Read Online The Marvellous Boy by Peter Corris - Free Book Online

whispered, “but if I go home the police might be there and if they are they’ll arrest me.”
    She was moving, keeping me at a distance. “What for?”
    â€œMurder. One I didn’t do.”
    â€œWho did?” she gasped. “I didn’t . . . don’t believe you.”
    I didn’t reply, just kept moving her along and we ended up at the library as I’d hoped. Miss Reid pushed open one of the high, heavily carved doors and fumbled for the light. When it came on it showed a big room with a high ceiling; two large windows were covered by heavy curtains. There was a long desk with papers laid out in neat bundles and some freshly sharpened pencils lined up.
    Books dominated the room; there were thousands of them in cedar cases from floor to roof and there were two ladders on wheels ready to go. I thought of Henry Brain and his books in piles on the floor.
    â€œIs this catalogued?” I asked.
    â€œYes.” She pointed to a wooden cabinet in one corner. I went over and thumbed through the cards. The medical directory was listed and numbered. I read the numbers onthe shelves and climbed the ladder. The Judge had six copies going back as far as 1930, the most recent was 1975.
    Dr. Alexander Osborn was listed: born in Edinburgh, Scotland in 1899, educated in the same city; medical training interrupted by two years in the army; served in France and Africa, rank of Captain. Osborn was a P & O ships’ doctor in the twenties and settled in Australia in 1929. Since 1939 he had had a practice in Blackman’s Bay. If he was still there what he wouldn’t know about the place wouldn’t be knowable. I noted the address and put the directories back.
    â€œAll ship-shape,” I said to Miss Reid.
    â€œYou look pleased with yourself.”
    I was surprised and not pleased. “Do I? I shouldn’t be, this is just the start. But I’ve started to earn your boss’s money.”
    â€œI suppose that means something,” she said acidly. “I wonder if I could go to bed now?”
    I could have said something smart but didn’t. I don’t always. I wasn’t sure how to handle her. She probably didn’t know what I’d been hired to do, but there was her park assignation to consider and the half-lie I’d caught her in that night.
    It seemed like the right time to do some work on her. She moved to open the door but I took hold of her arm.
    â€œDon’t touch me,” she snapped.
    â€œI’d like to know what you plan to do about Rusty.”
    â€œOh.” There was relief in the sound. “I’ll call him.”
    â€œIs that what you do when your boyfriend visits? I mean the big guy in the blue car, the one Lady Catherine forbids you to see.”
    â€œI see who I like. Get out!” She was a sabre fighter, not a fencer; it was all beat-down-the guard and thump for her. I decided to play the same way.
    â€œWhat’s his game, Miss Reid? Is he a chauffeur, a footman, what?”
    The slur got straight to her. “He’s a property developer,” she spat. “He makes more in a day than you’d scratch in . . .”
    She knew it was a mistake and she hated herself, the hand that came up to her mouth almost delivered a slap. I let go her arm and opened the door.
    â€œThank you Miss Reid,” I said. “Be sure to call the dog.”
    I heard her do some heavy breathing that seemed to characterise her anger; she didn’t call the dog and my flesh crept until I had my bum safely on the seat of the car.
    I wanted a drink, a shower and a sleep. I had the drink, of Jameson’s Irish whisky. I still wanted the shower and sleep. Instead I drove south and stopped at the first open coffee bar. I drank two cups of black coffee and looked at the posters of Greece on the walls. Greece, that’d be nice. I like ouzo and I could run off the fatty food along the beach. I could lie in the sun, find a