acquainted with it, or know who he usually visits for queer sex, even though he’s married.”

“I still don’t see any relevance, Clyde.”

“Well, you know we now have a sketch of the murderer. The relevance is about finding other blokes who go to these places at night. The more of them we can find, the more possibility there is of making connections to our killer. I know it’s a long stretch, but what do we have now? Two contacts; one of whom was a witness, the other is only a possibility too, someone I know who doesn’t engage in the risky types of behaviour all the Silent Cop killer’s victims have, but who has been to parks at night.”

“Has he seen the drawing yet?”

“No, Brendan. I’ll show him very soon.”

“All right. We have so little to go on, and you’re thinking that maybe this petty crim might have a few friends who don’t mind a bit of shirt-lifting in the same sorts of places?”

“I think it’s highly unlikely that even if they do they’ll talk. However, as we do have their names linked to a criminal gang, there’s always the threat of being charged, unless … well, you know how it goes.”

“Can you put your hands on the list of this ‘Fava’s’ associates, Clyde?”

“No, but you can. I can see the edge of the file sitting at the bottom of D.S. Dioli’s in tray just next to your arse.”

Too late, I realised I’d dumped Dioli in the shit can. Brendan Fox was as sharp as they came. He’d notice the “no action” stamp and the sign-off signature date being the same as the day the file was lodged. I’d given it to Mark on the day we’d had our file-measuring competition. The fact he’d put it in his in tray at all was a little surprising. Maybe my threat of asking him to come to speak to our enquiry had made him decide that he’d better have a look, but hadn’t yet had time to get around to it.

Fox pulled the file out and undid the string around the rosette seal on the front cover. He opened it and flipped through for a moment before looking at me over the top of it.

“Christ, Clyde, why did you ever leave us? I’d quite forgotten there was no one like you for outstanding paperwork.”

“Maybe I wouldn’t have left had I been working with blokes like you, Brendan.”

He chuckled. “Now that we’ve patted each other on the back, what can you tell me about the other body, Vincenzo?”

Vince blushed lightly at Fox’s use of his first name. “Time of death was around eight p.m. The man’s the local council worker who locks up the toilets at the end of every day.”

“Any clues to why he was killed so savagely?”

“Only theories, boss.”

“Go on.”

“Well, we found the toilet keys in the urinal, something I found very strange. Here’s the only way I could see it: Killer approaches council man and offers him a bribe to keep the toilet open, or maybe even tries to steal the keys. Maybe the council worker says no, who knows? But there’s bits of saltbush caught in the ring of the key. It only grows in one patch about twenty feet away from the back of the toilet. So, at some stage, the keys went from the council worker’s pocket to the salt bush before ending up among the trough lollies.”

“Perhaps the killer threatened him, and he threw them away. Is that possible?”

“Yeah, if he accosted him while he was standing at the gate to the toilet, the throw’s not that hard.”

“And yet, the body was found in a patch of lantana, about thirty yards away?”

“Chased him there? Shot him and then mutilated the body before returning to look for the keys when they’d been thrown?” I asked.

“There’s definitely the pattern of someone falling forward at speed in the grass,” Jack added. “Green stains on the palms and on the knees of his trousers. I’d say he was running for his life, lost his balance and fell face first, sprawling on the ground.”

“We need to canvas the area and see whether any of the locals saw or heard anything,” Fox said.

“Unlikely,” I added. “I don’t know if you’ve ever been there, Brendan, but there’s a large row of tall Norfolk Island pines along the edge of the park. The trees block the view of the park from the flats on the other side of the road. I noticed it this morning when I arrived, wondering the same thing, whether we could perhaps speak to anyone who might have been looking at the park, or noticed anything going on. The flats are too far away from where the council worker’s body was found. It’s unlikely anyone heard a gunshot, but it’s worth trying.”

“There is one thing …” Vince said timidly.

“What’s that?”

“You may not know this, Clyde, but the usher from the Boomerang lives in one of those flats opposite the park.”

“What usher from the Boomerang?” Fox asked.

“Just a friend of a friend, Brendan,” I said. “I’ll call in and see if he saw or heard anything.”

“Why him in particular?”

“No reason,” I said nonchalantly.

“Clyde Smith,” the D.I. said, “I didn’t come down in the last shower you know. This usher, is he one of ‘the lads’?”

“I have no first-hand knowledge,” I lied. I had seen the man emerge from behind the rocks shortly followed by Craig. “But I can find out.”

“Well, just make sure you’re discreet when you speak to him, all