“I know, Monty. And I know whose fault it is I’m in here. Not yours. Mine. You warned me, you beseeched me, not to take the stand. I guess a mick just can’t resist getting into the dock and making a speech.” He lapsed into silence as his left hand massaged his temples.
“The fault, Brennan, lies with whoever killed those two women and carved your crucifix into the bodies. We’ll be fighting on several fronts: the release, the appeal, and the investigation. I am going to find the individual who is doing this to you. And he’ll be put on trial.”
“And your wife will carry out the sentence.”
“Nothing would please her more. Nothing else would please her at all, at this point. You have to go now. You’ve been in the jail, so you know what remand time is all about. Stay calm and take care. You got through it before, you’ll do it again.”
“I’ll live,” he said tersely, in a tone that belied his words. “And Monty. Thank you for all you’ve tried to do. I know I haven’t been the ideal client.”
And the Ides of March hadn’t been the ideal day for Gaius Julius
Caesar to meet with the Senate. “The ideal client doesn’t exist, Brennan.” I tapped on the grate between us. “You’ve given me one hell of a ride.”
II
Sue Drummond and I met over dinner to plan our strategy. We had to show that our appeal was not frivolous, that our client would surrender himself when he was supposed to, and that his detention was not necessary in the public interest. This meant public relations as much as public safety; what would people think of a justice system that set a convicted murderer free amongst them? Sue would draft the documents; I would look for cases, if there were any, in which people convicted of murder had been released by the courts. I was in the office till three in the morning, only to go home, lie in my bed, and endure nightmares about endless appeals, which were blocked time and again by technical glitches only the Crown and the judge understood.
I rose at eight, exhausted, and had a quick shower before heading downtown. Fuelled only by coffee, I sat at my desk and stared wildly at Brennan’s file, wondering how things had gone so far without giving us any inkling of who was behind the murders. I read the file again, with no new insight. My phone rang just before noon.
“Yes?”
“My God, Monty, you should see him.” It was Maura, in tears. “He has a black eye. Just shrugged when I asked what had happened. There’s no life in him, no personality. It was only a few nights ago that he had dinner with us. Even with all the stress of a jury wait, he managed to be so cocky that night. That business with Giacomo.”
“Did you think that was cocky of him, Maura?”
“It was very male of him, let’s put it that way.”
I don’t know what made me say what I said next. It may have been the look that passed between them over dinner; it may have just been stress. “You know I wasn’t sure at the time if he was clearing the decks for me or for himself.”
She practically leapt through the wires at me. “What in the hell is
wrong with you Collins? How can you say that? He’s your client and your friend. He’s wasting away in jail. And you make an accusation like that. I’m not through with you yet, but here comes Normie. I don’t want her to hear this shit and I don’t want her to hear about Brennan. She’s very worried about him, very subdued. I’m in here, Normie sweetheart,” she called out to our daughter. And then to me. “Go to hell.” Click.
I sat there wondering why I had made such a nasty remark to my wife, when she had called me in tears looking for consolation. I blamed it on exhaustion and dialed her number to apologize, but she wasn’t taking calls.
I stared at the papers on my desk and tried to decide what to do. Hire private investigators to dig into the lives of all Brennan’s acquaintances? Who? Father O’Flaherty? Sister Dunne? Eileen Darragh? Tyler MacDonald? The other young staffer, Erin? Mrs. Kelly? Jason? The poker club? The choir? All the angels and saints? It sounded preposterous when I ran the parade of names through my mind. The phone rang again. It would be like this all day, I knew. This time it was Rowan. And if I thought my day couldn’t get any worse, I had once again miscalculated.
“Monty, my dear fellow. You sound all in.”
“I am, Rowan. How about you? Did you spend the whole night fielding press inquiries?”
“I’m sending someone over there, Monty. Wants to see you.”
“The real killer perhaps?”
“No. But primed to be the next killer by the sound of things. I shouldn’t be flippant. Brennan’s father just called me. From the Lord Nelson.”
“He’s
here?”
“He is here, yes. At the hotel. I’ve never met the man. I should like to, of course. But that will be your privilege today. I told him I’d ring him back once I determined whether you were in the office. Sit tight.”
I sighed. “The door’s open. Tell him to take the elevator up.”
I clicked off and sank my head into my hands. All I needed was old man Burke on my case. It wasn’t long before I heard the elevator. Next thing I knew, the stocky and imperious form of Declan Burke was at the threshold of my office. I got up and made a face that was
meant to express delighted surprise at his arrival. I opened my mouth to say something insincere but he spoke first.
“Mr. Collins. What the hell is going on with my son?” Anyone who found Brennan a little brusque should meet the original. “I want to see him.”
“I’ll be happy to take you out there,” I lied. “When did you get into town?”
“I have a son in jail for a murder he didn’t commit. If I haven’t seen him yet, that can only mean I’ve just arrived.”
“Right.” If there had been a trap door to hell under my desk, I would gladly have pulled the plug and consigned myself to the flames.
A few minutes later I was crossing the MacKay Bridge on my way to Lower Sackville, with a glowering Burke Senior as my passenger.
“What the hell went wrong, Monty?”
“Whoever did this came out of left field. Brennan has no idea who it is.
“But how could a jury possibly think he’s a killer? A priest, for Christ’s sake.”
“They couldn’t get out from under the forensic evidence that was planted to make it look as if Brennan had been with the victim.”
“He called and told us it would all work out in the end, that he’d be acquitted.”
“He likely assumed that, once people got to hear him, they’d know he was innocent.”
“Then all hell broke loose. What the fuck happened to him on the stand?”
“He testified in his own defence, we put his character in issue, and this opened up his whole life for the Crown to attack.”
“So why the hell did you let him testify?”
“It wasn’t my idea.”
“You’re his lawyer, for the love of Christ. Why didn’t you stop him?”
“Think about it.” I looked at him. “Would I be able to stop
you
from climbing up into the dock if you were of a mind to do it?”
There was a hint of amusement in his eyes as we exchanged glances. “He insisted, against your advice, is what you’re telling me. I can well believe it. He was always hard-headed.”
“Declan, what kind of a person would do this to your son? Has he ever confided in you about anyone who had a grudge against him, or someone you can think of who might have been provoked to this extent?”
“If Brennan had a problem with anyone, he kept it to himself.”
Of course.
Fifteen minutes later we were seated in front of a partition, waiting for Brennan to appear on the other side. When his son walked in, Declan gasped at the sight of him. Brennan tried to give his father a smile, but it barely registered on his face.
“Jesus Christ, Brennan! What have they done to you, drained your blood?”
“No, Da. It’s these colours. Green doesn’t do a thing for me.” “Is that a black eye you have there?” his father asked, his voice growing more agitated. “What the hell happened?”
“Nothing.”
“Nothing? When did I ever believe you when you came home with a black eye and told me ‘nothing’? Now what the hell happened to you?”
“A fellow gave voice to a misconception about the priests of the Holy Roman Church. I started to give him a snap course in theology, and he drew off and hit me. I shoved him away from me. That was it.” He turned to me. “I know better than to get into any shit with a bail hearing coming up, as hopeless as it might be. Now, a lot of the other fellows are fine. I know quite a few of them from the times I used to come here dressed in black.”
“Be careful, Brennan, for Christ’s sake,” I warned.
“How long are you here for, Da?”
“Just till tomorrow. I have to get back to head off a visit by your mother. I had a hell of a time persuading her to sit tight. It goes without saying that she sends her love, but I’ve said it anyway.”
“Don’t let her come up, whatever you do. I don’t want her here.”
“I know. Now. What are we going to do about all this? Who hates you enough to take your life away from you? I’d certainly know who was out to get me.”
Brennan looked amused. “Think so?”
“And don’t sit there and tell me you have no idea. Go over everyone
you ever met and come up with a few possibilities by the time I come out here again tomorrow.”
“What are you going to do then, Da?”
“I’ll make a few inquiries in New York, if you think somebody was studying a picture of that crucifix of yours. That is, if you still insist nobody has seen it. I don’t get it, Brennan. That mark isn’t between your legs, or on your arse; it’s on your chest. That kind of opens up the field a bit, doesn’t it? Hell, maybe you’ve been swanning around in a see-through silk shirt.”
“No swanning, no silk. The only one who’s ever been able to see that mark when I was fully dressed was Monty’s daughter.” Declan turned to me and glared. “She’s only seven, Da. She has the sight.”
“Ah. Rocky road ahead of her then.”
So that’s what Maura had observed at Strattons’ party; that’s what Normie had been trying to imprint on her hand. It seemed like a lifetime ago.
Brennan asked for news about the family and Declan obliged, but it was clear he was just going through the motions. “It breaks my heart to see you like this, Bren. As soon as they spring you —” he turned to me and raised an inquiring eyebrow, then turned back to his son “— get to work finding out who did it. Turn over some tables, raise hell. Don’t repeat the mistake of thinking the courts are going to solve this for you. If they can’t find any errors on appeal, you’re fucked. I’ll be out to see you tomorrow. For Christ’s sake, take care of yourself.”
Declan didn’t speak until we were halfway to Halifax. “Thank God he’s not the same little hothead he was at fifteen. He’d be scrapping with them all. And who could tell what would happen? You know what these arseholes are like. Look at them the wrong way, or throw them a punch, and they’ll hold a grudge till they’re clomping around in walkers out at Whispering Geezers Villa. How many children do you have, Monty? Just the little girl?”
“No, I have a teenage son, Tom.”
“Nothing like it, is there? Being a father. You see a client in that jail. And a friend, a man a few years older than yourself. To me, that’s my little son in there.”
We made arrangements to meet at my office the next day, and
head out for another visit before Declan returned to New York. I went back to my preparations for the bail hearing.
III
Sunday was bright and cold. Declan called just before noon to say he was on his way to the office. I made a quick call to Dresden Row and reached Tommy Douglas. “Tell Mum I’m heading out to the Correctional Centre if she’d like to come with me. I’ll be here for half an hour or so.”
As soon as I got Declan settled in a chair with a cup of coffee, I heard someone get off the elevator and assumed it was Maura. I went out to meet her. Her cheeks were as red as her scarlet coat sweater. I tried to head her off outside the office so I could apologize for the remark I’d made the day before. But she started in before I could part my lips.
“I simply cannot believe what you said to me yesterday, about that little scene with Giacomo and Brennan. You know perfectly well that Brennan’s heart is in the right place.” We were in the office by this time, her marching ahead, throwing her voice to make sure I got every word. “He thinks, for some unfathomable reason, that you and I should be back together. He may not look it, but, underneath it all, he must be a hopeless, a terminal romantic. But I can tell you, you’ll be riding a Zamboni in hell before you’ll ever get in my bed again.”
An amused Irish voice rang out from a dark corner of the room. “My son told me you’ve a tongue on you that could slit the hull of a freighter. His observation has been confirmed.” Maura stood stock still. She stared as Declan rose and came towards her, blue eyes sparkling with delight. “I can see he was right about your other qualities as well. I’m Declan Burke. And I cannot possibly say how it pleases me to meet you.” He put out his hand, and she took it.
“Mr. Burke. It’s not the way I’d have chosen to present myself to you. I’m sorry you had to hear all that. But clearly you’re not.” A smile made its way to her eyes.
“Bren spoke to Teresa and me about the two of you, when he was home in the spring. His good friend Montague and Monty’s lovely wife,
Maura. He neglected to say you were on the outs with each other.”
“That’s all there is to know about us really,” Maura was kind enough to say. “As for you, I can’t quite take in the fact that I’m finally meeting the patriarch. Brennan looms so large in our lives these days I tend to think we’ve got the whole Burkean universe here. Now there’s you.”
“A parallel universe. I went to Brennan’s church, by the way. There was no choir at the early Mass. Just as well. Wouldn’t want to see them without Bren directing.”
“Who said Mass?” I asked.
“An old fellow. Another Harp. Said a nice Mass.” O’Flaherty, several years younger than Declan.
“That’s Father O’Flaherty. Were you talking to him?”
“No, I wasn’t.”
“Too bad,” I said. “He’d love the chance to talk the ear off you. He’s very keen on his Irish heritage. Organizes trips to the old country. Have you been back there once in a while to visit?”