Children in the Morning (45 page)

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“The ones who are truly evil, with a staggering sense of entitlement for themselves and not a shred of sympathy for other people —

they are rare, but they’re out there. You’ve probably come across them yourself.”

“A few. Not many, thank God.”

“Exactly.”

Delaney was silent for a few seconds, then said: “Of course all this led me to wonder whether I myself was a sociopath. I feel no remorse over these killings. No, let me rephrase that. I do feel remorse — contrition — over my actions, the fact that I took a life, twice, with such brutality. But do I wish that Bullard and Gower were still walking the earth? No, I do not. Yet I don’t feel I am devoid of a conscience. I know I’m not. After all, I did it because of what they did to other people. And, unquestionably, I feel regret over the fact that I am capable of such violent, unlawful acts. Naturally, I live with the fear that I might do it again some day. I stopped myself with Corbett. I hope I’ll always be able to stop myself.

“After the second killing, of Bullard last year, I made a panicked call to Quinton Brayer in Toronto. You may have heard of him. He’s an expert in psychopathology. I rushed up to Toronto after I killed Bullard. I had several sessions with him.

“Monty, I think you know this. I love my family with all my heart.

I feel truly guilty about putting my kids’ future in jeopardy; I am distressed about this to the point where I still get the shakes at the thought of ending up in prison, and the family breaking up. And I still worry about poverty and illness and illiteracy here and abroad. I continue to support the charities I always supported. I don’t believe I am a sociopath, but I obviously need intensive psychotherapy.”

It was difficult for me to find the words to respond. I would not walk away from this encounter with a clean conscience. I knew of two murders, I knew my client was a killer, and I knew I was going to keep it to myself. I was not seriously concerned that Beau was going to go out and do it again. Certainly, I had no fear that he would hurt any of his children. His execution of Travis Bullard — as cold-blooded as it was — had been done to avenge a vicious attack on a mother and her child. Still, it was first-degree murder, a premeditated killing. I took some small comfort in the fact that he had got 293

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sick in the middle of the episode with Bullard, and had not been able to prolong it. He had not enjoyed his role as executioner. But, no matter what I had learned, I would not be sharing my knowledge with the police. I had no intention of breaking the bonds of solicitor-client confidentiality, any more than Brennan would break the seal of the confessional. Brennan and I could not even discuss between ourselves what we both knew about Beau Delaney.

Finally, I said: “What do you think accounts for this in you, Beau, this . . . ability, we’ll call it, to go through with these killings?”

“We’re all capable of murder, Monty. In my own case, the first few years of my life were pretty rough. I won’t get into it. Things were so good from then on, though, it seemed I wouldn’t have any problems.

And yet . . . this happened. If children are in danger, or are neglected or mistreated, or unloved, they have to be rescued early, in infancy.

The more time that goes by, the greater the damage, and the greater the risk that the damage can’t be reversed.”

“How much did Peggy know of this?”

“She knew that I could get very, very upset — enraged, I guess I’d have to call it — when I heard of certain kinds of things happening to people, especially to kids, and most especially to our own ten kids.

At those times, she knew I had to be by myself and work off the anger. I never gave her any cause to worry that I would take it out on her or the children. Peg didn’t know until the last minute of her life that I had killed someone.”

He stopped speaking, and then resumed in a voice I could barely hear: “And it killed her. In a way, although God knows I didn’t mean to, I did kill her, didn’t I?”

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Chapter 21

(Normie)

I was right! I do have the sight, and everybody knows it now. So I thought it would only be fair to tell my psychiatrist that I wouldn’t be needing any more help. Until next time, maybe. Who knows what else I might see? But anyway, I called New York, and Dr. Burke came to the phone.

“Hi,” I said.

“Hi, Normie. How are you doing, my love?”

“Great! You were right. I’m not crazy and I’m not sick, and I don’t have headaches anymore. All those things I saw were true. Daddy and Father Burke sat me down and told me that what I was seeing was Mr. Delaney, when he was a baby and when he was a little boy.

There really was a St. Vincent’s Orphan Asylum. That’s the orphanage where Mr. Delaney was kept after he got rescued from the horrible people who were being mean and hurting him. That was his own father and his father’s friends who were making fun of Mr.

Delaney and hitting him, way back in the years when those World War Two radio programs were on! He was just a little boy!” My voice 295

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had a crack in it, and I realized I was sad all over again, because I thought of Mr. Delaney being beaten up as a little kid, like that boy Cody in the church parking lot, when the man hit him and his mother didn’t care . . . But the reason for my call was to show Dr.

Burke that my imagination wasn’t playing tricks on me when I had my visions, so I knew I’d better just tell him that. I didn’t want him to worry that there was something else wrong with me.

“Oh yeah, and my little brother Dominic isn’t going away anywhere. You figured out I was scared about that, right, Doctor?”

“Well, I did think that might be taking a toll on you. I’m glad, for everyone’s sake, that it’s been resolved.”

“And there was another baby, who died in the orphanage, and Mr.

Delaney was there when it happened, but he didn’t do it. He was a little kid at the time. And the baby was just sick. So Daddy said I didn’t have to worry if I ever thought Mr. Delaney had done something to a child. And he, Mr. Delaney, phoned and apologized to me for getting upset about the Hells Angels.”

“Hells Angels?”

“Yeah, but that’s all over now.”

“Oh. Good. Well, then, do you feel better about Mr. Delaney?”

“The honest truth?”

“Yes, the honest truth.”

“I saw him the other day. And I saw a storm of darkness coming from him, or felt it. I don’t know how to say it. But . . . I think he did something. Not to Mrs. Delaney or to a little kid. But . . . something.”

(Monty)

Brennan was hearing confessions at St. Bernadette’s on Monday evening. I sat in the church and gazed at the stained-glass windows with the evening sun coming through them, creating beams of light in red and yellow and green and blue and amethyst. Beautiful. When Brennan emerged from the confessional in his clerical black and his purple stole, he sat beside me in the pew.

“What’s on your mind, Montague?”

“We each know something, or some things, about Beau Delaney.”

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“If we do, we can’t discuss it, you being his lawyer, me being his confessor.”

“That’s right. By the way, I heard through the legal grapevine today that the Crown is not going to appeal Delaney’s acquittal in Peggy’s death.”

“Ah. Well, that’s that.”

We sat in the silence of the church for a while. Then Brennan said:

“Now I’m wondering, Monty . . .”

“Yes?”

“Will you be telling herself what you know?”

“Maura?”

“Are you going to tell her? I can’t reveal anything from a confession. But lawyers don’t get excommunicated for whispering to their wives about something that happened at work.”

“I have no intention of telling her. The fewer people who know this, the better.”

“But . . .”

“It’s only the two of us who know. There’s an old saying, Brennan:
Secret de deux, secret de Dieu. Secret de trois, secret de tous.”

“Meaning?”

“A secret between two is a secret of God. A secret among three is everybody’s secret. Sounds much better in French.”

“Maura’s not exactly the six o’clock news. But, I suppose, why burden her with it? It will be tough enough for us to live with.”

“Exactly.”

“But, are we leaving people in danger, Monty?”

“I honestly don’t think so.”

“Are we in danger ourselves?”

I looked at him. “Do you think we are?”

“I’m thinking no. You?”

“I’m like you, Brennan. I think not. We’re betting our lives on it, though, aren’t we?”

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Acknowledgements

I would like to thank the following people for their kind assistance: Laurel Bauchman, Dr. John Doucet, Joe A. Cameron, Joan Butcher, Rhea McGarva and, as always, pjec.

All characters and plots in the story are fictional, as are some of the locations. Other places are real. Any liberties taken in the interests of fiction, or any errors committed, are mine alone.

I am grateful for permission to reprint lyrics from the following: suzanne, written by leonard cohen. Published by Sony/ATV Music Publishing, 1670 Bayview Avenue, Suite 408, Toronto, on, m4g 3c2.

All rights reserved. Used by permission.

a hard rain’s a-gonna fall by bob dylan Copyright ©1963; renewed 1991 Special Rider Music. All rights reserved. International copyright secured.

Reprinted by permission.

it’s all over now, baby blue by bob dylan Copyright ©1965; renewed 1993 Special Rider Music. All rights reserved. International copyright secured.

Reprinted by permission.

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A

“Engrossing.”
— Publishers Weekly

$24.95

Beau Delaney is a bit of a showboat, a promi-NNE

nent lawyer whose exploits have become the subject of a Hollywood film. He’s also the father of ten children, some of them foster children.

PRAISE
for
ANNE EMERY

EMER

“And then there was Delaney’s demeanour Now he’s charged with the murder of his wife, at the house. All he told us was that he Peggy. It’s another hard case for lawyer and wasn’t there when it happened. He had come bluesman Monty Collins. His client is keeping

“Anne Emery has produced a stunning first novel,
Sign of the Cross
, Y

home from the Annapolis Valley just after secrets; a mysterious eleventh child turns up that is at once a mystery, a thriller, and a love story. . . .

and demands to take part in the trial; and the twelve thirty. I found it curious that, well, he It’s well written, exciting, and unforgettable.”

last words anyone heard from Peggy were “the wasn’t more curious about what happened

— Halifax Chronicle Herald

Hells Angels!”

to Peggy, how she could have fallen like that, Monty isn’t alone in trying to save Delaney how such a fall could have been fatal. He from life in prison, and save his sprawling family

“In
Obit
, Halifax author Anne Emery has fashioned an old-style didn’t wonder aloud whether somebody from breaking up. Monty’s pal Father Brennan potboiler of intrigue, shadowy characters, and murky situations. The tale else had been with her. To me, Monty, it Burke has a hand in the investigation, too. But of Monty Collins and the Burkes is a finely crafted mystery about flawed
a mystery