Death at Christy Burke's (32 page)

Not long afterwards, they were standing in front of the convent near Parnell Square. It was shrouded in darkness.

“Shite! We can’t expect them to be up before the sun,” Brennan said.

“Too bad. So I’ll just run along now.”

Brennan took Aidan gently by the arm. “No, you won’t. Hold on.”

He remembered being in Kitty’s room with Michael and the others. The view was to the east, he recalled; they had walked up to the third floor, and almost but not quite to the end of the corridor. So which window would be hers? Not the last one. Second last? He had no choice but to chance it.

He bent down and picked up a couple of stones. He pegged one at the window. Perfect hit. But no Kitty. He pegged another one. A light flashed on in the room, and a curtain moved. Could she see him?

“Kitty!” he called out. “Kitty! It’s Brennan.”

He turned to Aidan, who was standing there gaping at him. “We’ll just have to wait.” And wait they did, with no result. “Might as well have a seat till she spies us. Or comes down.”

They dropped to the grass and sat, staring up at the massive old building.

“Only hope I got the right room,” Brennan muttered. He was ready to keel over and pass out asleep on the grass. He’d slept on worse. Just a few minutes ago. The situation struck him as so bizarre he wondered if he was hallucinating from lack of rest. Sleep deprivation was a form of torture; it wreaked psychological havoc on the person . . . What was that? A siren in the distance. Trouble again somewhere. Was it coming closer? No. Yes.

“Jesus the Christ and Saviour of the world!” He scrambled to his feet.

“You’ve put the fucking guards onto me, Brennan, you
amadan
!”

“No, no!” He grabbed Aidan by the sleeve, and pushed him into a hedge at the side of the property. “Stay in there, and keep your head down!”

Brennan got Aidan squirrelled away, and not a moment too soon. A garda car came roaring up to the convent, and two guards got out. At the same time, a light went on over the front door of the convent, and a nun emerged, fully dressed. Fierce-looking. Not Kitty. One of the officers went to speak to her; the other peered into the gloom in front of and beside the building. Brennan emerged and stood in plain view. The guard saw him and shouted to his partner. They both converged on Brennan and seized him by the arms, one cop on each side.

“I can explain,” he said.

“You’d better.”

The nun called out, “Have you got him? He was throwing stones at our windows and shouting something. I couldn’t make it out, but I did hear the name Brennan.”

“I’m here to see Sister Kitty.”

“Is that a fact?” The nun’s eyes bored into him. “If so, I’ll have to have a word with Sister Curran about the company she keeps. So, what’s your problem, which prompts you to terrorize our community in the middle of the night?”

“I don’t have a problem.”

“You do now,” one of the guards asserted.

Then Brennan heard the voice of Kitty Curran. “What’s going on, Sister?”

“You have a gentleman caller, Sister Curran, though ‘gentleman’ is hardly the appropriate word.”

Kitty caught sight of Brennan then, and he watched her expression go from incomprehension to barely concealed amusement.

“Oh, I can take care of this, Sister Ermenilda. Guard, you may release him.”

“Do you know this man, Sister? We were given the name Brennan. Is that correct?” The guard looked at Brennan’s soiled clerical suit and Roman collar. “Is it
Father
Brennan?”

The other guard eyed the first and wiggled his hand in the well-recognized pantomime of a glass being lifted and lowered.

But Kitty had an answer for them: “No, it’s
Mister
Brennan. Please release him, guard. He’s harmless. Really. He’s known to some of us here.”

“If he’s Mr. Brennan, why the priest suit?”

“Mr. Brennan did attend the seminary. Didn’t you, dear? But the sem is very challenging. Intellectually, if you know what I mean. Not everybody is able for it. But there’s nothing wrong with that. We all have different abilities and gifts. And some of us have been touched by the angels. Like poor Mr. Brennan here.” She gave him a mawkish smile. “Some of the sisters here in Dublin watch out for him, make sure he has a meal, gets his hair trimmed, takes a bath once in a while. I can see his clerical costume is getting a little shabby again, but we’ll fix that up for him. You can release him to me, guard. Honestly.”

“You’re sure?”

“Oh, yes. Come inside with me, darling.”

The guards released their grip on him but stood by warily in case he had to be wrestled to the ground. He returned Kitty’s simpering smile, and said in a singsong voice, “Thank you, Sister.”

She came forward and patted him gently on his injured left cheek, then took his hand. He began shambling towards the door with her. They went inside. The other nun looked at them uncertainly, then headed upstairs.

“Well, Mr. Brennan,” Kitty said to him when they were alone, “do you have something to tell me, or have you really taken leave of your senses?”

“The first thing I have to tell you is thanks for bailing me out. The second is that there is someone else lurking in the bushes outside. If he’s still there.”

He filled her in on Aidan, and she readily agreed to help. They waited until the guards were well and truly gone, then returned outside, where the day was just beginning to dawn. Brennan sent up a prayer that the young man had not scarpered. But there he was, crouched in the hedgerow where Brennan had left him. He crawled out and stood, and Brennan introduced him to Sister Kitty.

With his eyes on Kitty, Aidan jerked his head in Brennan’s direction, and asked, “So, what’s the real story? Is he a priest or some sort of head-the-ball, or both? I went through his wallet, and his cards just say Brennan Xavier Burke. Nothing about ‘Father.’”

“Have you spent any time with him, Aidan?” Kitty asked.

“A bit.”

“What do you think?”

Aidan glanced briefly at Brennan, then looked down and scuffed his shoe along the ground. “I think he’s what he’s supposed to be.”

Kitty had a plan ready for Aidan; she had worked with the poor and troubled when she lived in Dublin before, and she still had connections now. She dug out some clean clothes and sent him off for a shower, then went to work on the phone. She found him a place to stay and set up a couple of appointments for him later in the day. When he emerged pink and glowing from the bathroom, she told him what she had lined up for him, and assured him that she would be going with him to his new quarters. She and Brennan sat with him in a small parlour until one of Kitty’s helpers arrived to pick them up. Brennan went outside to see them off.

He held out his hand, and Aidan grasped it. They shook. Brennan wanted to take the poor, unfortunate child in his arms and let him weep the tears of a lifetime. But he would leave that to someone much better in that line than he was. Kitty Curran.

All he said was, “Aidan, if ever you get the urge for pizza at four in the morning, Kitty will know where to find me.”

Aidan just nodded, without words. Brennan did not break the handshake until Aidan did. He made the sign of the cross over the boy, gave him a blessing, turned and walked inside the convent.

Brennan returned to the little parlour and sat in an armchair. He felt himself drifting off to sleep. He leaned back and slowly sank beneath the rim of consciousness.

He awoke with the sun beating down on his face through the window. It took him a few minutes to realize where he was. Then the whole long night and morning came back to him. He looked at his watch. Twenty to nine. Christ. He was due to say the old Latin Mass at St. Audoen’s at nine. Where was Kitty? She had left with Aidan. Brennan got up and found the bathroom. When he saw himself in the mirror, he could scarcely believe his eyes, which were watery and bloodshot, underscored with dark circles. His face looked grey, and he had a big red gash on his left cheek. His white collar was now brown, with a streak of blood on it, and his suit was dirty and even torn. He worked up a lather of soap and washed his hands and face. His only earthly desire now was to brush his teeth. He would have to stop at a pharmacy and pick up a brush and paste before Mass. He had to go.

Kitty was waiting for him when he came out of the bathroom. “Brennan, you look as if you haven’t slept in a week. And what happened to your face? And your suit? I didn’t want to ask with Aidan here.”

“I was in a fight, and I slept on the pavement.”

“What? How did you . . .”

Brennan shook his head. No time for explanations. “I’ll tell you all about it next time I see you. For now, could I annoy you for one other favour?”

“Why ever not?”

“Toothpaste. And is there any chance in the world that you have a spare toothbrush?”

“Did I not just produce clothing out of thin air for another man in need?”

“You did.”

“Wait two seconds and I’ll be back with toothpaste and a brand new brush.”

He waited, she returned with the necessary items, and he went in and cleaned his teeth. When he emerged again, she said, “You still look like hell. Go home and go to bed.”

“Mass time. Got to run.”

He wrapped his arms around Kitty and held her close. “Thank you, angel.”

“You’re welcome, dear, simple Mr. Brennan. Young Aidan was very grateful for your help. He kept saying, ‘He gave me his wallet to hold. Can you believe that?’ What was that all about?”

Brennan waved off the question and left the convent on the fly.

He got to the church with two minutes to spare, ran up the aisle, made a quick genuflection and sign of the cross, and entered the sacristy. He stopped for a few seconds to catch his breath, then vested for Mass. He took care with the white alb, making sure he did not get any blood on it from his face. Then he donned the green chasuble with the gold cross on the back, placed a black biretta on his head, and took a deep breath. It was at that moment that two young boys came barrelling into the sacristy.

“Sorry we’re late, Father! The bus . . .”

Brennan held up his hand. “No worries, lads. I’m late too. I’m Father Burke.” They caught sight of his wounded face and gawked. “Get yourselves dressed, and we’re on.”

Father Burke walked up the aisle behind his altar boys. He noticed Monty and the MacNeil on his left. They did a double take when they saw him. No wonder, with him looking like the wrath of God. But he soon forgot all that, as he became suffused with the divine love that surrounded them all in the neoclassical interior of the church. He sang the Mass as it had been sung for over a thousand years, the Gregorian chant sounding raspy this morning but, as always, perfectly in tune.

He stood at the back of the church after Mass, talking with parishioners and accepting the occasional compliment about the beauty of the liturgy and music. He ignored the curious looks the people directed at his face.

Monty and Maura were the last to file out. They stared at him, and Monty spoke up, “Barroom brawl, Father?”

Burke was too tired to come up with a rejoinder. That gave pause even to the MacNeil, who opened her mouth to comment, then thought better of it. The fact that they were in the church together gave rise to a glimmer of hope in Brennan, and he said, “Come with me.” He turned towards the front of the church, and they followed him up the aisle and into the sacristy.

He pulled three chairs out, and they all sat down. The little boys were getting out of their surplices, practically tearing them off so they could get on with their day. “Easy there, boys,” Burke admonished them.

“I know, Father, but we have a match starting at eleven, and we’ve the bus to catch.”

“All right. We have to expect that on a Saturday morning. Thanks for your help today. Great job.”

“Thanks,” they both said, eyes shining. Then they bolted from the room.

Father Burke stood and began removing his vestments, revealing the dirty, damaged suit and collar underneath.

“Are you all right, Brennan? You’ve been injured. What happened?” Maura asked, genuinely concerned.

Monty joined in, “What on earth . . .”

Brennan held up his hand to forestall the inquiries. He didn’t have the energy to recount last night’s events, and he could not reveal what had kept him up the night before. But young Aidan, the boy without a home, was very much on his mind.

“I’m fine. Listen to me. Please.” They were uncharacteristically silent as he sat again, and faced them. “You two love each other,” he said. “There’s no doubt in my mind about that.”

No response, just wariness on their part.

“Well? I don’t have the strength to heave myself out of this chair to go home, so I have all day to wait for your answer, if necessary. Love, I was asking about.”

Monty finally answered. “That’s never been in dispute.”

“Ah. If only Giacomo Puccini were alive today, he would set that to music. One of the greatest, most poetic, most glorious declarations of love of all time. But I’ll take what I can get. That’s a yes. And you, my dear?” he said to MacNeil.

All she did was nod.

“That’s not a problem, then. Your problem, as I understand it,” he said to Monty, “is embarrassment. Over the baby, Dominic. You would be embarrassed to be seen raising a child who, obviously, visibly, is not your own.”

“You’d be the same way if you were in my shoes, Brennan. You’re made of the same stuff. We all heard the stories of the scenes you staged to get your old girlfriend back from another man in your New York days.”

“In my youth, long ago.”

“You’d be the same way now. I know you. You’re the same kinda guy as yours truly.”

“Very well. I’m the same kinda guy. And the same kinda guy is pleading with you to get over it, and be a father to that child. And a husband to this woman.”

They were listening. Burke knew that much. He had never seen them so attentive, if understandably cautious.

“Monty, I’ll ask you this again: has any one of your friends or colleagues ever made a snide remark about you and Dominic and his parentage?”

“Well, no, not to me, but . . .”