Blood on a Saint (43 page)

“And the night that I stabbed Jordyn, before we got into the fight, she made a crack about me and Ignatius: our ‘wedding picture.’ And it came into my head that Ignatius was the only person who could connect me with Jordyn. The only person except for Brandon Toth and Jade, Jordyn’s other friend who helped her abuse me. And they would keep their mouths shut because of how bad they would look if the story came out. I had never told anyone what happened, except Ignatius, because of the way they brought him into it. So I got paranoid. He was always writing little reminders and things on holy cards he’d get from various churches, and he stuck them all in his prayer book. He was always telling me I should keep a record of everything that happened, and lay charges against Jordyn and Brandon and the other one. But maybe he kept a record himself. I got scared when she said that about the picture.

“So I went completely off the plan to go straight home after . . . the stabbing. I never saw Podgis. And I never even thought about my other plan, that the police might suspect one of the kooks hanging around the shrine. All I could think of was that I had a motive to kill Jordyn Snider, and Ignatius Boyle knew about it. I didn’t think he would turn me in, but I wanted him to destroy anything about that incident with him and me.

“There’s a beautiful old white house on Hollis Street, made of wood. It was built in the 1820s. Around the back there’s a staircase, a fire escape. It’s kind of sheltered under there. And that’s where Ignatius sleeps. By the time I arrived, I was out of my mind with fear. I blurted it out as soon as I woke him up. I told him I’d killed her. He wanted to know where I did it. He wanted the two of us to go and get the body and dump it somewhere nobody would find it. At least I was thinking straight enough to know that would have been impossible, and I didn’t want to be seen anywhere near the churchyard. I took off, and he followed me and we kept arguing and he said he was going to go and take the body away somewhere. He started running up Hollis Street and turned on Morris towards the churchyard. And I ran after him and grabbed him and he turned around and I pushed him really hard and he fell and hit his head. And I left him there! I felt more guilty about that than about stabbing Jordyn.

“Anyway, I got home without anybody seeing me, and I got all cleaned up, and went to bed. But I couldn’t sleep. And in the morning I heard they’d got Podgis for the murder, and I couldn’t figure out how. I thought I must have hallucinated the whole thing.”

“Podgis had her blood on his shoes.”

“When I read about that in the paper, I sat for an hour without moving. He actually went to meet her. I really did set him up.”

Maggie was wrung out after her terrible confession, and Brennan was wasted after hearing it. They were both silent for several long minutes. Then he said to her, “Maggie, I will do everything I possibly can to help you through this.”

She looked up at him, her face swollen from crying. “Why are you being so good to me? I’m a murderer! And I knocked out Ignatius. And I treated you really bad when you came to the house, and when you phoned. I had to get you off the trail.”

Brennan waved her protests away. “I’ll take you to a lawyer tomorrow, and he’ll know the best way to work things for you.” What he did not say was that the lawyer would have his work cut out for him trying to get the charge reduced from first-degree murder. The fact that she had changed her mind when she got there, and only took the knife out after Jordyn grabbed her and they got into a scrap, would that help mitigate against a first-degree murder charge? He doubted it, but he had no idea. What if things could be finessed somehow so she could plead to manslaughter? How many years would she have to serve? This was all beyond his field of expertise. One thing he knew, though: “Do not tell anyone else, except your lawyer, what you told me tonight. Agreed?”

“I won’t tell.”

“Now, where is your mother?”

“She’s in a special care home, because she has this spinal condition and she is in a wheelchair. I take the girls to visit her all the time. I get to live in this flat with Florrie and Celia because it was my grandparents’ house and Mum owned it after they died. The government, or whoever runs the care home, takes the rent paid by Mrs. Lewis for the lower flat. Or something like that. Mum could get by in a ground-level apartment, and we’re going to get a ramp built for the house and switch flats with Mrs. Lewis. But we can’t afford to pay for the work yet. Plus Mum says she doesn’t want me to spend my life looking after her. She says that is no life for a young girl, but I wouldn’t mind. I’ve always said I’d look after her. I’d rather be home than out working with strangers anyway. It’s no accident that I prefer working with rats in the psychology lab at Dal, right? Where they try to figure out why animals, human or otherwise, behave as they do.”

Brennan nodded. He could see her point.

“I can’t bear the thought of Mum finding out about this! It will kill her!”

“I promise you this, Maggie. Whatever happens to you, wherever you have to go, I will arrange it so Florrie and Celia and your mother will be close to you.”

“You can’t do that!”

“Ever hear what Prime Minister Trudeau said in the face of a challenge like that? ‘Just watch me.’ Wherever you go, I will go there and suss the place out, talk to the local priests and sisters, and find a place for your family.”

“But that would cost money!”

“I will make it happen, pet. You can count on it.”

“I can’t believe you are being so good.”

“I’m not good. Ask anybody who knows me! But I recognize the good in
you
, in spite of what you’ve done. You take care of your sisters. You love them. You fear for their safety. You were willing to spend your youth caring for your mother. You have committed the ultimate crime, the ultimate sin, of taking a life. But of course I know what drove you to it.”

He stood up. “I’ll go now. Don’t do anything or talk to anyone until I come by for you in the morning. I’ll call to give you a time.”

She got up and went to him, stood on tiptoe, and put her arms around his neck. She clung to him for a long time, and he held her tightly, wishing damaged people could be healed by love alone. On his way home in the car, he thought of the “Song of Bernadette,” the way Warnes and Cohen wrote about the damage we do to one another, and about healing and mercy. What kind of mercy could Maggie Nelson, killer and victim, expect to find in the courts of justice?

†

The following morning, after saying his Mass, Brennan went directly to Monty’s office. Darlene, the receptionist, told him Monty was on his way to court with Podgis, for an application to vary. Vary what? Brennan wondered. Darlene caught his confusion and explained, “Mr. Podgis wants to vary his bail conditions, so he can go to Toronto next weekend. It’s open court, no secret.”

“Thank you, Darlene. I’ll catch Monty over there.”

“Water Street courts, not Spring Garden.”

“Right. Thanks.”

He left the building and headed down Salter Street to Lower Water, walked north till he reached the plaza in front of the big, square court building. There was Monty, just entering the courthouse, hobbling a bit on his injured leg, his left arm in a sling, a heavy briefcase weighing him down on the right. His client was at his side, not carrying anything. Well, what would you expect from a man who feels so little concern for others that he would exploit a murder for his own perverse amusement? Brennan increased his pace and caught up with them when they stopped inside the building’s glass doors.

Podgis looked startled to see him. Startled and then hostile. Monty did not appear overly pleased, either. He gave his client an uneasy glance, then said, “Brennan. What are you doing here?”

“You’ll want to know this,” Brennan said.

“Excuse us, Pike. Let’s step over here, Brennan.”

Monty turned and walked past the reception desk to the end of the building, out of earshot of Podgis, who looked from one to the other with apprehension. Monty faced Brennan. “What is it?”

“I found out what happened that night.”

Monty went completely still. He stared at Brennan without blinking. Finally, he spoke in a voice barely above a whisper. “What are you up to, Brennan?”

“I said I know what happened.”

It was plain to see that Monty did not want to hear it. Last thing a defence lawyer wants to hear is what really happened that night, since it is usually his client who made it happen. Monty would not want to hear what was probably going to be surefire proof of Podgis’s guilt, which would limit the kind of defence he could put to the court.

But Brennan pressed on. “He’s innocent.”

“What? Who’s innocent?”

“Your client.” Monty’s eyes shifted to Podgis and back to Brennan. “Podgis didn’t do it.”

“What!?”

“I know who did it.”

Monty said, quietly, “Ignatius Boyle.”

“No.”

“If not Boyle, then who?” Monty’s voice quickened. “Was it Clayton Byner?”

It was Brennan’s turn to be confused. “Who?”

“A psycho, a parolee. He was writing letters to Jordyn Snider from prison. I got a call yesterday from Corrections Canada, that the letters were from Byner, and he’s out, so — ”

“What’s all this about letters?”

Monty just shook his head. “Never mind that. Tell me what you have to tell me.”

“A young girl did it. I’m bringing her in. To you.”

“A girl? What are you saying? I can’t deal with this now, whatever it is. I’ve got to get up there with Podgis.”

“Listen to me, Monty. A young girl by the name of Maggie Nelson killed Jordyn Snider. I’ve been speaking to Maggie.”

“Who is this girl? Where did she come from?”

“Long history between Maggie and the victim. Maggie is going to turn herself in, but I want her to talk to you before she does anything.”

Monty looked as if he had been tapped as a last-minute replacement for Stephen Hawking at the world theoretical physics debating tournament and was trying to formulate a Grand Unified Theory before he got to the podium. “If there’s another suspect, I can’t talk to her. I’d be in conflict while I’m representing Podgis.”

Pitting one suspect against the other. True enough. “So who will I take her to see for advice? Give me another lawyer.”

“Saul Green. Take her to Saul. I have no idea what’s going on here, Brennan, but this had better be good. For now, I’m going in there with Podgis as if nothing has changed. After that, you’re going to have a whole lot of explaining to do.”

“You don’t look any happier than I am, Monty, to find out that fucker, that ball of evil and spite, is not guilty. I can tell you this much: he didn’t cover himself in glory.”

With that, Brennan turned and left the building, not sparing Podgis so much as a sideways glance.

Chapter 22

Monty

“What did he want?” Podgis hissed at Monty when the lawyer returned from his conference with Burke.

Monty gave his client a long look, trying to imagine what Burke had been talking about, another suspect, and Podgis here, the accused, who had the victim’s blood on his shoes. What on earth was going on? Until he knew, he would proceed as planned. He headed into the courtroom for the hearing on his client’s bail conditions.

“What?” Podgis bellowed behind him.

“Never mind that,” Monty said, not bothering to turn around. “We have a hearing to attend.”

Podgis was even harder to handle after the hearing. The judge threw out the application and ruled that Podgis could not leave the jurisdiction for Toronto or anywhere else. As lawyer and client left the courtroom, Podgis grabbed Monty’s suit jacket and tried to pull him around. But his fit of pique was not about Toronto or the judge’s less-than-sympathetic attitude. It was about Burke.

“What did Burke tell you? I have to know! Don’t fucking keep things from me, Collins!”

Monty turned and shook him loose. Beads of sweat stood out on his client’s forehead. “Why do you assume it was about you? Pull yourself together.”

†

But of course it was about him. And one would think it would be welcome news, though Monty had a contrary impression. When the truth emerged, and Monty was seated in the office for what he hoped was the last time ever with this particular client, there was no joy in Podgis. There was nothing but his habitual bombast and belligerence.

“Just to make sure you can’t screw me around later, are we covered right now by the solicitor-client privilege?”

“Yes, we are.”

“All right. Here it is. I got a call from a girl I thought was Jordyn. Said she wanted to meet me to talk about getting into television. How about meeting at the statue? Fine. She had to work late, so she said twelve thirty. But see, I always go early. Like a cop. Go and scope out the place first, watch the individual arrive. See what they’re like when they don’t know they’re being watched. And I smelled a rat with this invitation to a midnight rendezvous.”

“Sure you did.”

“Believe me or don’t believe me. I don’t give a shit what you think. Anyway, when I got there a few minutes after midnight I saw these two girls eyeball to eyeball, talking into each other’s faces. One of them had on a hooded jacket and gloves. That was the one we now know is Maggie. The other one, Jordyn, was dressed to kill. Or be killed. And they were going at it. I thought whoa, catfight! They had a lot to say to each other but most of it I couldn’t make out. And they didn’t say each other’s names. All I caught was ‘what you did to me.’ That was Maggie. I always carry my tape recorder with me, pocket-size one, for interviews or whatever people might say. The two of them were at it for quite a while before I snapped out of it and thought of turning on the recorder. Jordyn grabbed Maggie, and then it got physical. A couple of punches were thrown. I caught Jordyn saying ‘that old creep! Since you already have the wedding picture!’ And Maggie answered, ‘You did that. It wasn’t real!’ Then Jordyn said somebody was going to come and get somebody else, a couple of other girls. I couldn’t make out the names on my tape. And then I couldn’t fucking believe it. Maggie’s arm went up in the air and down on Jordyn. Jordyn let a scream out of her and went down. Maggie hit her again. Stabbed her, as we now know. Then she stood there staring as if she couldn’t believe what she had done. She said, ‘Oh my God!’ I figured right then she knew she’d killed her. She turned, and I could see blood on her coat; not a lot, but some. Then she took off running through the churchyard. I stood there in the shadows for a bit; figured somebody might have heard the scream. But no lights came on; nobody came out. So, what to do? Follow the perp.”