Children in the Morning Page 4

“A coach who will assist Richard in becoming more goal-oriented, more focused, more successful all round. This is a case in point. The fact that Richard has forgotten and made himself late for his coaching session underscores the need for it. Richard! Get your things and get into the car. This minute.”

  Me and Jenny and Kim looked at each other. Kim said: “Richard’s mum is kind of mean. She makes him do all this extra stuff and gets mad when he doesn’t do it. I heard him telling Ian that he wishes he could go to Four-Four Time or Gaelic football every day, so he wouldn’t have to see that coach guy, or his French tutor, which his mum says he needs or he’ll never be able to get a good job.”

  “Yeah, that’s not like my mum. I mean, before she died,” Jenny said. “She used to say kids have to have time for fun, and not always be dragged around to activities their parents put them in.”

  “I feel really bad about your mum,” I told Jenny.

  “Yeah.”

  “Why do you think she died?”

  “I think she had a heart attack. Or what’s that other thing? They call it a strike. And it made her fall down the stairs.”

  “They call it a stroke, I think,” Kim said. “My grandfather got all upset and then had one, a stroke, and he can’t do anything now.”

  Laurence said: “Maybe she died because she was sad.”

  “Sad about what?” I asked him.

  “Our brother ran away.”

  “No! Really?”

  “Well, he wasn’t really our brother, but he lived with us sometimes. Years ago, and again last year. Then he left.”

  “Where did he go?”

  “Nobody knows.”

  “That’s awful!”

  “He was mean!” Jenny said.

  “Well, yeah, he was sometimes,” Laurence said. “But maybe she didn’t know that. He always acted good around Mum. She might have been sad about him being gone.”

  “When did he go?”

  “A few months ago,” Laurence said.

  “Was it a long time before she died?”

  “Not very long.”

  “How old is he?” I asked.

  “Fifteen.”

  “What’s his name?”

  “Corbett.”

  “I never heard that name before.”

  “I suppose. I never thought about it.”

  “We’ll have a family meeting on this, Richard. In the meantime there is no point in arguing.” That was Richard’s mum again. Richard was walking away from the field, and he didn’t seem very happy about it. He didn’t look at us or any of the other kids. “Good day, Reverend!”

  I don’t think Father Burke likes being called Reverend. That’s not his proper title. But Mrs. Robertson isn’t a Catholic and she doesn’t know any better. Father stuck up for Richard, though. “You’ll be pleased to hear that Richard is singing so well he’s going to be the section leader for the trebles.”

  “It’s about time. Richard? Keep moving. And you’d better not get any mud in that new car. Your father won’t be pleased.”

  They left, and Father Burke made a cross behind her back. I don’t mean a sign of the cross that you do when you pray; I mean he crossed his hands in front of himself the way they do in a horror movie when they want to “ward off evil.” It was funny. He probably forgot the rest of us kids could see it.

  But I think I got him in trouble, even though I didn’t mean to. I told Daddy when he picked me up after school. He laughed, but then he said: “No consent form, eh? I’ll have to have a word with the good Father about that.” Lawyers don’t always see the fun in things.

  Daddy has to work later than school kids do, so he took me to his office. I like going there except he always tells me to do homework while I wait for him. He had to go to some kind of meeting with the other lawyers so I had his office all to myself. I was good and started doing my lessons, but then I got tired of school work. I could finish it all in twenty minutes at home, so why bother with it now? More fun to go through the stuff in Daddy’s office, like the stamp that says “Montague M. Collins, A Barrister of the Supreme Court of Nova Scotia.” I made some designs on paper with that. I tried to erase Montague and put Normie, but I made a mess. Then I snuck my Nancy Drew book out of my schoolbag and put it on my lap behind the desk, so nobody could see me reading instead of studying. But it was almost like studying anyway, because this book has all kinds of big words in it, like “creditably” and “supercilious,” and I can look them up and sneak them into my school work and get better marks. The book is The Clue of the Whistling Bagpipes, where Nancy goes to Scotland and meets all kinds of people like my own ancestors, and solves a mystery. And it made me want to solve a mystery myself. I could call it The Mystery of the Missing Brother. Not my brother, but Laurence and Jenny’s. Where was Corbett?

  Most people go to the police when a person is missing. But the Delaneys would have done that already. So I couldn’t start there. Any time I read a book or see a movie about somebody missing, the first thing they ask is “Where was he last seen?” I would ask Jenny and Laurence who saw Corbett before he went away. Other questions would be: Was he happy or sad, or mad at somebody? And: Did he have stuff with him, as if he was going to run away for a long time?

  I made up my mind to ask my first question when I saw Jenny the next day at Four-Four Time. Laurence wasn’t there, so I used that as an excuse, and said: “Where’s your brother? I just mean Laurence, not the other guy. What is his name? I forget.”

  She looked at me, trying to figure out who I meant, because she has a whole bunch of brothers.

  “I wasn’t talking about the guy who is missing,” I said.

  “Oh. Corbett. Yeah, nobody knows where he is.”

  “Where was he last seen?” There, I got it in.

  “The last time anybody saw him was at our house.”

  “Oh. When was that?”

  “I’m not supposed to say.”

  “Really? How come?”

  “Because it was the day Mummy died.”

  “No! How come you’re not supposed to tell?”

  Jenny looked around to make sure nobody was listening in. “He wasn’t allowed in the house. Daddy said so.”

  “Did he sneak in?”

  “Yeah. Daddy was away for a couple of days on a big case. The trial was in the newspapers. That’s when Corbett showed up at the house. Mummy felt sorry for him because he said he didn’t have a place to stay ever since he left us.”

  “So, what happened? Your mum let him in?”

  “She said he could sleep there, down in Connor and Derek’s room because they were away on their school trip. Corbett could sleep there but he had to go out during the daytime because we would all be at school, and the little kids would be at Aunt Sheila’s. And Corbett couldn’t stay in the house by himself.”

  I tried to remember the other questions I should ask to solve the mystery of her missing brother. Was he sad? No, that probably wasn’t it.

  “Was he mad because he had to leave in the mornings?”

  “Probably. He was mean. But I don’t know. I didn’t talk to him. I just heard him on the back porch with Mum. Then he went to sleep down in the basement room. Derek and Connor’s. And he was gone when I got up the next day.”

  “That was the day your mum died?”

  “No, well, the day before that, I guess. Then I think he slept there again the night she died, because I remember hearing somebody moving stuff around in the boys’ room. Then it was quiet. The door was closed. But I just went to bed.”

  “Was he around when your mum fell down the stairs?”

  Jenny shrugged her shoulders up. “I don’t think so. He would have been asleep. I didn’t know about Mum dying until Daddy woke us up that morning. And Corbett wasn’t there.”

  Chapter 3

  (Monty)

  If
Beau Delaney was not home when Peggy died, but arrived late at night afterwards, there was a chance his homecoming was noticed by one or more of his neighbours. Given the circumstances, Beau was able to pinpoint his arrival time with some precision: twelve thirty-five in the morning. His call to the ambulance was logged at twelve forty-three, and the medical examiner arrived just before one thirty. In the M.E.’s estimation, Peggy had been dead for around three hours, which meant the time of death was ten thirty or thereabouts. I had not yet seen the witness statements taken by the police. But I wanted my own answers. I also thought there might be some value in Beau Delaney’s own lawyer asking his neighbours for help, or should I say, factual information, so I went on a fact-finding mission to his neighbourhood on Wednesday evening. There seemed little point in asking everyone on his street if they happened to notice his car going by, but his closest neighbours, those on either side and across the street, had a clear view of the Delaneys’ driveway and the front of their house. I began knocking on doors, starting with the one adjacent to the driveway. No, Dr. Harrison and his wife had taken no notice one way or the other. They were very sorry to lose Peggy as a friend, and they had no doubt about Beau’s innocence. It was much the same story with Professor Anna Goldberg on the other side of Beau’s house, and the Van Bommels directly across the street.

  But Harold Gorman had something to say. And unfortunately, it was not what I wanted to hear. Mr. Gorman was in his eighties. He met me at the door in a thin brown housecoat and slippers. He had taken a turn of some kind and could not give me much time. He said he had seen Beau on the night in question, and he had told this to the police when they canvassed the neighbourhood. He just told them what he saw, as any good citizen would do. But that did not mean he thought, even for a moment, that Beau Delaney was guilty of murder or anything else. Anybody who thought Beau would kill Peggy obviously didn’t know either of them.

  “Peggy probably got startled by something. A trespasser. And lost her balance and fell down the stairs.”

  What was this? “Why do you say ‘trespasser,’ Mr. Gorman?”

  “It’s all in the statement I gave to the police, Mr. Collins.”

  “Was there somebody on the Delaney property that night?”

  “On their property and other people’s property and then — poof! — gone.”

  “Did you hear anything that might have given you an indication what the trespasser was up to?”

  But my hopes were dashed. “No, I didn’t hear a thing.”

  “What time was this, Mr. Gorman?”

  “I’m not sure, but I don’t think Lloyd was on yet, giving the news. I have the TV in my bedroom now, ever since Vera died. I fall asleep watching the news. But that night I got up to watch the snow. I have to go lie down now. You get the police statement; it’s all in there.”

  “Very well, Mr. Gorman. Thanks for your help. Were you awake when the ambulance arrived?”

  “Oh yeah. I was still awake then. Or maybe I woke up again. The police came. They must have been in there quite a while. They were still there when I got back into bed.”

  “Thank you, Mr. Gorman. Bye for now.”

  I had to get a copy of that statement. What was this about a trespasser? Did we have another suspect? Should we alter our defence accordingly? First thing I did when I returned to the office was call the Crown prosecutor, Gail Kirk, and arrange to get copies of all the witness statements she had.

  I got them later that day. I set aside for the time being the pathologist’s report and other material about the cause of death, and focused on the neighbourhood witnesses. But the police didn’t get any more than I did from the neighbours, with the exception of Harold Gorman. His statement, like the rest of them, was in a question-and-answer format. The investigating officer was Sergeant Chuck Morash. He performed the usual formalities, giving the date and time of the interview, the witness’s name, and so on, and then got to the point:

  “Mr. Gorman, as you know, we’re investigating the death of Mrs. Delaney.”

  “She was probably startled and fell down.”

  “Why do you say that?”

  “Prowler. She may have heard him, and been frightened. Jumped, or turned suddenly, and wham, down the stairs.”

  “Did you see a prowler around the Delaney residence that night?”

  “Some little punk lurking around people’s property. I saw him myself.”

  “Did you know who he was, recognize him?”

  “How would I recognize him? They all wear those hooded sweatshirts now, you can’t see their faces.”

  “What was he doing?”

  “Hanging around.”

  “Where?”

  “The place across the street from us, and Delaney’s. Then he ran down the street and around the corner.”

  “Did you get the impression that the Delaney property was his main area of interest?”

  “Hard to tell. But I watched him, because I didn’t know what he might do. What gives them the right to be skulking around? There ought to be a law against it.”

  “There is, Mr. Gorman. Next time it happens, call us.”

  “By the time you fellows show up they’ll be long gone. I’ll go out and chase them off myself if I have to.”

  “We wouldn’t recommend that, sir.”

  “No, I suppose you’re right. But Beau Delaney isn’t afraid of them. I figured he sent that hooligan packing.”

  “Why do you think that?”

  “Well, I don’t know for sure. I just thought that’s probably why he was out there. But who knows? I never got to ask him, with Peggy dying and all.”

  “So you saw Mr. Delaney outside his house?”

  “Only for a bit.”

  “What was he doing?”

  “Just having a look around, it seemed like.”

  “What time would this have been, do you remember?”

  “Oh, it would have been . . . I was waiting for Lloyd, but he hadn’t signed on yet. Then I fell asleep. Guess I missed the news that night. Didn’t stay asleep, though, on account of the snow, or it must have been sleet, battering my window. I looked out and saw it was quite a nor’wester. Was glad I paid to have the windows reset. Worth every penny, with the weather we’re having these days.”

  “Did you hear any sounds coming from the Delaney house or grounds that night?”

  “No, didn’t hear a thing.”

  “Is there anything you’d like to add?”

  “Yes. Beau would never have killed Peggy. It had to have been an accident.”

  I put down the statement and got Beau on the phone. “I’ve just read the statement of Harold Gorman.”

  “He’s got his times mixed up.”

  “That may work for us or against us, depending on which time the jury decides he’s mixed up. He says he saw you — not just your car, but you — before Lloyd Robertson’s news broadcast. That would make it before eleven o’clock. You tell me you didn’t get home before twelve thirty-five.”

  “I didn’t. Harold Gorman dozes, peers out the window, watches television, and dozes again. I’ve known him for years. He can’t sleep, so he frets about things going on outside his house. Nothing is ever going on, but that doesn’t stop him.”

  “He swears you’re innocent.”

  “Good man, Harold, and a sharp-eyed witness! Didn’t I just say so?”

  “He says he got up to check the weather. It started to snow that night. I’ll have to check the time.”

  “It didn’t start till after midnight. I remember.”

  “Good. We’ll get the Environment Canada weather summary into the record. Mr. Gorman had something else to say as well. Said he saw a prowler around your place. Let’s hope he’s right, and we can create the suggestion that there was somebody else —”

  “Forget it.”

  “What?”
<
br />   “He’s always seeing prowlers.”

  “The Crown doesn’t know that. He never calls the police.”

  “And he didn’t call them this time either.”

  “Even so, he said he saw a teenager in a hooded sweatshirt.”

  “That’s probably the last image he saw on television before he drifted off to sleep.”

  “I thought you’d be a little more interested in this trespasser angle, Beau.”

  “I would be, if there were something in it for me. But there isn’t. Nobody broke into our house, for instance. I can’t point to a smashed window or a jimmied lock. Or signs of a struggle. It doesn’t work.”

  “All right, all right. Let’s just hope we can get Gorman up to twelve thirty in his estimate when we have him on the stand.”

  (Normie)

  “Wow! This is a big house. It’s really nice!”

  Jenny had invited me to her house after Four-Four Time, and Mum said I could go. She had to think about it for a few minutes, but she said yes. Jenny and I took the bus most of the way, then walked the last part of it. Jenny’s was one of those big white houses with a black roof, a door in the middle and windows on both sides. It had shutters on the windows, which I really like. It was huge inside with a big living room that you step down into. Jenny took me to her bedroom, which was painted a pretty colour of green with all the other stuff white or blue. But best of all was the bunk beds.

  I said: “I always wanted a bunk bed!”

  “Yeah, but you don’t have enough kids in your house. You can’t fill up the rooms like we can. You have to be in a different room from your big brother.”

  “I know. But now that we have Dominic maybe he can have a bunk bed with me, when he’s big enough to get out of his crib.”

  “Maybe. Or you should get more kids. Girls.”

  “I wish.”

  “So, what do you want to play? Dolls? Or hockey?”

  “We can play hockey here?”

  “It’s a big game that you put on a table. It’s down the basement. Laurence is probably playing with it.”

  “Oh, can I see it?”