The Gilded Madonna, Garrick Jones [best fiction novels txt] 📗

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 worry 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