Death Delights (36 page)

The big old texts seemed darker and heavier now, crammed into their shelves, thickening the atmosphere of the library. The long table that ran down the centre was covered in dust, except for one large hand print at the far end. I walked over to it and without touching it, placed my own hand over it. It revealed a hand a good deal bigger than mine. Iona Seymour was a strong tall woman. Julian could be of considerable size now. Suddenly spooked, I swung around, but there was nothing behind me, just the two doors opening out onto the dark corridor and the aged books lining the walls on each side of me. I went over to the small cave-like annexe that housed the narrow bed and the fridge, noticing the toiletries on top, a toothbrush and paste, some soap in a container. With the toe of my shoe hooked under the bottom of the door, I opened the fridge. The packets were undisturbed, sitting together as before, frosty red meat under stretched plastic wrap. I squatted and opened the horizontal door of the small freezer compartment.

It was almost filled up by four plastic take-away food trays. I juggled one out. It bore a label with the date 14.11.99 on its lid. There it was again, the sickening, impossible connection to my sister Rosie’s birthday and the day Warren Gumley had died. A shiver went right through me, despite the warm summer night. I pulled out the one next to it, dated 17.11.99. Nesbitt’s death day. I pulled out the other two containers. Only one of them was dated, and it was the date of the Centennial Park murder. I realised that there they all were, Gumley, Nesbitt, and Carmody, yet Kapit’s relics had no date on them. I lay the containers on the floor in front of me. My blood ran cold and it wasn’t because of the slight chill falling from the small fridge. That fourth container was supposed to be me and I shuddered as I picked it up. I couldn’t readily discern what was inside it, because of the frosted nature of the plastic, but I didn’t have to open it to know what it contained.

I rang Bob and told him where I was.

‘I was just about to ring you,’ Bob said. And what he went on to tell me momentarily distracted me from the plastic containers. ‘A woman called Pam Dobronski phoned someone she knows here, and there’s a message for you to call her.’

Pam, I thought, as I pulled out my notepad. Maybe she
does
know something about Greg. A thrill of hope quickened inside me and I remembered the way Jass had opened her eyes to look straight past me and smile, and how the soft name had wafted from her mouth like the barest breeze.

‘I’ll call her straightaway,’ I told him. Greg, I told my son, I’m right on after you, I promise.

I came back to the matter in hand. ‘Bob,’ I said, ‘send some people to search and secure 293 Reiby Street, Annandale. Julian Bower, brother of Iona Seymour, née Bower, and son of the Reverend Bower, past incumbent of the Anglican rectory at Springbrook, is someone you must pull in if you can find him. Julian Bower would be a couple of years older than me,’ I told Bob. ‘His year of birth should be around the late ’fifties.’ And I told him how I was thinking. ‘I have a letter here in the “Rosie” handwriting addressed to his sister.’

‘And Jane’s got a DNA result.’

‘She faxed me a copy, too.’

‘So we know now that the mutilator murderer is a male,’ said Bob.

I stared at the four plastic containers lying on the floor in front of the fridge with Bob’s words in my ear. Though they’d frosted up even more since being removed from their freezing environment, I could just discern the darker shapes within. I switched the phone to my left hand and prised the lid of the first one open with my right. A slight sound from somewhere startled me and I turned round again, looking out and down the corridor behind me. ‘Hold on, Bob,’ I said. I walked to the grille door and gently closed it, looking down the hall. There was nothing there. The closed grille gate, even without the key, offered some sort of delaying device between me and anyone who might suddenly arrive. I replaced the lid, but not before I’d noted the shrivelled worm of dried meat and two round organs that lay frozen to the bottom of the container. ‘Yes,’ I agreed, ‘he’s male. And I’ve just found his trophy room.’

I replaced the containers exactly as I’d found them and closed the door of the freezer. I palmed the toothbrush into my pocket and left the library. Despite the late sunlight lying on the floors, it was hard not to get spooked as I made my way down the stairs, past the monkey painting and into the hallway outside the parlour. It didn’t give me a comfortable feeling to see the empty plastic take-away container sitting right next to my photograph on the table and I felt very glad that soon this place would be bustling with police activity. I hurried back to my car, aware that my fingertips were icy cold. Even the killer’s hideous handiwork couldn’t eclipse the fear in my mind for the safety of my son.

I couriered the toothbrush to Jane, asking her to fax the result to Florence at the Institute in Canberra. She said she would rush it through for me. A little while later found me at the brothel in Albion Street and after I’d convinced the lass in leopardskin that there was really nothing she could do for me, Pam Dobronski came into the room. ‘You’re a helluva lucky fellow,’ she said, as she plonked herself down in a chair opposite me. ‘I hate cops. But I got thinking after you left. If my Brettie hadn’t got in with the wrong lot, he might’ve had a chance and not be serving seven years now. But his mongrel bastard of a father dragged him down.’ She turned and yelled out the door. ‘Vicky? Bring in a couple of stubbies, will ya, darl?’

I shook my head. ‘Not for me.’

Mrs Dobronski looked at me as if I had a disease as the leopardskin stepped in with two small bottles of beer. ‘Can’t trust a man who doesn’t drink,’ she said.

I remembered a time when I’d thought exactly the same.

‘So,’ I said, ‘what can you tell me, Pam?’

‘Seeing as how he’s dead now,’ she said, ‘he can’t do anything about it.’

‘About what?’

‘Terrible way to die, but,’ she leered. ‘Wouldn’t do much for your sex life.’ Pam found her remark very funny. ‘So there’s no damage done if I tell you that John Kapit was the bloke I collected the rent for, for that unlicensed place—the House of Bondage.’

Bob met me in a squad car and we drove to the House of Bondage, 42 Marian Street, speeding through the evening traffic. I was glad he was driving because my mouth was dry with fear of what I might find, or what I mightn’t find, and my hands were trembling even though I had them gripped together.

As I walked in a woman, naked except for garter belt and boots and armed with a huge green dildo, screamed at me, but Bob pushed past with his warrant and we were inside without further opposition. We raced past the bathroom and the memory of little Renee haunted me so that I almost saw her jumping up off the toilet with her black lace pants around her ankles. Now she was dead, and I feared for my son. ‘There’s a real dungeon here,’ she’d said, ‘the original cellar… I could chain you up down there and do what I liked with you. No one would hear you.’ I repeated her words to Bob and we found the staircase and pounded down to the lower level. We kicked open another bathroom, a bedroom and at the end of the small hallway, behind the stairs, we came up against a locked door. I bashed at it with everything I had. Bob joined me and together we kicked and kicked until the hinges gave with a wrench.

‘Greg?’ I called into the darkness. The slice of light from Bob’s torch cut through the musty air to the sandstone wall where manacles and chains lay in a heap on the earthen ground to reveal my son crouched blinking in a corner. Near him was the black and yellow gym bag containing two hundred and thirty-three thousand dollars that I’d left on a dusty table in a derelict house in Newtown.

‘Dad?’ His voice was croaky and I ran to him, trying to pull the manacles off with my bare fingers. I vowed to myself I would never scold him about his crop circles again. I could hear Bob upstairs roaring for keys as I took my shivering son in my arms.

‘It’s okay,’ I whispered as he sobbed against me. ‘It’s okay. It’s all over. I’m here.’

I took Greg to Genevieve’s and left them together. Then I gave Bob a lift back to work on my way to the hospital. I don’t know what mother and son were talking about, but I wouldn’t have liked to be Genevieve, I was thinking. Kapit had tricked Greg into his car by saying that his mother was in hospital and he would drive him straight to her. In my pocket was the sealed envelope I’d taken from the table at Iona’s place and in the boot was the accounts book and the gym bag stacked with money.

‘I almost feel sorry for Genevieve,’ I said to Bob. The traffic was horrendous and every light seemed to be waiting to turn red at our approach but I felt incredibly light. I couldn’t imagine ever having a problem again. I wanted to laugh, except when I thought about Jass, there was nothing to laugh about.

‘You’re going to have to start what the Americans call “dating” again,’ said Bob, glancing at me. To shut him up, I reminded him of his own experience with a singles advertisement, where the only woman who’d sounded half-interesting had turned out to be his ex-wife, Sheila. As we waited at another red light my friend turned to me again.

‘Jack, what the hell are you going to do about the money?’

I considered as I took off. ‘I don’t know,’ I said. ‘Do what you suggested. Put it away. Sit tight. Think it over.’

I was aware of Bob staring at me and glanced over at him. He was grinning like an idiot.

‘I don’t think you realise what a lucky bastard you are,’ he said.

Now I was grinning as well, so hard I could barely talk. ‘I do, I do,’ I said. ‘Two hundred grand plus, four frozen dicks and the return of my son. All in one day. That’s what I call good policing.’

I didn’t think it could get any better until the hospital called.

•

After I’d dropped Bob off, I drove to St Vincent’s. I didn’t know how I was feeling. Confused, joyful, anxious, apprehensive. I found it hard to wait for the lift and instead raced up the stairs. When I got to the room, I saw that a young doctor and the nurse I’d spoken with before were both with my daughter. Jacinta’s face was lit by the brilliance of her eyes as she turned to smile at me.

‘Dad?’ she whispered, and I was there, half-sitting, half-kneeling on the bed beside her, her hand in mine.

‘Jass,’ I said, ‘you’ve come back.’

‘Yes,’ she whispered, still with the same slight smile, ‘I’ve come back.’

‘Where were you?’

‘Some other place. Places.’ She closed her eyes and shivered. The doctor went to the chart at the foot of the bed, made her annotation and said goodnight. ‘Some of them weren’t good places,’ Jacinta whispered. I grabbed her and hugged her, feeling the bones of her ribs and shoulders. She was painfully thin but there was colour in her face and life in her eyes and I thought I’d start crying. I wasn’t sure whether I could trust myself to speak for a moment.

‘You’re safe now,’ I said finally. ‘You got yourself home.’

At this my daughter’s eyes flew open. She shook her head on the pillow. ‘Uh-uh,’ she muttered, ‘something did.’

I tightened my hold on her hand. ‘I was so lost,’ said my daughter and a tear rolled from her eye and sank into the linen of the pillowcase. She tried to get out of bed but sank back. ‘How long have I been here?’

‘Eleven days,’ I said. ‘I found you at Renee’s place, passed out.’

‘Dad,’ she whispered, as I held her and looked into her eyes, ‘there was something in my bag at the flat…’ Her face was severe with concern.

‘It’s safe,’ I said. ‘You get well. We can sort that out later.’

‘But he’ll come after me—’ she started to say.

‘No he won’t,’ I said to her. ‘He can’t come after anybody any more.’

Her whole body softened with relief and I realised then how much fear she’d been carrying in that thin little body.

‘I’m glad,’ she said. ‘What happened?’

‘He ran into someone and had an accident,’ I said. ‘He’s dead.’ It was almost true. Time enough later to tell her that Kapit had died at my place. I wondered if Charlie would make something of that: the man who’d taken my place in my wife’s bed now taking my place in the bed from which there is no awakening.

‘He offered me a place to stay,’ Jass was saying, ‘and then he gave me heroin. Then he started working on me.’

I lowered my head. This was one aspect of my daughter’s life that I didn’t want to think about.

‘Jass,’ I said, ‘you don’t have to tell me these sorts of things—’

‘What sorts of things?’ she demanded, and I remembered her old, sharp, difficult ways and how hard it had been for me to get on with her and how much easier it had been to drive to Canberra every week. I saw her face drop as she comprehended my implication. ‘You don’t think I had sex with bloody John Kapit?’ Jass was saying. ‘How
could
you? He’s an
old man!’

I laughed with relief and because Kapit was younger than me.

‘I’m an old man, too, Jass,’ I said. ‘And they say you can’t teach old dogs new tricks. But I want to be a good father. I want you to tell me what you need from me.’

Jass threw her arms around me and I was surprised at the strength in her skinny arms.

‘How’s Reg?’ she asked. ‘Still trying to flatten his curls?’ I nodded. There’d be time enough to tell her what had happened to her brother. Jacinta smiled then, her old smile, and her thin face softened.

‘I’ve been such a fuckwit,’ she said, looking at the healing tracks on her arm. ‘I feel I’ve been given another chance to really do something with my life. I don’t want to muck everything up again. I was booked into a rehab in Queensland. I took that money to help with my recovery. I was going to give some of it to the rehab house. It seemed the right thing to do with dirty dealer’s money.’ There was a long pause. ‘How’s Mum?’

I’d been waiting for this. ‘Your mother and I—,’ I started to say and then looked up because Genevieve appeared as if conjured by her name. She hurried over to Jacinta and threw her arms around her.

‘Darling, it’s wonderful that you’re with us again.’ She straightened up and gave me a curt nod. ‘I’ve been here every day,’ she said, ‘waiting for you to wake up. Waiting to take you home with me where you belong.’

‘Home?’ said Jacinta and I could hear the alarm in her voice. ‘I don’t think so. I don’t think I could live at home again.’

My mobile rang and I went to the window with it. The voice on the other end of the line still had the power to make my chest tingle. ‘Jack?’ she said. ‘It’s me, Iona.’

‘Yes,’ I said. ‘I’ve been waiting to hear from you.’

‘I’m staying with a friend,’ she said. Again I felt the absurd jealousy surge up in me. In all that had happened over the last couple of days, I’d forgotten Iona’s wretched friend.

‘At Glebe. He says I must talk to you.’

‘He
says?’ Now jealousy mixed with confusion. I wanted to know who this damned friend of hers was.

‘He’s very wise,’ she was saying. ‘I have a feeling you’d like him.’ I was about to say, what on earth makes you say that, when she continued. ‘Michael’s a Franciscan priest. He’s been very good to me.’ I wrote down the address she gave me. I still didn’t know what to make of all this.

‘I have something for you,’ I said. ‘I’ll bring it with me.’

‘Maybe I could live with Dad, then,’ said my daughter and from that I understood that Genevieve had filled her in on the changes that had occurred in Jacinta’s absence. I glanced at my estranged wife, automatically bracing myself. Genevieve looked as if she’d been struck in the face. However, she didn’t go into one of her more creative displays as I would have expected. Instead, she rose slowly from the chair she’d been sitting in, leaned over Jacinta, kissed her and came over to me. I could see she was shaking all over.

‘Jack,’ she whispered ‘I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.’ I could see the sobs she was trying to suppress and I felt for her. ‘I didn’t know about him. I don’t know what to do. No one told me about him. How was I to know?’ I put my hand on her arm.

‘Take it easy, Gen,’ I said. ‘I’m in the same boat.’ If I’d been a bigger man than I am, I’d have taken her in my arms and comforted her, but some things are just not possible, so I took my leave of our daughter and my wife, and drove to the address in Glebe.

•

It was a wide street some blocks away from Glebe Point Road, where the roots of old fig trees wove like snakes under and through the tar of the footpath and parts of the road while their canopies made a green roof overhead. Fig birds pinged to each other, and figgy debris littered the roofs of parked cars. I walked up the neat stone path to the little terrace house and rang the bell. I could see a figure through the ruby and blue glass front door panel and it was hers. She stepped back to allow me inside and I followed her down the hall to an open area where sunlight streamed in and a man stood up with his hand outstretched to greet me.

Michael was about my age, with soft pale hair and a guarded smile. We shook hands and I sat down opposite Iona, while Michael disappeared to make coffee.

‘I owe you some explanation,’ she said in that throbbing voice, pushing her hair behind her ears. ‘I’ve told Michael everything so we can speak quite frankly.’ Her deep-set eyes flickered a smile. I noticed she’d put fresh lipstick on.

‘This was the man you were referring to?’ I asked. ‘The person who’d suggested you go to the meetings?’

Iona nodded. ‘My situation was very like that of an addict’s partner or mother,’ she said. ‘Michael recognised the similarities. The meetings were very helpful even though I always found it painful to talk.’ Her face darkened and the frown on her forehead made her haggard and plain.

‘Tell me what you might have said,’ I asked her, still angry and hurt, yet at the same time touched by her suffering. Michael came back with the coffee and a pale rose herbal tea in a glass for Iona.

‘Some of this you will have guessed already,’ she said, ‘and some of it will have only come to you because of your involvement in the investigation of those terrible murders.’ I remembered the prayer in my pocket and wondered if I’d ever have the courage to confess how I had followed her and purloined it.

‘My brother Julian is… was, I suppose you could say, my responsibility. He was always different from other kids and we all knew that. But I loved him nevertheless. In fact, I probably loved him more because of his disabilities.’