by Anne Emery
“Monty! Are you in here?”
Burke! The last person in the world I wanted to see. Or the second last. Though maybe they were on the same level. Why was I thinking that? The way they danced together in Cape Breton? And the look on his face at the table . . .
“What are you doing here?”
“You really shouldn’t leave that key out. If I know where it is, everybody else must —”
“Get out of here, Burke.”
“You’re legless! How much have you had to drink?”
“Fuck off.”
“I just got back, and I brought you your things.”
“You just got back from Cape Breton? Now? You stayed for a leisurely visit with her family, did you?”
“Well, she was in no hurry to come back here. And we only had the one car.”
“All right. You’ve delivered my stuff. Now get lost.”
“She feels terrible about all this.”
“She’s never felt terrible about anything in her life. Certainly not about anything she ever did to me.”
“This isn’t something she’s done to you.”
“Oh no? Then why was I the odd man out last night? She didn’t have the decency to tell me before I got there, so I was set up, like an idiot. In front of my son. In front of my little girl. In front of her family. And you sitting there. If you could have seen the look on your face —”
“Hold on there. Give me a drink.”
“Get your own fucking drink.”
He did, and stood facing me in the kitchen. “She obviously didn’t intend to get pregnant, so really —”
“Really what?”
“She hasn’t done anything more than you’ve done, when you think about it.”
“What are you talking about?”
“Well, do you take precautions every time you’re enjoying a bit of the how’s-your-father?”
“Huh?”
“Who knows, there may be some woman out there carrying a little Monty around in her belly, and you don’t know it. So I’m saying that what MacNeil did is no worse than —”
“She should have fucking told me! Instead of climbing into the sack with me and leading me to believe we had a chance together.”
“She told me she didn’t know about the pregnancy till she went to a doctor in Geneva. I thought women would know these things but . . .”
But she never had a regular cycle in her life, so she wouldn’t necessarily suspect anything. She just thought she was gaining some weight. “So she sat down and told you all this? Why would she do that?”
“Because she was beside herself about what happened at the dinner table. She had no intention of letting the secret out until she had time to speak with you in private. But Normie, with her intuition —”
“MacNeil could have fucking called me from Geneva, instead of keeping me in blissful ignorance till she got back and then letting me make my pathetic appearance in Cape Breton.”
“You’re not the only one who was sitting there gobsmacked!”
“And just why would you be gobsmacked at the news?”
“Because it was painful for everyone. For you, for your son, for . . .”
And for Burke too. Despite all his efforts to lobby on her behalf, it was clear: he thought it was a disaster. Either out of sympathy for me. Or out of what I suspected before, his own jealousy of the little weasel Giacomo, helping himself to what Burke could never have. Or could he?
“Get the fuck out of my house, Burke.”
“Ease up on the booze, Monty. I’m not the problem here.”
“How do I know you’re not?”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“I mean I know you haven’t exactly lived the life of a monk since you entered the priesthood.”
“Damn near!”
“Yeah, right. I know your sexual history.”
He laughed. “No, you don’t.”
It was the laugh that did it. Before I knew what I intended to do, I had launched myself at him. I drove my fist into his left eye and knocked him backwards. The kitchen table broke his fall, and I landed on the table on top of him. I grabbed him by the collar of his sweater and smashed his head down on the tabletop. It was only then that I came to my senses. I stood back. He lay there looking up at me. It was only then too that I realized he hadn’t made any effort to fight back. If he had, I don’t know what would have happened. He was taller than I was, and heavier. And from what I knew of his earlier life, he had a lot more experience with his fists than I did. But then, I had rage on my side. I had never struck another human being in my life, except in self-defence. Now this. I was too weary and disgusted with myself to pursue my usual course of drunken reasoning: that is, what did it mean that he didn’t fight back? I just couldn’t think about the whole catastrophe anymore.
Burke rolled off the table, stood up, and headed for the bathroom. I heard water running, then he came back. There was a bit of blood below his eye; I must have broken the skin. Assault causing bodily harm. He walked to the refrigerator and opened the freezer door, brought out some ice cubes, rummaged in my kitchen as if he lived there, found a plastic bag, and made an ice pack, which he applied to his wound. He didn’t say a word, but made no move to leave. I couldn’t bring myself to speak. The telephone rang. It could only be one person, waiting for Burke to soften me up, then calling to try to justify herself. I picked up the receiver and immediately replaced it on the hook. He just shook his head in exasperation.
He showed no signs of taking the hint that he was not welcome; in fact, he looked as if he didn’t have a care in the world, aside from the swelling in his face. I was overwhelmed with fatigue and couldn’t even face the challenge of walking up the stairs to my room. I staggered into the living room and collapsed on the chesterfield.
The sun was streaming in the kitchen windows when I awoke. I had a quilt over me so I must have — Burke. He was going to kill me with kindness. I had no idea what time he left. My mind was flooded with memories of the night before, and the weekend, and then . . . a new thought. My poor little daughter, who had been so excited about the baby, had to sit there and watch her father walk out on his family. How was I going to make that up to her? What kind of explanation — I lurched to the bathroom and, for the second time in as many days, was violently ill.
†
I wasn’t much better Monday. I spent an agonizing day in the office bent over paperwork, hiding from everyone, and I was still there long after the staff had left for the day. MacNeil called; I hung up on her. Tuesday wasn’t great either, though I did manage to reach Normie on the phone after school and offer a bogus explanation of why I walked out of the MacNeil house in Cape Breton. “A new baby is a very big event in a mummy and daddy’s life. I was taken off guard and upset that I hadn’t been told. But then I calmed down and realized Mummy wanted it to be a surprise. She probably knew you had figured it out, and she wanted you to be the one to announce it.” I had no idea what drama had followed my departure but, whatever happened, the family must have succeeded in reassuring Normie that she was blameless. She didn’t sound as if she was suffering any ill effects.
I was at my desk long past closing time, preparing questions for a discovery examination. A siren wailed outside, and I tried to shut out the sound. I jumped when I heard another noise, then looked up to see Ed Johnson standing in my doorway.
“Who let you in here?”
“I come like a thief in the night.”
“That sounds faintly biblical. Did you get religion or something?”
“No, I just come like a thief. There’s not a building in this city I can’t wangle my way into. I can’t believe I’m saying this but I’ll get used to it: are you coming to choir practice?”
Shit. I had forgotten all about it. Every time the image of Burke had come into my mind I had forced it out. I couldn’t imagine seeing him in the company of Johnson and the rest of the choir. But if I skipped the rehearsal without a valid reason, and i
f Burke had any visible injuries, Johnson would come up with a scenario even more bizarre than the one that had unfolded in my kitchen Sunday night.
“Yeah, have a seat till I finish up here.”
Half an hour later we were sitting in our places in the choir loft of St. Bernadette’s. The buzz of young voices went on around us.
“I thought you were sick, Benny. How come you weren’t at school?”
“I’m better now.”
“You just want that solo!”
“Ha ha. You sing it. I don’t care.”
“So you haven’t seen Burke, have you?”
“How could I see him if I wasn’t at school? Duh!”
“Well, he looks like he got —” The little boy stood up and swung an imaginary punch just as Burke appeared in front of us. He grabbed the child by his upper arms and placed him on his chair. The boy stared fixedly at his closed hymn book.
“Good evening, gentlemen.”
“Good evening, Father.”
“What happened to you?” Ed’s voice went up an octave.
“Would you like to sing with the boy sopranos tonight, Johnson?”
“How’d you get the shiner?”
I couldn’t bring myself to speak, let alone make any kind of comment on the priest’s swollen, discoloured eye. I could feel Ed’s gaze on me as he sensed significance in my silence.
Burke raked the choir with his eyes, the damaged and the undamaged, and said: “Let us pray. Confiteor Deo . . . I have sinned exceedingly in thought, word, and deed, through my fault, through my fault, through my most grievous fault.”
Hadn’t they changed that, and shortened it? Leave it to him to choose the version that had me reiterating my guilt three times. It was going to be a long night. The runs in the Handel were beyond me, but I took some comfort in the Palestrina.
We settled in at the Midtown afterwards.
“Better start picking on altar boys your own size, eh, Brennan?”
“Looks that way, Ed. Though I have to tell you, this altar boy wasn’t much smaller than I am. And usually the most even-tempered fellow you could ever meet.” Ed turned to me but spoke again to Burke. “Oh yeah? What brought this on?”
“The fellow questioned the doctrine of transubstantiation.”
“What’s that?”
“Don’t get me started, Ed. So I got a little hot under the collar and gave him a shove. And he drew off and clocked me. He’d obviously never heard the command ‘Touch not the Lord’s Anointed.’ Set us up, Joe,” he said to the waiter.
Ed gave me a searching look, then changed the subject. Or so he thought. “I saw Don MacKinnon in court this morning. In town for an interlocutory application. Said he saw you in Stellarton on the weekend. I thought you were in Cape Breton.”
Jesus Christ. I may as well have stayed in Stellarton, if Halifax was such a small gossipy town.
“No, I was in Stellarton.”
Burke was eyeing me but kept quiet.
“Yeah, Don had a bit of a smirk on his face but he wouldn’t tell me what was so funny.” Good. “Just said: ‘I saw Collins on the weekend. My lips are sealed.’”
I shrugged and affected not to see their curious gazes.
Brennan finally turned to Ed: “How are you getting along with ‘Who May Abide’? Will we be hearing it next practice?”
“Sure. I’ll work on it at home. Scare the piss out of Donna.”
Fortunately, the conversation never veered from the subject of music, allowing me to avoid dealing with Burke’s injury and my culpability.
†
Work came as a relief the next day. There was nobody looking at me out of a damaged eye, nobody casting curious glances between the priestly victim and me, nobody who knew my world had recently blown apart. The only problems I allowed myself to consider were those of my clients. Like the guy who was going on trial for armed robbery the next day, and who refused to consider a plea bargain even though his uncovered face was clearly visible on the video camera at the credit union he held up. And his accomplice called him by name during the getaway. I wouldn’t be losing any sleep over him, or over his trial next week. I yawned and got up to fetch a cup of coffee in the lunchroom. In my office again, I turned to the deaths of Corey Leaman and Graham Scott. And Dice Campbell. I was still trying to find a connection among all the people involved in the two incidents.
I decided to prevail upon Jamie McVicar, the keeper of the files, one more time. He was out of town, but his secretary set me up in a small conference room with the boxes of Dice’s papers, a jug of water, and a bowl of Smarties. Things were looking up. But I found no new references to Leaman, or at least not any that I recognized as such. An elderly neighbour of the Leamans had a will and a lease done by Campbell, but that could hardly be considered a connection. Where were her papers? I couldn’t find them in the boxes the secretary had brought in, so I poked my head out of the conference room and called her name.
“Is this everything, Cheryl?”
“That’s it.”
“I seem to recall something else in here but I don’t see it now. Has anyone else been through these files lately, do you know?”
“Nobody here, I don’t think. Except for the — a property development file. Jamie needs that once in a while.”
“When you say ‘nobody here,’ are you suggesting someone else has come by to see Dice’s papers?”
She laughed. “Well, I was sick for a couple of days. There may have been a parade of people coming in to see the files then. But seriously, aside from his wife, I don’t imagine —”
“Mavis comes in to look at them, does she?”
“Not usually, but she stopped in the other day.”
“Did she take anything with her?”
“Not that I noticed. Wait now. I think Jamie may have given her some updated material on the — on a matter that’s come to life again.” Bromley Point, I assumed. “But I didn’t see her when she left.”
†
Mavis Campbell was holding court at her regular table in the Holiday Inn bar. A near-empty glass and an overflowing ashtray indicated that she had been in place for a while.
“Afternoon, Mrs. Campbell.”
“Mr. Collins. To what do I owe this pleasure?”
“I imagine you’ll have all kinds of unexpected company when the money rolls in.”
“What money would that be?”
“The money that’s been collecting interest since the Bromley Point development was put on hold. The money that will soon be released into your safekeeping.”
“Your cynical, insinuating manner doesn’t go with the boyish looks, Monty. I have that right, don’t I? Monty?”
“You have my name right, yes.”
“Dickie! Have you diverted the water of life to irrigate the parched nations of the world, or have you saved a drop for the needy here on your own doorstep?”
“Sorry, Mave! Be with you in two shakes.”
“It can’t come soon enough, Dick. I don’t want things to get ugly for you.”
“Here you go, doll. Anything for you, sir?”
“No, thanks. I’m not staying.”
“Poor little me. Alone alone, all all alone, alone on a wide wide sea. I hate the sea. I’ve lived here all my life and I hate the sea.”
“Water, water, everywhere, nor any drop to drink.”
“That must be it.” The woman was loaded, but she carried it well.
“It must have been frustrating for Dice to know that the Bromley Point money could be held up indefinitely, while he struggled to pay his debts.”
“Must have been.”
“Have you ever been approached by any of his less reputable creditors?”
“You’re not talking about the Canadian Imperial Bank of Commerce, I assume.”
“No, I’m talking about knuckle-draggers coming down from Montreal to collect on his gambling debts.”
“That’s never been a problem for me, Monty. I know goons here who know goon
s in Montreal. If I thought there was going to be any knuckle swinging, I’d call these guys and send them up there. But if this is a lead-in to offering me your services as a bodyguard, I appreciate your concern.”
“I’m not available for such close surveillance, unfortunately, Mavis.”
“Pity. I guess you’ll just pop in here from time to time to observe my spending habits.”
“Yes, I’ll be interested to see whether there’s a change in those habits any time soon.”
“Do I look like a killer to you, Monty?”
“Do I look like a bluesman to you, Mavis?”
“Dice took a flyer on his own initiative. Get over it and leave me alone.”
“Does the name Matilda Lonergan mean anything to you?”
“Should it?”
“Does it?”
“No.”
“Did you ever know Corey Leaman?”
“Is that the other stiff you’re trying to prove was murdered?”
“Actually, I’d rather prove he did it himself.”
“So, then, why all this bullshit about Dice? I don’t get it.”
“The police have confirmed that the bullets in Dice’s old office wall match those in my two victims.”
Mavis went perfectly still. She left her drink untouched, and did not seem to notice when I slipped away.
