by Sam Millar
‘Hello, David. My name is Karl Kane. I’m a private investigator, and I need some information.’
‘What kind of information, Mister Kane?’
‘I want to know if a murderer by the name of Walter Arnold has been released from prison.’
‘I’m sorry, we can’t give out that information to the general public.’
‘Walter Arnold. You’ve heard of him?’
‘I’m sorry, unless you’re the–’
‘Shut up and listen!’
‘Sir, I don’t care for the way you’re talking to–’
‘Walter Arnold murdered my mother.’
David went quiet for a few seconds. When he talked again, his voice was very low.
‘I’m…I’m very sorry to hear that, Mister Kane.’
‘I don’t want your sympathy, David, just information. Arnold also murdered two young girls, Ann Mullan and Leona Fredrick, both eight years of age. That was after he raped and brutalised them for two days. Then he cut them up for fun. Are you sorry to hear that also, David?’
‘I…I can’t help you, Mister Kane. Policy clearly states–’
‘Stuff your damn policy!’ Karl clicked off the mobile. Threw it onto the sofa.
‘What did he say, Karl?’
‘Nothing. The usual bullshit line about confidentiality. In all honesty, I shouldn’t have taken it out on him. He’s only doing his damn job. God, I’ve used that confidentiality bullshit too, when it suited.’
Naomi eased herself up from the sofa.
‘Let me get you another brandy.’
‘No, it’s okay. The moment has gone. I’m fine now. I’ve got to think. If I can just get some–’
He was interrupted by the loud bleat of his mobile. Reached over and grabbed it. Unfamiliar number. Answered it.
‘Hello?’
‘Mister Kane? David Brown. Look, I’m sorry about all that. I couldn’t talk to you on the work phone, because they monitor our calls, so I took a ten-minute break. It’s okay. This is my mobile.’
‘Thank you, David. Very much appreciated.’
‘According to records, Arnold was released over a year ago.’
‘A year ago…why the hell wasn’t I informed?’
‘I don’t know. That’s all I can tell you, from what’s in his file on the system.’
‘Has he an address? A halfway house? Anything?’
‘That’s higher-level information. I’m just part-time. I’m not privy to that sort of information. Sorry.’
‘Nothing to be sorry about, David. I appreciate you sticking your neck on the line.’
‘I’ve got to get back. You…you won’t say a thing about this conversation, will you? I’d get the boot, and probably end up in court into the bargain.’
‘If you knew me, David, you wouldn’t ask that. Rest assured, I never screw people who do me a good turn. If you’re ever in need of something, and I mean ever, you’ve now got my number. Okay?’
‘Okay. Take care – oh, and good luck.’
Karl clicked off the phone. Looked at Naomi.
‘It was Arnold. Had to be. The Parole Board bastards released him over a year ago. They were supposed to inform me of any decisions made about the scumbag. That was the deal in court, all those years ago.’
‘Don’t let them upset you. They’re not worth it, the incompetent clowns.’
‘I’m not upset, love. I’m angry. If Arnold thinks he can stalk me without consequences, he’s in for the shock of his scumbag life. And as for the Parole Board? They’re going to get both barrels rammed up their arse.’
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Seek not to know who said this or that, but take note of what has been said.
Thomas à Kempis, De Imitatione Christi
Early next morning, Karl strode through the doors of the Parole Board headquarters, calmly but with a storm-warning brewing in his eyes. Walking up to the empty counter, he spotted a middle-aged man at a desk working at a computer.
‘Excuse me, can you tell me who’s in charge?’ Karl called to him.
The man’s eyes went from keyboard to Karl. He wore a look of hostile disdain, as if looking at a newly released prisoner. After a few deliberate seconds, he got up from behind the computer and walked to the counter. On his shirt was a nametag: Peter McCabe.
‘Who’s asking?’
Karl pulled out a business card. Placed it on the counter. McCabe barely glanced at the card.
‘The name’s Karl Kane.’
‘Have you an appointment?’
‘No, Peter. I’m sorry, I don’t. But what I do have is a very good friend, sitting outside in my car. He happens to be a brilliant criminal lawyer, and he wants to know why you have released Walter Arnold, a notorious rapist and murderer of children.’
Peter looked as if he had just soiled his pants, and not with soil.
‘I…I…I’m not really in charge, per se. That…that would be Mister Hamilton.’
Karl pointed at a blue door.
‘For your sake, when I ask you where’s Mister Hamilton, you better say he’s behind that blue door with the Head Office sign on it. Where’s Mister Hamilton, Peter?’
Peter quickly did a Judas, pointing accusingly. ‘He’s behind that blue door with the Head Office sign on it.’
Karl double-stepped over to the door. Opened it without knocking. Entered, slamming the door loudly behind him.
In his late forties, shirt-and-tie man Hamilton sat at a large mahogany desk, feet naked, beheading lethal-looking dirty toenails with a pair of ancient nail-clippers. His face registered both confusion and shock at seeing Karl. He quickly removed socks and toenail shrapnel from the top of the desk, doing his best to hide the horrid filthy feet.
Karl walked up to the desk, brought his face close to Hamilton’s.
‘You’re Hamilton, I take it?’
‘Who…? What are you doing, walking in here unannounced? Who…who gave you permission?’
‘Julia Kane, Ann Mullan and Leona Fredrick, to name a few.’
‘What on Earth are you talking about?’
‘Why did you authorise the release of child murderer and rapist Walter Arnold?’
‘Who the hell are you?’
‘Karl Kane.’
‘Well, Mister Kane, I don’t know what this is all about, but I’ll give you two seconds to get out of my office and the building, otherwise I’ll call the police.’
Karl reached over and grabbed the phone’s receiver. Offered it to Hamilton.
‘Here you go. I need all the publicity I can get for tonight’s news. Arnold raped and murdered my mother, not that you give a damn, of course. So go ahead. Make the call. Let’s see what your bosses think when they see the public’s reaction to my arrest.’
Hamilton looked at the large hand strangling the receiver. Then up to Karl, who looked like he’d rather be strangling Hamilton.
‘I’m…I’m sorry, Mister Kane. I didn’t realise who you were, or your circumstances. What exactly is it you want?’
‘I want justice, Mister Hamilton. Can you give it to me?’
‘How?’
‘Why was I not informed of the scumbag’s release? It was a part of the court agreement.’
Hamilton gave life to his computer. The screen brightened. His fingers began dancing on the keyboard.
‘Here we are. According to this, your family was informed, last year, just before Arnold was due to be released.’
‘Bollocks! That’s a load of shite. Let me see where it says that.’
Hamilton swivelled the computer monitor, so that Karl could see the official letter from the Parole Board. Karl read the letter quickly, going to the name the letter had been sent to.
‘Fuck! I don’t believe this…’
‘I’m sorry, Mister Kane, but it’s all there in black and white. As you can see, we did comply with the court agreement,’ said a clearly relieved Mister Hamilton.
‘The letter was sent to my father, Cornelius.’
‘That’s right. Head of the family, as required by law.’
‘If you dickheads had done your homework, you’d have discovered that address is the address of a nursing home on the outskirts of the city. My father suffers from Alzheimer’s. How the hell would you have expected him to read, never mind understand, a complex letter like this?’
Hamilton remained silent.
‘Can you give me a copy?’
‘Certainly. Of course…’ Hamilton hit the ‘print’ button on the screen, and practically jumped out of his seat, running to the printer at the other end of the room.
Karl watched the printer tonguing the letter out. His stomach began heaving. He wanted to throw up.
‘I…I’m really sorry about this terrible mix-up, Mister Kane.’
‘You don’t get off that easy. Damn you all to Hell,’ Karl said with forced calmness, turning his back on Hamilton and walking out the door.
Chapter Thirty-Eight
You’re not the only one that had an unhappy childhood, there are millions like you, and, in my eyes, they are the tough ones, not you!
Louise (Janine Darcey), Rififi
‘Any mail addressed to my father, Elaine, how is it dealt with?’ Karl sat across from Elaine Trimble in her office. Elaine, in her forties and General Manager of the care home where Cornelius Kane resided, looked every bit the head nurse she had once been, a no-nonsense, kick-you-in-the-balls-if-you-mess-with-me-mister sort of woman.
‘In all his years living here, Cornelius has read all his own mail, Karl. That’s his right. Quite adamant when it comes to his privacy. He says it keeps “nosey bastards” like me from knowing his affairs.’ Elaine smiled. As did Karl.
‘What if an important letter arrives, one he may not fully comprehend? What happens then?’
‘Actually, we’ve been seeking legal advice on that very question for all our residents. We’ve had a few incidents that could have been avoided if we’d had permission to check certain residents’ mail. We could have saved them a lot of bother down the road. It’s very thin ice. Our residents’ dignity is our number one concern, and we have to be careful not to leave ourselves open to lawsuits concerning abuse of trust or invasion of privacy.’
‘Do you think Cornelius would have understood any correspondence he received, say, about a year or so ago?’
‘A year ago?’ Elaine paused to think back. ‘Most definitely. Even up to last month, he had no problems reading his mail.’
‘Last month…? How do you know?’
‘Because I remember the card you sent him on his birthday, with the cheque inside for almost two hundred pounds, and a letter. He was able to tell me everything you wrote, word for word.’
‘Does he talk to you much, or to any member of staff?’
‘Well, I like to do the rounds each time I’m on duty, see how the residents are doing. Cornelius, as you know yourself, is a man of very few words. He’s cordial, most of the time… but sometimes…well, he has his moods. I think he fears the Alzheimer’s. It’s making him angry, frustrating him. We’ve had numerous consultations with him, trying to ease his concerns, but it’s hard to say if he’s blocking out our advice.’
‘Would there be any particular staff member he gets on with better than others?’
‘Not that I’m aware of. He gets on fine with all the staff, when he’s in a good mood. Why do you ask?’
‘Just thinking, he may have confided certain things to them.’
‘What kind of things?’
‘Oh, nothing specific…’
‘I can ask around if you like?’
‘No, it’s okay.’ Karl stood to leave. ‘Thanks, Elaine. You’ve been a great help.’
‘Are you sure you don’t want some coffee before you go in to see Cornelius? You look tired. A caffeine boost might help.’
‘No, you’re okay. I’ll probably make some in his room for the both of us.’
Karl exited, following the snaking corridor all the way to the end, before making a left in the direction of the residents’ rooms.
At door 5B, Karl stopped, took a deep breath, rapped, and then entered the room without being invited to do so.
Cornelius Kane was standing, looking out the window. He was tall, but now a desiccated husk of a man, whose only flesh was prominent on the neck in small, saggy accordions of skin.
‘Okay, Dad? How’s things?’
A Radio Four play filled the room with mellow accents. Cornelius had yet to direct his attention towards Karl.
‘What’s the play?’ Karl asked, removing bars of chocolates and cigarettes from a grocery bag and spilling them on to the bare table. ‘Sounds like an Agatha Christie. The Mousetrap?’
Cornelius regarded Karl as if seeing a stranger, then set his eyes suspiciously on the goodies spread out across the table.
‘What’s the trick, Mister? What’re you selling? Whatever it is, I’m not buying.’
‘No tricks, Dad. I just thought you’d like some of your favourites.’
‘You don’t look like you’re from the Salvation Army, and you sure as hell don’t look like Santa Claus.’
Karl laughed. ‘You got that right, Dad. It’s me, Karl.’
‘Karl? Who the hell’s Karl?’
The question hit Karl hard, but he tried to disguise any emotion.
‘How’ve they been treating you?’
‘You a doctor?’
‘No.’
‘Then mind your own damn business, Mister. Hand me one of those bars of chocolate.’
Karl picked up one of the Mars bars from the table, and handed it over.
Cornelius studied the wrapper. ‘How did you know I only eat Mars bars?’
Karl smiled. ‘A guess.’
‘A damn good guess, if you ask me. Just who the hell are you?’
‘I’m your son. Karl. Don’t you remember, Dad?’
‘You’re sick. I’m not your da, and stop calling me it.’
‘Okay. Cornelius. How’s that?’
‘How the hell do you know my name? What’s your game? Are you after my money?’
‘No…Cornelius,’ Karl said, struggling to master his emotions. This giant of a man, once filled with humour and incisive intelligence, was now reduced to the bare bones of his former self, fumbling over rudimentary communications. ‘I need to ask you some questions.’
‘I knew it the minute you walked into the room, that crafty grin on your ugly gob! You’re from the tax people, aren’t you? Here to take more money from me. Well, I can tell you now, you’ll get none of my money. No, sir!’
Cornelius was becoming visibly agitated. He began to pace up and down the small room.
‘Please, Dad – Cornelius. Don’t upset yourself. I’m not here to take your money. Just to ask a few questions.’ Karl pulled an envelope from the inside of his coat. ‘This is a copy of a letter sent to you by the Parole Board over a year ago. Can you remember receiving the original letter?’
‘None of your damn business what I read and what I don’t.’
‘The letter concerns the release of Walter Arnold. You remember him, the monster who murdered your wife and left your son for dead?’
‘I don’t have a wife or son. Hand me those cigarettes.’
‘Not until you answer my questions.’
‘You cheeky bastard!’ Cornelius pushed Karl away from him, and made an attempt to grab the cigarettes from the table.
Karl gripped Cornelius’ hand, hating himself. ‘I want answers. Arnold murdered two little girls as well. Remember? Ann Mullin and Leona Fredrick. Both aged eight. Raped, then murdered.’
‘Give me my cigarettes, you bastard!’
Karl gripped the frail hand tighter. ‘Why didn’t you contact me, and tell me Arnold had been released? He’s been out a whole year. Do you realise what he might have done in that year?’
‘Bastard! Nurse! Help! Help!’
‘I’m not bloody leaving until I get an answer, so shout all you want. Why didn’
t you tell me?’
‘Nuuuuuuuurse!’
‘I know you weren’t at sea the night Mum was murdered. You were staying with Martha Johnson, your lover. Weren’t you?’
Cornelius looked as if a dagger had been jammed under his chin. He stood stock-still, in shock, before regaining his composure.
‘You…you murdered her, not me. Not me…’
‘Arnold murdered Mum. Not me. Not you. It wasn’t your fault. All this guilt. You’ve got to talk about it, Dad, before it–’
‘Get out of here! Get the hell ouuuuuuut!’
The door opened. Brian, a burly male nurse, ran towards Karl and Cornelius.
‘Cornelius! What on Earth’s going on?’
‘This bastard’s attacking me! Tried to steal my cigarettes and my Mars bars, because I didn’t let him have one.’
‘No one’s attacking you, Dad. Calm the hell down, and answer my question.’
Struggling, Brian finally managed to shoehorn himself between Karl and Cornelius.
‘Please, Mister Kane,’ Brian said, looking at Karl. ‘I’m sorry, but I must ask you to leave. Can’t you see you’re upsetting your father?’
‘What the hell are you blabbering about, you nitwit?’ Cornelius shouted. ‘I’m Mister Kane. Not that scallywag. And I’m not his father! I don’t even know him! Get the police. Have him arrested. He assaulted me!’
‘You can blame yourself all you want for Mum’s murder, Dad, all those years ago, but you can’t close yourself out from the present.’
‘Please, Mister Kane,’ Brian pleaded with Karl. ‘I don’t want to push the panic button and have you escorted out by other staff members.’
Karl shoved Brian out of the way. ‘Don’t worry, I’m leaving.’ He stopped and pointed a finger at Cornelius. ‘I’ll be back, Dad. One way or another, you’re going to answer the questions I should have asked a long time ago. I will get answers.’
Chapter Thirty-Nine
All you need is twenty seconds of insane courage and I promise you something great will come of it.
Benjamin Mee, We Bought a Zoo
Scarman pulled back the bolt to the girls’ room, opened the door and walked in. He stood, not saying a word, his breath steaming in clouds.
