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The Gilded Madonna

by Garrick Jones

The Gilded Madonna - Garrick Jones - Clyde Smith Mystery
Editions:Paperback: $ 21.46
ISBN: 978-1922542601
Size: 6.00 x 9.00 in
Pages: 436

Halloran pulled the sheet down to the man’s waist. What I saw made me take a deep breath: the man’s throat was cut so deeply his head looked like it had almost been severed.

“If you tell me this man was found in the public toilet behind the grandstand of Coogee Oval opposite where I live, I might just need a chair,” I said.

 

Clyde Smith’s quiet, happy life, in love for the first time, working as a private detective and journalist, is suddenly thrown into disarray by the appearance, after a three year hiatus, of a body bearing the distinctive hallmarks of a string of murders he hadn’t been able to solve when working in homicide.

Forced to cooperate with the new detective sergeant who’d taken his place in the local cop shop, Clyde has to not only deal with the enormous chip on the young man’s shoulder, but also with a complex case that involves kidnapping, the re-emergence of the Silent Cop Killer, the historical abuse of young men and boys in orphanages across the State, and a ghost from the past who is out for revenge.

Will Clyde and the new DS be able to find the killer before he finds them? Or will they be his final prize, the last victims in his string of grisly murders? Perhaps only the local psychic, owner of a Romany religious statue, the Gilded Madonna, can provide the clue that might ultimately solve the puzzle, but which will also lead Clyde and DS Dioli into mortal danger.

Excerpt:

Twenty minutes later, still not showered, I found myself sitting at the kitchen table, clad only in my swimming trunks. Harry wore my cotton dressing gown, but hadn't bothered to tie it; it hung open at the front, dangling over the sides of his chair. I couldn't take my eyes off his chest. I'd bitten him in the throes of our lovemaking and there was a dark bruise just above his right nipple.

"What you looking at, Smith?" he said, before shovelling a large forkful of frittata into his mouth.

"You."

"And …"

"How can we do this every day?"

"What, me cook breakfast for you and us sit around in our next-to-nothings while we do it?"

"You know what I mean."

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He sighed and then pushed back his chair, beckoning me to come around the table to sit on his knee. I wound one arm around his neck and kissed him, after which I helped myself to more of the omelette he hadn't eaten yet. "Ready for sausage, Smith?" he asked, running his hand down the front of my new, nylon swimmers.

He'd bought them for me after I'd told him how sexy they looked on the young lifesavers at the beach. Bright yellow and tight, they left little to the imagination, and I was only allowed to wear them when he was around. I liked it that he was a little jealous. I'd come home from my run wearing his pale-blue cotton American-style trunks under my shorts. I'd stolen them from him earlier in the year on Australia Day, when we'd been on a "family" picnic at Parsley Bay. I loved wearing them, they made me feel as sexy as he obviously did when I was wearing the canary-coloured Speedos I'd changed into after our earlier lovemaking.

"Ready for sausage? I can't believe you didn't say that on purpose … you and your insuazioni sottili," I whispered into his ear.

"What's that mean? Is it something I'd like?"

I bit him gently on the tip of his nose. "It means 'subtle innuendos' in Italian."

"I wasn't being subtle, I was asking if you wanted more to eat."

I kissed the side of his neck and then stood, allowing him to get to the oven.

The sausages were delicious, unlike anything I'd eaten before, and I asked him where he'd bought them. He told me his mother had found a new artisan butchery in Dover Heights, not far from where they lived, which specialised in continental goods. I put the name on my list of priorities. Even now it was still fairly tricky sourcing anything other than regular British or Australian foodstuffs. I wasn't unused to driving all over Sydney to get ingredients that were nigh on impossible to buy unless you knew where to go.

"So, you didn't get around to telling me why you're here so early."

"We're trying out one of Shirley Watson's nurse friends to see how that works. My sister's room is empty and it was Mother's idea to get someone to help her and Dad while I'm so busy. It's to give me a break every so often, and if it works out, it will be cheaper to get someone to come to look after them than taking them to a health resort when I'm away with my adventuring groups."

"Shirley Watson? The nurse from the hospital who looked after me?"

"Don't you remember, Clyde? We purloined the nurses' rest station for a private meeting, and Mother arranged for me to get the most enormous box of chocolates for you to give to them as a thank you present for stealing the only room they could put their feet up in and a have a cuppa."

"Of course I remember. But what's the connection with Shirley and your mother?"

"At the time, Shirley twisted my arm, and I told her it was Mother who'd phoned her friend, whose husband is the manager of the city Darrell Lea shop, and who'd managed to get those chocolates, and on a Sunday too! Shirley wrote to Mother to thank her, and they've kept up a correspondence. Don't forget Mother used to be a nurse herself."

"It's a wonderful idea," I said.

"It also means that if …"

"If you get too tired and have had a few too many drinks at my place or we're at the office needing to work late …"

"On our joint business venture," Harry said with a wink.

"Wait … what joint business venture?"

"Well, I'm putting some brainwork into your private investigations. And you? Well, let's say I'm thinking of maybe running a few weekends of bush survival for young fellas, with a few hours of instruction on self-defence as part of the course."

"Uh huh, and I'm going to be the instructor? Maybe I'll be busy?"

He smiled; already he knew the teasing tone in my voice. "We'll have Tom to man the fort on weekends if need be …"

"Guess I could come along and help out."

"What time are you due at work?"

I looked at my watch. "We have a meeting of the investigation team at ten. Before that, I'll have to call into the office and sort Tom out for the morning. Maybe I've got an hour before I have to leave?"

"Come with me," he said, taking my hand and pulling me behind him.

"Where we going?"

"Where do you think?"

"But I still haven't showered."

"All the better, Smith. I like smelly, crusty men. Now get your arse into our bed."

"I thought you said smelly and salty before?"

"Same thing, Clyde. Now do as I said."

I smiled at the "our bed". I knew it had slipped out, but somewhere inside it made me feel very good indeed.

COLLAPSE
Reviews:Eclectic Reader on Amazon.com wrote:

The murders are sudden and savage. Men’s bodies are being found in public parks at night. Similar murders have happened before in Sydney and then suddenly stopped. Three years later they have started again. A serial killer is clearly at work, one who enjoys leaving behind unique, unmistakable signatures of his deeds and, as before, whoever it is defies all attempts to be identified or captured. Thirty-six-year-old Clyde Smith investigated the first series of murders dubbed “the Silent Cop case” without success for two years when he was a Detective Sergeant. Now a private investigator, he is involved in a case of the kidnapping of two children snatched off the street in broad daylight belonging to Cyril and Margaret Bishop. The mystery of the missing children is inexplicable enough, but then envelopes, a business card of Clyde’s, and a photograph of Clyde with his closest army buddies—all addressed in distinctive green ink—begin to be sent anonymously to various persons, including Clyde. A wrapped statue of a gilded Madonna addressed to Clyde is sent to the Bishops. None of this appears to be related to the kidnapping, but may very well be an attempt to involve Smith once again in the ghastly late-night murders.

Clyde Smith, who first appeared in THE CRICKETER’S ARMS (2019) returns in a second extraordinarily well written and absorbing mystery in THE GILDED MADONNA (2021) by Australian author Garrick Jones. Set in 1957, THE GILDED MADONNA, like all of Jones’s work, contains vivid detail, reliable historic background, a complex and well executed plot, evocative settings, and full-bodied characters. In an Author’s Note, Jones states the novel “is based on three real life events that took place in Sydney during the 1950s and early 60s, fictionally altered in time and place with names changed.”

Like most of the work by Garrick Jones, THE GILDED MADONNA is a very character-driven story. Foremost among the many auxiliary yet vital characters in the novel is Harry Jones, who runs an adventure tours company in an office next to Clyde’s. Calm, level-headed, handsome, and intelligent, Harry frequently provides assistance to Clyde. Newly transferred twenty-nine-year-old Detective Sergeant Mark Dioli is a hot-tempered bully with a chip on his shoulder and a well-concealed, wretched, life-altering past and present. Twenty-two-year-old Tom Ridley is driven from the police force by Dioli’s harassment and is recruited by Smith and Jones to assist the two men in their respective offices. A Romany fortune teller, “Madame Marigold Leeks,” and her brother, Luka, owners of the stolen gilded Madonna sent to Clyde, add color to the novel. Luka becomes especially of interest in the story as he challenges Clyde’s ascetic beliefs by producing tantalizing advice and information which often proves to be true through what Luka declares are special powers.

Undoubtedly, however, the most important character in THE GILDED MADONNA is Clyde Smith, “torn between the love of writing and journalism, but a detective nonetheless,” and a very complicated man. He is generous, loving, kind, and tender—especially when he finds himself in the position to right wrongs done to people who are abused or taken advantage of through no fault of their own. Smith also suffers from PTSD and can be violent when aroused and the need arises. As a method of self-preservation, Clyde usually finds himself in a small, multifaceted, meaningful “circle of friends” during the war, a cycle which repeats itself with different comrades throughout his life, including in the present. Unlike earlier times, Harry Jones is the first man Clyde is willing to be with monogamously. Clyde ranks among Garrick Jones’s most fascinating creations.

As THE GILDED MADONNA progresses, the author leads readers to one fascinating revelation after another in a logical and realistic fashion. Further insight is given to the lives of the diverse characters as well as the unidentified, suspected murderer himself and in spite of some very grim moments involving more than just murder (it is a crime novel after all), there are flashes of humor (especially in some of the dialogue and quips by the characters) and moments of heart-warming romance. Jones’s attention to detail is striking, ranging from various foods and their preparation to insight on how a police artist can begin to create a portrait of a suspect from a witness’s description and much more. Additionally, there is the occasional use of Australian slang in the text and pride in his country which is vintage Jones.

In what Clyde even declares is an Agatha Christie moment, he gathers a number of characters together to reveal several things he has learned about the “Silent Cop” murders. It is an ironic scene because at the time he still doesn’t know the murderer’s whereabouts. It is ironic, too, because Jones’s narrative is far more complex and realistic than a typical Christie story. The gathering does, however, launch the execution of Smith’s plan to once and for all trap the killer. Typical of the best of crime thrillers though, things do not go as planned and Jones considerably raises the suspense and anxiety level for the reader leading to a breath-taking climax in the novel.

Although second in the series with numerous references to earlier events, THE GILDED MADONNA can easily be read as a stand-alone novel. Readers are bound to find THE GILDED MADONNA an extremely entertaining and most satisfactory read.


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About the Author

From the outback to the opera.
After a thirty year career as a professional opera singer, performing as a soloist in opera houses and in concert halls all over the world, I took up a position as lecturer in music in Australia in 1999, at the Central Queensland Conservatorium of Music, which is now part of CQUniversity.

Brought up in Australia, between the bush and the beaches of the Eastern suburbs, I retired in 2015 and now live in the tropics, writing, gardening, and finally finding time to enjoy life and to re-establish a connection with who I am after a very busy career on the stage and as an academic.

I write mostly historical gay fiction. The stories are always about relationships and the inner workings of men; sometimes my fellas get down to the nitty-gritty, sometimes it’s up to you, the reader, to fill in the blanks.