(Normie)
Our baby was sick that night, and he was so bad Mum had to rush him to the hospital! He could hardly breathe. She stayed overnight at the IWK — that’s the name of the children’s hospital, and we’re lucky it’s not very far from our house. Tom got me up on time for school, and made breakfast for us both. When I got to school, I saw Father Burke with two priests carrying suitcases. They sounded like him with even more of an accent in their voice, so they must have been from Ireland, and all three of them were laughing. I ruined it for them. I couldn’t help it. I blurted out that Dominic was in the hospital. Father Burke had a big smile on his face but it disappeared in one second, and he looked shocked. He told the visitors that he would get Michael — that’s Monsignor O’Flaherty — to show them around the church and school, because he had to leave. I went into my classroom then, and I figured he took off and went to the hospital. He really cares about the baby, and all of us. I told Mrs. Kavanagh in class about the baby, and she got the whole class to say a prayer for him.
And the praying worked, or maybe Dominic just got better enough to leave the hospital, because he was home when I got back from school in the afternoon. But he was still really sick, and stuff kept spewing out of his nose. He also had a little cough, which sounded cute, but you knew it was painful and he was upset. I kept wiping his nose, gently, with a Kleenex, and putting a cold face cloth on his forehead. There wasn’t much else we could do. So, after supper, Mum told me to go upstairs and write the story I was supposed to have passed in at school the day before. I went to my room and got my scribbler and pencil, and tried to figure out what kind of a story to write. It was supposed to be about a bird, but I didn’t feel like doing that, so I just kind of sat there. I’d rather write about a cat, or a little kid. Maybe a cat story with a bird in it, and the bird gets eaten early in the story and then I could write the rest of it about the kitty. I was just getting it figured out when I heard the doorbell, so I went to the front window to see who it was. Father Burke, with a bunch of books under his arm. He was probably on his way to teach a night class. I wanted to go to my listening post, but that made me feel guilty. About listening, and about not getting my story done after I promised Mum I would do it. So I trudged back to my room and got to work.
But then I couldn’t help it; I got curious, and crept out to the register to hear if there was anything new. They were talking about little things, and about getting together with Daddy for dinner later on in the week. I was just about to get back to work when I heard the name Giacomo. I didn’t understand everything they said but it was like this:
“He wants me to sign this, acknowledging that he’s Dominic’s father. Then we can work out an arrangement. The arrangement they have in mind is shared custody, six months with me, six months with him and his family in Italy. That can’t happen!”
“We won’t let it happen.”
“You don’t know his family.”
“Do you?”
“No, but I’ve certainly had an earful about them from Giacomo. He is their only son. Now they’ve found out about Dominic, who they believe is their grandson and the only one they have. They are a very powerful family in Panzano, in the Chianti region, and they have a winemaking business that has been passed down along the line of first-born sons for generations. You can be sure they’re determined. They’d be the ones bankrolling the lawyer and his upcoming trip to Nova Scotia. So here’s the document they want me to sign, acknowledging that Giacomo is the father. I’d rather get up before the judge and claim that all I can remember about the time of Dominic’s conception is that I was entertaining the entire NATO fleet!”
“I wouldn’t recommend that.”
“Why not?”
“Because you weren’t entertaining the fleet or any part of it.”
“How do you know?”
“You’re not a little tart —” (Little tart? That’s what he said!) “— and I wouldn’t like to see you stoop to portraying yourself as one.”
“All right, all right, Father. Thy will be done.”
“That’s the spirit. So, have you contacted your lawyer?”
“I’ve tried. I left a message, but she hasn’t returned my call yet.”
“Get someone else, then.”
“I don’t want anyone else. I want Val Tanner.”
“Surely there are other lawyers you can call upon.”
“Let me tell you a story, Brennan. A father goes into a restaurant with his little boy. He gives the boy three nickels to play with, to keep him occupied. Suddenly, the boy starts choking, turning blue in the face. The dad realizes the kid has swallowed the nickels, and he starts slapping him on the back. The boy coughs up two of the coins, but keeps choking. The father is panicking, calling for help. An attractive woman in a business suit is at a nearby table reading a newspaper and sipping a cup of coffee. She looks up, puts down her coffee, neatly folds her paper and places it on the table, gets up and makes her way, in no hurry, across the restaurant.
“Reaching the boy, she gently pulls down his pants, takes hold of his testicles —” (It was Mum telling this, not me!) “— and starts to squeeze, gently at first and then more firmly. After a few seconds of this, the boy has a violent convulsion and coughs up the last nickel, which the woman deftly catches in her free hand. She releases her grip on the boy, hands the nickel to the father and walks back to her seat without a word.
“The father rushes over, thanks her, and says: ‘I’ve never seen anything like that before. Are you a doctor?’
“‘No,’ she answers. ‘Divorce lawyer.’”
“That story is about . . .”
“Val Tanner.”
“I get it. So call her again.”
“I will. I don’t want to bug her at home.”
“Bug her at home. Just get her on the phone long enough to see if she’s going to take your case.”
I heard Mummy make a phone call, then say she was sorry and hoped the person would be feeling better soon.
“Oh, Val, no! There’s no need of that. I’ll find somebody. You get some rest. Well, if you’re sure, thank you very, very much.” Then she hung up.
“Val is off sick. If she says she’s sick, that means she’s flat on her back. But now she’s up worrying about this! Said she’s going to call someone else for me. Told me to stand by. Normie!”
Uh-oh. I got up and tiptoed into my room, then stomped out again. “Did you call me, Mum? I couldn’t really hear you.”
“Yes, sweetheart. How’s that story coming along?”
“Good.”
“Got it done?”
“Almost. Or kind of.”
“Do you have any other homework?”
“Not really.”
“Get it done, so you won’t be late going to bed!”
“Okay.”
So I went into my room and worked on the story. I made up a really sweet striped kitty who lived secretly in our backyard, and a really mean bird with dirty, raggedy feathers, who pecked at other birds and animals. My kitty ate him and spit him out, then went on to have all kinds of adventures. I was nearly done when the phone rang. Out I went to the spy post.
Mum was saying to the person on the phone: “Well! I knew Val was working above and beyond the call of duty, but I didn’t expect her to bring in the big, um — big kahuna, right! I’m sure you have enough on your plate without another legal dispute . . . I really appreciate it, as you can imagine. Yes, I have the agreement here. The baby is sick, so I won’t bring it over to you tonight, but . . . No! Don’t do that! Okay. See you in ten.”
She hung up, and said to Father Burke: “You’ll never guess who’s on his way over here.”
“My guess would be another bollocks-squeezing barrister, recommended by Val Tanner.”
“Not just a barrister. Val’s senior partner. Who is . . . Beau Delaney!”
“What? He’s still working?”
“Of course he is. Under the radar. Val called and told him about my panicked call to her, and he’s offered to handle it for me himself.”
“Well! Is he allowed to do this?”
“I don’t know what his arrangements are. You’d have to ask Monty. But don’t! Whatever the case, Beau wants to help behind the scenes.”
“Never a dull moment in this place.”
“I could use a dull moment. Anyway, I told him I couldn’t bring the document over to him tonight.”
“I could drop it off.”
“No need. As I say, he’s coming over. You can get going, Brennan. I know you have a class to teach.”
“I’ve got some time yet. I think I’ll stick around.”
“How come? You think Delaney’s going to toss me down the stairs?” She said it like a joke, but Father Burke didn’t make a joke back at her.
So Mr. Delaney came over to our house. I went down the stairs and saw him give Mummy a big hug, and she nearly disappeared. She’s not a little tiny person but he’s a lot bigger.
“Beau, you didn’t have to do this. I know there are other things on your mind these days, including, but not limited to, your own ten kids! This isn’t a breach of your bail conditions, is it?”
“No, they didn’t think to include my lawyer’s spouse on the list of forbidden contacts!”
He and Father Burke said hi to each other. Mr. Delaney saw me then and came over and put his hand on my curls, and said: “How are you this evening, Miss Normie?”
“Fine, thank you, Mr. Delaney.”
“Good. Jenny and Laurence really like the Four-Four Time program, so thanks for getting them into it.”
“You’re welcome. Is it true they made a movie about you?”
“It’s true, they did, but they wouldn’t let me star in it! Guess they figured I’d chew the scenery if I played myself.”
“That’s not very nice of them. You wouldn’t chew up all the scenery!”
“No, that just means I’d ham it up too much. And I would!”
“Still, that’s pretty cool.”
“Yeah, it was fun. So, where’s your baby brother?”
I blurted out: “Do you have to see him?” Then I realized I was rude because Mr. Delaney looked as if I’d said something mean. It was only for a second but I could tell his feelings were hurt. As if I thought he really was a killer. So I said: “He’s sick. I wouldn’t want you to catch something.”
“Oh, well, thank you, Normie. But don’t worry. I’ll make sure I don’t pick up any germs.”
“Okay. I’ll go get him.”
Dominic was asleep and there was crusty stuff around his nose, so I wiped it gently without waking him up. I lifted him from his crib and carried him out to meet Mr. Delaney.
“Isn’t he a sweet little fellow!” He reached out and took the baby from me. He held him in one arm and kept looking at him. Dominic seemed even tinier than usual, compared to this great big lawyer. He woke up and stared at Mr. Delaney for a few minutes, then fell back asleep. “All that black hair! And the dark, dark eyes. Definitely got a Mediterranean look going on there.”
“Whose side are you on, Beau?”
“Yours, Maura, never fear! I’ll have the judge convinced the child is a Swede before I’m finished.”
“Oh, God, please don’t talk about judges. We can’t let it go that far!”
“Don’t worry, my love, it won’t go that far.”
He looked over at Father Burke, then back at Mum, and said: “So, got any black-Irish relations we can trot out in front of the court? Old Grandpa Dominic-dubh, black Dominic, they called him back in the old country. That kind of thing?”
“Red- and brown-haired Scots is all I have.”
“Great-grandma has black eyes, Mum.”
“That’s all we need, old Morag involved in this.”
“Why do you say that?” he asked her.
“She’s my grandmother. She has the sight. Very spooky.”
“Hmm. Maybe we’ll bring her in to frighten the intruder away.”
“We’d better come up with another plan.”
“Oh, we will. Trust me.”
Mr. Delaney gave Dominic back to me, and said: “All right, let’s get to work.”
“Can I get you anything, Beau? Drink? Snack?”
“Nothing, thanks, Maura. Let’s have a seat and go over our options.”
Mummy turned to me and said: “Homework and bed, Normie, in that order. I’ll be up to tuck you in. Off you go.”
So I gave Dominic to her, said good night to them, and went upstairs. I grabbed my books and sat down at the register to listen. But they must have stayed in the living room because I couldn’t hear them. I finished my story instead, and then did a math page I had almost forgotten about, wrote down all the important events of the day in my diary, and then called Mummy to come up and tuck me in.
(Monty)
“Is there a Matthew anywhere in the Delaney files?” That was Maura, who called me at the office Friday morning.
“What do you mean?”
“Was there a client by that name, or a victim of one of his clients?”
“I don’t know. It’s a popular name. Why?”
“Normie was muttering that name over and over as she was falling asleep last night. She was in the den with me. I was watching the news and trying to get her up off the chesterfield and into her bed. She was bundled up in the quilt, her eyes were closing, and she kept saying: ‘Matthew. It’s Matthew.’ I tried to find out what she meant but she drifted off. I asked her the next morning who Matthew was. Was it the name of a boy at school or the brother of a friend?
“She said there are a couple of Matthews at school but she hardly knows them. Why was I asking? I told her she had said the name in her sleep. She just gave me a blank look. Didn’t remember a thing.”
“Well, it doesn’t strike a chord with me. Why did you think it had something to do with Delaney?”
My wife didn’t answer right away. Eventually, she said: “It’s just that she looked upset, fretful, when she was saying the name. She looked the way she does when she has the spells, or the nightmares, whatever they are.”
“I’ll look through my file. But I hope I don’t find anything because I won’t want to deal with it! Remember, Normie’s experiences may have nothing to do with Delaney. It may be something else altogether bothering Normie. Is there something else, Maura?”
Maura was silent again for a long moment, then said: “Giacomo’s been around.”
Him again.
“But I can deal with him,” she asserted.
“You can’t expect her to understand that. Kids take things to heart.”
“I realize that, Monty, but she’s seeing something else altogether. A child being mistreated. Giacomo may be a nuisance, but he’s not somebody who should be taken off the streets because he’s a danger to children. So I’ll consult those clippings again.”
“I hope you’re right.” She probably was. “And we can forget all about your Italian interlude.”
Big mistake. Her silence would be short-lived, and I knew I was in for it.
“Speaking of Italian interludes, Collins, it strikes me that you and Father Burke have been a little evasive on the subject of the road trip you boys took to Italy. Even the most benign questions are met by bland answers that convey very little by way of information, yet speak volumes to those of us who weren’t born yesterday. What did you do? Nothing, apparently. Who did you meet? Sister Kitty Curran and Father What’s-his-name at the Vatican, and Brother So-and-so at a monastery. Am I to believe you did nothing but consort with known nuns, priests, and monks when you were in the land of wine, women, and song, and thus maintained the decorum of nuns, priests, and monks yourselves? Would you care to answer that, Collins?”
Anything I said would be, well, evasive, so I evaded her questions by claiming the sudden appearance of a penniless widow who was being evicted from her apartment and needed my kind assistance.
“Get up and walk into the office next to yours, and you’ll find the guy evicting her.” A not entirely undeserved dig at Stratton Sommers, the corporate law firm that employed me. “I’ll speak to you later, Collins. Good day.”
She did speak to me later. She called and informed me that there was no reference to a Matthew in her news clippings about Delaney. That did not mean he had never had dealings with a Matthew. If his client was seventeen years old or under, his name would not be made public. Similarly if, say, a child was a victim of a sexual crime, the name would not be revealed. And, of course, the news clippings represented only a small sample of Beau Delaney’s cases over the years. Most cases never made the news.
As promised, I looked through all the material I had on Delaney. Chances were that, over a long career like Delaney’s, he would have had dealings with one or more Matthews but, if so, they were not noted in the papers I had.
So if the name Matthew was a clue to Normie’s problems, it was a clue that led us nowhere.
(Normie)
I was allowed to invite Kim over after school on Monday, so we skipped Four-Four Time, which is okay to do, and went to my house instead. When we got home, Father Burke was there in the living room reading a book. Kim gawked at him and didn’t know what to say.
“Afternoon, Kim. Normie.”
“Hi, Father,” I said, and nudged Kim with my elbow.
“Hi,” she said then.
“Your mum had to go out and she didn’t want to take the baby, so she asked me to stay with him. He’s still got a bit of a fever. She’ll be getting him some new medicine before she comes home.”
“You mean you’re babysitting, Father?” Kim said. “How do you know what to do?” Then she thought maybe she shouldn’t have said that, and her face turned pink.
“I’m an old hand, Kim. I have five brothers and sisters, you know. Four are younger than I am.”
“But not now,” she said. “They’re probably grown up by now, right?”
“They are. But I remember. I just gave him a cool bath, and he’s feeling better.”
Me and Kim went out to the kitchen, and I opened the fridge to see if we had any chocolate milk. There was juice. Beer. Cans of ginger ale! We hardly ever had that.
“Father, do you want . . .” Whoops. You’re supposed to say “would you like” and you never say “another.” These are manners I’ve been taught. “Would you like a can of ginger ale?”
“Sure, Normie. That would be grand.”
“Do I have to . . . would you like me to pour it in a glass, or is the can okay?”
“The can’s fine.” So I brought it to him. “Thanks, little one.”
I went back to the fridge and moved some stuff around, and found the chocolate milk. I poured a glass for me and one for Kim.
Kim still couldn’t believe it, about Father Burke. “He looks like someone normal, like somebody’s dad. How come he doesn’t have his priest uniform on?”
“Because he’s not at work, Kim. He always dresses like this when he comes over here. Or a lot of the times anyway.”
“He doesn’t seem as scary here as he does at school. He comes over here a lot?”
“Sure. He’s a friend of the family.”
She looked around to make sure he hadn’t crept up on us. “Do you think he changed the baby’s diaper?!”
“Probably.”
“No! Father Burke is always so clean!”
“Well, clean people have to change diapers, too, you know. And he gave Dominic a bath, so he would have washed his hands at the same time.”
The doorbell rang then, and I went to answer it. It was Mr. Delaney with a briefcase.
“Hi, Normie. Is your mum home?” I shook my head. “Oh, okay. Could you ask her to call me when she gets in? Are you here alone?”
“No.”
“Someone’s looking after you?”
“Father Burke’s here.”
By that time, Father Burke had come to the door too. “Afternoon, Beau.”
“Brennan! They’ve got you on babysitting detail, have they?”
“Just one of the many services I provide.” He lowered his voice then, and said: “She wants an adult here with the baby while all this is going on, in case Giacomo turns up. And the little fellow is still sick, so . . .”
“Right. Is he doing any better?”
“He is. Why don’t you step in? Herself won’t be long, I’m thinking.”
“Great. I will.”
“There’s beer in the fridge.”
“It’s kind of early in the day for me to be thinking of beer. Are you having one? Oh, you’re a ginger ale man, I see.”
“Well, not always, Beau. I tend to take a drop of whiskey or a pint of Guinness now and again. But these days, yes, I’m on the ginger ale.”
“Problem?”
“Not at all, though I have been wrongfully accused of being a bit of a heavy drinker. So, here’s the proof I’m not.”
I was back in the kitchen by then, and I found some cookies. They came from a bakery so they were good and not all burnt on the bottom.
“Mr. Delaney comes here too, Normie?” Kim asked.
“Not usually.”
“Oh.”
Dominic started to cry then. I didn’t want to leave the cookies, not that Kim would hog them all, but I wanted to just stay and eat cookies instead of maybe catching germs from a sick baby. Father Burke called out to say he’d get him. Must have read my mind.
I could hear the baby giggling when Father Burke carried him out to the living room.
“Well, you’ve got a cheerful little guy there, Brennan,” Mr. Delaney said. “He’s obviously glad to see you!”
“Mmm.”
“Handsome little devil. Dark hair, dark eyes. Bit like you, Father!”
Father Burke didn’t say anything.
Mr. Delaney asked: “He’s how old now?”
“He’ll be eight months old next week.”
“And where were you, Brennan Burke, on the night in question seventeen months ago?”
Father Burke didn’t answer.
“Let the record show that the witness is unresponsive. Father Burke, earlier in these proceedings you admitted that you have been accused — by someone — of heavy drinking, is that correct?”
“Have you no other way to amuse yourself, Mr. Delaney?”
“I’ll ask the questions here, Father. Have you ever, on any occasion, consumed so much Irish whiskey that you ‘blanked out,’ to use a layman’s term, and were unable to remember what you did whilst under the influence of said alcohol? Perhaps my question was too general. I’ll rephrase it. On a night seventeen months ago, is it possible that you . . .”
Then Mr. Delaney changed from his lawyer voice to a surprised voice. “You have thought about this, haven’t you, Brennan? You see this little dark-eyed, black-haired baby and you wonder if you got really blitzed one night, and you and Maura . . . I can see it in your face!”
“Will you get off of that?”
“You’re the solution to the problem! Tell it to the judge!”
“I think not.”
Kim said something and interrupted my listening. But I didn’t get what they meant anyway. Was Father Burke drinking whiskey seventeen months ago? He probably was, but so what? He’s never drunk; he just drinks, and not all the time. Never at the church or school. Obviously.
Then I heard Father Burke say: “Behave yourself, Delaney. Here she comes now.”
“Who?”
“The MacNeil.”
“I didn’t hear anything.”
“It’s her car.”
“You know the sound of her car?”
“I hear everything, Beau. I’m a musician. Every sound registers. It can be heaven; it can be hell.”
Mum came in then, and chased me and Kim outdoors to play. After Kim’s dad came to get her I peeked inside, and Mr. Delaney was gone. Mum and Father Burke were talking in the kitchen. I went into the back porch and stood there for a few minutes.
“I don’t like this, Maura. You know that.”
“I just don’t want the complication of Monty in this, Brennan.”
“How would Monty be a complication?”
“His feelings would be complicated, for one thing.”
“Oh?”
“He’d want what’s best for me and the children, on the one hand —”
“First and foremost, not just on the one hand.”
“But on the other hand, and quite understandably, he might —”
“If you’re going to suggest that Monty would want to see you lose your child to a man who lives on other side of the Atlantic Ocean, I don’t want to hear another word out of you.”
“I’m not saying he would consciously wish it, or even admit it to himself . . .”
“Go on out of that. You said his feelings were one thing. What’s the next thing?”
“I don’t want him getting involved in it, legally or personally. I don’t want him in a pissing match with Giacomo.”
“All of that seems preferable to deliberately keeping him in the dark about something so fundamental in your life, and in the lives of Normie and Tom.”
“Stop worrying about it, Brennan. Monty wouldn’t want to know. If I thought otherwise, I’d be the first to tell him. This wouldn’t contribute to his peace of mind.”
“Why should you make that decision on his behalf? I feel like a double agent helping you mislead him!”
“Look, Brennan. It’s not as if we’re deceiving him about the facts. He knows there’s a baby. He doesn’t think it was the Holy Spirit; ergo, there must have been a man. He knows there’s a guy called Giacomo.”
“I hear you, but that doesn’t change things. I don’t like it.”
I went into the kitchen then, and Father Burke left, and Mum asked me what I wanted for supper. I said spaghetti with pink sauce, so she made that for us. She didn’t look very happy. She may have been keeping secrets from Daddy, but she wasn’t thinking Nyah, nyah, nyah, I have a good secret from him! She really thought he would be upset if he heard all the bad news about Dominic and Giacomo so, really, she was being nice by keeping Daddy in the dark about it.
(Monty)
Beau Delaney laid much of the blame for the murder charge on Sergeant Chuck Morash of the Halifax Police Department. I called and spoke to Morash, and learned that he was a witness in a trial taking place in the Nova Scotia Supreme Court on Tuesday. I arranged to meet him for coffee at Perk’s on Lower Water Street in the morning before court got underway. He wasn’t there when I arrived, so I stood outside and watched the outline of a navy frigate making its way out of port in a dense, grey Halifax fog. The ship was barely visible, but then, it was almost impossible to see the city of Dartmouth across the harbour.
“Monty?”
I turned, and saw a short, powerfully built dark-haired man approaching me with his hand extended. I realized I had seen him around but we had never met.
“Sergeant Morash?”
“Chuck.”
We shook hands and went inside, where we ordered coffee and pastries, and sat down at a table.
“I guess I can figure out what you want to talk to me about,” Morash said. “They didn’t make me a sergeant for nothing!”
“You’re on to me, no question. Chuck, when you arrived at the Delaney house on the night of Peggy’s death, what made you think this was a murder and not an accident?”
“She was lying at the foot of the stairs exactly as she landed, in my estimation. Nobody had moved her.”
“And this told you what?”
“If I came home and found my wife lying at the bottom of the stairs and she wasn’t yet stiff with rigor mortis and I thought it was an accident, I’m pretty sure my first reaction would be to touch her, hold her, shake her, look underneath her . . . something! I’m not speaking as an investigator now, but as a husband. I wouldn’t just back off and leave her there, as if I had come upon — or created! — a crime scene. That’s what did it for me.”
Yes, I could see that. But I had no intention of saying so.
“You knew who Delaney was, of course.”
“Certainly.”
“Had you had any dealings with him before this?”
“Just the usual, giving evidence against his clients in court.”
“How did that go for you?”
“What do you mean?”
“Did Delaney tend to give you a grilling on the stand?”
“Sometimes, sure. Part of the job. His job to give it, my job to suck it up.”
“How did you do at sucking it up?”
“If you’re thinking I had it in for your client, Monty, you’re wrong. No cop, no witness, likes to have his competence and his credibility attacked in court but, as I say, it comes with the territory. I wouldn’t hold a grudge over something like that, and I certainly wouldn’t charge a man with murder because he had caused me some embarrassing moments on the witness stand! We can’t function like that as police officers.”
I took a bite of my cinnamon bun and a sip of coffee, and asked Morash: “What do you think of Delaney?”
His answer surprised me: “Needy.”
I had been expecting “good lawyer, too bad he’s on the wrong side” or “soft on crime” or “aggressive” or “relentless.” Anything but “needy.”
“Why do you say that?”
“He does a spectacular job for his clients. Nobody would dispute that. And I don’t question his dedication. But hasn’t it ever struck you that he needs the fame, the pats on the back, the adulation? That movie, well, that would go to anybody’s head. Especially with a title like Righteous Defender. I know I’d be cock of the walk if the Jack of Hearts had played me in a film. But I think he thrives on that sort of thing to, well, an inordinate degree.”
“Could it be that he attracts all that attention and fame because he is so good at what he does, and that you’re looking back and making an assumption that he needs it?”
“What drives him, though, Monty? What motivates him to take on this larger-than-life persona?”
“What’s your background, Chuck?” I couldn’t help but ask.
He laughed, and said: “I did my B.A. in psychology before joining the department, and I’m plugging away at my Masters at night.”
“Yet you didn’t use the term ‘self-esteem’ once in your little personality profile of my client!”
“Don’t even go there, on the subject of self-esteem and Beau Delaney!”
“You think he’s got it in spades?”
“No, as a matter of fact, I don’t.”
“Really!”
“I think he needs, and gets, a refill on a regular basis. I can’t quite imagine what he’d be like if he didn’t. This is a little thing, and you may laugh it off, but I’ll tell you anyway. When I went back to the Delaney house with a warrant, after we had laid the murder charge, I was in his bedroom and saw all these shoes in his closet, lined up on a rack. Not so many pairs of shoes that you looked askance at them, but you noticed them for sure. I looked at them, and do you know what I found?”
I shook my head.
“Shoe lifts.”
“Shoe lifts! The man is six and a half feet tall! They couldn’t have been Delaney’s shoes.”
“They were. They are. These lifts add maybe an inch, inch and a half, of height.”
Odd.
“What’s the significance of that?” I asked.
“You tell me,” he replied, and I felt as if I was on the analyst’s couch.
“I’d rather not speculate,” I said to him.
“Fair enough. I would speculate that he very much enjoys being the big man in town, physically and otherwise. I think it’s possible that someone like Delaney may feel the need to be the top gun, the expert, in any situation. It’s an impression I’ve formed over the years, seeing him in court or at official functions. I think maybe he’s the type who would need to lord it over others, including perhaps his wife, and he might have lashed out if she confronted him or disagreed with him.
“But no, Monty, none of this went into my decision to lay the charge. I based it on what I saw at the scene. A woman who apparently sustained a fatal skull fracture by falling down a set of stairs. Possible, sure, but how likely? And she fell backwards. If she had tripped, she would have fallen forward. She may have been able to use her arms to break her fall. And then there was Delaney’s demeanour at the house. All he told us was that he wasn’t there when it happened. He had come home from the Annapolis Valley just after twelve thirty. I found it curious that, well, he wasn’t more curious about what happened to Peggy, how she could have fallen like that, how such a fall could have been fatal. He didn’t wonder aloud whether somebody else had been with her. To me, Monty, it just didn’t add up. And the fact that he lied about what time he came home — Harold Gorman saw him outside the house before eleven o’clock — tipped the scales against him.”
To my dismay, I found his analysis compelling, and I did not look forward to trying to discredit him on the witness stand.
“I’ll tell you this, Monty. Within the Crown’s office, there was some unspoken but obvious resistance to taking this on, because it’s Delaney . . .”
“No doubt, given the thinness of the case against him.”
“But that soon changed to determination to take it on because it’s Delaney. Equal justice for rich and poor, that kind of thing.”
All I said was: “You don’t have a motive.” Not that he needed one.
Morash drained his coffee and put his cup on the table. “The motive may not have existed until the instant before she was killed.”
(Normie)
Wednesday was April Fool’s Day, and we had Elvis in our choir. He had thick, shiny black hair puffed up and pushed back, and a white jacket with shiny jewels on it. Father Burke looked at him, blinked, and looked again.
“Good of you to join us, Mr. Presley. You’ve been missing rehearsals. Where have you been?”
And Elvis answered in a deep voice: “I’ve been wherever there are true believers.”
Father laughed and said: “Would you honour us with something from your repertoire?”
And Elvis did this kind of dance move, and sang something about crying in the chapel, and everybody cracked up, including Father Burke.
Guess who Elvis really was? Richard Robertson! He begged us all not to tell his mother, or she’d kill him.
I drew a picture of Elvis in my diary. But the rest of the day wasn’t so funny. Father Burke was at our house when I got home from school, and he stayed with us until Mum got home. He didn’t say it, but I knew why he was there. He and Mum were scared that Giacomo might come and steal the baby if it was just me and Tommy babysitting! So Tommy took the bus to Lexie’s house, and Father Burke came to babysit. He checked on Dominic, and let him get down on the floor and crawl around, and he played with him for a while. Then he sat at the kitchen table and worked with a bunch of books and papers. Writing sermons maybe, or making notes for the courses he teaches. When Mum came in, she invited him to stay for supper, so he said yes and continued his work. I was at the dining room table, drawing a picture and colouring it. Father Burke looked over at me and smiled, and asked what I was drawing. It was a boat with a big yellow sail, and me steering it and Kim standing in the front with her yellow braids flying back in the wind. I told him I’d show it to him when it was all done.
Then Mr. Delaney arrived, and Mum answered the door.
“Evening, Beau.”
“Evening, my dear. I’ve received the latest missive from Giacomo’s counsel. There are some papers here in Italian. I understand you have a translator on hand.”
“Yes, I do. He’s right here.”
So that was another reason Father Burke was there. He knows Italian, so he would tell them what the papers meant.
“Hello, Brennan.”
“Beau. How are you?”
“Could be worse. Or so I keep telling myself. Have a look at this lengthy affidavit Giacomo and his lawyer have drawn up.”
Father Burke took the papers and started to read them. I could tell by the look on his face that he didn’t like what they said. He gave Mum a quick look and went back to the writing. Then he pushed the papers away.
“What’s the matter, Brennan?”
“I don’t want to be reading this, MacNeil.”
“Why not? What is it?”
“Let’s just say yer man Giacomo is a true romantic. He seems to remember, presumably with fondness, every time the two of you were together.”
I looked at Mum, and I saw her face turn pink. She grabbed the papers off the table, and scrunched them up in her hands and then just stood there as if she didn’t know what to do. She looked really upset. Giacomo must have been bragging about taking Mum out for romantic candlelight dinners, and sending her flowers. It ruins things if you do something nice for somebody and then brag about it. She looked around then, and caught me gawking in from the dining room table.
“Up to your room, young lady.”
I heard a bit more on my way up the stairs. Father Burke said: “You’re forever giving out to me about butting into your lives. Well, here’s where I butt out. I’ll help in every other way I can, but reading this personal blather by your boyfriend about you — I’m afraid not. Giacomo may not understand the words ‘personal’ and ‘private,’ but I do.”
“I’m sorry, Brennan. I had no idea the little weasel would stoop to this.”
“He’s just making his case,” Mr. Delaney said. “And it falls to us to unmake it. I’ll hire a translator for this bit of —” He said “herodica”? or “airotica”? or something like that.
Whatever they said from then on, I missed, because I went into my room, and didn’t dare go out to the listening post. I had to draw the parts of a flower for science class, and Mum knew about it. If I didn’t get it done, she would ask what I had been doing instead.
I worked on my flower, and used all kinds of colours in the picture. Then I heard somebody go out the front door. I looked out and saw that it was Mum. So I went downstairs.
“Where did Mum go, Father?”
“She’s gone to Lexie’s to get Tom.”
“Oh. Tom’s been bugging Mum to let him buy his own car. He saw one in the paper for eight hundred dollars. And another one for three thousand.”
“Well, he’d best hire a mechanic to give it a once-over.”
“Yeah, I know. Nobody in our family knows anything about cars if something goes wrong.”
“Tell me about it,” Mr. Delaney said. “Peggy knew more about cars than I ever did. Now I’m hopeless.”
“Tommy promised to learn,” I told them.
Then I thought about something else. When Mr. Delaney said Peggy’s name, that reminded me of how sad he must have been that she died. And how lonesome Jenny and Laurence and all the other kids were. And I remembered how worried Jenny was about their mum maybe committing a sin by yelling out “Hells Angels” and maybe not going to heaven. Mr. Delaney must have been worried about that, too, if Jenny had told him. I remembered Father Burke saying she wouldn’t get in trouble if she talked about it with her dad. I decided to make him feel better. I wouldn’t have the nerve to mention it if it was just me, but Father Burke was there and he could explain it.
“Well, I should get back upstairs and finish studying my catechism for school tomorrow.” It wasn’t really a lie, just because I was working on science. I still had to finish (and start) my catechism.
“Splendid,” Mr. Delaney said. “What a dedicated crop of students you have at the choir school, Father Burke!”
“Thank you, Mr. Delaney. We do our best. If only the adult students at my schola were as dedicated.”
“Yeah,” I said, “I was reading about sins and stuff like that.”
“Oh, I don’t imagine you have too much to worry about there. Wouldn’t you say, Father?”
“I’d like to agree with you, Mr. Delaney, but in fact she’s a little divil entirely!”
“Is she? Appearances are deceiving! I would have thought she was one of God’s holy angels.”
I had to bring it up then or I’d never get it in! So I blurted out: “It’s not a sin to say ‘Hells Angels,’ Mr. Delaney!”
He looked confused. “What do you mean, dear?”
“Jenny told me about Mrs. Delaney yelling ‘Hells Angels’ . . . one night . . . so we asked Father Burke and he said that wouldn’t be a sin!”
Oh my God! Mr. Delaney looked at me as if he was watching a horror movie. As if I really was a devil! But I’m not! I just wanted to help. I was scared of him. Then he looked at Father Burke, and the expression on his face changed to being really mad.
But his voice was so quiet, he almost hissed when he said to Father: “What’s this all about, Brennan?”
“Take it easy now, Beau. Your little one apparently overheard something her mother said one night at the house. The children had been learning about sin and redemption in catechism class, and that’s how it came up. Jenny mentioned it to Normie, and they asked me. I reassured them. They never brought it up again.” Father Burke put his arm around my shoulder and pulled me close to him.
Mr. Delaney said: “Jenny must have been having a nightmare. She has them regularly. I can’t imagine my wife saying . . . anything about bikers. But I wouldn’t know.”
“Don’t be troubling yourself about it, Beau. The children had the best intentions in the world. No need to upset Jenny by bringing it up with her now.”
But Mr. Delaney didn’t say okay. He seemed to be thinking about it, and forgetting we were in the room. He grabbed the papers he’d brought with him, turned around, and left without saying another word.
I started crying, and Father Burke pulled me onto his knee and held me. I could hardly talk, but I tried to say: “I don’t want to get Jenny in trouble!” I was glad I didn’t tell them the Hells Angels thing happened just before Mrs. Delaney died. That would make it even more serious, and Mr. Delaney might be even more angry.
“Don’t you worry about a thing, darlin’,” Father Burke said. “You were just trying to help, and Mr. Delaney will understand that once he thinks about it. If Jenny says anything, you come to me, just by yourself, and I’ll take care of it for you.”
“Really?”
“I promise.”
“Are you going to tell Daddy that I got Mr. Delaney mad at me?”
He looked at me for a long time, as if he had to think about it. Then he said: “Don’t worry, little one, your sinful secrets are safe with me!”
Then I kind of laughed.
That’s when Mummy and Tom came in. “What’s wrong, Normie?” She looked at me and then at Father Burke. “Were you down here listening to grown-up talk and getting yourself all upset?”
“I wasn’t! I just told . . .” Uh-oh.
But Father Burke rescued me again. “I just explained to Normie that she has nothing to worry about at all, at all. She understands.”