Torn Apart by Peter Corris Read Free Book Online Page B

Marrickville. The cops booked him in yesterday after he assaulted a woman at some event he’d tried to promote. Here’s the address.’
    He tore off the corner he’d written on and handed it to me. ‘A nutter. Could be your guy.’

You don’t just wander up to a psychiatric facility, ring the bell, and ask to speak to an inmate. In the old days, when I was on passable terms with some of the police, I could’ve found out who arrested Geary and possibly got access to him that way. Not anymore. My doctor, Ian Sangster, wears a number of hats. I made an appointment to see him in the morning.
    â€˜Hammond Psychiatric Unit in Marrickville, Ian,’ I said. ‘Know it?’
    â€˜I know of it. I don’t think you’re a candidate for it quite yet.’
    â€˜Very funny. I want to talk to someone there.’
    â€˜In connection with what?’
    â€˜What else? Patrick’s murder.’
    â€˜Let me make some phone calls.’
    Ian got back to me a few hours later saying that he’d spoken to a doctor at the unit who was willing to allow me a short interview with Geary that afternoon, with an emphasis on the short.
    â€˜Dr Galena Vronsky,’ Ian said. ‘A very good clinician. Could be your type, come to think of it.’
    â€˜What did she say about Geary?’
    â€˜Nothing much, just that he’s a violent paranoid schizophrenic resistant to medication. Have fun.’
    Dr Vronsky was a slim, dark woman in her thirties. She was classically beautiful with violet eyes and sculptured features. She wore the standard white coat over a crisp blue blouse and a dark skirt, medium-heeled shoes. She sat me down in her office and I told her why I wanted to see Geary. I left out certain details, although there was something compelling about her and it felt almost shameful not to tell her the whole truth.
    â€˜How would you propose to go about questioning him, Mr Hardy?’
    â€˜I don’t think I’ll have to do much. Patrick Malloy and I were almost identical physically. If he killed Patrick and sees me he’s bound to show some kind of reaction.’
    â€˜Possibly, but he’s a very disturbed individual, so much so that it could be very difficult to read his reaction.’
    â€˜Do you think what I’m suggesting could do him any harm?’
    She smiled and the temperature in the cold room seemed to lift. ‘I’m glad you asked that. Ian Sangster vouched for you and your stocks just went up with me. No, I don’t think so. He needs detoxing and medicating, and even then . . .’
    She got up. ‘Come on, and don’t forget I’m in control of this.’
    I followed her through a series of passages with rooms on both sides. Some were open and looked more like motel rooms than cells. The place was no bedlam, closer to a sedate rest home. We passed a recreation area where a couple of men were playing table tennis while others were bent over hands of cards. Dr Vronsky opened the door to a warm, glassed-in sunroom. Three men were sitting in armchairs staring out at an expanse of grass. An orderly in a tracksuit sat in a corner working on a crossword puzzle.
    Two of the men turned to look at us as we entered and one nodded a sort of greeting. The third man continued to look straight ahead. Like the others, he wore street clothes.
    â€˜This is Mr Geary,’ the doctor said. ‘You have a visitor, Mr Geary.’
    He turned slowly and slid his chair around on the polished floor to face me. His face was deeply lined, grey-skinned and slack. His sunken eyes were blank and uninterested. ‘Fuck off, shithead,’ he said. ‘You too, cunt.’
    His hands on the arms of the chair were trembling, but as soon as he’d spoken he swivelled around and resumed his former position. I followed Dr Vronsky from the room.
    She leaned against the wall, distress showing in her face. ‘He’s waiting to hear his voice. He