“Yes, and Carr Street runs directly behind the ladies’ convenience. The problem is he could have gone anywhere, because the entrance to Melody Street is on the other side of the road and there’s a dunny cart lane not twenty yards away too, parallel with it. Early this morning before I left him, Vince said he was going to organise a door knock to see if anyone saw anything.”
“So, your witness watched the man run across the field for how long? A minute, two?”
“Less than that. What is it at that point, maybe a hundred yards from the back of the men’s toilet to the women’s? Fifteen, twenty seconds. Anyway, he stood in the doorway of the toilet and called out inside. There was no sound and the other bloke hadn’t come out, so he edged his way through the change room. As the toilet area’s bulb had blown, it was dark in the cubicle area. The only illumination was the spasmodic flickering of the fluorescent light in the changing room behind him—more off than on, like I told you. So he stood in the doorway for a moment, waiting for his eyes to adjust to the dimness, before making his way around the corner of the stalls. That’s when he saw an arm poking out from under the cubicle door. He pushed it open with the toe of his shoe and found the body. Ran up to the phone box on the corner of Higgs Street and phoned it in.”
“But he got a good look at the offender?”
I nodded. “Lucky for us, our witness is more interested in faces than in dicks.”
Dioli looked at me strangely.
I shrugged. “Don’t jump to conclusions, Mark. Our fellow is one of those people who’s more interested in the type of person he might be doing things with than their equipment. He likes to get to know them a bit first and see whether they click. It’s not just about the bits down below with all queer men.”
“So the cut-off scream he heard was—”
“Most likely the victim yelling with pain as the murderer sank his teeth into his flesh—cut off when the razor slashed through his larynx. Like all the other victims I examined, the collar and lapel of his coat was pushed down over the left shoulder, probably during a caress.”
“I need to get out of here—”
“You’re not going anywhere, Mark. You know the drill. You can’t go back to work until you’re cleared by the doctor.”
“My grandfather—”
“Will be taken care of. Someone from the station will pay him a visit to let him know how you’re getting on. Who phoned for the ambulance, Mark? It was you, wasn’t it?”
“He doesn’t like the telephone.”
“I’m surprised he isn’t here to visit you.”
“He won’t drive my car and his is up on blocks in the garage, waiting for parts to arrive from interstate.”
“What’s wrong with your car that he won’t drive it?”
“It’s an automatic.”
“He could have caught a cab?”
“He doesn’t keep cash in the house.”
I was about to press the issue, but changed my mind—he was excessively defensive. The victim protecting the perpetrator. We dealt with enough wives with black eyes and protests of “he didn’t mean it” to recognise that particular syndrome. I looked at my watch: quarter past nine. Our lunch get-together was at midday.
“I need to make a quick phone call. Is there anything you need?”
“I missed breakfast. Perhaps you could ask the nurse—?”
“Your meals are all taken care of. No hospital food for you, Detective Sergeant,” I said, with something that might have been interpreted as a wink. “I brought in a lot of food from home. Hospital meals aren’t always what everyone likes to eat. Warwick told me you missed out on your Christmas lunch yesterday.”
“Warwick?”
“That’s Doctor Samson. We grew up together and he’s a close friend. I promise you he’ll look after you. He’s much nicer than I am and not only does he have an excellent bedside manner but he also knows how to draw the line when it comes to business. Whatever you say to him will remain with him. As good friends as we are, we don’t share confidences without permission.”
What I didn’t tell him was when I’d spoken to Warwick this morning by telephone, he’d told me that when Mark Dioli had been picked up yesterday, the ambulancemen had found him on the front path, sobbing and almost incoherent. He’d been thrown head first from the front door, probably after he’d called for help, because the door had been locked behind him and no one had answered when they’d knocked. When the ambulance officer had asked him if he lived alone, he’d said that his grandfather had been with him but had been called away suddenly. They’d found it so odd, they’d made a note in his file.
The diagonal swathe of bandages that partially covered his chest were not only for the injuries inflicted by the two-by-two piece of timber quad or square metal rod but also to cover the gravel grazes. He’d been dragged by his tie after having been thrown out the front door. There was a dark, thin bruise around his neck.
*****
“Hello, you.”
“Hello, Clyde. Where are you?”
“At the hospital visiting Dioli. I’m sorry, I didn’t want to wake you when I left.”
“I woke up at six thirty and you were gone already. We’d only been in bed for two hours. Are you all right?”
“I’ll explain later. You’re going to think I’ve lost my marbles, but—”
“Going to?”
“Stop laughing, Harry Jones. Okay, I know I’m crazy. But I’d been obsessing over something ever since Tom rang and told me Dioli was in hospital.”
“Go on …”
“Remember the party that Daley Morrison was at, the one he was supposed to have been caught at, upstairs in an orgy?”
“The case that went to court?”
“That’s the one. Do you remember whose house the party was held at?”
“Of course. It was Rinaldo Tocacci’s house. The man you killed on the same night I shot Marvin Keeps.”
“It was the mention of Balmain hospital. Tocacci lived in Balmain and Dioli’s house is no more than a mile away in Rozelle. Keeps was also Terrence Dioli’s A.D.C. during the first war …”
“So you think there’s a connection.”
“That’s why I couldn’t sleep. I got up early and went up to the old lockup. I sorted through the photos of Tocacci and Keeps together—”
“And you found one with both of them in the company of Mark Dioli’s grandfather?”
“I’ll make a detective of you yet.”
“How is he?”
“Who, Mark? Jesus that old bastard could have killed him. I haven’t seen Warwick yet, but Shirley’s looking after him. Dioli senior has the mark of someone who knows what they were doing, Harry. Someone who knows exactly how far they can go without breaking bones or killing their victim, but someone who loves to inflict pain.”
“Clyde?”
“Yes?”
“I have this feeling you’re going to do something stupid …”
“Stupid? Who me? And you can stop that laughing right now.”
“Just think twice, all right.”
“I might be a little late. Do you think you could pick up Luka Praz at his shop at around half past eleven? I’ve invited him to join us at our party. I should be at Craig’s on time, but if I’m not, I won’t be far off.”
“Clyde?”
“Yes, Harry?”
“Don’t think I didn’t notice the key to your galvanised lockbox has been put back into the wrong cup.”
“It was early and I was in a hurry.”
We were both aware that anyone could have been listening on the hospital switchboard.
“Be careful.”
“I will. You know me.”
“That’s what I’m worried about.”
My Luger P08 was wrapped in its square of green baize, stashed under the front seat of my car. I didn’t intend to shoot anyone, but that’s what I always previsioned when I took it anywhere with me. It was more for show than for anything. However, there’
d been times when …
*****
“Oh, hello, Clyde. How long have you been here?”
Warwick Samson was checking Dioli’s eyes when I returned to the room.
“About forty-five minutes, Warwick. Merry Christmas.”
“Same to you, my friend.”
I sat in the corner while Warwick performed his examination and then told me he’d see me about two that afternoon after he’d finished his shift.
“Two this afternoon?” Dioli asked after the doctor had left us.
“I’m having a catch up for friends I didn’t get to see over Christmas. It’s an annual thing. Gives us all a chance to have a few beers and a chin wag.”
“Sounds great.”
The inflection in his voice indicated he thought it was anything but.
“Jealous?”
“Fuck you, Smith.”
“Braver men have tried and died,” I quipped. It made the corner of his mouth move. It wasn’t quite a smile, but he was amused.
“The Bishops?”
“I went to see them on Christmas Eve. Dropped in a card; forged your signature.”
He went slightly red. “Thank you.”
“Don’t mention it. I also went to see our friend Marigold Leeks.”
“Ah!”
“It’s not what we thought it was.”
“Explain?”
“Someone stole the statue that was sent to me via the Bishops and left one of my calling cards in the place it was taken from. My name was on the back in the same elongated capital letters in green ink.”
“So, you think …”
“They knew nothing about the Bishop case, apart from what the sister had heard on the wireless—”
“They?”
“Brother and sister. He sells bric-a-brac and second-hand books, she reads tea leaves. Marigold is the English translation of her name in Romanian. Just like Violet or Rose, or Hyacinth, she was named after a flower, and their surname is the word for leek in their own language.”
“I can understand some crazy person leading us to a fortune teller, as bizarre as that might seem, thinking they might have ‘insights’ into the Bishop case, but what I don’t understand is that same person stealing something from them and leaving your name and business card at the scene.”
“I don’t understand it either. It makes no sense at all.”
“I—”
He was just about to say something when the orderly knocked on the door and then entered with a food trolley. “Wouldn’t mind a bit of this myself,” the attendant said as he placed the food onto the movable table that sat at the end of the bed.
“What do you mean?”
“It’s some of the food Mr. Smith brought for you, Detective Sergeant. The rest of it’s in a section of the fridge in the kitchen with your name on it.”
“I left instructions when I first arrived,” I said.
“What’s this, then?” Dioli asked, lifting the stainless-steel food cover from the plate.
“You’re lucky the man in charge of the kitchen is a chef, not a cook, Mark,” I replied. “Eggs benedict, soft pickled asparagus, and my own double-smoked bacon.”
“You can smoke bacon?”
“On the back landing of my flat. I’m on the top floor so the smoker doesn’t bother anyone.”
It was pretty obvious that as much as he was a sourpuss, Mark Dioli liked to eat. I’d noticed it on the day he’d had lunch with Harry and me, when we’d discovered Marigold Leeks at the same time in the local newspaper. He was one of those rare men who smiled while he ate. I could see he savoured every mouthful.
“Crickey, this is delicious,” he said.
“Plenty more where that came from,” I replied. “But there’s a proper Christmas roast ready to heat up for your lunch so you might want to keep some room.”
He actually smiled at me while he was wiping his mouth.
“Is there anything more about the witness you can tell me? Please … Clyde?”
I wasn’t unaware that he’d used my Christian name, probably for the first time.
“All right. I know this whole thing hasn’t been fair on you. But, you must swear that what little I can tell you, you’ll keep to yourself. Promise?”
“It goes against the grain, but all right, I’ll promise.”
“What do you know about the commission I’m working on?”
“All I know is that you work next door to the nick in the old lockup, and there are military men go in, D.S. Telford, your mate Harry Jones, and a high-flying senior legal eagle.”
“That’s my war buddy, Billy Tancred Q.C. Do you know who runs the commission?”
He shook his head. “No idea.”
“It’s run by Herbert Campbell, the Special Crown Advocate. It’s not just a normal commission, it’s the step below a Crown investigation. We look into crime and corruption in the police force, and the connection between the drugs syndicates across the State of N.S.W. and beyond.”
“And our witness?”
“All I can tell you is our witness is an ex-cop, and we hope he can identify a high-ranking politician in a compromising photograph.”
“Compromising?”
“Sexually compromising.”
“Why can’t you identify this person yourselves?”
“Because this high-ranking person is facing away from the camera, chock a block up to the balls in our witness.”
Dioli gaped.
“But you said he was a—”
“Cop, yes. And the man we want to finger was sodomising him.”
“I don’t know how—”
“It’s not up to you to make judgements or to understand why and how it happened, Mark. I’m sorry. That’s all I can say. But perhaps you need to understand that we can identify this man, it will most likely bring down the Queensland Government. That’s the reason I can’t reveal the witness’s name.”
“Well I’ll be—”
“You’ll be confined to your hospital bed for a few days yet.” I looked at my watch. I’d be pressing it if I didn’t leave now. “Sorry, I have to go. I have a few ideas about the Silent Cop case I’d like to run past you for your input and perhaps approval. Will you be up to another visit later tonight?”
“Maybe tomorrow, if you don’t mind. I’m sure my grandfather will come tonight, and he’s very touchy around people he doesn’t know.”
“Suit yourself. I’ll see you in the morning, then. I hope you enjoy your lunch. Merry Christmas, Mark.”
“Merry Christmas, Smith,” he said as I put my jacket back on and picked up my hat.
Smith, not Clyde. I didn’t mind. I’d caught a glimpse of his humanity. I kept reminding myself that his bravado was a huge wall he’d built around himself to protect the Mark Dioli inside—a young, frightened, and severely abused child.
“Later, mate.”
“Later.”
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
The house in Newtown was my first stop.
I checked my watch, drumming my fingers on the steering wheel. It was just on ten o’clock. I planned to spend half an hour here and then …
He came around the side of the house, smoking a pipe, with his shirtsleeves rolled up to the elbow. I jumped out of the car.
“Lionel Greyson?” I asked, holding up my army investigation identification card.
“Never served, Mr. …”
“Smith, Clyde Smith.”
“Still, as I said, never served.”
“But you might.”
“Might what?”
I pulled Howard Farrell’s business card from my wallet, the one he’d given me at dinner. I showed him the back, on which was the name and address of the former director of Petersham Boys’ Home.
“That’s me. But you didn’t answer my question. Serve what?”
I turned the card around. “Serve time at Her Majesty’s pleasure, Mr. Greyson.”
“Look, I don’t have to talk to you. I’ve no idea why you’re here, and I�
��d like you to leave my premises. It’s called—”
“Trespassing? Is that what you were going to say? Let me give you a little enlightenment about the law, sir. I was a detective sergeant in the N.S.W. police force until a year ago. We can do this one of two ways. We can go inside and talk in front of your son, daughter-in-law, and your three grandchildren, or you can come for a little drive with me. If you decline either of those options, then I can offer you two more choices. The first will be an undignified trip in the paddy wagon to Randwick lockup, or the second will be an even more undignified and far less caring trip in a military vehicle to an undisclosed destination from which you may never return.”
He stared at me for what seemed an age. I wondered if he’d gone into shock for a minute or two. “What for?”
“Let’s start with statutory rape, sodomy, dealing with a minor, immoral earnings from the sale of a child … or should I say children, over the period of, how many years was it you were the director of Petersham Boys’ Home? Thirty?”
“You better have good proof,” he said, his eyes wide and spittle collecting at the corner of his mouth.
“If I didn’t have it, why do you think I’d be here, Greyson. But, I won’t need it, because you are going to provide me with a full confession that you’re going to sign and which I’ll have witnessed by two other interested parties.”
He laughed in my face and started to turn away. I grabbed his arm and opened the left side of my jacket. He stared at my Luger and then snarled, “You going to shoot me here in the side passage of my house?”
I grabbed both of his trouser braces in one hand and pulled him to me so our noses were almost touching. “I spent three years in a prisoner of war camp, Greyson. First few years were a holiday, starved and mistreated by the Italians, but then later, when the Germans came, I learned things you’ve never dreamed of. I’ve always wanted to try out some of the things they did to me on someone else … someone who deserved the pain.”
He gulped.
“Now get in my car. I’ve made the choice for you. We’re going for a little drive first, just you and me, so we can have a bit of a chat. No rough stuff … yet. But after that, I’m taking you somewhere quiet, where you’re going to sit down with my assistant and an army colonel and tell them everything, and I mean everything that went on at the boys’ home.”
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