“Father?”
“Mmm?”
“Fuck off.”
We resumed our meal in silence.
“This is good,” I had to concede. “I didn’t know you could cook.”
“I can do a lot of things you don’t know about.”
“All as wholesome as this, I’m sure.”
“Right.”
We moved into the living room after dinner. He took my easy chair and I sat on the chesterfield. The last thing I remember was Brennan lighting up a stogie and regarding me through the smoke, with the look of a man mightily amused. When I awoke, daylight was streaming in and I was lying on the chesterfield with a quilt over me, a glass of water on a little table beside me, and, tucked under my right arm, a black-and-white cat. Cat? I did a double take. It was one of Normie’s stuffed animals. Burke was up, showered and dressed. I could smell coffee.
“Brennan? I think I’ll keep you. I never got this kind of treatment from my last housemate.”
“Who was that?”
“Professor MacNeil.”
“Well, maybe if you weren’t forever getting up on other women, MacNeil would —”
“That’s not a very priestly remark. But then again, you’re a little more worldly than most of the saintly fathers I grew up with. As for me, being with another woman is hardly an everyday occurrence. Getting anything more than a dirty look these days is a rare treat. Maura told me I’d be riding a Zamboni in hell before I’d get near her again, so —”
He put his hand up. “Don’t be telling me that.”
“Where do you suppose she was Tuesday night?”
“How the hell would I know? Is she seeing anyone that you know of?” he asked offhandedly.
“I don’t know. And I don’t care.”
“Is that a fact? Maybe this Giacomo has ventured onto the scene again. I thought I had put the run to him.”
“Oh, Jesus. Don’t mention that.”
“Why not?”
“Never mind.”
“Monty. Get up off your arse, have some coffee, and drive me home.”
“You’re leaving?”
“What did you think? I’d moved in?”
“Never know with you.”
“You said a mouthful there.”
I dropped him off at the rectory, the portals of which he would now enter as a convicted murderer. I headed to the office. The party was over. And the investigation was on.
II
The day after Brennan returned to St. Bernadette’s, Maura and I were having a family dinner at the old house with the kids. The evening got off to a rocky start.
“How was blues night?” Maura asked.
“It was fine.”
“Did Burke go with you?”
“No. Why?”
“A night of music. Why not?”
“Because he was wasted after his spell in the clink. I dropped him off at my place for two days to sleep.”
“You dropped him off? What do you mean? You weren’t there?”
“I didn’t say that.”
I see.
“Do you? Well then Maura, how was Tuesday night?”
“What do you mean?”
“Well, did you go out and have a big bang-up time with somebody on Tuesday night?”
“Since when do you bother to keep track of my activities?”
“I just wondered if you’re seeing anyone these days.”
I had brought wine to the festivities and I fumbled around in the kitchen looking for a corkscrew. It was never in the same place twice. I spied it and snatched it up.
“If I went out with someone Tuesday night, what difference does
it make to you? Somehow I suspect I didn’t cross your mind that night. And if I’d known you were going to dump Brennan off alone after his ordeal, I might have postponed my date with... postponed my date, and taken Brennan out to dinner somewhere private and relaxing. I owe him one anyway.”
“I’m sure he wanted to be alone, especially after being cooped up with a bunch of jailbirds. He was probably relieved to be ‘dumped off,’ as you put it. What do you mean, you owe him one?”
“He treated me to a night out, so —”
“You and Burke spent a night together? Is that what I’m hearing?”
“Evening.”
“When was this?”
“I don’t know. Couple of months ago.”
“Funny it never came up in conversation. With you, or with him.”
“There’s a reason for that.”
“Yeah. I can imagine.” I drove the corkscrew like a dagger into the wine cork.
“It’s not what you think.” She sighed. “I never told you because Normie got hurt that day.”
“What? Hurt how? Did somebody hurt her? What the hell happened?” This revelation blotted out any concern I had about what Burke might have been up to with my wife.
What followed was a long story about Normie falling from a slide at a playground where Maura had let her go, after we had agreed she would not be allowed to go there; Normie going for a sleepover that night; Maura wanting her checked beforehand at the Children’s Hospital just to be sure; Tommy needing a ride to a friend’s camp half an hour away; Maura having to be two places at once; me incommunicado somewhere; nobody else around, Maura thinking of Brennan living a few blocks away; Brennan coming over to help her; Brennan taking her out for a late evening dinner at a restaurant on Spring Garden Road.
“So Brennan and I spent the evening eating, having a few drinks, and talking.”
“Right. So, is he a fun date?”
“Oh, yes.” She smiled. “Very gallant. And he can be very funny. We had lots of laughs.”
“And then what?”
“And then we came home and he left.”
“Well, did he come in with you?” Why couldn’t I stop myself from sounding like such a jerk? A sizeable portion of my criminal clientele were guys who just would not let their wives or girlfriends go. They would harass them, or follow them, or assault them. And I always asked: “Why would you want to be with a girl who doesn’t want you around? Leave her alone.” I had no desire to see myself in the same light, but I wasn’t ready to let the subject die. Maura was getting pissed off and, objectively speaking, I could hardly blame her. We weren’t living together, I had the occasional girlfriend, she had the occasional boyfriend, or so it seemed. And why not? I had no right to interrogate her. But, Burke? My mouth opened again. “How long were you two together that night?”
“I don’t know why I’m submitting to this barrage of questions. I guess I’m just too sweet and good-natured to tell you to get stuffed. We were at the restaurant for a long time, two or three hours. Then we came back here and he stayed for a while. I wasn’t looking at my watch.”
“You probably didn’t even have it on by then.”
“You should hear yourself! I’ll try to ignore what you’re insinuating about my character, that at the first opportunity I would be all over a man who’s a friend of yours, and a client, never mind that he happens to be a priest. But what does this say about the way you regard Burke? It’s not much of a stretch to picture him breaking his vows, but I cannot imagine him betraying you in that way. And yes, before you have a good laugh, it would be a betrayal from his point of view. The dear, sweet, deluded man is determined to believe, in the face of all the evidence to the contrary, that there is still something between you and me, and that our marriage can be salvaged. I could be the most gorgeous, most ravishing temptress on the planet, and I’m sure he would still have contented himself with a goodnight kiss —”
“Oh? And while this kiss was going on, just how much —”
“— because of his respect for you, and because of everything you’ve tried to do for him and his case, which has obviously taken its toll on you, Montague. This really is not like you. I thought you were burnt-out when you were with Legal Aid, but this is pathetic.”
I was not through being pathetic. “And then what?”
“And then nothing. Well, he sent me flowers the next day.”
“Flowers! And just why —”
“When I came downstairs for dinner, he was eyeing a bouquet of pink roses on the mantelpiece. ‘Who sent you these?’ he asked me. I told him it was none of his business. And he said: ‘Well, they don’t suit you.’ I gave him a bit of a rough time. ‘So I suppose you, a lifelong bachelor, know all about what kind of flowers to send a woman.’ He said: ‘Wait and see.’ Off we went to the restaurant. The next afternoon, a delivery guy came to the door with a potted plant.”
“Oh? A flower that suited you?”
“You tell me. It was a snapdragon!”
She laughed, and I wanted to join her, but I couldn’t stop bickering: “Back to this —”
“Oh, stop being such a flaming arsehole!”
“I’m sorry. I know I’m being primitive. I’m stressed out and exhausted.”
“Mummy, I heard you! You said the R-word to Daddy!” Normie came in, and stood staring at her mother, wide-eyed.
“The R-word? What’s that, Normie?”
“Arsehole!”
The arsehole and his naughty wife looked at each other and tried to stifle their laughter. The tension was broken, for the time being. I reserved the right to brood later. We sat down to dinner when Tommy Douglas came in. He told us all about a girl he liked at school and Normie teased him. He teased her back. And so on. Although Maura was not by any stretch of the imagination a cordon bleu chef, we laid waste to her roast chicken, potatoes, ersatz-gravy, and bakery-made butterscotch pie. When there was nothing left, Tom excused himself, and Normie grabbed all the napkins from the table. She went into the living room and busied herself making doll clothes out of napkins and paper clips. MacNeil and I split the bottle of wine, and half of another, and sat in a post-dinner stupor, more mellow now,
Deo gratias.
III
As I watched Normie playing happily in the next room, I thought of the Crystal Green case, when I had, for better or for worse, taken apart a mother’s life on the witness stand, in front of her family, friends, and all the courthouse busybodies. I started to tell Maura about it, leaving out only the names.
As usual, she interrupted, but this time she was on my side: “She goddamned well deserved it! Picture for yourself what I would have done to someone, anyone, who hurt or abused Normie or Tom in any way. I would tear the guy limb from limb from limb —”
“I get the picture.”
“Any woman would. Except that one. And she’s the child’s mother no less. The one person on this earth who should be protecting the child with her own life. But she not only lets the abuse go on, she stays with the child molester, and sends her own daughter away!”
“That’s the way I felt. I couldn’t stop myself when I had her on the stand.”
“It’s just like little Janeece,” Maura said, “and the failure of the stepmother to protect her. I suppose the wretched woman didn’t deserve to be murdered for it, though somebody obviously thought so.” Flushed with anger, Maura reached for her wine glass and drained it. “Same with the other one when you think of it,” she continued. “The only woman in the room except for the poor victim, who was what, fifteen? What kind of woman would pander to her boyfriend by encouraging him and his little band of losers to gang-rape another girl? Couldn’t she feel the terror every woman feels at the idea of rape? How could she not have put herself in the victim’s place and gone for help? Instead of cheering them on —”
“I’m sorry, but who is this you’re talking about, Maura?”
“That other one who was murdered. The gang rape one.”
I felt time slow down. I knew I was hearing something of enormous significance but I could not work it out in my mind. “You don’t mean Leeza Rae?”
“Of course I mean Leeza Rae. What did I just say?”
“Well, what’s this about her being part of the rape?” Every cell in my post-prandial brain was on alert. “Where did you get this?”
“Collins. If you had been listening to me over the past six months —”
“I’m listening now.”
“I am working on a Charter of Rights case. We lost at trial. We are going before the Court of Appeal in January. We have two fairly new judges on the court, Vitelli and MacLeish. I’m not familiar with them, so I’m reading every one of their decisions as it comes out.” She paused and I waited in tense silence.
“So. Justice MacLeish wrote the decision of the Court of Appeal in that goddamned rape case. Vic Stillman. Leeza Rae’s boyfriend. It was a jury trial. The lead rapist, the alpha rapist I suppose he’d want to be called, this Stillman creature, got seven years. His sidekicks got less time, and one guy got off. Stillman appealed his conviction and sentence. Appeal dismissed. Unanimous decision, written for the court by MacLeish. The appeal judges made a lot of references to the transcript and that’s where all the details are about the rapist’s girlfriend Leeza — who has since been taken out by our unknown killer — Leeza encouraging these clowns to rape and humiliate this little girl. Leeza Rae not only encouraged them but laughed at the victim while it was happening, paraded around with the girl’s clothing on. She wasn’t charged with anything. It was horrible, just terrible.” Maura’s voice broke and there were tears in her eyes. She looked at Normie, who was singing to her dolls in the next room without a care in the world.
When Maura had recovered, she said: “And you didn’t know any of this?” I didn’t. I had read the newspaper reports of the rape trial; the reporters had concentrated on the chief villain and his sidekicks. If there had been a reference to the girlfriend, I had missed it. And Leeza Rae had not become important to me until long after the boyfriend’s trial. Before her death, everyone had thought of Leeza as a victim of her brutal boyfriend. Now, I wondered whether a friend or family member of the rape victim might have acted on a grudge against Leeza. Suddenly the case opened up in a way I had not anticipated.
“When was the Court of Appeal decision reported? I’ll look it up.”
“Last November or December. MacLeish’s first decision.”
I decided to read it the next morning. And I would have, if I had not been distracted by another development in the case.
Whatever you wanted, what could it be?
Did somebody tell you that you could get it from me?
Is it something that comes natural? Is it easy to say?
Why do you want it? Who are you anyway?
— Bob Dylan, “What Was It You Wanted?”
I
When I got to the office in the morning, a message was waiting for me from my private investigator. I called and he filled me in on one Trevor Myers, twenty-nine years old, originally from Amherst, Nova Scotia, up near the border with New Brunswick. He had a violent criminal record dating from the late 1970s, and had served time in Springhill, Dorchester, and the Correctional Centre in Lower Sackville. Myers’s favourite hangout, when he was not incarcerated, was the Miller’s Tale, a bar in Dartmouth. That afternoon I gave the place a call.