‘But he can’t have been in Vienna in 1945,’ I objected. ‘That would make him nearly a hundred.’
‘Well, yes, it would. And he isn’t. He looks a fit sixty. I believe he’s quite a bit older than that, but he isn’t a hundred. Yet …’
I thought I caught his drift. ‘Yet if he really had the Spear of Destiny he could be any age?’
‘Not exactly. As far as we know, the spear doesn’t grant eternal life. But do they know that? Criminals are the most superstitious people on earth. They probably think it has all sorts of mystical properties. If you ask me, I’d say your little friend was indeed one of his former students; one of the quiet ones who sit up the back of the lecture theatre, up to no good and constantly making notes. This burglary was probably his idea. I doubt that the Godfather is that interested in holy relics. It would be a great coup for an unimportant member of a crime family to come up with the actual spear. There’d have to be a promotion in it.’
‘“Job description: Senior Assistant Standover Man. Key selection criteria: The applicant must be ruthless, appropriately villainous and able to bully, maim and kill. Highly desirable: The applicant should have experience in acquiring holy relics”?’
He laughed. ‘You would be amazed to know how accurate that might be.’
‘All right, Jon. Thank you. I really mustn’t take up any more of your time. Should I ask Professor Monk about this?’
‘I wouldn’t. You don’t want to alarm him any more than he is already, do you? Are you really going to burgle the Petrosians today? Please be careful. They are, as I have already noted, not nice people at all.’
‘We just want the dog.’
‘And then you’re getting out of there as fast as possible?’
‘Promise. The cops can have them after that. Thanks, Jon. Have a splendid day.’
He grinned. ‘It’ll be less eventful than yours is likely to be, I hope. I’ll pray for you.’ He bowed, with his hand on his heart, and the screen went blank.
I looked at the kitchen clock. By now it was eleven-forty, and I fancied a cup of herbal tea and a lie-down before I did anything else.
A cup of steaming rose-hip tea later, I stretched out on my bed and gave renewed thanks for my air conditioning. How anyone had managed to do anything constructive in Australia before the invention of Winter Boxes was more than I could imagine. Our settler forebears did some daft things, sure. Not for the first time, I wondered how I would have gone on a farm in the scorching heat of an outback summer. I sipped in comfort, while a light sensation of Settling In at the end of the bed announced the arrival of Horatio to keep me company. He lay on his side, with his belly exposed to the air-con outlet vents, and closed his eyes. And I reviewed my case anew.
Some historians don’t believe in causation. Stuff just happens, they exclaim. All your attempts to impose a narrative structure on the course of events are the merest post-hoc rationalisation. I had heard this view expounded (usually by philosophers in resolutely unfashionable clothes) and I didn’t care for it. The whole civilisation project depends on cause and effect at least shaking hands occasionally. The repeated and cordially detested incursions into our home by zealots and gangsters could not be a random series of happenings. There had to be some urgent reason for it. Had Jon uncovered it? The more I thought about it, the more convinced I grew that he was right. It was a crazy theory, yes. But violent criminals generally are crazy. If they had any sober talent for cerebral crime they would be manipulating the stock market and defrauding the gullible. And while it was crazy, there was a berserk logic to it. Except possibly for Jordan King. There I had no ideas at all. Who knew that freelance Inquisitors still walked the earth?
I closed my eyes, and rested my head on my down pillow. I had not seen Professor Monk since yesterday, when we had had our rooftop meeting with Philomela. I wondered if he was still staying with Mrs Dawson. The police had surely finished with his apartment by now. But Mrs D had seemed very insistent that he share her quarters. I looked at my cat, who returned my look.
‘Horatio? I believe that Mrs Dawson and the Professor’s feelings for each other may have ripened into something more than mere friendship. What do you think?’
Horatio arched his back luxuriously and subsided, closing his eyes. Human relations were no concern of his. And I wasn’t going to intrude on their privacy. They had been the Couple Most Likely for some time now. It appeared that she had chosen her moment well with the burglary. It would be just like him not to wish to obtrude himself upon others, and perhaps she felt that matters required a Certain Expedition. I wished them joy of each other. And I remembered I had another call to make before we commenced our harebrained schemes. I had asked for my present to be ready on Monday, but they might have it ready now. I rose, put on my summer shirt and slacks and wandered out into Calico Alley to visit Marie and Kate. I doubted the girls would open their shop early, but a lot of Sunday traders opened at noon.
Heard It Before was open. A resolutely bearded hipster was searching grimly through an enormous cardboard box of vinyl LPs. Without haste, but seeking … something. I exchanged glances with Marie. She and Kate were holding hands behind the counter. ‘Hi, Corinna.’ Kate handed me a beautifully gift-wrapped package about the size of the palm of my hand. ‘It’s a thumb drive, but you can have a CD as well if you want.’
I accepted it gratefully. ‘That’s okay.’ I didn’t think Daniel even had a CD drive on his computers anymore. ‘Thanks so much.’ I looked longingly at the rainbow ribbons. Someone had spent time on this. It looked like a paper orchid. Marie’s perfect face dimpled.
‘If you want to listen to it yourself, you can have the disc, if you like?’ I nodded, and she handed me a black plastic CD cover. I drew in a breath. Entwined in the midst of a tropical floral arrangement was the name Daniel in a script I had never seen before. Marie’s finger pointed to the bottom. ‘There’s his name in Hebrew.’
‘That is amazing!’ I was impressed, as who would not be? I was a little bit at a loss as to how to express proper thanks. They had gone to so much trouble over this, and all for seventy-five dollars. At this moment, the hipster covered my embarrassment by erupting in quiet, bearded exultation.
‘Brilliant!’ he announced, grasping a record cover and rushing to the counter with it. ‘Dad will be rapt.’
‘Birthday present?’ Marie took it from him then paused, holding it up. ‘You do realise this hasn’t got Stevie Nicks on it, don’t you?’
‘That’s why he wants it. Some guy called Peter Green. And this has “Albatross” on it.’
I admired the cover art. A nun appeared to be holding an enormous seabird in a stone quarry. It could be an albatross, I supposed. What they were doing there was anyone’s guess.
‘Gift-wrapped?’ Marie wanted to know. Her hands were poised in mid-air, and I saw for the first time a treble clef inked into the underside of her wrist.
Mr Hipster shook his head and handed over his credit card, accepted his package in a brown paper carry bag and strode out happily into Calico Alley.
I raised my eyebrows. ‘Who knew?’
Their lips curved in matching grins. I gained a distinct impression that these two were Sharing a Moment, so I left them to it and ambled back towards my apartment. It was half past noon, and already the sun was getting its eye in. There was a light breeze helping out somewhat, but it must have been thirty-something degrees already. I sat down on a seat outside Cafe Delicious. Del did not usually open on Sunday, and this was no exception. But he had left a small wooden bench outside, purely for weary passers-by. A heavy padlocked chain held it in place. Kindness to strangers was one thing, but he wasn’t taking any chances.