Page 153 of Concealed in Death

“He killed twelve girls,” Eve interrupted. “He never mentioned it?”

Frustration ran over Gibbons’s face as he shook his head. “He talked of cleansing rites, of home, and never having to leave it. He no longer talks of going home as he believes this is his home. Through the sessions it became clear that if he were allowed to leave, he would attempt this cleansing again. He sees this as his mission. He sees himself as finally having a purpose, as he sees you and Nash have. To save the girls, to cleanse them, and bring them home.”

“Twelve of them,” Eve said.

“I suspected there might have been another attempt, but I could never reach him, never bring out what he’d done. I wasn’t able to get him to speak about why he had this mission, and the sexual elements of it. I can only tell you now that neither Nash nor I knew, rather than Nash finding him with the first before he could finish, he’d found Monty with the last.

“I could spend hours discussing his psyche with you, explaining my opinion on the whys, the hows, and how he’s concealed and suppressed what he’s done. But I can tell you he believes he did what was right and necessary, that his brother didn’t understand, didn’t trust him, didn’t believe in him so he was unable to do his work. It’s only been in the last few years that he’s been able to rebond with Nash to some extent.”

“His psyche is something for you and other shrinks to argue over. He killed twelve girls, attempted to kill another. Instead of being brought to justice, he’s lived here, in comfort, without consequences.”

“I wouldn’t agree about the consequences. We didn’t know about the murders. When he understood Monty was responsible, Nash came here, and told me everything.”

“You still didn’t contact the police.”

“We were about to when you arrived. Nash wanted to spend a little time with his brother before he, with me accompanying them, brought Monty back to New York and turned him over to you.”

Gibbons took Philadelphia’s hand again. “Nash was shattered when he came to me last night, Philly. Because he knew he’d have to give his brother to the police. The brother you both love, the brother he feels responsible for. And you’d have to know what Monty’s done.”

“I need to see them both.”

“I know. Monty’s nervous about going on a trip, about going back to New York. I’ve given him something for the anxiety. He won’t go to prison, Lieutenant. No doctor, no court will judge him legally sane. He’ll never be free, and he’ll never know what it is to have a life, to fall in love, have a family, a job, a real home. It’s not true justice, perhaps, but it’s consequences.”

“I need to see him.” Eve rose. “I need to speak to him.”

“Yes, you do.”

“Can’t I—”

“No, not now,” Eve said before Philadelphia could finish.

“It’s best to wait,” Gibbons assured her. “He’s already having difficultly adjusting to the idea of leaving here. But when the police are ready to take him, it will help if you’re there with him.”

“We’ll have that tea now, shall we?” Roarke suggested with a glance at Gibbons.

“Yes, good idea. I’ll arrange it. Lieutenant, I’ll take you to him.”

She waited until they were out of the room, going up another set of stairs. “In all these years, you never got him to admit to the murders.”

“It never occurred to me there had been murders. Lieutenant, he’s nonviolent, and as I said, passive. He spoke of girls, plural, but we assumed—and actually assumed correctly—that he saw them as a whole. The bad girls, the lost girls. He would save them. He’s delusional, and his upbringing—well, as I said, it would take hours to explain. You’re going to find he doesn’t see them as dead, but saved. He doesn’t understand he killed them. His mind is childlike. There is anger, but it’s diffused now. He has duties here, a routine, those who tend to him. He isn’t asked to do what he feels unable to do.”

He stopped in front of the door where Peabody stood.

“Will you permit me to remain, and Nash? He’d be less anxious.”

“We’ll try it that way. If you interfere, you’re out.”

With a nod, Gibbons opened the door.

Nash Jones rose immediately, all but launching out of the chair where he sat watching his brother slowly fold clothes into a small suitcase.

“Lieutenant, I—”

Gibbons shook his head. “Monty, you have some company.”

“I’m going on a trip.”

He looked like a child in a man’s body. His face, soft, going doughy, sat pale under a messy crop of sandy hair. His eyes had a dull, disengaged look to them.