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

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