The Gilded Madonna Garrick Jones (ebook reader online .txt) 📖

There was some sense in it, especially Harry’s suggestion that it was revenge on me for some reason. A pair of children missing for three months, and then as soon as I’m pulled into the investigation the sudden reappearance of a serial killer who’d gone dormant, and whose case I’d not been able to crack. From my experience of working extremely complex cases that we thought might be connected, it was always a matter of finding commonalities—things that were shared between the investigations.

I had few right now. My business card with my name written on the back in green ink was the only real thing linking both the abductions and the murders. Unless, of course, the murderer wanted us to think the Bishop children were part of his scheme. Perhaps he’d read about the case and was using it as a way of distracting me away from his true purpose, that of killing vulnerable men in unsavoury places in a sadistic and ultimately bestial way.

There was one thing that disturbed me. Whenever I closed my eyes to think, there was always an image, right there, occupying my field of inner vision. No matter how hard I tried to dismiss it, it appeared unbidden in my mind, floating in the background, pulling me away from my thoughts.

The gleaming statue of the gilded Madonna.

*****

When Vince said he had to go back to work upstairs, I promised him I’d take Steve Davidovic to a retired graphic artist I knew sometime soon, a man who’d done identity sketches for me in the past. We’d get an accurate drawing of the murderer and decide where to go from there. I’d also said I’d call in to visit Dioli in hospital in the morning, but wanted to go for a walk, to think about what Harry had said, before I stuck my head in at the old lockup.

Half an hour later, I was still confused, so joined the others to see how the interview with Lionel Greyson was progressing. Howard Farrell sat opposite him, making notes, and looking like he’d been put through the wringer. There was no mistaking the anguish hovering at the corners of his eyes.

It was close on four o’clock by the time Jeff Ball had heard enough. I’d been sitting quietly, observing and listening for about an hour when Greyson was marched off by two policemen who’d been standing at the door. Jeff and I went outside to have a smoke while Harry stayed behind for a moment, saying he wanted to have a few words with Howard.

“Of all the things I’ve heard about, or read, or lived through, what Greyson had to say was the most vile account of anything I’ve had the misfortune to sit through,” Jeff said. “They were children, Clyde. Kids who had no say in the matter when it came to what was done to them and by whom.”

“How did Howard hold up before I arrived?”

“That man’s made of steel, I tell you. I don’t know if I could have sat so quietly and calmly and had listened to the names of the men who’d not only raped me repeatedly, but had treated me so poorly during the ordeal and after.”

Harry joined us outside on the footpath.

“Give me one of yours please, Clyde,” he said. “I left mine inside.”

“Is Howard all right?” I asked, passing him my cigarette case.

“Just left through the side door. You didn’t see him drive past?”

I shook my head. “No, we were busy chatting.”

“Well, he said he had to head back to the country before it gets dark,” Harry said. “Honestly, although he didn’t show it, I suspect it was an excuse to get away, to give himself some breathing space. He said he’d call us soon and asked me to apologise for running off without saying goodbye.”

“I don’t know how he did it,” Jeff said, passing his lighter to Harry, who’d been patting his pockets looking for his own. “I’d have jumped over the table and throttled Greyson when he described how he’d lined up male visitors for Howard, one after the other. But although his eyes looked tight at the corners, I’d say he had a degree of self-control that I’m not sure I could have managed under the circumstances.”

I shook my head. “Maybe he’s internalising it, Jeff? What good would it have done to have lost control and beaten Greyson to a pulp? Is there any supporting proof, or is his testimony all that we have?”

“I’ll send you a list of the men’s names, Clyde. I think the only hope is if we do a deal.”

“A deal?”

“As much as I hate the idea of promising either immunity from prosecution or the dropping of one or two charges, two of the names he gave me are people we already have in the clink from our earlier court cases—men involved with Keeps and Tocacci.”

“But surely double indemnity …?”

“Different charges, different cases. We can promise them we won’t prosecute the child abuse in exchange for statements corroborating Greyson’s revelations.”

“I hate to think we’d be letting child molesters off anything, Jeff,” I said.

“Me too, my friend. But we’ve only got Greyson’s confession and Howard Farrell’s accusations.”

“You know what, Jeff? I’d go hard on Terrence Dioli. The military can get away with anything. It’s not as if he can call for a lawyer. He’s being held by Army Intelligence. Surely we still have guys who know how to get anything out of anyone?”

For a few moments he stared into my eyes. Something cold glittered in his gaze.

“In a civil case, whatever we did would be considered a confession under duress, but as it’s military ‘persuasion’, we could get away with tougher measures. Is that what you’re thinking?”

I nodded.

“What if he won’t speak?” he asked.

“I know guys who lived through torture by the Japs, Jeff. It would only take a phone call—they’ll tell you ways of persuasion you probably never knew existed.”

“Ah, that’s where you’re wrong, Clyde.