Barrington Street Blues Read Free Page A

about his friends, the people he went around with?”
    â€œThe only friends he talked about to us were people we knew, youngsters he had been with at the Halifax Grammar School. These other people, he never alluded to them.”
    â€œHow old was Graham?”
    His mother started to speak, cleared her throat and tried again. “Graham died one week before his twenty-second birthday. He had his whole life — I know it’s a cliché, but Graham had such a future ahead of him. Despite the trouble he’d been in, and the rough characters he’d taken up with, he never lost his essential goodness. His quality.”
    â€œNow, about Graham’s girlfriend. And his child.”
    â€œYes?” They both spoke at once.
    â€œDid you know the girl, and your grandchild?”
    They exchanged a glance. Eventually, the father replied: “No.”
    â€œHad you been aware that he had a child?”
    The exchange of glances, the shaking of heads.
    â€œHave you since met the girlfriend and the little girl?”
    â€œAt the wake and the funeral for Graham,” his mother answered.
    â€œAnd since then?”
    â€œNo.”
    â€œDid she tell you, or were you aware, that she is expecting a second child?”
    Silence. Not even an exchange of glances.
    I would have to check the law on paternity tests, specifically, who could apply to the court to order one. Graham Scott’s children would be the key to the damage award. His parents would be entitled to something, as would Corey Leaman’s family. But it was Graham’s kids who could claim to have lost a lifetime of support from a (hypothetically) high-earning father.
    After the Scotts left, I made a pass by Ross Trevelyan’s office, but he wasn’t there. I saw the file on his side table, picked it up, and took it to my desk, where I dictated a memo on my conversation with the Scotts. I was just finishing up when Ross came in.
    â€œHi. Court just wound up. Were the parents in?”
    â€œJust left. The long and the short of it is: Graham was going straight to a residency in cardiology.” Ross beamed. “He had never mentioned Corey Leaman, but he never talked about any of the other low-lifes he ran around with either. And he never told his parents about the existence of their grandchild. Or of the pregnancy, if he knew of it. The girlfriend was not included in any Sunday dinners with the vicar.”
    â€œA respectable family like his, he kept his other life a secret. Having met the girlfriend, I can’t say I’m surprised he hid her in the shadows. She’s a bit, well, ‘not our sort, darling,’” he finished in a posh British accent much like that of Rowan Stratton. Ross looked at my desk. “You’ve got the file? Good. You may want to read through it before you meet Doctor Swail-Peddle.”
    â€œWho?”
    â€œA very favourable witness.”
    â€œOh?”
    â€œOr he will be, if his telephone call is anything to go by.”
    â€œYou mean he called you?”
    â€œYes. He heard about the case, and gave me a call.”
    â€œWhat’s his interest?”
    â€œHe was a psychologist on staff at the Baird Addiction Treatment Centre.”
    â€œWas.”
    â€œYeah. I don’t know what the story is, except that he’s willing to help us out. I’ve pencilled him in for tomorrow afternoon, late. You may want to sit in if you’re still around at six or so.”
    â€œSure.”
    He waved and went off.
    I opened the file and began to read. The first thing that leapt out at me was that the police had initially regarded this not as a suicide, but as a double murder. There was no known connection between the two men, no known motive for Leaman to kill Scott. They each had a history of drug use and trafficking, but Leaman would hardly have executed Scott for a drug deal gone wrong, then killed himself immediately afterwards. Then again, Leaman had a