Moments later, Kitty Moore arrived. She looked frightened, and as pale as her putty-colored coat. Billy still couldn’t get his head around the fact that the stubborn seventy-two-year-old had braved that freezing January morning to take her usual early ramble through the woods, little knowing what she would find.
He linked Kitty’s arm, guiding her to a chair, feeling her tremble. She and Tricia chatted about the loveliness of the hotel, and the perfume of the purple hyacinths out front. John sat with his elbows on his knees, his attention trained on the patch of gray-and-black-striped carpet between his feet. He worked his lower jaw left to right nonstop with unnerving speed. Billy experienced a fresh spike of panic. What if things ever got to be too much for John, too?
“You all right?” Billy asked.
John nodded. “Yeah, you?”
“It’ll be good to get this over with.”
“Yeah.” John’s attention returned to the striped carpet.
Beyond the large windows, the sky sheathed itself in a magnificent blue. Beneath it, the world marched on. Billy again wondered how Michael could choose to leave it all.
Ronin Nevin completed the gathering, dressed in his black leather biker suit, his gloves and helmet in his hands. Like the rest of them, his face looked whitewashed. Feeney called the inquest to order. Billy’s tongue fastened to the roof of his mouth. The pits of his shirt and the crotch of his underwear turned damp. He wished he could take off his cardigan, but didn’t want anyone to see the full size of him, or the cling of his shirt to his rolls, its dig into his grooves. Worse, he’d had to cut slits in the shirt’s side seams, to just about make it fit. When he was sitting, bubbles of fat bulged between the shirt buttons. He tugged again at his cardigan, trying to hide himself.
Feeney invited Sergeant Deveney to take a seat at the table next to him and deliver his report. Billy reached for Tricia’s hand, her palm slippery in his.
Deveney moved behind the table and glanced nervously at Billy. Billy recalled his parting threat inside Kennedy’s, warnings of what he’d do if Deveney ever again mentioned Michael and that morning. Billy sat straighter on his chair, pleased the policeman seemed afraid. People rarely took Big Billy Brennan seriously.
Deveney’s words rushed out like bats. He gave the date, time, and location of the discovery of Michael’s body. With the aid of the paramedics, Deveney cut Michael down and the boy was pronounced dead. The estimated time of death was between two and five A.M. His findings were consistent with death by suicide.
Every time Deveney opened his mouth, Billy felt as if the sergeant were sucking the air from his lungs. Blood filled Billy’s head to bursting and pushed against the back of his face. He struggled not to jump up and shout, Stop! Tricia rubbed at her eyes and nose with the tattered remains of her tissues, struggling hard to quiet her breathless crying. John’s foot bounced faster on the carpet. Divine smells from the restaurant filled the suffocating space. Billy was going to lose his mind if he didn’t get something to eat. Deveney kept on talking. Why couldn’t the policeman shut up? Hadn’t he said enough already? Michael was gone. By suicide. There was nothing more to say.
Billy shook with the need to let out all the breath and pain and noises stuck inside him. He should be allowed to interrogate Deveney. To ask the only questions that mattered at this point. Why hadn’t Deveney sent for him that morning? Why hadn’t he let Billy be the one who caught Michael when he fell from that tree?
Feeney excused Deveney. As Deveney rose from the red-velvet chair, the words burst from Billy. “Why didn’t you send for me?” Deveney dropped back onto the chair.
Tricia pulled on Billy’s arm. “Don’t, Billy.”
“I’m sorry, Mr. Brennan, it isn’t procedure for family to ask questions,” Feeney said.
Deveney blurred in front of Billy’s wet eyes. “I could have been there with him. You could have easily made it happen, so why didn’t you?”
Deveney seemed pinned to the chair, speechless.
“Answer me!” Billy shouted. Tricia pulled on his arm, shushing him.
Deveney’s face, his entire body, slackened. “Trust me,” he rasped. “You didn’t want to see him.”
Tricia’s hand jumped from Billy’s arm and covered her mouth. John, looking crushed, placed his arm around her shoulders. Billy’s stomach lurched.
Feeney cleared his throat. “That will be all, Sergeant Deveney, thank you.”
Once Deveney returned to his seat, Feeney called Ronin to the stand. Billy couldn’t stop shaking. He rubbed his hand over his face, struggling to keep himself together.
Ronin placed his helmet and gloves on the white tablecloth, again bringing to mind bodiless parts. Billy’s stomach heaved. He was going to be sick. He touched his free hand to his middle and pleaded with his insides not to betray him. Not now. He had to see this through.
Ronin confirmed he had seen Michael on that last night. He, Michael, and some of the other football players had gathered behind the village hall to chat and mess around, drink a few cans of cider. “Michael only had the one, two at the very most, and he never touched anything else, no drugs or anything, he wasn’t like that.”