Honorable Assassin (5 page)

The eight-year-old Terry Kingston was in a
frightful state. He had just come out of a coma 11 weeks earlier,
and his inexpressible joy at finding his mother alive imploded as
he witnessed the assassin blow the top of her head off. When they
found him under the stairs he was catatonic. He could not speak and
only gave the most rudimentary responses. The mental and emotional
shock to his formative brain had overloaded his circuits and his
conscious mind had retreated behind a wall, hiding from the world.
They put him in a hospital bed in the long-term care ward.

The Goulburn Community Health Center did not
have a parallel to Sherry Cherry, few places in the world did.
Their resident psychologist was reaching retirement age and while
she was a kindly woman, she was more used to working with rape
victims and wives abused by their husbands. The Health Center had a
very reputable rape crisis center, but they could do little for
catatonic children.

When Inspector Barlow got the news it
literally floored him. That is, he was sitting down in his chair
and the casters rolled back. He actually fell on the floor with the
telephone in his hand yelling about incompetence and witness
protection. Then he got the news about the Constable on guard at
the door, and he sobered considerably. He apologized for his
demeanor and demanded that they put two men on each of the rooms.
He also told them to expect him personally.

Barlow headed for Goulburn first thing the
following day, but there was little he could do when he got there.
Ginger Kingston was in an oxygen tent and heavily sedated. If his
condition worsened he would be put on a breathing apparatus, since
his left lung had been damaged badly. The Inspector could get
nothing out of Terry; he was still catatonic. The one thing the
Inspector found was the matchbook that was still jammed in the lock
of the Faithful Street side door. It was an advertisement for a
strip club in the Kings Cross area of Sydney. It was not much of a
clue but it was something. The killer had left no fingerprints,
though he had left the brass casings and the bullets that had ended
Marcia’s life and almost killed her brother-in-law. The inspector
turned over the matchbook to forensics but it had no fingerprints
on it except, oddly enough, Ginger Kingston’s. Ginger’s truck had
been towed to the impound lot.

While his uncle could not be moved, Terry
Kingston was deemed to be in better hands in the Sydney Hospital.
He had been treated there before, in what had to be called ‘a
related matter’. In what was a serious breach of protocol, Theodore
Barlow offered to transport him personally. He called Doctor Sherry
Cherry and told her not to leave work until he got there with his
charge. He told the Goulburn office to inform him as soon as Ginger
was capable of speaking. He called the Molong office and told them
of the shooting and asked if there was anyone who could watch the
farm for a short while. He exceeded his authority by telling them
that Ginger would pay somebody for the basic services of feeding
the chickens and watering the sheep, letting them in and out of the
paddock morning and night and feeding the dogs. He did not know if
there was anyone who would do that but he felt he needed to try.
Then he bundled his young charge into the unmarked police car and
drove him back to Sydney.

In the Saint Vincent’s Community Hospital,
Terry was given a private room with two constables posted at the
door. Inspector Barlow impressed upon them that there had already
been two members of this family killed and another in critical
condition with a gunshot wound. Then he told them a constable had
been shot to death guarding their charge’s mother and that the boy
was an eyewitness. It served to ensure that they were on the
job.

Terry did not respond that day, nor the
next. It was five o’clock, Thursday morning, January
21
^st
when he erupted from his self-imposed solitude and
woke screaming like a banshee. Doctor Cherry was not there yet but
she rushed to work as soon as she got the telephone call. One of
the interns had been charged with calling her if Terry woke during
the night shift. She did not bother showering or putting on her
makeup so she was quite a sight when she walked through the door
but Terry did not care. She was like a beacon to a drowning sailor.
His beloved mother and father were dead and he was sure Uncle
Ginger was going to die as well. Doctor Sherry Cherry was the
closest thing he had to family except for his mad aunt. When she
came through the door unwashed and disheveled he jumped from the
bed and threw his arms around her, not wanting to let go.

Sherry left to go home and get a shower and
some breakfast about nine o’clock. Terry was sad to see her go but
understood she needed to take care of herself. There would never be
a replacement for his mother but if anyone could do it, Sherry
Cherry could.

There was no need for sedatives. Terry went
to sleep after eating lunch but his dreams were horrific. He had
nightmares about being chased on land and on the water. At first he
could not see the monster that chased him.

He needed to be roused for dinner and ate
ravenously. The doctor visited him more as a formality than
anything else; there was nothing he could do. Terry’s problems were
psychological: his blood pressure was high, he was jumpy and he was
having nightmares.

Sherry visited with him after the evening
meal and he told her of his dreams. She was highly solicitous and
quick to tell him that it was not unusual for him to have
nightmares after all he had been through. She told him that
Theodore Barlow had brought him back to Sydney, which went a long
way in helping his relationship with the Inspector. She asked
questions about his memories and his dreams and embraced him
repeatedly. She was surprised that he did not cry when he was
describing his mother’s death. She could not have known that he
would not shed another tear for 30 years.

Inspector Barlow visited him the following
day and asked many of the same questions Doctor Cherry had. He
wanted to know everything about the man who had shot Marcia
Kingston. He was pleasantly surprised to find that Terry’s memory
of the day his father had been shot was returning. The only thing
Terry could not tell Inspector Barlow was the name of the boat that
had chased them.

On Saturday, Inspector Barlow brought
another man with him, a police sketch artist, who fabricated a
credible likeness of the man Terry had seen in the hospital room.
On Monday, February 14
^th
, the police got a very similar
sketch from Ginger, in Goulburn. An examination of the slugs from
the two weapons exonerated him of any charges in the double
homicide. If the killer had been using hollow points, the evidence
would still have been there since the constable did not use them,
but it would have been a dead issue since Ginger would no longer be
there.

The newspapers had already run the story of
Marcia Kingston’s murder. The reporters were on that like a cane
toad on a snail and were spotted for weeks, sneaking around,
looking for further tidbits.

As bold as he was, Bradley wanted nothing
more to do with the Goulburn Medical Center. His primary objective
had been accomplished and while he would have been much happier
seeing Ginger’s obituary, he was relatively sure that he could not
be identified. Truthfully, the boy bothered him more than the
adult; he had gotten a better look at his face. He finally made the
connection and realized that the boy was the same one that was on
the
Agamemnon
. He would have bet good money that the boy had
drowned that day. The police would have liked to keep the names out
of the news but it was impossible. Bradley knew his enemies’ names
and knew they could not stay under protection forever.

Bradley was drinking a pint of bitters when
he thought that the man he had shot knew he was in the room, and
knew why he was there. That meant the man had either seen him enter
or been in the hospital when he did. He had been cautious when he
slipped in and had not seen the pair, so they must have seen him
enter and came in behind him. A smile crossed his face as he went
to a pay phone and dialed a number. He knew a woman who worked in
the Roads and Traffic Authority. She was older and very
appreciative of a good meal and a roll in the hay. He would take
her out a couple of times first and then ask her to get him the
information he needed. Whoever this Ginger Kingston was, he was
sure to have a driver’s license and a registration. That would give
Bradley an address. It was all a cakewalk from there.

~~~

Chapter Three: Dead Man Walking

Terry had been forced to spend a couple of
weeks in the orphanage while Ginger continued to heal in Goulburn.
It was unpleasant but not cripplingly so. He had been depressed and
introspective, as could be imagined. He did discover that he was
not alone in his tragic world; many children lost their parents.
Most of the orphans had lost their parents to auto accidents.

Doctor Cherry visited Terry every third day,
trying to keep his spirits up. It worked to some extent. Inspector
Barlow also visited him once and asked a lot of questions that the
young boy could not answer. The questions were mostly about his
father’s affairs and protracted periods when George had gone away
on business. The elder Kingston had not made any of his additional
business known to his son and so the boy had no answers.

The day Ginger was released from the
hospital was a Monday, February 22
^nd
. The sun was hot
and the residents of Goulburn were trying to get things done before
the full midday sun roasted the streets.

The police took their charge to the impound
lot to get Ginger’s truck, but they were not authorized to provide
him with an escort any further than the county line. The Australian
Protective Services had only been created three years earlier
when 420 constables transferred over from the
Australian Federal Police. Nonetheless, when Ginger reached the
county line, they were on the job. Protective Services was
obviously paramilitary from their uniforms. They did not look like
anyone to be taken lightly. Their orders ended with returning
Ginger Kingston to his home, however. He was not going to get
long-standing protection. They were unhappy about it, but there was
nothing they could do when Ginger told them he was unable to drive
the entire trip that day. None of them complained loudly, after
all, they knew he had taken a .40 caliber slug in the chest and
they respected that.

Tuesday came and saw the arrival
at the Kingston farm of both residents, delivered separately by
Protective Services. Ginger arrived first and was greeted by two of
the local constables.

“It’s good to see you, mate. We
thought maybe you’d picked one too many fights this time.” The
shorter, brown-haired constable, Billy, had arrested Ginger several
times for fighting and public drunkenness.

“Billy, James, I don’t mean to be
rude but I suffered a serious setback and had to drive a long way.
I hope you’ll forgive me if I don’t offer you a pint.”

“Hah, we’re on duty, mate, can’t
be tippin’ it now. Anyway, you look like you been dragged halfway
here. You should probably get some rest.”

“I probably need to check the
farm.”

“No need for that. Jerry Cuthbert
and his boys been seein’ to it.”

At that point the Protective
Services team said their goodbyes and headed back toward
Orange.

“Dangerous looking blokes, eh?”
Ginger asked.

“Not if you’re on their side. As I
was saying, Jerry and his boys took care of the place while you
were gone. Me and Jimmy, here, we’ll be stoppin’ back from time to
time, just to see if you’re all right. You know they ran your name
in the paper, don’t you?”

“Yeah. That was right sharp of
‘em.”

“So you may be in more danger than
you know.”

“I can handle myself. Anybody
comes around here lookin’ for trouble, they’ll find it, by
God.”

“Right, then. If there’s anything
we can do…”

“There is. I need a dog. I need a
dog that hates everybody and everything and will wake up the dead
if anyone comes in the driveway. Is there any chance you can get me
one? I know there must be something in the pound that fits that
description.”

James laughed and pulled up his
sleeve. There was a pair of small bandages on his forearm. “I got
the perfect thing. One of them German dogs, Doberman. This thing
eats raw meat and anything else it can. They say they’re smart dogs
but this thing almost got popped. I was too afraid of blowing me
own arm off, so I didn’t shoot it, but that’s the only reason.
We’ll check it for you. It’s got all its shots but it’s just as
mean as… Crikey, Ginger, it’s as mean as you with a belly full of
booze.”

“Capital. Bring ‘im by soon as you
can. You know I got a boy here now. I need to protect him.”

“How you plan on keeping the dog
from eating the boy?” Billy was laughing.

“I’ll chain it to the porch with
tow chain.”

“I think this thing will tear the
porch off the house. You better be careful yourself.”

“I can take care of myself. Thank
you for stopping by and feel free to come around any time. Ah,
here’s Jerry and his boys. I’ll need to be thanking them.”

“Ah, right… We, ah… We told him
you’d pay him for his help.”

“No worries. Thank you again.
Jerry, how are you, mate? Come on over here and fill me in on it
all.” Ginger was moving toward the porch, he could not stand any
longer.

The Protective Services team that
brought Terry Kingston home had never seen a little boy as
interested in armaments as he was. He also seemed quite
knowledgeable, considering his age. He told them that he was
allowed to shoot targets and they asked why he was not hunting yet.
He explained that he had lived in the city most of his life and
just moved to the farm a little while back.