They must have shaken their heads in disbelief to first see a bloodied sheet, tied around a broom handle, waving from behind the easternmost concrete target tower, followed after, when a ceasefire had been called, by two naked, bloodied men who, after a whistle blast and an “ahoy” from the captain who led the way, staggered out into the open and collapsed onto their knees in the sand, hugging each other, laughing and crying at the same time.
Kemeny’s dog appeared from nowhere and sat patiently at our sides, waiting for the officers to reach us.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
Three days later, I was sitting next to Mark’s hospital bed, making notes from time to time about what had happened since the moment we’d stumbled out into the sunshine behind the target block. I’d promised Brendan Fox I’d make a full, written statement in police force “official language”, but hadn’t had the heart just yet to sit down for several hours to clunk it out on my typewriter. I’d been too preoccupied with the events that had unfurled as a consequence of our kidnapping, Kemeny’s death, what he’d told me about Johnny Edgar, the Bishop children, and, most importantly, the health of my new friend/foe, Mark Dioli.
We’d had to wait for about ten minutes before two stretcher bearers had arrived to take us to the command hut of the rifle range, and by the time we’d reached it, Vince and Brendan had already arrived with a doctor. Someone had been quick off the mark and had called the police station the moment I’d been spotted waving my improvised, bloodied flag.
Although I’d tried to insist I wasn’t injured and needed to talk to Brendan immediately, I’d been covered in so much blood he’d ordered me to let the doctor check me over first. I had seen he and Vince had been impatient to find out what had happened, so I’d mouthed “Kemeny” as I was being led down the corridor towards the first aid room and then ran my finger across my throat, shaking my head. Vince disappeared, saying he had to make a phone call, no doubt to get more cops down there to investigate the scene in the bunker.
Half an hour later, over a cup of tea, with a blanket over my shoulders, and the ambulance having taken Mark away, Vince had returned—he’d organised an investigative team and a photographer for the underground hideout, informing me that Jack was already up there too. Not only that, but news that had made my heart sink. I’d known I was in for a bollocking and then a bit of tough love—Harry was on the way from Holsworthy, where he’d been meeting with Jeff Ball to discuss Terrence Dioli. So, for the next twenty minutes, I’d told both Vince and Brendan what had happened, and what I’d believed were the reasons Kemeny had taken his own life instead of mine.
Brendan had been called to the telephone just as I’d finished and then had returned quickly to tell me that it had been the hospital, informing him that Mark was already in theatre, and that although serious, his condition was not grave. I think my enormous sigh of relief had signalled that something had changed between us during our time in the bunker.
We’d briefly discussed what should happen next, and as a result of our conversation, Brendan had put a call through to the Lithgow police and had asked them to go to the Bishop property at Glen Davis to rescue the children. I’d later learned there’d been an armed stand–off, but eventually the children had been handed over, safe, well–looked–after, but traumatised and desperate for their parents.
Harry had arrived at the rifle range white–faced and breathless, at first relieved and then furious. He hadn’t shown it in front of the others, but I had sensed the tension in his frame and the way he’d been working his thumbs into his fists at his sides. He’d gone ballistic when I’d insisted on driving to Lithgow to bring the children home after they’d been examined at the local hospital. But after a few minutes alone in the gent’s lavatory and an agreement he could be as angry as he liked when we got home and in private, it was he who’d suggested I take his mother with Tom and me when we went to collect Susan and David. I’d thought it a very good idea. She’d not only been a nurse but also was wonderful with children. His argument that Mary’s reassuring presence would make Susan and David feel they were in capable hands had made a lot of sense, so after a lot of arguing with Brendan, we’d agreed she should come with us.
The argument with Brendan had been at first heated, because he’d disagreed with my proposal, saying it wasn’t my place to go and that as the Lithgow police had rescued the Bishop children, it should have been them that brought them home. But in the end I’d won him over, explaining that I’d made a promise to Margaret and Cyril Bishop, having told them Tom and I would find their son and daughter and we would return them. He hadn’t liked it much, and it had only been when I’d promised I’d leave my name out of the whole business when I wrote my newspaper report about the Bishop kidnapping case—which I was sure would merit front page coverage—that he’d reluctantly agreed.
Two days after his operation, Mark had cried when I’d described the reunion. Mary, Tom, and I driving up to the Bishop’s house and the children running from the car into their parents’ arms. Thankfully, Harry had thought to ask Shirley to come down and sit with them while they’d waited for us to pull up outside their door. I could have spent ages with Mark on that day, but Warwick had told me ten minutes was all I could have with him, and that I’d have to wait for another twenty–four hours before I would be allowed to spend more time.
*****
“How long have you been there?”
Mark Dioli sounded like he had a mouthful of cotton wool.
“This morning? About an hour so far,” I said.
“Have you been holding my hand all this time?”
“I was holding your dick earlier, but Dr. Samson threatened to have me removed.”
He laughed. It was a good sign. He’d been sedated off and on for the past two days after the procedure to wire his scapula together, only allowed small amounts of time for visitors, or I should say visitor, as I’d been the only one he’d wanted to talk to. Kemeny’s gun hadn’t been cleaned for months and not only had scraps of Mark’s jacket and shirt been forced into the wound, but the bullet had also fractured as it had exited the muzzle, and part of the base rim had pulled away, piercing the top of his lung. That’s why he’d been spitting out blood.
“What time is it?”
“Eleven.”
He relaxed into his pillow and sighed, closing his eyes. “Did you really—?”
“No!” I said, and we both laughed.
“It would have been the first time anyone’s grabbed my dick, Clyde.”
“I sort of guessed, Mark.”
“I’m not—”
“There’s no need to explain,” I said. “I probably wouldn’t want to either, had I been through what you have.”
“I think about it, Clyde, but then what I saw going on when I was—”
“Hey, stop it. No judgements, okay? If you ever want to talk about it later, then we’ll buy ourselves a pie or two and crack a bottle of beer, find a nice quiet place on a headland overlooking the ocean, where you feel safe.”
“Thanks, Clyde,” he said, squeezing my hand. “Now, any recent news about the children? How are they getting on? Will I be able to visit them as soon as I get out of here?”
“The Bishops are bringing Susan and David to visit you just after lunch today. They want to thank you.”
“Thank me?”
“As far as anyone knows you did this all by yourself,” I said.
“That’s hardly fair, Clyde.”
“I was just the consultant, Mark. I’m in enough trouble as it is without taking any credit for it … or publicity. Anyway, today is a red–letter day.”
“In what way?”
“It seems that besides the Bishops, you’re deemed fit for more company than my own, as pleasant as I’m sure that’s been.” He chuckled. “Harry will be here soon to say hello.”
“He must have been worried sick about you.”
I didn’t reply. Angry was more like it, not worried—well, anger had taken the place of w
orry very quickly once he’d known I hadn’t been harmed.
“Have you found out anything more, Clyde?”
“About?”
He laughed and then coughed, grunting loudly as his chest tensed. I remembered that feeling. “You know what I mean.”
“I was waiting until you were ready, Mark.”
“Well, I think I’d like to know a bit more now please.”
“Are you sure? Warwick said you should take it easy.”
“Yes, I’m sure—more than sure. Every waking moment I’ve been lying here trying to puzzle through things.”
“All right, where would you like to start?”
“Freckles?”
I sighed. “I think we both need a smoke before I launch into that.”
“I think Lieutenant Watson might pick you up and throw you headfirst out the door if she caught you giving me a cigarette.”
“When I was in here, Harry used to take a puff and blow smoke into my mouth …?”
“No thank you, Smith.”
“Aw … Smith? I thought we were buddies now, Dioli?”
He winked. “Buddies in private, foes in public.”
We chuckled.
“Freddy ‘Freckles’ Hancock,” I said, lighting two cigarettes and passing one to him. “Dr. Bagshaw’s Home in Mudgee at the same time as Kemeny. After he left, he trained as a nurse, working in the local hospital. He and Dennis kept in touch, and although Dennis never told him anything about his killings, Freckles did go with him to sort out Bishop, who’d buggered both boys for years at the home. It was Freddy’s idea to cut off Bishop’s dick and stuff it in his mouth. He’s a right piece of work from what I’ve heard.”
“He was a nurse? That explains how he bandaged up my arm, knew how to draw up a needle and get the dosage right.”
“And not only is he a nurse, but so’s his missus. Psychiatric nurse at the Peat Island Asylum until August this year.”
“August this year? Is this anything to do with when Kemeny first reappeared, or is this just coincidence?”
“Remember we thought that the three–year gap between killings was a second sentence for gross indecency or prostitution? Well, we were wrong. In 1953, at the time of the last killing, when I was still in charge of the case, Kemeny had been ‘fond’ of one of the guys who he used to service regularly. Two days after the last murder, when I was running ragged trying to find a killer, he turned up unexpectedly at the man’s flat, who he’d followed home several times. Seems he discovered the bloke he had the crush on was married, and the thought that Dennis couldn’t have what he wanted just for himself made him reckless. Kemeny forced his way into the flat, beat the guy up, and terrorised his wife, finishing up by wrecking the house. The neighbours called the police, and Kemeny was so successful in convincing a doctor that he’d lost his marbles, he got put away—sectioned.”
“If the police were called, why didn’t you get to hear of it at the time?”
“No connection to my case. The husband wouldn’t say what his relationship had been with him, and the wife had no idea her husband played away.”
“So, Peat Island. I suppose Freckles visited?”
“Yes, and during the visits began an affair with his wife to be, Dennis keeping watch while they went on ‘supervised’ walks. Mrs. Hancock should have been institutionalised herself. That woman definitely has a screw loose, let me tell you. When I went to fetch the children, she was locked in a hospital room by herself, off her head and tied to the bed for her own safety, screaming about biting the balls off every cop she ever saw for the rest of her days. Anyway, the long and short of it was that Kemeny had promised that if they helped him escape, he’d ‘borrow’ two children they could call their own.”
“What? How the hell would anyone—”
“This might sound terrible, but Freckles isn’t the brightest penny and she’s not much better either. She’s basically a strong–arm woman who was hired because she could overpower people who’ve lost their minds. She was so intellectually challenged, she wasn’t even allowed to medicate patients because she couldn’t work out the dosage charts. She and Freckles were desperate for children. He couldn’t have any because he’d lost his knackers, and they’d been told more than once that they’d never be eligible for adoption.
“Well, Kemeny had worked it out all in advance. He told Freckles’ wife that he knew of a farm near the old shale oil works at Glen Davis that had been on the market for nearly ten years. It only needed a bit of fixing up, was remote, and because of the wartime security around the works, the whole area was fenced, so the children would be ‘safe’ … in other words, they couldn’t run away. Kemeny had the gift of the gab, Mark, and to simple people like Mrs. Hancock, what he said rang true. He told her that children were like plants you’re given from friends—once they have time to settle in, it’s as though they’ve always been in their new home.”
“This is like a novel, Clyde. If I hadn’t been a police detective, and seen and heard of worse, I wouldn’t have believed it.”
“Yes, I’m sure you can guess the rest. Rowing boat at night. Mrs. Hancock buys the property with her savings. Kemeny uses the dog to lure the children into his car … and then we know the rest,” I said.
“Is he here?”
“Who, Freckles? No, Vince is still out at Lithgow interrogating him. I spoke to D.S. Paleotti this morning. Our Mr. Hancock is one of those very cooperative crims who sings like a bird to save his own skin. Seems he’s also ratted on his wife for petty theft of hospital equipment and personal belongings of some of the inmates.”
“Has he said anything about you and me?”
“Only that Dennis was obsessed with me. After learning about Johnny’s death from our ex–C.O. he couldn’t stop trying to find ways to humiliate me. Freckles said he had absolutely no idea that Kemeny was murdering men—Vince believes him, too. He thought that our kidnapping, and his hand in helping Dennis, was merely an attempt on Kemeny’s behalf to force me to admit that I was responsible for Johnny’s death. When he sedated us and left, he thought Dennis would find out what he needed to know, feel better after I’d confessed, let us go, and then come back to their farm and live out their days as a small family.”
“For fuck’s sake, Clyde …”
“I told you he wasn’t the brightest penny … oh, and there’s one more thing.”
“What?”
“Remember Luka said we were looking in the wrong place? Well, we were looking for his hideout in the wrong place. He did have a flat backing onto Glebe Gully, but he gave that up when he was institutionalised three years ago. So our detective work regarding the radius was right, but our timing was off.”
“The van wasn’t his then?”
“Nope. Freckles’,” I said.
Mark sighed and then reached over for my cigarettes.
“Another?”
“Fuck it,” he said. “Almost drowned in another man’s blood and then naked gore–wrestling with you. A bloody smoke’s not going to make much difference to my life.”
“Naked gore–wrestling?” I chuckled and then we both began to laugh, as we had done on the floor in Kemeny’s concrete bunker.
“Talking of Luka …” he said once we’d calmed a little.
“He’s anxious that you might not want to talk to him.”
“Why not?”
“Don’t you remember? He asked you not to hate him.”
“I don’t hate him. He seems like a nice bloke, but I really need to process what he said and compare it to what’s happened.”
“Me too, Mark,” I said. “There are some things he couldn’t have possibly known. But, over time, I’m sure we’ll find a logical explanation.”
“Maybe, Clyde, maybe …”
I noticed him twirling his mother’s wedding ring with the thumb of the same hand, but said nothing. I was as confused, but also determined not to abandon Luka. He might have a “gift” I did not understand or fully accept, but he was a genuine
, warm human being who I really liked, and who I sincerely wanted to cultivate as a friend.
“Hello there,” Mark said over my shoulder to someone who’d opened the door to his room. I looked behind me. It was Harry, holding an enormous bunch of white daisies.
“Safe to come in?” he asked.
“You and Clyde talking yet?” Mark asked with a grin.
“Barely,” I muttered. “I still haven’t been forgiven.”
“Clyde’s doing penance,” Harry said, standing behind me and kissing my cheek. I didn’t exactly draw back, but blushed. Despite my embarrassment, Mark merely smiled—a wry smile, but still, a smile.
“Harry …” I said, feeling the heat in my face.
“Oh, sorry, I thought …” he added.
“It’s all right, Harry,” Mark said. “I’m not completely stupid.”
“Oh well, in that case,” Harry said, tilting my head back with one hand and then kissing me deeply.
“Where have you been?” I asked, searching his eyes, before timidly returning his kiss with one of my own.
“I’ll tell you later,” Harry mumbled, sounding very awkward, glancing at Mark.
“Please don’t protect me,” Mark said. “I may have been shot, and I haven’t got Luka’s gift, but it’s pretty obvious the I’ll tell you later is something you don’t want me to hear—just yet, anyway.”
“It can wait, Mark. Honestly, just get better.”
“It’s about my grandfather, isn’t it?”
Harry nodded. “I was on the blower to Holsworthy this morning. Clyde asked me to phone to find out what’s going on. It’s not looking good for him to be honest, Mark.”
“Unless they’re going to pin a medal on the old bastard, you’d better tell me.”
“Well, it’s going to be hard to prove at this distance in time, but I was told they’re looking for the men who made accusations in 1916 and 1917. Of course with Keeps’ war diaries as supporting evidence, there’s bound to be a court martial. Barring them not being able to track down the men he abused in the trenches, he’ll get ten to twenty years at the very least, and more if they find the men and can get them to testify.”
The Gilded Madonna Page 43