Children in the Morning (39 page)

A small portable television and vcr were shoved in a corner, with a stack of World War Two movies piled precariously on top. Then I found a homemade comic book with a superhero — more like a human killing machine — with an SS uniform and a face and haircut that looked a lot like those of Corbett Reeves.

When I returned to the parlour, I told Mrs. Vickery I had not seen anything that would offer a clue to Corbett’s intentions, at least not his travel plans. We chatted about him for a few minutes more, then I thanked her and said goodbye.

†

“Corbett Reeves is the blond beast,” I reported to Brennan that night at the Midtown.

“The boy reads Nietzsche?” Brennan said.

“Doesn’t have to. He has a twentieth-century role model who upheld the ideal of the blond Aryan warrior, and carried it through to its logical conclusion.”

“This would be someone from the Third Reich, I presume.”

“Reinhard Heydrich. Corbett has a collage of Heydrich memora-bilia — photos of him in his SS uniform, excerpts from books about him, how he was taunted and mocked by the other schoolboys for —

get this — his high-pitched voice, and whatever other flaws they 252

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picked up on, how he rose in the ‘racially pure’ SS and ran the Gestapo for Himmler, how he helped plan the ‘final solution’ in which the Jews would be wiped out. A Nazi so feared he made other Nazis tremble at the knee. Did you know Heydrich was the product of a very cultured, musical family?”

“That sounds familiar. He played the violin, didn’t he?”

“Right. The father was an opera singer. He sang Wagner — no surprise there. They even gave Heydrich the middle name of Tristan.

They had a lovely house, a life of culture. And the son grew up to be a cold and murderous Nazi.”

“Well, Germany was one of the most civilized countries in the world when all this happened.”

“And the Nazis will always have their admirers. Like our Corbett.

I found a comic book he created, with himself as a blond killer in an SS-style uniform.”

“What got him on to Heydrich?”

“The great-uncle, dead now, taught German history at Acadia University. When Corbett lived there years ago, the professor used to tell him all about the war, the Third Reich, the Holocaust. He showed him the materials he had collected for his classes on the subject. He didn’t expect the child to become a fan!”

“Do we know that? Maybe he did. Maybe the uncle was a fan himself. And Corbett seems to be exactly the type to become fascinated with the Nazis.”

“Mrs. Vickery had no insight into the kid at all. You should have heard the poor old soul going on about him. ‘Corbett is very bright, you know.’ And: ‘Corbett does not like the coarser things in life,’ she told me when I was leaving. ‘He needs comfort, a certain amount of refinement. He always loved this house, the furnishings . . . I cannot bear to think of him living in poverty, in squalor.’ He was robbing the old lady blind, and she didn’t have a clue! That young fellow, Kyle, told us Corbett used to brag to the inmates in Shelburne about living in a big house in the posh part of Halifax. He obviously thinks that’s the style to which he is entitled to become accustomed.”

“I’d say the Delaneys were well rid of him.”

“And I wish they’d stayed rid of him. I don’t like the fact that he’s out there, circling around us, with accusations against Beau.”

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“What sort of accusations?”

I shook my head and raised a “don’t ask” hand in his direction.

Then I said: “I want to find Corbett. Either that or receive a message from a higher power, assuring me that Corbett has found true happiness on the other side of the continent, and has no plans to travel east ever again. The latter option is as fantastical as Corbett Reeves’s sense of entitlement in this world. So I guess I’m stuck with option one, track him down and try to determine what kind of a threat he might pose to Delaney.”

“How do you intend to find him?”

“I’ll start with you. Do you still have the phone numbers of those kids, Mitchell and Kyle?”

“I think I know Mitchell’s number, but I’ll check when I get home to make sure I have it right. I’ll give you a call.”

†

Brennan gave me Mitchell’s number and, through him, I found Kyle and, after a bit of rigmarole with him, I found out where Corbett Reeves was staying. So, the following morning, Corbett and I were face to face outside his current place of residence, a group home in Dartmouth. He told his story in his strained, high-pitched voice.

“Beau took me out to the woods. Somewhere outside the city, off the Bedford Highway. It’s got some name like poison. Hemlock Forest or something.”

“Hemlock Ravine?”

“Yeah, that’s it.”

“When was this?”

“I don’t know. Well, the leaves were red and yellow, so fall time.

He took me along a path and then into the trees. There was nobody around. He told me off for getting money from all those little losers who thought I was going to give them a ride in the Merc, or get them into the family. And some other stuff I did.”

“What other stuff?”

“None of your business. So then I badmouthed him back, and he picked me up and practically choked me, then threw me down on the ground. He was going to kill me!”

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“And yet, here you are, alive and well.”

“Only because he’s chickenshit.”

“He was afraid of you, is that what you’re saying? He’s over a foot taller than you, and he weighs twice as much.”

His face flushed, and he put his hands on my chest and tried to shove me away. “You fuck off! People who laugh at me don’t end up laughing very long.”

“All right, all right, settle down and tell me your story.”

“Bet you didn’t know Delaney wears special shoes!”

What had I heard about that? It sounded familiar, but I didn’t let on. “No, I can’t say the subject ever came up.”

“It wouldn’t ever come up! He freaks out if he thinks somebody might find out. They have things in them to make him taller!”

I remembered it then. Sergeant Morash had told me. Well, I wasn’t about to get into it with Corbett. “Let’s be serious here. Why do you say Delaney was going to kill you?”

“Because he told me!”

The boy was becoming more and more agitated, and in my own way, so was I.

“What did he say to you?”

“He said: ‘I know what you are. I’m going to send you to hell.’”

“Corbett, if Delaney was going to kill you, why do you suppose he didn’t just flatten you with one big fist? Why all this chat leading up to it?”

“Maybe he was chicken, and he was trying to talk himself into it.

Trying to psych himself up.”

“What did he mean by saying ‘I know what you are’?”

“There are two kinds of people in this world. Did you know that, Monty?”

“What kinds of people, Corbett?”

“Masters and slaves.”

“I see.”

“Ever hear of the master race?”

“Oh, come on, Corbett.”

“I told you, people who make fun of me end up not laughing in the end!”

“Are you saying you have hurt people who have made fun of you?”

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“Maybe yes, maybe no. It’s none of your business.”

“Okay, go on.”

He studied me for a moment. “What are you? Dutch or something?”

“Irish and English.”

“Oh yeah? Well . . . English might not be too bad.”

“Glad to hear it.”

“That’s what Beau meant about me. I’m the blond warrior type, and I could cause a lot of death and destruction if I wanted to.”

I wanted to laugh out loud again at this preposterous child, but I kept it in. “Is this what you were going to say if you had taken the stand in Delaney’s trial?”

“I don’t think so.”

“Why not? Didn’t you want to take revenge on him?”

“I told the tv and the court that he didn’t do it.”

“You said he ‘didn’t kill.’ Maybe that meant he didn’t kill
you
. But you say he threatened to. Is that what your evidence was going to be?”

“I was going to keep him out of jail.”

“How were you going to do that?”

“By telling them he was with me that night.”

“Why would you do that, if the man tried to kill you?”

“You’re not very smart sometimes, are you, Monty?”

“I guess not.”

“I was going to get him off. Then he would be in debt to me for the rest of his life. And he’d pay me money over and over again.”

“You were going to blackmail him.”

“So what? He would owe me, fair and square.”

“But there’s a flaw in that reasoning. If he’s the killer you say he is, he’d just come get you some night, and bump you off.”

“No way.” Corbett shook his head. “I would have made sure he knew I left the true story in an envelope in a safe place, with orders for somebody to open it if anything happened to me. Do you think I’m stupid?”

“Do you watch a lot of television, Corbett?”

“I said I’m not stupid, you asshole!” He looked as if he might burst into tears. His fists were clenched and he screamed into my face. “Fuck off! I’m leaving, and you’ll never find me! But I know where to find you!”

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I grabbed him by the arm and stopped him. “Settle down. And I don’t want to hear any more threats out of you.”

“Why? What are you going to do about it?”

“It’s a criminal offence to utter a threat. Did you know that?”

“Oh yeah? Then maybe Beau Delaney better go to court all over again, because of the way he threatened me.”

“Seriously, now, Corbett. You didn’t really believe Delaney was going to do anything to you.”

“Oh, I believed him all right.” The bluster was gone from the young boy’s demeanour. “He meant it. He picked me up off the ground and made like he was going to hit me. He looked at me for a long time, like he was thinking. Then he told me to get out of Halifax and not come back. If I went anywhere near his house or his family, or even if I showed up in the city again, he would kill me. He would make me disappear. Then he just dropped me, and walked away. I took off in the other direction, and I got lost. When I finally found my way out, I hopped on a bus to get to my buddy’s place downtown. A friend of mine. To get some money and stuff. I got out of town that night, and hitchhiked all the way to the old lady’s place in Bridgetown. Because, believe me, I believed him!”

†

My mind was reeling as I drove to the office after my encounter with Corbett Reeves. In spite of myself, I found the kid credible. Had Delaney really been on the verge of killing his former foster son? “I know what you are.” What? A young misfit living in a world of neo-Nazi fantasies? When I got to the office, I saw a couple of clients, did my paperwork, and made some calls. This freed me up for the afternoon, I realized, and I decided to hook off for the rest of the day. As I made preparations to leave, I thought back over what I knew about Beau Delaney. Had I ever heard anything that would suggest he might attempt or threaten to kill a fifteen-year-old boy? I had just defended him on a charge of killing his beloved wife. The jury had found him not guilty. Were they wrong after all?

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Chapter 18

(Normie)

I phoned Daddy and caught him just before he left to play hooky from work. I had to tell him about the great day we had at school.

“Hi, Daddy!”

“Hi, Normie. How’s my girl?”

“Good! It was so cool today in history class! We had a combined class with the big kids. All the grades were there. And guess who taught the class?”

“Oh, let me see. You?”

“No!”

“Mum?”

“No!”

“I can’t guess, then. Who?”

“Gordo!”

“Gordo . . . oh, right. Richard’s uncle.”

“Yeah!”

“How was it?”

“Great. We learned all this new stuff. Did you ever hear of the cia?”

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“Yep.”

“The kgb?”

“Yep.”

“Well, he taught us about them and about all these governments that got overthrown, and about death squads that these governments allowed to operate! It was spooky. And the Americans really do have a plan to take over our country. It was made up after the First World War and it was called War Plan Red. And guess what? The first city to be captured was Halifax! And they said they would drop bombs on us if we didn’t give in!

“The kids were staring at Gordo they were so amazed, but he had all these papers to prove what he was saying. Father Burke sat in on the class and thanked Gordo, and invited him back! And another day, Monsignor O’Flaherty and Father Burke are going to teach us all about Irish history. And, um, he said something about you.”

“Who did?”

“Father Burke. He said you’re half Irish and you were never taught the history of your own people, and he expects to see you in the front row with a pen and a notebook when they give the Irish history lesson!”

“Well, I can’t very well disobey my priest, can I? So you let me know when it is, and I’ll be there.”

“He doesn’t think you’re stupid, though, Daddy. He knows you know all kinds of other history, but he said your dad, my granddad, never told you enough about the old country. It’s not your fault.”

“Thank you, sweetheart. So, tell me, what did Gordo have on when he taught the class today?”

“He wore his usual clothes, you know, raggedy jeans and a T-shirt.