“Ten to twenty? Doesn’t seem enough to me,” Mark said.
“Of course, you could always press civil charges yourself,” I said. “With your testimony and that of Greyson, who’ll never see the light of day, you’d never have to suffer one more day of him. With what we know about his and Greyson’s activities at Petersham, he’d spend the rest of his days in a normal jail rather than a military prison.”
“Do you know whether he’s been charged yet, Harry?”
“Military law isn’t like common law. He can be held indefinitely while they make up their minds and look for evidence and witnesses. But, Clyde hasn’t told you yet, has he?”
“Told me what?”
“Jeff Ball went to interview him yesterday about his associations with Greyson, Keeps, and Tocacci as part of our commission investigation over the abuse of boys and young men, and the well–known blokes we know were involved. Your grandfather kept saying ‘it’s hearsay; prove it!’. Jeff suggested we might speak with you and get you to write a statement, but your grandfather laughed in his face, saying he was unrepentant over what he did, insisting you were a bad boy who needed beating to keep in line, that you were so wilful and disobedient that even the harshest thrashings couldn’t cure the wickedness inside you.”
The silence in the hospital room was thick with Mark’s anger. After a minute or two of working his jaw, he shouted, “Bring in your camera, Clyde. I want photos of what he did to me. Every scar, every burn mark, every indication of every beating you can find. And, before you say anything, it’s not about vengeance, it’s about justice. I know the law back to front, and if I’d found similar evidence of this sort of long–term abuse on any other human being, as an officer of the law I’d have considered it my duty to arrest, make my case, and then hand it over to the prosecutor. If the military court can’t do anything then the civil courts will.”
“Are you sure?”
I think had Harry not been there he might have almost cried.
“Give us a moment please,” I said to my man.
“Sure, Clyde. Oh, by the way, ‘you know who’ is outside.”
I took Harry’s hand and pressed it to the side of my face.
“You know who?” Mark echoed, looking puzzled, after Harry had left us alone.
“Listen, my friend,” I said. “Warwick told me you’re going to be off work for at least six weeks, maybe a little more. Do you want a bit of advice from me? After what we’ve been through, I’ve been thinking—”
“When are you ever not thinking, Clyde?”
“Rarely, Mark.”
“Go on,” he said, flicking his fingers, indicating he wanted another smoke. I pretend–frowned, but lit one for him. “Tell me what you’re thinking this time.”
“Well, although Harry’s mother and her friends have cleaned up your house in Rozelle, I’m pretty sure that if I were you, it’s the last place I’d want to go back to live in. So, since you asked: either you rent it out, which would be stupid, because it’s in a terrible area and you’d barely get any rent, or you spend a bit of the money in the bank account your grandfather opened in your name and do it up, sell it, and buy yourself something closer to work. The Eastern Suburbs are much nicer to live in than that area. It’s so rundown and depressing.”
“I’ll give it some thought, Clyde. Thank you.”
“But, in the meantime, you need company. Remember me telling you about my mysterious wealthy friend who managed to get the information about Dennis and his time in the home at Mudgee?”
“The one who’s involved in your Crown commission?”
I nodded. “Well, here’s something I didn’t tell you. That same man spent nearly fourteen years in Petersham Boys’ Home. He left before you arrived, but he was one of the unlucky ones, loaned out to older men, forced to have sex with them.”
“And …?”
“Well, as I said, he’s wealthy. He has a huge property in the Southern Highlands. Big house, horses, a swimming pool. He’s offered to take you in while you mend and be there for you when and if you need to talk. He’s been through the same sort of thing you have, Mark. There aren’t a lot of people who’d really understand, you know? He’s a kind man, and—”
“And he’s waiting outside.”
“Yes, you don’t have to meet him if you don’t want to, but he’s been an amazing help to our investigation. To be honest, I think his offer of a shoulder to cry on is just as much for him as it is for you. You don’t have to say yes right now, but how about I invite him in and you two can chat, okay?”
“He knew Greyson and my grandfather?”
“He suffered at the hands of Greyson, more times than either of us would like to think of. As for your grandfather, he was never beaten by him, but he did know what went on.”
“Poor bastard.”
“That’s exactly what he said about you, Mark.”
I leaned over the bed and ruffled his hair.
“All right. I’ll talk. But, Clyde, don’t forget …”
“Forget what?”
“Buddies in private, foes in public.”
I laughed. “All right, shithead. Just wait a moment and I’ll call him in.”
“Wait, Clyde, before you go …”
“What is it?”
“The dog. Was it Kemeny’s?”
“Yes. I heard that it howled a lot at first, but it’s one of those dogs who’s everyone’s friend. Mary’s looking after it—seems to have settled down with lots of affection and being spoiled rotten.”
“Mary? Harry’s mum? She’s a keeper that woman.”
“So’s her son,” I said. “Anyway, the dog’s going to a good home.”
“Where’s that?”
“With the man who’s coming in to say hello to you. Ready?”
He gave me a nervous smile and nodded and then sat up in bed, smoothed the sheets over his thighs, and finally adjusted his sling.
I put my head outside the door of his room. Harry and Howard were chatting and turned to look at me when I whistled softly and beckoned Howard to come.
“Go do your thing, Howard,” I said outside the door, patting his shoulder, “but he’s fragile.”
“So are you, Clyde. Now stop being such a bloke and go cry in your man’s arms.”
I chuckled. “That’s the second thing I’ll do in his arms, but okay.”
“Mark Dioli, this is Howard Farrell,” I said, introducing them, and then closed the door behind me as I joined Harry in the corridor.
*****
“Vince wants you to call him at midday,” Harry said as I leaned next to him, my shoulder against the wall. I so desperately wanted to kiss him right then and there.
“Get a room, you two,” Warwick said, passing by us with a busy look on his face and holding a clipboard.
I gave him a two–finger salute, to which he grinned over his shoulder and wiggled his arse as he sped off down the corridor.
“Did he say what it was about?”
“The message came to Tom, who asked me to tell you that Vince is interviewing Mrs. Hancock this morning. She’s been screaming her head off about having had ‘her children’ taken away.”
“You know, Harry, after what I’ve been through the past few days, I wish we were back in the early days of my policing where you could slap people about and tell them to get a grip and toe the line, otherwise they’d end up sore and sorry.”
“I’m sure it still goes on.”
I sighed. “I think you’re right. When your mother and I arrived at the hospital in Lithgow, the children were desperate. Susan’s old enough to have realised what was going on, and she protected David by telling him that their parents had gone away on a ship to visit relatives and they’d be back soon. Can you imagine having that much presence of mind at her age?”
“But the Hancocks treated them well, you said?”
“Yes, too well. Spoiled them. I just feel dreadful about the whole thing. What abuse can do to people. When I think of
Mark, and Dennis Kemeny, and—”
“Shh!” he said, placing his finger on my lips.
“Sorry.”
“No need to be sorry, Clyde. Tell me what you want to do for the rest of the day.”
“First of all, it’s Saturday, but there’s a mountain of work to do. Tom’s ‘no case too big or too small’, has become a headache. There’s enough work already for three people.”
“I have an idea.”
“I saw you smile, so I guessed you did.”
“Your mate, Steve Davidovic.”
“What about him?”
“Listen, Clyde, I’ve had so many enquiries, I could do an adventure tour every weekend for the rest of the year. Ten to fifteen young people at a fiver each, that’s fifty to seventy–five quid every week, plus what I get for the abseiling lessons and the survival courses I hold on Wednesday nights. If, as you said, you’ve got enough work to keep three busy, why don’t we think of hiring Steve? You said you’d already tested the water with him and he didn’t seem averse to the idea. Tom is better spent looking after both of us, and doing his ‘find your Mrs. Forgetfuls’ cats’ jobs at fifteen shillings a pop on top of his weekly wage. Give Steve a call and find out whether he’s really interested, see how much he’s earning now and ask if he wants a change of career.”
“Are you sure?”
“No, Smith. I just decided on the moment to throw out some random idea; pulled it out of my arse just like that.”
I laughed very loudly. He was not given to spontaneity when it came to business, so I guessed he’d been thinking of it for a long while.
“All right, I’ll call him tomorrow.”
“What about today?”
“Today, after I’ve spoken to Vince, you, Tom, and me are going to Stones to see what Liesl and Gerd have on the menu and then, after that, you’re going to drag me home, get in the bath with me under the shower and hold me in your arms while I vomit out all the anger and fear I felt about nearly dying, and then we’re going to spend the rest of the afternoon making love.”
“We are?”
“We are.”
“Are you sure, Clyde? I’ve been very careful not to go too far with you after what Kemeny tried to do …”
“I’ve had worse than having my bits fondled against my wishes and a few attempted prods at my bum by some loser. Besides, Dennis Kemeny wasn’t going to rape me.”
“What makes you think that?”
“Because of his ritual. The oral sex bit. There’s no way, no matter what he threatened me or Mark with, he’d risk making me do that. He actually said to me that he normally gave his men a bit of tongue, but somehow, he thought I’d bite his off—he’d hardly trust his penis between my pearly whites.”
“He was deranged, Clyde—he still could have violated you, ritual or no ritual. Everything he did came from a warped place in his mind.”
“And what caused that? A whole lot of evil bastards who abused children and destroyed their ability to trust. Now, about your ‘unwanted advances’, Harry Jones. Those two words should never be linked one after the other when it comes to us.”
“Well, if you change your mind, we can just cuddle.”
“That’s what I thought of when he had the razor at my throat, you know.”
“What, cuddling?”
“They say your life flashes before your eyes just before you’re about to die. That didn’t happen to me. I was immensely sad and angry at the same time.”
“Why is that?”
“Because I couldn’t bear to leave you alone, Harry. The thought of you missing me was more distressing than my own possible death. But the thing that terrified me was that I might never hold you in my arms again.”
“Clyde …”
“Come on, let’s go. I’m famished—for food, and for you.”
“Clyde Smith, what did I ever do before I met you?”
“Wasted your life, that’s what, Harry Jones.”
I grabbed his arm and pulled him down the corridor towards the exit that led out into the car park and then pushed him into a recess near the door. I kissed him deeply.
“You know what, Clyde,” he said, coming up for air. “Maybe my life wasn’t wasted, but it sure was empty.”
“Yours and mine both, my love,” I said.
“You used that word, Clyde.”
“I promised you I’d only ever use it when it really counted. Remember?”
“I suppose this is one of those times, then.”
“I think it every day of my life since I realised it was true. I love you, Harry Jones.”
“And I love you too, Clyde Smith.”
The sun had never looked brighter nor the sky bluer as we walked out into the car park, heading towards Harry’s car. I glanced around, no one could see, so I took his hand in mine, squeezing it for a moment before letting it drop at his side.
“What was that sound?” he asked.
“My stomach. Now let’s get moving, Harry. Vince better not spend too much time on the phone, otherwise I’ll end up eating the receiver.”
Harry laughed and the sound of his laughter shone through my mind and my heart.
Oh, damn! It was good to be alive.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
EPILOGUE
Twelve days after Dennis Kemeny had killed himself, Harry and I sat in the waiting room of the doctor’s office. I’d insisted we arrive early so I could calm down, and he’d come to keep me company.
“Stop jiggling your leg, Clyde,” he said. “You’ll be fine.”
“Have you packed everything?”
He smiled and patted my knee. The receptionist threw us a kindly look. I was sure she’d seen plenty of nervous patients before.
“Yes, I haven’t forgotten anything, I promise you—” Harry said.
“I’m concerned about—”
“Tom will be fine, don’t worry. Steve already knows how to work the switchboard and there’s only one training course on Wednesday night. I ran through the exercises with him on the weekend and it was a breeze. There’ll always be someone at the desk in my office. Mother has put her hand up to relieve them if they both need to go out. Now will you stop worrying.”
“But your mother—”
“Could run the country given half the chance, Clyde. You told me yourself that most of the cases in the backlog were those that could be done either on the telephone or using Clarrie’s son as a gofer. Steve still has currency at central records, and Tom has a reader’s card for the city library. Everything is covered.”
I glanced nervously at the clock on the wall. It was ten minutes to the hour.
“We’re meeting Luka where again?”
Harry laughed. “I’ve never seen you so nervous, Mr. Nerves of Steel. There’s nothing to worry about. Luka will be waiting at Railway Square. He’s catching the tram into town and will be standing outside the signal tower. He’s looking forward to it, even if you aren’t.”
“I’m looking forward to it. Who wouldn’t? Ten days at Howard’s being spoiled rotten. It will be great to see how Mark is getting on, even though I’ve spoken to him nearly every day on the phone, and Augusto is due back with Howard’s new horses on Friday.”
“You won’t be sad to miss your Australia Day picnic at Parsley Bay this year?”
“We’ll go by ourselves when we get back, Harry. I fancy some underwater work at the shark net.”
He grinned. I’d never forgotten the sight of him, one arm threaded through the net, his swimmers over the elbow of the other, smiling at me as I swam underwater and into his arms. It was the day he’d said he couldn’t ever kiss me again, for if he did, he’d never be able to let me go.
I’d never been a romantic before I met him, except in the quietest times in the back of my mind. But since we’d got together, my tentative and awkward steps at showing affection had grown to unbridled passion and the deepest love imaginable.
On that day in the water, the seed of that passion had been plante
d, and here we were now, almost a year later, the tree of our lives spreading widely, covered in flowers and fruit and providing us both with everything either of us could ever need. This was my private thought, something I kept to myself. I doubted if I could even share such a sensitive thing with Harry—not yet, at least.
“Penny for your thoughts,” he said.
“Got any dirty pennies?” I replied.
“Funny, aren’t you, Smith.”
“I try, Harry. Actually I was thinking about Luka and Gălbenele.”
“How so?”
“Wondering why Dennis chose them.”
“Obviously to muddy the waters, to drive you crazy chasing after ghosts, Clyde.”
“But not all of them were ghosts, Harry, and the unexplained things Luka knew still keep me awake at night wondering.”
“Maybe one day you’ll just accept those things for what they are—questions for which there are no logical explanations. But I for one am grateful Dennis Kemeny’s madness made him seek them out, otherwise we’d never have met them. I think they’re both a very welcome addition to our little circle of friends.”
I was about to reply when something buzzed and a light came on over the door into the doctor’s office.
“Dr. De Natalis will see you now, Mr. Smith.”
“Good luck, Clyde.”
“See you on the other side, Harry.”
I didn’t care. I stood, picked up my hat and coat from the chair next to me, and bent down and kissed him.
“Buon giorno, Clyde,” the doctor said, holding her door open for me.
“Buon giorno, dottoressa.”
“Incominciamo?”
“Yes, let’s start,” I replied. “It’s time to get this show on the road.”
I glanced over my shoulder as I entered the room. Harry gave me a thumbs up.
“Now where shall we begin?” she said, once I’d taken a seat in an armchair. She sat opposite, a small table at her side.
“I don’t know,” I replied. “I’ve never been to a psychiatrist before.”
“Well, let’s play it by ear. You can talk in either English or Italian, some things might come easier in either language, so I’ll be led by you.”
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