A Box Full of Darkness (Wilson Book 5) (24 page)

CHAPTER FIFTY-TWO

Wilson could hear the ringing in the far distance. He wondered what it might have to do with the dream reliving his father’s suicide. He gradually became aware that it was his mobile and that he had fallen asleep on the couch in his flat. When he opened his eyes he could see that the evening was still bright. He mustn’t have been asleep for long. He leaned forward and picked up his phone. The caller ID told him that it was Kate’s number. He felt his heart beat stronger as he pushed the green button.
‘Kate,’ there was a hint of sleep still in his voice.

‘I hope I haven’t caught you at a bad time,’ Kate said.

He liked the sound of her voice. It was more like the old Kate. There didn’t seem to be any aggression. ‘No, I was up very early this morning and the lack of sleep caught up with me. I thought that you’d be out with your team.’

‘We lost, or didn’t you hear?’

‘She murdered three people in cold blood. There was no way you could have overcome that.’

‘Sentencing is in two weeks. Perhaps we’ll celebrate after that. I thought it was time that we spoke. Are you free this evening?’

He felt a sense of apprehension. There was calmness in Kate’s voice that didn’t bode well for him. He now recognised it as her barrister’s voice. He’d heard it often enough in court. ‘I’m doing nothing. Where would you like to meet?’

‘I notice that you’re partial to McHugh’s. Perhaps we could meet there in say thirty minutes.’

The professional tone was definitely there, and Wilson knew in his heart that his goose was cooked as far as Kate was concerned. ‘I’ll be there in thirty minutes.’

‘Thank you.’ The line went dead.

Wilson stood up slowly. He was about to head into the final scene of what had been a traumatic day. He felt like the bull in a bullfight. The picadors had wounded him, and now he was about to receive the
coup de grace
from the matador. And there would be nobody better than Kate to deliver it.

McHugh’s was more than half full when Wilson arrived. On the way from Queen’s Quay to Queen’s Square, he had been debating whether the location was suitable for the meeting with Kate. They had history in McHugh’s and he wondered whether its selection by Kate had anything to do with their last meeting there. As he sat in the back of the taxi, he ran through all the good times that he and Kate had enjoyed and he felt a profound sadness that he was about to take part in what was almost certainly the final act of their relationship. He would have wished it otherwise but life had taught him that you could only control those events that you own. And this time that level of control had passed to Kate. He knew that he could cajole and beg, but it would be useless if Kate had already made her mind up. And it would only demean him in her eyes. If he was going to take the blow, he was going to take it on the chin and move on. There would be no pleading or attempts to change her mind. He would simply listen and accept. He just wished that his mental resources were at a higher level. The fine evening ensured that a fair number of customers were outside the pub. Belfast, like many cities in the United Kingdom, had embraced the continental habit of dining and drinking outside when the weather permitted. At least there would be space inside and they might be able to have a private conversation. He entered the main bar and could hear the sound of traditional Irish music coming from the basement. As he had surmised, the main bar was not as packed as usual and after ordering a pint of Guinness, he managed to find a table at the end of the room away from the bar. He glanced at his watch and saw that he was five minutes early. It was the lull before the storm although he doubted Kate was about to repeat her last performance.  He had just started on his drink when Kate appeared at the door and he signalled to her. She was dressed in a red silk dress that perfectly set off her curly blonde hair. He felt his pulse quicken as the old desire rose in him. Despite the tiredness that was evident in her face, she was a very beautiful woman. She caught his eye and he noted that the look of recognition didn’t include a smile. She moved past that bar and sat at an empty chair directly facing him.

‘Drink?’ he said as soon as she was seated.

‘Double gin and tonic,’ she said and a smile flitted over her lips. She was slightly annoyed that the smile had crept out. It was so like old times it might be easy to forget that she had come to end the relationship with Ian for good. It would be so simple to discard her resolve and take him back. But she knew that it would also be wrong.
It would benefit neither of them.

Wilson ordered the drink and turned to face her. ‘It appears you did a fantastic job on the Cummerford case.’ He toasted her with his drink.

‘She’ll go down. The only question is how many years will she get.’

The barman arrived and put a double gin and a bottle of tonic in front of Kate. Wilson paid for the drinks.

‘McDevitt’s a wise old bird and he’s betting on ten years with six being served,’ Wilson said.

‘I suppose that would be a victory of sorts.’ Kate poured tonic into her glass and lifted her drink towards Wilson. ‘To old times.’

‘Old times,’ he replied with more than a tinge of sadness in his voice.

‘I’m sorry, Ian,’ she said before taking a sip of her drink. ‘I haven’t been myself lately. The doctor prescribed some painkillers after the miscarriage and I’m afraid I took to them like a duck to water. Hence my rather erratic behaviour. I only hope I acted professionally in court. I’m gradually weaning myself off them. They seemed to be the only answer to losing our child.’

‘It wasn’t . . .’

She held up her hand to stop him. ‘Let me finish. I was hurt emotionally. It was a very deep hurt that I wasn’t ready for. The pills helped to deaden it, but I suppose at the back of my mind I knew they weren’t the solution.’

He looked at her hand on the table and wanted to reach out and touch it. He still loved her and wanted to hear that she still loved him.

‘What hurt me just as deeply was the knowledge that we didn’t respond in the same way emotionally. You always said that we were opposite in many ways. Our lives, both private and public, didn’t really intersect. So, perhaps we can share a little guilt for the loss of the baby.’ She took a sip of her drink.

‘We could work through it,’ Wilson said. ‘I should have responded more empathetically.’

‘But you had a case to solve. And I appreciate that. It’s what you do and in many ways it’s what you are. You can’t look at mutilated bodies all day and grieve for a baby that was never born. I understand that now. But I can’t spend the rest of my life with someone who is anaesthetised from personal pain. We have no idea what’s ahead of us. It won’t be all pleasure and I’m going to need someone when there’s pain. I thought that someone could be you but I was wrong. You might be there physically but not emotionally. I do love you. And perhaps I’ll never love anyone as much again.’ Tears began to run down her cheeks. ‘But I think we’ll be better apart.’

He was stunned. He remembered his reaction to his wife’s cancer and her death. Had he been so emotionless then? Had he hurt her the way he had hurt Kate? He didn’t like to think of himself as a callous bastard. But you are what you are. ‘I want to fight for you,’ Wilson said watching her dab at the tears with a handkerchief.

‘It won’t do any good. We were never intended to be together long-term. I’ve spent much too long thinking about my own reaction to the miscarriage. There will always be guilt, but I have to believe everything happens for a reason. And perhaps our baby had to be sacrificed in order to avoid greater pain down the line.’ She finished her drink and stopped him from motioning for another. She took out her mobile phone and pressed several buttons before turning it in his direction. It was a picture of Stephanie Reid exiting the front door of his apartment. There was a legend at the top, “
Ian Wilson’s new squeeze
.”

‘I can explain.’ He put out his hand to stop her from standing but she shook him off.

‘I’m not interested in an explanation and the fact that you’re rushing to explain verifies the photo. You’ve moved on and so must I. This is incredibly painful for me. I hope we’ll always be friends. I’m going with Helen to France until the sentencing. She’s been a tower of strength over the past months. She exhibited more motherly care than at any other time of my life. Goodbye Ian.’ She turned and walked back towards the door.

He watched her go. She had been the best thing in his life. He should be able to stop her. But he had learned that it was impossible to make someone do what he or she didn’t want to. They may acquiesce but that only leads to greater resentment. His eyes seemed to cloud as she passed through the door. If he had been a boxer, he would have been considered to be punch drunk. Kate had severed the part of him that was still connected to her with the precision of a surgeon using a scalpel.  It had been one hell of a day.

Back in Queen’s Quay he tried to make sense of what had happened. His mind was still reeling from the information that Dixon had given him and from the finality of his separation from Kate. He needed confirmation before he would accept that his father was involved in murder. There was only one place he could obtain that confirmation. It was a step that he never thought he would have to take. He moved to the computer and switched it on.

CHAPTER FIFTY-THREE

The Air Canada Airbus 320 began its descent towards Halifax International Airport. The journey from Belfast took sixteen hours but the mental journey for Wilson was considerably longer. He was going to meet the mother he had been estranged from for more than twenty years. He whole life had turned upside down in the past forty-eight hours. The man he had idolised had fallen from his pedestal, and he was afraid that he had made a serious error in branding the woman who had bore him as a harlot. He looked down on the coast of Nova Scotia and saw that it resembled the west coast of Ireland; rugged outcrops of rocks jutted into the Atlantic Ocean and directly behind them was a land as green as the one he had left. He had cleared customs at Montreal before taking the last leg of his flight. He didn’t intend to stay long so his only luggage was an overnight bag. He collected a car from the airport and made sure it included a GPS. He hadn’t slept on any of the three flights he’d taken and he knew that despite his urgent need to confirm Dixon’s information, he needed more rest. He took the route 102 from the airport in the direction of Halifax and stopped at the Esquire Motel in Bedford. It wasn’t luxurious but as soon as his head hit the pillow, he was out for the count. Eight hours later he was rested and showered and on his way, somewhat reluctantly, towards the town of Shelburne. He had eaten at a Tim Hortons but still his stomach rumbled. He knew it wasn’t from the lack of food. This was the day he thought would never come. In just over two hours he would be in the town where his mother lived. He wondered if his courage would last until he knocked on her door. While the trip to Nova Scotia looked correct from his perspective in Queen’s Quay, it was a different matter as he drove the route 103 along the rugged south east coast of the island. 

The town of Shelburne sits in the southeast corner of Nova Scotia. It is one of the most historic settlements in Canada tracing its origin back to the setting up of a small fishing port by French Acadians at the end of the 17th century. Wilson had no difficulty finding the Inner Harbour Inn where he had booked a room. He lay on his bed staring at the white ceiling. This was the crunch point. It was all right thinking of meeting his mother while sipping a Jameson in Queen’s Quay. It was a totally different matter being a few hundred yards away from her house. He didn’t usually think of himself as a coward but he certainly wasn’t in a rush. He had faced many such crunch points in his life and he had never been found wanting. He was about to meet his mother whom he hadn’t seen for twenty years. He slowly rose from the bed and made his way to the lobby. As the concierge indicated the location of his mother’s home on the small map of the town, his stomach was full of butterflies.  This was his Garden of Gethsemane. He walked slowly along Dock Street with Shelburne Harbour on his left before turning left onto Water Street. He was walking slower now as he approached Transvaal Street. He turned right and stopped. This was the point of no return. He walked along the street until he stood before a small clapboard bungalow. The house was painted white and looked well maintained. There was no gate and mature trees shaded the small lawn on both sides. A large window faced the street and the window box beneath it was full of bright red flowers. There were two easy chairs on a small patio to the left of the house set beside the front door. It was a pretty house and totally unlike the old house in Lisburn. He walked up to the front door and stood for several minutes before knocking. A part of him didn’t want the door to open but when it did a small grey-haired woman stood before him. She seemed to sway when she saw him and he moved forward quickly to catch her. She fell into his arms and he could feel her tears wetting his shirt. After a few minutes, she pulled herself together and raised her head to look at him.

‘I prayed for this day but I never thought that I’d live to see it.’ She stood back and looked him up and down. “You’ve become a fine man, Ian.’ She stood aside.  “Come you in, son.’

Wilson’s emotions were running wild. He felt the tears at the corner of his eyes and he fought to hold them back.

‘Gary,’ she called. ‘Look who’s here.’ She ushered Wilson into a sparsely furnished small living room. She brushed at the housedress she was wearing. ‘Will you look at me. What must you think? I’m dressed like a charlady.’
A small man appeared from the rear of the house dressed in cowboy shirt and Levis.

Wilson hadn’t known Gary Anderson well. When he’s heard that his mother had been having an affair with him for several years before his father’s death, his first reaction was to go to his house and beat his brains out. But that was ancient history. Age had not been kind to Anderson. He looked smaller than Wilson remembered and considerably frailer. His bald pate was covered in liver spots and he walked stooping forward.

‘My God,’ Anderson said standing beside his wife and putting his arm around her. ‘Is it really Ian standing here in our house or are we dreaming?’

‘If it’s a dream then I don’t want it to end,’ Wilson’s mother said wiping away her tears. ‘What brings you here, son?’

‘It was time,’ Wilson said.

‘I’ll get us some tea,’ Anderson said and disappeared to the rear of the house.

‘You look troubled,’ she said. ‘Sit you down and tell us what brought you here.’ She indicated a wooden chair set in front of a wood-burning stove.

Wilson sat and watched his mother as she sat in the chair facing him. He noticed a quiver in her movements. ‘I’ve been reappraising things lately,’ he said as soon as she was seated. ‘Our estrangement was stupid. I was young and impetuous.’

‘You were grieving and I understood. I always hoped that you’d change your mind. I loved you as much as he did but maybe he didn’t give me the chance to show you. It was always you and him.’

Anderson returned and placed a tray containing three cups, a teapot, milk jug and sugar bowl on the coffee table. He poured three cups of tea, put milk and sugar in, and passed one each to Wilson and his wife.

Wilson noticed that Anderson was staring at him all the while.

‘How long are you staying?’ Anderson asked.

‘It’s a flying visit.’ Wilson sipped his tea. ‘I’m on an investigation at the moment, so I can’t afford more than a day or so.’

‘For God’s sake, Ian,’ his mother said. ‘We have a lot of catching up to do.’

‘There’ll be another time,’ Wilson said.

His mother put her cup down. ‘I’ll get your room ready,’ she stood up.

‘It’s OK, I’m booked in at the Inner Harbour Inn,’ Wilson said.

‘You’re staying here,’ Anderson said. ‘Quick, finish up your tea and I’ll run you back to pick up your bag.’

Wilson could see that his stepfather had something in mind. Although he didn’t know Anderson well, he knew that the man had a reputation for being astute. He finished his tea and watched his mother disappear into the rear of the house.

‘It’ll take her a wee while to get the guest room ready,’ Anderson said. ‘In the meantime, we’ll pick up your bag, check you out of the inn and have a wee chat.’

The Sea Dog Saloon is a yellow clapboard bar cum restaurant directly facing the sea on Dock Street in Shelburne. It was about as far away from the Crown as you could get but it has a character all of its own and an unbeatable view over Shelburne Harbour. The Sea Dog manager was perplexed at the brevity of Wilson’s stay but Anderson had explained the situation and since the one night had already been paid, Wilson retrieved his bag and everybody appeared happy. Wilson and Anderson sat across from each other on the harbourside deck overlooking the ocean. Each man had a Molson draught beer in front of him.

‘So, Ian,’ Anderson touched his glass to Wilson’s, ‘Welcome to Nova Scotia and what the fuck are you doing here?’

Wilson smiled, lifted his glass and toasted Anderson. ‘I heard you had the habit of calling a spade a spade.’

‘Well, think about it. We don’t hear a word from you for twenty years. You don’t write or phone in advance, and then you suddenly end up on our stoop one day. That doesn’t strike you as peculiar?’

‘Maybe I just grew up and realised what I mistake I’d made.’

‘That might do for your mother but I’m not that gullible. You’re up to something and I care about Vicky too much to allow you to screw her over again.’

Wilson didn’t like to use the word “again.” ‘I have no intention of screwing her over.’

‘You did it once.’

‘Maybe I jumped to a wrong conclusion.’

‘And it’s took you twenty years to realise that?’

‘The hurt was deep. I thought that she was responsible for my father’s suicide.’

‘And now you don’t?’

‘Now I’m not sure.’

‘And you’ve come here to make sure?’

‘Maybe.’

‘I don’t buy it. That woman back at the house has scrapbooks of every article ever written about you. They’ve been thumbed more times than the Bible. I’ve read them and I think I have the measure of what kind of man you are. Or should I say, what kind of man you’ve become. You don’t strike me as someone who does anything on a whim. Now, what the hell are you doing here? I need to know so I can protect the woman I love.’

‘How much time do we have?’

‘Enough.’

Wilson started at the beginning and moved as quickly as he could with the evolution of the Lafferty and Mallon case. He finished up with his interview with Dixon and the information regarding his father’s role in the shooting. ‘I need to know whether my father was a murderer or not. And only one person really knows.’

‘And if she doesn’t, you’re going to bring up all the shit about the suicide again. And if she does, and she tells the truth about the suicide, you’re going to spend the rest of your life feeling guilty about punishing an innocent woman. I wouldn’t like to be in your shoes.’

‘I don’t want to be in my shoes either.’ Wilson finished his beer and went inside for refills.

‘You know she idolises you,’ Anderson said taking the fresh beer. He had weighed up Wilson’s story. He had no doubt that he’d been told the truth. The question was how would it impact on his wife? ‘She’s been back to Belfast twice since we’ve been here. Once, when you were caught up in that bomb and later when your wife died. The first time she stayed at the hospital until you were out of danger. The second time was to make sure that you were alright after Susan’s death. She was at the funeral although I suppose there were so many people you probably didn’t notice her. If you hurt her again, I swear to God, Ian, I’ll do for you.’

Wilson smiled. He lifted his glass and clinked it against Anderson’s. ‘You’re a good man, Greg. And I’m an arsehole. And I’m done with hurt. I have a feeling I screwed up badly and you’re right it’s not going to be easy to live with. But that’s my cross and I’m going to have to bear it.’

‘Let’s finish up these drinks. Vicky will want to spend every precious minute with her boy.’