Part 11 ~ Sunday 16 April 1994
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Part 11 ~ Sunday 16 April 1994 |
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It was coming back. The afternoon of the funeral was coming back in a jumbled mass that was falling into place as Ray concentrated and fine-tooth-combed it. Frankie had been fine, nothing to worry about there. They’d talked old times, found a great deal of affection that had lain dormant but never been pronounced dead. Maybe that’d been why he’d felt such animosity toward his old friend for all these years – the fact he’d never let the past go and felt betrayed by the behaviour of someone he knew was better than that. What Ray found particularly troubling was the time in his father’s study. He couldn’t have been there for long, but he’d found…something. Figured out something? Whatever it was, it had triggered that crippling migraine, and the memory had found an extraordinarily deep black hole to hide in. It was uncomfortable and wearing, being torn between wanting to know and wishing the whole subject would evaporate into thin air. Ray slid carefully out from beneath Ben’s arm, out of the bed, and headed for the kitchen, longing for a powerful mug of caffeine. In the cupboard, next to the extra-extra-extra-strong ground coffee, was a large pack of the candies that Stan used as sweeteners for his drinks; Ray experienced the pang in his gut he always felt when reminded that Stan was away, only on this occasion it was ten times more unsettling than usual. Sure, he had Ben, but he missed the familiarity and reassurance that came with his partner. The knowledge that Stan would bully him into facing up to facts. Ray showered and dressed, all the while probing the gaps in his memory like a busy tongue at a sore tooth. Denial had been a blessing, but now he had to confront and deal. Ben was awake and engrossed in Ray’s book by the time Ray sat alongside him on the bed. “I need to ask you something.” Ben nodded. “You taking another look at Al? Because you should be.” Ben thought of his agreement with Stan and hesitated. “You know, Ben, you say nothing louder than anyone I ever met.” “I believe we need to make further enquiries,” Ben admitted cagily. “Oh, fuck, it’s not just me thinks it then.” “But I will be keeping my enquiries private.” “You’re not covering anything up for my sake.” Ray stood and
began to pace. “’ “It happens.” “That’s like saying I could kill Stan.” “If Stan wasn’t a good person?” “I can’t see it.” “If you’d stayed close to Frank Zuko and his business practices had threatened everything you hold dear?” “But that would have to mean…” Ray looked horrified, his voice dropping to a whisper. “You looking at my family?” Ben said nothing and anger surged through Ray. “Think the girls were involved? This was their father.” “They hated their father,” Ben pointed out calmly. “So did I. You looking at me for this?” “No,” Ben retorted. “And I didn’t mean to imply…” “Stan’s checked me out, hasn’t he? What the fuck am I
talking about, Stan is my alibi! We were together, up all night working some
homicide. That case was the reason I went to “Nobody suspects you.” “I could’ve paid someone,” Ray taunted. “Ray…” “Leave my family alone,” Ray hollered. “Leave Al alone.” “I have to…” “I don’t care what you have to, just…” Ray stormed out of the room, stalked back. The mindless fury had abruptly dissipated and he spoke coldly. “Time you were going home. Go home.” Ray left the room for a final time, and Ben listened, aghast, as the front door opened and slammed hard behind the departing cop. Ben remained frozen in the ensuing silence, stunned by how fast Ray had acted and reacted and overreacted, belatedly recalling Stan’s warnings about how protective Ray was, how he’d blown up when Stan admitted to routinely checking out the family at the beginning of the enquiry. Ben washed and dressed, not so much preoccupied by the order to leave as he was by the state of Ray’s mind: what had made him recognise Al’s dubious position in the enquiry, why was he so emotionally raw? What had he remembered? However much it would anger Ray he knew he had to pursue him, undoubtedly to his sisters’ home, and attempt some damage limitation. And if Ray still wanted him to go… Tears welled in Ben’s eyes, his heart ached. If Ray still wanted him to go he would respect his wishes. Ben screwed his eyes shut, forcing tears onto his cheeks that he swept away with handfuls of cold water. … Ray sat outside his father’s house, as he would always think of it, and concentrated on the spot of light that was causing him so many problems. He remembered this spot quite vividly, and it was bad news, but in what context he couldn’t start to speculate. To begin the figuring out all he had to do was walk into the house, into Pop’s study, and… Why a spot of light? “Want to take a guess?” he asked Invisible Stan, who sat in the passenger seat of his imagination. Invisible Stan was unusually silent, which was disconcerting because it meant Ray really was lost in this. Lost, scared, trying to ignore a gut instinct that told him to look closely – very closely – at his family, not wanting to believe that Al had a hand in the death of Joseph Vecchio but realistically accepting that Al would only act in such a way for a very select group of people, and he couldn’t act alone. That had sure been a sensible thing to do: churning the Mountie out of his life because of his own guilt. Now he was missing Stan, losing Ben, about to send down his beloved Uncle Al, thereby alienating his entire family. “Looking at a lonely life here,” Ray mumbled to himself, wishing he could start the car and drive off into the hypothetical sunset, but knowing he had to find out the truth if he was ever to have any peace in that lonely life. A knock on the window made him jump, and there was Ben in the foreground, a departing taxi in the background. Happy and mad in equal parts, Ray popped the door catch, letting Ben into the passenger seat. There was a long moment’s silence, both men trying to find the courage to speak. “You didn’t go,” Ray eventually said. “How could I?” “You could because I told you to.” “Stop pretending to be angry with me.” “Who’s pretending?” “Tell me what’s making you so unhappy. What have you remembered?” “I—” Ray’s voice broke off, mind back on that elusive image. “Ray?” “A spot of light. That’s all it is. I don’t know the meaning, the context, or…the reason it makes me shake.” “Then I think it’s time we found out.” Ben left the car and waited patiently. After a few minutes Ray mirrored his actions, standing on the sidewalk, staring up at a house full of secrets, knowing the biggest yet was on the verge of being busted wide open. “I feel sick.” “Come on, Ray,” Ben told him firmly, starting to walk up the path. Ray followed automatically, trying to put the nausea and palpitations aside, forcing himself to think cop instead of son and brother. This was Detective Vecchio alongside the Canadian investigating officer, and they meant business. Maria answered the door, joking with Ray about how he could use his key to let himself into his own house, but falling silent when she took in the deadly serious expression on his face. “Who’s here?” Ray asked. “Frannie and Marco, Al, me, that’s it. Everyone else has left.” “Good. I want you all to go in the living room and wait there. No questions, Maria, just do it.” Francesca appeared in the living room doorway. “Here in an official capacity, Detective?” “In there and wait,” Ray instructed coolly. A glance flickered between Maria and Francesca; Ray knew it, had seen it a thousand times when they were hiding things from their pop, could literally feel the guilt and fear and desperation well up. “I’m sure this won’t take long,” Ben smiled at the women, deceptively amiable as he ushered them from the hallway, checking to see if the family was all together before returning to where Ray had sunk onto the stairs and was sitting, head in hands. “The study, Ray?” “Can’t do this.” “You want to know, don’t you?” Ray dropped his hands, adding Ben’s question to his inner turmoil. He nodded, rose, and led the way to Pop’s study. Never allowed in the room without express permission, it still felt strange to come in and sit at the desk, but Ray did, knowing that was exactly what he had done on Friday. He looked around, sweeping a critical eye over the fixtures and fitments, waiting for the moment when it all fell into place. Naturally it didn’t. Ben looked questioningly at him, receiving nothing more than a brief shake of the head in reply. “Spot of light,” Ben murmured, thinking aloud as he studied the areas around the windows, lamps and light fittings, conscientiously moving on to any object capable of reflecting a light source. This was Ray’s favourite room in the house, tastefully
self-indulgent as opposed to Pop’s ostentatious bedroom, full of leather and
warm wood: the antique oak desk, the vast mahogany bookcases… Ray frowned. His
father had been truly pedantic about his library, but there was one book lying
across the others on a lower shelf, blatantly displaced. Curiosity aroused, Ray
went to the book, picking it up and glancing at the spine. It was an atlas. Déjà
vu. With shaking hands Ray flicked through the pages, finding “That’s why he was there,” Ray whispered hoarsely. “He stuck a pin in a page.” Ray fell into the nearest chair, the repercussions of this find rocking him as they had two days previously. This crime had always been about who his father had trusted, and this find brought the fact home in more ways than one. He was abstractedly aware of Ben squeezing his shoulder before leaving the room, and it was only seconds before he returned, crouching by his side with a sincere apology. Ray focused on what Ben was showing him: one of the pictures from Pop’s bedroom. Francesca and Marco, arms around one another, smiling, holding a piece of paper up for the photographer. Ray frowned, missing the significance for a moment. A short moment. Behind his sister and brother-in-law, out of focus due to the camera’s depth-of-field, was a light plane. Once his mind was pointed in the right direction, Ray recognised the format of the page Marco held: it was a pilot’s licence. “It’s not conclusive…” Ben started to say, but a look from the cop silenced him. “Gimme a couple of minutes then we’ll talk to them.” Ray took the brass framed photograph and slid it into his pocket. The atlas he held so tightly his knuckles turned white. “Are you sure you want to do this now?” Ben asked, voice full of concern. “No.” “There is no immediate necessity…” “I have to know the truth, Benny. Tell me you don’t.” Ben was slow to answer, thinking about how seriously this would affect Ray, and Ray’s frown deepened. “Ben?” “As soon as you’re ready,” Ben agreed half-heartedly. “Although the evidence is purely circumstantial. If they deny your accusations we have nothing substantial against them.” “Deny my accusations?” Ray’s voice was chilling. “They wouldn’t fucking dare.” Ray took a deep breath before entering the living room, attempting to calm his racing heart and churning stomach. God, he hoped his mind would stay clear and his head pain-free. Ben knew this was a bad idea, he could see it plainly on his face. Common sense and anxious eyes would not stop Ray though, not after the week he’d been through, not after the life he’d endured without so much as raising a hand to his father because he knew as much about respect as he did about fear. Half-a-dozen steps and he was in their midst. Francesca and Marco, together on the sofa, Maria cross-armed and tense by the fireplace, Al sitting in the far corner of the room, stiff-backed in an ancient carver that had worn a groove into the dado-rail. All eyes focused on Ray and he could sense their apprehension; their guilt was tangible, a seventh presence in the room. “Okay?” Francesca asked in a determinedly casual tone. “Okay,” Ray repeated. “Abso-fucking-lutely okay.” “Hey, Sweetheart, not in front of your sisters,” Al chided, and Ray turned, the look of fury on his face enough to cause Al to visibly shrink into himself. “As a part of our ongoing enquiry, Detective Vecchio and I would like to ask a few questions regarding your father’s death,” Ben informed them politely. Both cops felt the wave of unease at the formality of Ben’s words. “We’ve told you everything,” Maria attempted a smile that didn’t quite come off. “You will,” Ray corrected her. “Or do you want me to hand this over to some other cop? Someone who won’t give a damn and will break you all into pieces?” “What is it you want to know?” Marco asked warily. Ben recognised that all the man had to do was open his mouth and Ray was ready to lash out – in honesty, all Marco had to do was breath. Ben took a step forward, stopping Ray’s momentum as he headed for his brother-in-law. “We’ll take this calmly,” Ben said, deliberately meeting Ray’s eyes and waiting until he’d stilled before gradually loosening his grip on the cop’s arm. “Calmly,” he reiterated. Ray took a deep breath, slowly released it. Nodded. Ben reluctantly broke contact with Ray and positioned himself to address the entire room. “What we want to know, Marco, is the truth. We can only help if you’re completely candid with us.” “Help?” Francesca demanded scornfully. “You want us to admit to something we didn’t do…” “Frannie.” Maria’s anguished voice prevented her sister from continuing. “Frannie…I can’t do this anymore.” “Maria!” “This is Ray. I can’t lie to Ray, not anymore. I’ve wanted to tell him from the start.” Francesca glared scarily at her sister. “I can’t do this anymore.” Francesca twisted away and Maria turned to where Ray stood, apprehensively watching, scared that he was going to be right, that his ridiculous suppositions were about to be confirmed. It was on the tip of his tongue: he would tell her to deny everything, he’d make it go away… “I’m sorry, Ray.” That was it. An admission to complicity in the murder of Joseph Vecchio. Ray felt certain that the floor had dropped away from beneath his feet; he looked to reassure himself that it was still there. Ben’s hand was back, taking him by the shoulder and gently guiding him into a chair. He peeled away the atlas; Ray had been gripping it so forcefully the tooled leather surface left an exact imprint on his palm. There was a swift but caring touch to Ray’s cheek before Ben turned back to Maria. “You want a formal statement?” she asked, chin up, trying her best to be brave. “No. Just a few answers.” “We need to give Spinetti a call?” “Not at present.” Ben’s voice was kinder now, and Maria focused on it, remembering how much she’d liked this man two days ago, how she’d been willing to trust him with her brother’s heart. She took two steps toward him and was rewarded by a reassuring smile. “We… I… There was no choice.” Ray’s head came up, gaze locking with his sister’s. He wanted to argue that there was always a choice, that murder was about hatred or greed or lust, and you chose how to deal with those emotions. But this was Maria, who was good and kind and selfless, and her eyes were begging him for understanding. Forgiveness. “How did you get Pop to go?” “Maria,” Francesca snapped for a second time, on the edge of her seat now. Peripherally, Ray saw Marco ease her back, quietening her with whispers. Ben gestured to an armchair and Maria sat, waiting as Ben pulled up a chair and sat alongside her. “How was your father persuaded to leave “Marco works with Frank Zuko,” Maria began quietly. “They both knew Pop was taking Zuko money, so Marco let on that Frankie was getting mad about it. Then Al pretended to lose some…merchandise…” “I told Joey that Frankie thought he lifted it,” Al butted in out of sympathy for Maria. “That Frankie thought Joey had taken the goods and was making his own money with it. I told Joey that Frankie’d had enough and was gonna have him hit. Marco told him the same thing and that he had to get out.” “The only way Pop would have known differently is if he’d spoken to Frankie,” Maria continued, “and it wasn’t safe for him to do that.” “Frankie in on this?” Ray demanded, not wanting to believe he’d fallen for lie after lie from the man, especially now, as they teetered on the brink of renewed friendship. “Did he know any of it?” Maria shook her head. “Frankie’s got his own problems. He’s been distracted. His being so preoccupied and distant actually made it easier to convince Pop.” “Joseph chose his destination with a pin and an atlas,” Ben pressed on. “How were the arrangements made to fly him to Tuktoyaktuk?” “We took him out to O’Hare, bought his tickets with cash and fake ID, and phoned from the airport to check there were rooms available at the Lodge. It was agreed that one of us would follow him in a couple of days, let him know how things were with Frankie.” “He would insist on a ground floor room; you would identify it by the cross taped on the window.” Ben’s statement clearly caught the family by surprise; Maria’s focus flickered to the occupants of the couch and back. “Don’t worry, they did make sure he removed the cross. But you have a remarkably observant brother.” “He’s a real good cop,” Al pointed out, inappropriately proud under the circumstances. “Who went to “I did,” Al volunteered. “We know you went!” Ray exclaimed. “As if we’re likely to
forget that! Every damn cop in the “Ray, Ray…” Ben used his best calming tone. Ray held up his hands and played at calm. “Okay… Who went?” No response. “Had to be someone who could fly a plane, so you want to tell me who went, Marco?” There was a substantial pause before Ray removed the photo from his pocket and stood the frame on the coffee table facing the couch. Francesca looked away in exasperation; Marco nodded his acceptance. “It was just me.” “Would you like to reconsider that?” Ben prompted. “No,” Marco replied a little too desperately. “When I mentioned the cross on the window, Maria looked at you. Both of you.” “No, Frannie was here.” “I was there,” Francesca interrupted, staring at Ben defiantly. “I went with him.” Ben drew breath to speak but Ray was in first. “The doctor puts you both in bed with food poisoning. How d’you manage to fool him?” “We only saw him the once, the day before we left. Marco’s allergic to shellfish so we waved a shrimp at him. He was genuinely ill but recovered in a couple of hours. I spent most of the doc’s visit in the bathroom, pretending to throw up.” “The family friend who visited?” “Saw two lumps under the bedclothes in a dark room,” Maria explained. “Piles of blankets under the covers. I told her Frannie and Marco were asleep and she went away convinced.” Ray wavered between wanting more and wanting nothing at all. He rose and went to the window, staring out at the garden, wishing it was two weeks ago, wishing he’d been here to say no to the appalling action about to be undertaken. Everyone was waiting on him now, he could feel it. He swallowed. Swallowed again. Couldn’t face the questioning and chose to hand over. “Ben.” “The plane,” Ben picked up immediately. “Was the SF.260 a deliberate choice?” “It was luck,” Marco answered. “The owners are friends of friends. A month ago I mentioned I was thinking of buying a plane and was told about this one. It wasn’t being used because the guy had busted his shoulder and couldn’t handle the controls. So I knew it wouldn’t be missed, and I knew its capabilities. It was perfect for what we wanted.” Marco’s voice dropped away as he remembered what it was perfect for, and who he was talking to. Ben watched as Francesca gripped her husband’s hand tightly, reassuringly. “Marco borrowed one of Frankie’s cars and we drove to Montreal,” she explained. “When you say ‘borrowed’?” “I took it,” admitted Marco. “The car was meant to be in the garage for a service; I said I’d arrange it. Instead I just…took it.” “Who else knows?” “No-one.” Ben nodded, turning his attention to Al, who smiled expectantly. “You had already flown out?” “O’Hare to Edwardstown to Imuvit. Case I was needed.” “Needed to take responsibility if we showed signs of arriving at the actual truth?” “I was gonna own up. Like I did it. Because, y’know Sarge, these kids, they don’t deserve…” “Al.” Ben spoke firmly enough to silence Al at the first
attempt. Al’s attention switched from Ben to Ray and back again. It was plain
he wanted to go to Ray and make him feel better, and he looked to Ben for
permission. His face fell when Ben gave a tiny shake of the head. The Mountie
tuned back to Marco and Francesca. “You refuelled the plane several times,
finally at “Small airfields, short stopovers: no problems. Then we flew to Tuktoyaktuk.” Marco seemed reluctant to continue and Francesca took over the account. “We left the plane and took one of the airport’s ATVs. Nobody was around to question it – hardly surprising as it was so damn cold. God only knows how you live there!” “You knew the way to the Pingo Park Lodge?” “I’d spoken to the receptionist when we booked Pop’s room. We parked up and Marco stayed in the car. I found the window with the cross and knocked; Pop came out the fire exit and we went for a drive.” “Did you know where you were taking him?” “We just drove until we found what looked like a good spot.” Ray was gripping the window frame, scared of what was coming, horrified to hear his sister talking so calmly about finding a good spot for her father’s murder. He wanted out, now. How important was the truth anyway? He stayed. He listened. He swallowed. “I told Pop I had to get out of the car, I was feeling nauseas because of the pregnancy. The guys followed me. We were talking about Frankie and stuff, then Pop began to get antsy and wanted out of there.” Francesca paused, glanced at Marco, who held her a little closer. “You know what happened next.” Her voice had the decency to shake slightly. An image flashed In Ray’s head: blood in the snow. Blood in the snow. The memory progressed to Joseph Vecchio’s son wanting to scream for joy at the sight, and Ray felt shame flood through him. “Where did the gun come from?” Ben asked Francesca. “It was Pop’s own. Before he left he gave it to Marco in case Frankie’s boys came round and we needed to protect ourselves.” “Where is it now?” “I threw it out of the plane. I couldn’t tell you
whereabouts. Just somewhere between Tuktoyaktuk and “You took Francesca to “There’s a disused airfield outside the town. Al left a car there for Frannie, biked back to his place.” “And you’d also taken a dirt bike with you, and you used it
to ride into “Dumped,” Al volunteered. “I did that. Cleaned ‘em down and dumped ‘em in the forest when Frannie and Marco left. Buried ‘em real well.” “It was easy enough to fly out of The room fell silent. The story had been told, and after the many hours Ray had spent going over and over it, the simplicity was breathtaking. All it had taken was unimaginable betrayal by the people Pop trusted to make the pieces fall into place. “Why?” The question was met with more silence and Ray turned back from the window. “Why now? He’d been a bastard all his life and you’d lived with it; he’d have been dead in a year from cirrhosis. You’ve got a baby to think of, so why now?” There was that look between Maria and Francesca again, and each time he saw it Ray became a little more scared. Maria stood and crossed to her brother. “You’ve had enough. You don’t need more. We’ve admitted it and we’re prepared to face the consequences. What happens now?” “Why?” Ray demanded. “You get up one morning and he’s moaning about the coffee so you think, hey, yeah, let’s just kill the miserable piece of shit?” Maria made to move away and Ray caught her arm. “He slapping you around again? Frannie? He hurting Frannie and you’re thinking about the kid?” “Ray!” Maria protested, ripping her arm from his painful grip. “Sorry, sorry,” he immediately apologised, rubbing at the sore spot before she had a chance to. “Sorry,” he added once more for good measure before turning words to actions, putting an arm around her shoulders and hugging her. Ben watched the family together: the concern, the affection, the need to protect. And suddenly he just knew. What Ray’s sisters didn’t want to tell him, what Stan had suspected and had harshly driven Ray away from. “He has to know,” Marco said abruptly. “Shut up,” hissed Francesca. “No, he’s right,” Ray said, agreeing with his brother-in-law but still only able to regard him with a hostile glare. Maria returned Ray’s hug before letting go and wandering away. “Someone is going to tell me.” Ray looked at Maria’s turned back, Francesca’s defiance, Al’s fear. “Looks like that someone’s gotta be you, Marco.” “No, Ray.” “Frannie… Could you not know? If you were me, could you let your family kill your pop and not know why?” Francesca drew breath to protest but no words came as Ray’s appeal struck home. There were more infuriating exchanges of glances but still no-one offered an explanation. “It’s about you, Ray,” Ben said softly. There was a substantial rise of tension within the room. Ray looked questioningly at Ben then at the other faces; the expressions told him that Ben was correct. “Me? How is it about me?” “You were investigating him again.” Maria’s voice was flat and dull as she was forced into this explanation. “He knew how good you are at what you do. He wasn’t prepared to do time because of you. See, Ray, he was frightened of you.” “What!” “I know how that sounds.” “It sounds fucking ridiculous!” “He felt…” Maria groped for the right word, “…invincible, with everyone but you. But he couldn’t intimidate you, sway you, buy you… In your own way you’d always fight back and he knew you would keep at it and one day you’d put him away because you were stronger than him.” “Stronger than him?” Ray repeated disbelievingly. “I… No.” “He was bully, a brute. That didn’t make him strong.” “But I…” The sentence went nowhere as Ray was finally lost for words. Maria suddenly smiled an affectionate introspective memory smile. “I remember being a kid and hiding with you when he was looking to beat you up for God knows what reason. I was crying and scared and you told me that it was okay, that you would always bend and never break. That was how nature made things: if they bend they don’t break. And you made this big joke about being made of rubber and springing back and you started fooling around and I was laughing and…and…” The smile was gone, tears were pouring down Maria’s face. “He heard me laughing. He caught you because I was laughing. He… Oh, God, Ray…” Ray made a move toward Maria but she waved him off, impatiently swiping the tears from her face. “How typical was that?” she said croakily. “You making us feel better and getting beaten for it? You looking after us.” “How could I not?” Ray asked simply, still unable to imagine an alternative course of action. “Well… Well, it was about time we looked after you. There was no choice,” she concluded, coming full circle. “He put a hit out on you,” Marco said, almost inaudibly, staring at the floor so he wouldn’t have to meet any eyes. Ray paused in disbelief for a moment before giving an involuntary laugh. “No.” Now Marco looked up, his expression grave and sincere. “He put a hit out on you. Frankie put a hold on it so Joey went looking for a hitman outside the family. He was determined to have it done. He was getting it done.” “He wouldn’t,” Ray whispered, despite knowing the truth when he heard it. “He wouldn’t.” “I’m sorry,” Marco told him, and he genuinely looked it. Ben tried to catch Ray’s eye, wanting to pull him out of this room with a discreet police-officerly gesture and get him somewhere alone where he could hold him and offer some inadequate comfort. But Ray refused to have his eye caught. After a brittle silence his attention returned to Marco. “You should have put the girls first.” “I…I thought I was.” “You thought— Look what they’re messed up in, Marco, you think that’s taking care of them? I can’t be here so it’s up to you and…” “Just wait a minute,” Francesca almost shouted. “What do you suggest he did? Not tell us? Let Pop have you killed?” Ray hesitated. Swallowed. “Fucking hell,” she gasped, “fucking hell, you’re going to say yes!” “Frannie…” “Don’t Frannie me! You think he should have been left to do it!” “I didn’t say that. There must have been another way, so you didn’t…get involved.” “Say it. Kill him, so we didn’t kill him. Maybe we didn’t see another way, Ray. Maybe he’d side-stepped the law too many times before and we’d seen you hurt ‘cause of it. Hurt’s one thing, but I couldn’t lose you. We couldn’t lose you.” Ray sat back in the chair Ben had guided him to earlier, leaning forward, face in hands. He wondered distantly how it was possible to feel numb yet be in so much pain. Every inch of his body was zinging and thrumming with pain. Except his head. He could have laughed at that if his sisters hadn’t murdered their father. “You remember me, Ray?” Marco asked. “What kind of stupid question is that?” Ray asked through his hands. “From school.” Ray looked up with a frown, staring at Marco and trying to think a long way back. “I don’t expect you to, it’s not like we were friends or nothing.” “Oh,” Ray answered, lowering his head again. “But there was this time when we were all playing basketball, and I was screwing up as usual and I lost a game for Frankie’s team. He was so mad and he threw this ball into my face, threw it so hard it busted open my lip.” “I do remember,” Ray conceded, peering over his fingers at Marco, trying to erase twenty years from the face in front of him. “Do you remember what you did?” Ray shrugged. “You gave him such a slap, told him only the weak pick on the weak. I never fooled myself, thinking you thought anything of me to have stopped him, but it always stuck with me. I mean, God knows what would have happened if you hadn’t been there.” “Frankie would’ve pulled back.” “Come on, Ray, you know what he was like, how he’d try and fit in. Some of those other kids were mean as hell and if they’d have given it, ‘Go, Frankie’… Let’s just say I wouldn’t have been sitting here now.” “Don’t,” Francesca murmured, and Ray saw her physical reaction to those words, that thought: how she tightened her grip on his hand, pressed in a little closer to him. Ray mentally signed up to Stan’s league of un-detecting detectives. Francesca had fallen in love with the undistinguished, reserved mob accountant and Ray’d been too busy hating him to notice. He treated her with respect and so obviously loved her back, enough to take ridiculous chances and kill her father. “You know, Ray, if you’d been like Joey, if you’d been your father’s son, you’d have been scarier than any Zuko.” “There’s nothing of him in me,” Ray pointedly reminded himself rather than Marco. “Yeah, I know. Think we’d have risked everything for another Joey?” “You’re not going to think I was worth it when you’re looking at life inside.” “Sometimes…sometimes you have to do what you believe is right,” Marco said, looking at Francesca with a sad smile. “Ray…” Maria was pulling herself together, starting to think. “Can you tell us what to say? To make things easier?” “I’m not…” “They’ll have to listen to how he treated us, what he was about to do.” “I don’t want people knowing that,” Ray snapped back. Ben had seen and heard enough, and wasn’t prepared to stand back and observe the wreckage any longer. He cleared his throat, reminding them of the virtual stranger in their midst, assuring himself of complete attention. “The general assumption regarding this case is that it will never be solved. Finding a suspect and securing witnesses when there is mob involvement is unlikely at best…” “Wait, wait,” Ray knew where he was headed and attempted to pull him up. “We’re going to make this go away.” “No, Ben. I don’t want you to get into trouble,” Maria told him firmly, “I don’t want you involved.” “He’s already involved up to the hatband,” Ray pointed out. “I – we appreciate your concern but you can’t do this.” “I’m quite determined.” “Do you know what you’re saying? Benny, you’re the investigating officer! Anything goes wrong and you’re totally screwed: no career, you’re gonna be looking at time…” “Are you prepared to break up your family, Ray?” “I – I’ll find a way to help them, I…” “So, we’re of the same mindset. My way is just a little more decisive.” “This is insane.” Ray started to pace. “We can’t do this.” “Ray…” “It’s what he would have expected: pet cop turning bent. I can’t.” Ray stopped moving for a moment, long enough to meet Francesca’s desperate eyes. “Ah, fuck…” was wrenched from him and he paced again. “Fuck, fuck, fuck.” Ben hesitated before crossing to Ray, deliberately blocking his path and grabbing him hard to keep him still. Ray shook his head, refusing to look directly at Ben. “It’s all I am. What kind of a cop will that make me?” “What kind of a brother?” Ben asked softly. The gentle words tore at Ray, the complete and utter rightness of the sentiment. His token resistance evaporated; for a second it seemed that it had been the only thing keeping him upright and he sagged. He knew Ben would catch him, support him, and he let it happen. “Help us,” he mumbled into Ben’s shoulder, feeling the affectionate stroke to the back of his head that told him the spoken request was unnecessary. “It may not be the law, Ray. But it’s justice.” Ray buried
his face in Ben’s neck and hid there. “Maria. Could you phone the airport and
find out the time of the next flight to “You want me to reserve you a seat?” Maria asked unsurely. Ben took his wallet from the back pocket of his jeans and threw it to her. “Make a firm booking. Ray, I have to get back to tie up any loose ends. I’ll make sure those bikes don’t get found, and I can also track the likely route the plane took and if I find the gun I can dispose of it more thoroughly.” He felt Ray’s grip on him tighten and reciprocated, but his mind was already ticking away, establishing what information had to be dismissed, what line of investigation had to be manipulated into a dead end. It wasn’t going to be difficult in Tuktoyaktuk, but here? “Ray…about Stan…” Ray’s head came up. “I have to tell Stan.” “You can’t tell him,” Francesca begged, “the more people who know…” “Stan will have to know,” Ben said firmly, casting one of his best no-nonsense looks in Francesca’s direction and silencing her. “There’s a flight in two hours,” Maria called from the hallway. “Is that too soon?” “Book it,” Ben called back, listening forlornly as the
arrangements were made, hearing his credit card number recited as the ticket
was bought to take him away from “There’s not long before you have to check in.” Maria offered Ben his wallet back along with a scribbled page of information. Ray slid out of his embrace and walked into the hallway; Ben followed. “You’ll have to let me know what you need from them, if there’s any other information.” Ray took a deep breath, pointlessly tried to stop his voice shaking. “I can’t believe this is happening, that we’re gonna try and bury it.” “Keep reminding yourself of what really matters. What’s going to be difficult…” Ben choked up, took a moment to collect himself. “We’ll need to keep our contact official. No personal calls, nothing that could be misconstrued.” “But…” “No buts. This is your father’s murder, your family’s involvement: anything remotely questionable will be scrutinized. If we need to give or take information, we’ll have to be inventive, and we certainly can’t take the chance that we’ll be suspected of collusion. If anyone checks your phone record we don’t want them to find a disproportionate list of calls to and from me. Don’t write anything down, that’s too dangerous.” “I can’t write you?” Ray said despondently. “Only officially.” The serious expression broke. “If there’s a Stetson doodled in the corner of an envelope I’ll get the message.” Ray moved in to kiss Ben but abruptly remembered where he was – the prolonged hug was as much of a sideshow he wanted to give his family for the time being. He needed to get Ben alone, find the courage, tell him how he felt. “I’ll drive you back to the apartment.” “No, you need to stay here for a while. Be with them.” Ray saw the sense of it and nodded. Swallowed. “It’s goodbye then.” Ben took Ray’s hand and pressed it hard to his mouth. “Everything will be all right, Ray. I promise.” The tears in Ben’s eyes forced Ray away. The recently diminished pain had swept back tenfold and his body trembled with it. He went to Al, asked him to take Ben to pick up his belongings, then to O’Hare. It was a great pleasure apparently, and the old man bounced out of the house to warm up Joey’s bomb-proof Mercedes. Ben said a quick farewell to Francesca and Marco, gesturing for them to stay put, letting Maria and Ray escort him to the door. “Keep your heads,” he told Maria firmly as she gripped his hand so hard the circulation suffered. “And look after each other.” “Thank you, Ben, thank you.” “It’s gonna be okay?” Ray asked weakly. Ben had no words, he just looked at him, falling a little more in love if that was indeed possible. Ray’s scruples suddenly meant nothing to him; he stepped up and kissed him, slipping a hand behind his neck to stop him backing off. It was finished, Ray realised, watching Ben hurry to the waiting car. The happiness was finished. “He’s quite something,” Maria admitted as she put an arm around Ray’s waist. “Yeah.” “This going to ruin everything for you two?” No. Maybe. Probably. Yes. “We’ll be fine,” he lied. Ray returned to the living room and sat, analysing the numbness that was creeping through him again. The sensation was harder to deal with than any amount of pain. It made him think of the past, of the times he would blank out what his father had subjected him to, what he had witnessed his mother suffer for getting in the way. And when he found out his mother was…was… His hand came reflexively to his brow as he experienced the first twinges of the inevitable migraine. “You all right?” Maria asked as she entered the room with a tray of coffee. He gave her a look that spoke volumes. “Okay, stupid question.” She sat close to Ray and braced herself. “Ray… How did they know it was him? We just wanted him to disappear in the middle of nowhere, we thought… If he just went missing, we thought that way it wouldn’t hurt you so much.” “Ben found my business card in the lining of Pop’s coat.” A look of confusion flashed between the sisters. “His clothes were pristine, there’d never be a ripped lining, so…” “I put it there,” Ray admitted. “Every chance I got I’d do it, all his coats and jackets.” “But why?” “Because of something like this. Though I was expecting a mob hit, not—” he gestured to the room. “I hated the man but I didn’t want any low life to get away with killing him. Jesus, the irony.” “You
really think Stan will go along with all this?” Francesca asked. Ray
nodded, wished he hadn’t as lights danced before his eyes. “I
don’t know, but I feel like him and Ben had spoken about it. Maybe when it
looked like Al.” “Stan wouldn’t hurt us,” Maria announced with a certainty she didn’t actually feel. She looked to Ray. “He wouldn’t hurt you. Cut you and he bleeds.” “This goes wrong and I’m taking down the people that matter,” Ray said quietly to himself, trying to figure out if he could cope without Stan knowing. “Ben seemed sure,” Marco offered. “About making it go away.” “You trust him, Ray?” Ray sighed at the futility of the question. “No, Frannie, I expect him to be down the 27th spilling his guts to Welsh.” “I was only asking,” she muttered, tossing her hair and turning her back. Ray finished his coffee and tried to get past the numbness in his heart and the spikes in his head. Focus. Be a cop. “Ben’s right, we’ve got to look for any loose ends. These people who told you about the plane – they gonna put anything together?” Marco shook his head. “It was at a party, they were telling anyone and everyone. I didn’t show a special interest.” “The car you took from Frankie: there’s nothing on it? You
didn’t get a ticket in “Nothing. But if something came up Frankie’d find an answer.” “Why would he want to do that?” “He’s always looked out for you. There’s this…knock-on effect. It’s why he gave me a job: ‘cos he figures he owes you.” Marco smiled. “Every week – all these years – every week he asks after the family just so’s he can get around to, ‘And how’s Ray?’ At first I told him nothing, just in case. I mean, he may be the boss but you’re family and I don’t know what he’s thinking.” Ray tensed at Marco’s words: they were family and he murdered Pop in cold blood. Oh, yeah, that’s family. “But eventually I’d say, ‘Ray’s fine’ and he’d be, ‘Good, good’. Remember that scum a few years back who was doing the kids? Wakeham…Wakeford…” “ “You knew who it was but couldn’t get the evidence? When Frankie said, ‘How’s Ray?’ that week I told him you were pretty unhappy and he wanted to know why.” Ray thought back, remembered risking a phone call to Maria because Stan was undercover and he had to talk it out. He’d been so mad and upset that he couldn’t get that bastard prosecuted. He also remembered the resolution, feeling a surge of relief and guilt-free pleasure even now. “We pulled him out of “Probably had,” Marco agreed, refusing to give his boss to Ray for a homicide. “Just a coincidence me telling Frankie about it.” “You gave him that humanity, Ray. Can you imagine how Frankie would’ve turned out without you around?” “Cut it out, Maria. Somehow I’ve turned into the hero of the hour and it’s grossing me out. Frankie loves me, Stan loves me, Ben… Ben would risk everything.” Ray swept his hands over his head, body language screaming. Ben. It pounded through him. Needing Ben, losing Ben, wondering if there was time to stop him leaving, if there was time to catch him, go with him. Be with him, stay with him. Stay with him. Ben was an addiction, an obsession. Ray wanted to cry, to scream, to rail against the injustice of losing his presence, losing the scent of his body, the taste of his flesh. Losing the fix. Benny… Ray gasped raggedly as his thoughts were overwhelmed by an agonising flash behind his eyes; he barely felt Maria’s hand gently touch his brow. “Come and lay down. Let me help you.” Ray reached up and clutched her hand. “No. No. It’ll ease up long enough for me to get out of here. I can’t stay here.” “Ray…” “Really. I can’t be here right now. I just want…” “You’re not well enough to drive.” “Will you stop fussing!” Ray snapped, harsher than he’d intended. He stood and rolled his shoulders. “Can’t blame me for being uptight. One hell of a morning.” Two steps towards the hall and Marco was standing, blocking his way. Ray tensed further, hands curling into fists, before reminding himself of Francesca’s feelings for this man. He forced himself to accept. Fists uncurled. All in a second. “Look, Ray. I’ve been prepared for the consequences. If things look bad for you or Ben I’ll admit everything, I don’t expect you to…” “Family.” The word almost stuck in Ray’s throat but he managed it. Managed it again. “Family, Marco.” His brother-in-law extended a hand. Ray stared at it, mind flashing back to an early conversation with Ben, heard himself saying he wanted to shake his father’s killer by the hand. Well, here was the chance he’d been looking for. It was also an opportunity to begin healing the rift between himself and the man Francesca loved. Ray made himself reciprocate, grasping Marco’s hand and looking directing into the man’s eyes. “Say it, Marco. I have to hear it just once.” Marco hesitated and Ray had to concentrate on not tightening his grip into something painful. “You kill Pop, Marco?” “Yes,” Marco replied quietly, no longer able to meet Ray’s penetrating gaze. Before Ray could explore the sense of wrongness that was rippling through him, Francesca was pushing between them, breaking their point of contact. “No.” “Frannie…” “Marco, please. Ray, he didn’t. He didn’t do it.” “Frannie!” That was Marco and Maria together, but it wasn’t enough to make Francesca so much as bat an eyelid. Ray took a step back, regarding the three of them, their expressions, the body language. His sore head asked his gut for an impression and got an answer it didn’t want. As he fixed his attention solely on Francesca she pulled herself up to be as tall as her body would allow, back straight, head held high. The vision swam as his eyes were glazed with tears. “No.” It was a plea; Francesca was unmoved. “Marco couldn’t do it. He couldn’t hurt anyone…” “No.” “But someone had to, Ray.” Ray took a further step back, colliding with the door frame and pressing against it, letting it splint his entire body. “You couldn’t.” “I could. I did. And Marco’s not gonna take the blame for me.” There was a flash of compassion on Francesca’s face and she moved toward Ray, only stopping when she saw him cringe with pain. “I’m not sorry. He would have killed you.” “Frannie…” Ray gasped. “How…” “How?” Francesca repeated thoughtfully. She came to her conclusion and gave Ray a sad smile. “I’m my father’s daughter.” … At Ray’s apartment Ben quickly packed his few belongings,
hesitating momentarily before replacing Ray’s old bottle of aftershave with the
fresh one he’d bought on his way to The ride to the airport was bizarre. Al rattled off his usual machinegun monologue as if nothing had occurred, nothing was wrong, and the devastating family secret had not been exposed to the light of day threatening the destruction of everything he held dear. “Al…” Ben eventually interrupted. “Sarge?” “You said you taught Ray and his sisters to drive?” “Oh, yeah, that was fun. Those kids…” Al chuckled. “Did you take care of teaching them other things?” “More than Joey ever did. Piece of shit, God rest his soul. They can all change a tire, hotwire a car, bang in a nail, shoot a gun, split a log, I stopped short of making a pie ‘cause… Well, I can’t make a pie, so what’s the point? Ray can make a pie…” As Al rambled on, Ben deduced what Ray was currently being told back at the house. It was one of the sisters. He was not a betting man, but if he was, a substantial amount of his money would be on Francesca. Sympathy for Ray battled with his pride in Francesca for making sure her brother was safe. It didn’t occur to him for a moment that it wasn’t necessarily the correct reaction for a serving police officer. Priorities. And one more thing… “Al, how did you know when to go to the plane?” Al was in best dim mode and Ben pressed on, needing an answer to the question that had persistently nagged at him. “You must have known when we were going to be there. How were you tipped off?” “I didn’t know.” “You didn’t… It was a coincidence?” “Uh-huh.” “A coincidence.” “Uh-huh.” Ben gave a short ironic laugh and Al joined in although he had no idea what he was laughing at. Ben made the mistake of glancing in his direction, inwardly groaning as he launched back into a monologue following the apparent show of interest. “You’re a good boy,” were Al’s last words as he dropped Ben off. Ben, in the process of committing a felony and covering up a murder, was a good boy? He just smiled and nodded, so glad to escape the excruciating verbal diarrhoea he almost bolted into the refuge that was O’Hare. After checking in and finding he had twenty minutes to spare he hurriedly sought out the airport stores, accepting he wouldn’t be lucky enough to find a new copy of the Whigs CD, but buying his own paperback copy of Christine. The smile it brought to his face quickly faded and, breaking into a run, he sought out a phone in the few minutes he had left, hurriedly retrieving a card from the collection in his wallet and dialling. Voicemail. Oh…shit. … It was dark when Ray found himself sitting outside his home,
the Riv cold and quiet. He couldn’t remember much about the past hours. There
was a vague recollection of leaving – fleeing – the house, of driving… Had
he been at the Home. No Benny. The warmth of the living room surrounded him but couldn’t touch him; he routinely shrugged off his coat, throwing it over the back of the couch. No Benny. He snapped on the light at the desk, noticing the note immediately. No Benny. He picked it up with an unsteady hand and read. “Ray. I have stolen your photograph and your aftershave. Sue me. Ben.” As with the last note there was an postscript: “Everything will be all right.” Ray gulped back a fresh bout of sorrow and hurt. No Benny. No Benny. He had lost everything: his love, the reassurance of his partner, his belief in the goodness of those closest to him, his…his innocence. It was more than his battered emotions could take; a sob ripped from his chest and he muffled it with a fist to his mouth, screwing his eyes tightly against the tears that he knew were not going to be stopped this time. The painful associations took him out of time and place; he could feel his father’s vicious presence looming over him. “Start bawling and I’ll kick you from here to Kingdom come.” Words of contrition, pleas for lenience were pointless. Poppa never forgave; his hands were brutal, his feet were lethal. A great fear coursed through Ray, instinctively pushing him to seek a dark corner where he could hide from another beating. He ducked and scrambled desperately away from his mind’s ghost of Joseph Vecchio. The nook he wanted was in the bedroom. He’d always been aware of it; after all these years his mind still automatically recognised and filed away hiding places. Ray flew to it, staggering the last few yards as the misery and fear broke from him in a terrified wail. He screwed himself into the black space between the wardrobe and wall, wrapped his arms around his head, and he cried. He howled, battling to stifle the racket in case he heard, in case he came. The pain returned, flashing brightly in his mind, spotlighting thoughts that churned and sickened. Being slapped, being punched, knocked down, kicked into a corner; blood, bruises, the brittle sound of breaking bone; fear, the smell of fear. Maria crying, Frannie screaming, “Poppa, Poppa, you’re gonna kill him!”; his precious mother, dear, sweet mother, cold in the ground, scars on her body from her husband’s hands; scars from a father’s hands, “You’re gonna kill him!”; a thousand lies: I tripped, I fell, hit a door, hit a cupboard, hit, hit, hit, always hit, always punched, always kicked into a corner. Trapped. This body disfigured by boot prints. Kicked into a corner. Kicked into a fucking corner. Ray threw his head back against the wall, once, twice, repeatedly. The outward pain was a familiar sensation, so familiar it was almost comforting. Like home, he realised, and that horrible comparison was the last thought he registered before, mercifully, his migraine exploded and he blacked out.
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The Three Day Question 12 The Three Day Question Index Notes |
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