‘You mean without Geordie he’s not likely to survive?’ I was aghast.
‘That’s right,’ Daniel confirmed. He took my hand. ‘He might be suffering from some sort of brain trauma too, if he’s had a close encounter with an improvised explosive device. He could have a contrecoup injury. The brain bounces around in the skull, leading to fugue states, pain, despair.’ He made a very Jewish gesture, spreading out his hands.
‘Poor Alasdair,’ I said, then gave myself a mental shake. My pity wouldn’t help Alasdair. He needed action. ‘Right, then let’s get down to it. Do you think Geordie ran or was he stolen deliberately?’
Daniel drank some more tea and bit into an Oasis muffin.
‘I really don’t think he would have run away. A dog who has survived Afghanistan is probably immune to nervous shock. Geordie was much more likely to have attacked whoever belted Alasdair.’
‘So the assailant either wanted Geordie, or they killed him when they knocked out Alasdair and took the dog’s body away to dispose of it.’
‘Which is unlikely. If it was just an ordinary mugger, they would have left the dog. And anyway, I know most of the muggers in the city. I’ve spoken to one of the boldest, Big Charlie, who said he saw Alasdair on the street last night and actually thought about mugging him. But once he’d had a good look at him he decided not to. He pegged Alasdair as a dangerous dude. And if Big Charlie didn’t dare, none of the others would. Besides, I know for a fact it wasn’t him.’
‘So someone stole Geordie.’
‘They did – or they tried to,’ said Daniel. ‘If he managed to evade them, the homeless will find him. Sister Mary’s spread the word. A special blessing on the ones who bring Geordie home. Also, we’ll check with the RSPCA and the Lort Smith Animal Hospital and the Lost Dogs’ Home. He’s microchipped. And other than that …’ He shrugged. ‘I’m waiting for something out of the ordinary to happen.’
‘What sort of something?’ I asked, snitching a bit of his muffin as a punishment for being cryptic. He patted my hand and explained.
‘Knocking down a soldier and stealing his dog is unusual. Whoever did it had a reason. So I’m expecting something odd to occur as a result.’
‘All right,’ I agreed. ‘Why are you so sure it wasn’t Big Charlie, by the way?’
‘Alasdair was only hit on the head,’ said Daniel. ‘All Big Charlie’s victims are belted across the knees as well.’
‘Why’s that?’ I asked.
‘Big Charlie’s a dwarf,’ said Daniel. ‘He always brings his victims down to his level first. I’m a bit surprised that anyone managed to assault Alasdair, though. He’s from Paisley, and they breed them tough there.’
‘Where’s that? I assume Scotland from his accent, but I’ve never heard of Paisley.’
‘Outskirts of Glasgow, in the wilds of Strathclyde. But he’s a long way from home now.’
‘So the homeless are looking for Geordie. What should we be doing?’
Daniel shrugged. ‘Like I said, ketschele, we wait.’
Daniel was waiting for something unusual. How was he going to be able to tell in this very strange city? I left him in charge of the sleeping warrior, packed my gin and tonic, picked up my cat, and ascended to the roof garden for my afternoon drink. The sole advantage of getting up at four am is that you finish work early and can sit under the green leaves sipping a G and T while the peons toil in their glass boxes. Occasionally I see their poor tongues hanging out at the sight of me. I felt pity mingled with relief that I was no longer one of them. Once I too had slaved away counting other people’s money and helping those who were far too rich already get even more obscenely affluent. Not any more.
It was cool in the Temple of Ceres. Horatio sprawled out along a marble bench. I put my feet up and considered soldiers, who risked not only their lives but their peace of mind, their future, their hopes of a family and a happy life, in service to Queen and Country. All I could recall about them was a Kipling poem called ‘Sappers’. Which I would look up as soon as I went back downstairs. But I would close my eyes first. Just for a moment.
CHAPTER THREE
Your tale, sir, would cure deafness.
WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE, THE TEMPEST, ACT 1, SCENE 2
I was woken by a kiss, which is much the best way of being woken and doesn’t happen often enough. I relaxed into Daniel’s embrace – if this wasn’t Daniel, I would have to get out that skillet – and murmured my appreciation.
‘Any of that gin left?’ he asked.
‘Plenty.’
Horatio was still asleep, smearing himself out in that catlike way which seems to spread the creature flatter than a paper bag, in order to apply as much of himself as possible to the cool stone. Daniel poured himself a drink. I surveyed him. He looked frayed.
‘No news of Geordie?’
‘None. And the council sweepers haven’t found his corpse, either. So we can assume he is alive and in captivity. For some reason.’
‘Ransom?’ I hazarded.
‘What has Alasdair got that anyone would want? His military pension? That’d be worth two cups of coffee at a Salvo’s refuge on a good day.’
‘Yes, but what about information? Intelligence?’
‘I don’t think the CIA specialises in stealing dogs,’ he answered, gulping gin.
I grabbed the bottle away from him and refilled my own glass.
‘No, listen, I mean local criminals. I’m sure we’ve imported some along the way. That’s what Australia was for from the beginning. And everyone says that the attempted reconstruction of Afghanistan is a byword for corruption.’
‘That’s a thought,’ he said. ‘I may have to consult …’
‘A certain uncle?’ I finished. Although there is certainly no such organisation as Mossad, and it most definitely doesn’t have a local representative, the one it doesn’t have is the good and worthy Uncle Solly, who runs the New York Deli in the city. He is a charming, cheerful, Yiddish-speaking darling, and not to be crossed unless you have a team of Sherpas with you. Or, on second thought, not even then. A formidable person. I am very fond of Uncle Solly.
‘As you say. Let’s finish this drink, no rush, then meander down to the New York Deli to buy some dinner.’
‘What about Alasdair?’ It didn’t seem right to leave him alone.
‘I’ve given him the keys to my office,’ said Daniel. ‘He has nightmares. When he was in a hostel the night manager found him hoarse and covered in sweat. He was disturbing the other guests. Which is also deeply humiliating for him.’
‘Meroe’s given him a charm to ward off nightmares,’ I pointed out. We really had to find this dog.
‘Well, yes; but he’ll be better off with me. And because he has to make the place secure. Every lock. Every window. My office even has shutters and iron grates. He’ll feel safer there than at a hostel. He doesn’t like a lot of people around.’
‘Right,’ I said. Daniel’s office is actually a small flat. It’s clean enough and has all the amenities and because it’s right in the city centre it has very heavy security. In Melbourne’s heartland if you don’t, you can experience all the joys of aggravated burglary. I would trust Daniel’s locks with my life.