Bill Harvey Collection

by Peter O'Mahoney

  “So the killer is getting better? Covering their tracks now?”

  “It could be. Maybe they’re scared that they’re starting to get some attention from the cops. It’s the ninth drunk homeless man to be found dead on the streets in the past twelve months. If these men were celebrities, it’d already be front-page news. It’d be the biggest story of the year. Instead, they’re society’s forgotten people. The ones that tried to live, tried to put a life back together but fell apart. The murders barely even register in the police department, let alone the media.”

  “You know, drunks aren’t all good people,” Kate replied. “Just look at what happened to Penny’s mother.”

  “I know what happened to Penny’s mother. Nicole told me about it years ago, long before I met Penny. Nicole was devastated by it. I can’t imagine what it would have been like for Penny. But Nicole is a resilient woman, and she has raised Penny to be a generally upstanding citizen, and despite everything that she’s been through, she still seems like a nice person.”

  “She’s been through a lot. You’re right, despite all that, she still seems nice… except when she’s talking about drunks.”

  “Nice girl, except when she talking about drunks,” Harvey agrees.

  A moment of thought hit them both.

  Harvey looked across to Kate and she looked back at him.

  “She fits the profile?” Kate murmured, still trying to understand if it was a possibility.

  “She’s not a killer.” Harvey shook his head. “She doesn’t have that off feeling about her.”

  “And your brother? Do you think he’s a killer?”

  “I don’t know,” he conceded. “Every time I’ve seen him; I’m overcome with… emotion. I can’t see anything. I miss all those little signals because I’m focusing inward and not outward.”

  Kate looked back to her beer, the pale amber liquid calling out to her. After she finished the beverage, she asked, “Will he have a funeral?”

  “Harry? No. I don’t think so. He was a cop a long time ago. He has always had a problem with alcohol, but he was a good cop. They tried to sweep his issues under the carpet and ignore the fact that he always had a flask at his desk, and they tried to ignore the fact that he stunk of vodka in the mornings. But it got too much. He pushed it too far, and they had no choice. They had to let him go. After the incident, they couldn’t have him coming back into the office. It was the wrong thing to do, not to mention a public relations disaster. But without the force, without his job, he had nothing. Nothing else. He wasn’t married, didn’t have kids. He just sunk further into oblivion until he was living on the streets.”

  “Was he a good man in the end? Even after falling apart?”

  “I don’t know.” Harvey tilted the whiskey glass until the large cube of ice clinked on the side. “I just know he was a good man once. But alcohol addiction does funny things to people. It’s a curse. I don’t know who he was in the end.” Harvey turned and looked at her. “You shouldn’t be here anyway. Shouldn’t you be getting ready for your holiday? Doesn’t your flight leave tomorrow?”

  “Tomorrow night.” Kate smiled. “There’s not much left to pack, and we’re only going for a week. The flight doesn’t leave until five, so I have all day to get ready. Connor is at his father’s place tonight, and I couldn’t bear the thought of being home alone all night. I was actually quite happy to find you here.”

  “Harry Jones was long dead before he was murdered. Alcohol did that to him.” Harvey raised his glass, and Kate followed his lead. “This moment is in honor of Harry Jones.”

  The two work colleagues sat at the bar, quietly considering a long silence.

  “Death is so final,” Kate stated, breaking the silence.

  “Final? No. Death is only final if you think the story is about you. The story isn’t about just one person. The story is about everyone. Everything. Death is only the end of one small chapter. One tiny piece of the book.”

  Kate stared at him. “Everyone fears death.”

  “Why do we fear death but celebrate life? They’re part of the same process.”

  “Because death is change. It’s a vast unknown. It’s normal to fear the unknown. If I start a new job, I would fear that. If I had to move cities, I’d fear that too. People naturally fear change. And death is the greatest change there is. It’s the great unknown.”

  “Then what if we knew what death was? What if we knew what would happen after we pass?”

  “I guess death wouldn’t be feared as much. Change would still be feared, but maybe not as much.”

  “We know what happens physically. We turn to ash. We turn to dust. Physically, we become part of this world again. Physically, we don’t leave this earth. That we do know.”

  “That’s not the whole story, Bill. We don’t know what happens to us, what happens to our soul, our personalities. Do they just disappear? Vanished from history?”

  He didn’t answer.

  Staring into his glass, shoulders slumped forward, he contemplated life, death, and everything in-between.

  Kate leaned forward. “It’s change and the unknown we fear. Not death. The living fear change.”

  “And maybe the dead are the same. Maybe the dead fear living.”

  Chapter 14

  “It’s late.”

  “It is.”

  “And you’ve been drinking.”

  “I have.”

  “And I haven’t seen you in over a year.”

  “I’m sorry. Life gets in the way.”

  The woman standing in the front door of the large suburban house sighed. “Have you married that assistant of yours yet?”

  “Not yet.”

  Ella Joan Townsend stared at the man who was banging on her door just before midnight. She hadn’t heard from him in a year.

  No phone calls. No texts. No contact.

  Not that it was unusual.

  She had pushed her oldest brother away after their family unit fell apart.

  When she was younger, he had helped her through the rollercoaster ride of depression, mental illness, and loneliness. He had held her hand as they walked into the mental health center, cradling her at the lowest hour. He had been there for her as she rebuilt her life.

  But Ella felt ashamed of what she had done.

  She felt weak, embarrassed.

  When life put her back on her feet, she disappeared almost as quickly as their brother, Jonathon, only keeping in contact via the odd text or email. It broke Harvey’s heart, but he understood the need for space.

  He understood the need to start again, to move away from the past.

  When she made contact with him again two years ago, Harvey was filled with pride. Life appeared fine. She had married a nice accountant, had a stable job in banking and lived in a newly built house in a peaceful street. Freshly mowed yard, all the mod-cons, friendly neighbors.

  Everything middle-class dreams were made of.

  “How’s your husband, Stephen?”

  “He’s still not happy with you after you broke his nose.”

  “Any more…”

  “Indiscretions? No. He hasn’t cheated on me again, if that’s what you’re getting at. He’s a good man. I love him, and he loves me. He made one mistake, and that’s ok. We’ve moved on from that.”

  Ella stared at her brother, the one that protected her for so long, the one that still wanted to defend her.

  “I figured I wasn’t welcome to come to dinner for a while.” Harvey smirked.

  As much as she still wanted to be angry at Harvey, she couldn’t be.

  A smile slowly drifted across her face, letting down the emotional wall.

  She jumped at him with a hug, gripping him tightly, years of forgotten emotion gone. Her legs wrapped around her big brother, happy to be lifted off the ground, free from her past.

  “Come in,” she said as he released her from the hug. “I’ll make you a drink; you need coffee by the smell of whiskey on your breath.”


  Filled with pride and joy, Harvey followed her into the house.

  The lights were too bright, the décor looked like it was ordered straight from an IKEA catalogue, and the pictures on the wall were all from portrait sessions. The house looked much to clean for Harvey’s liking. He would much rather a house that looked lived in.

  “Stephen, Bill’s here.”

  Stephen Townsend stood at the kitchen bench with a shocked look on his face as Harvey walked into the house. He rubbed the side of his nose, still sore at times after it was broken a year ago. It took numerous trips to the surgeon to straighten it back out.

  “I’m going to bed,” Stephen stated as he tried to avoid Harvey’s gaze.

  Watching him closely, Harvey didn’t take his eyes off the man that broke his sister’s heart. Although she found a way to forgive him, Harvey never went on that journey.

  “Don’t be so hard on him, Bill.” Ella smiled as she turned on the coffee machine. “He’s a good man, and I love him. Go easy on the poor guy.”

  When his sister came to him crying, having found out about Stephen’s drunken one-night stand with a colleague, Harvey took action into his own hands.

  Literally.

  Stephen never stood a chance. The slim office worker opened the front door to be met by Harvey’s angry fist. Ella convinced Stephen not to press charges, but only on the condition that Harvey didn’t come by for a while.

  “It’s good to see you again.” Ella started to pour two cups of coffee from her latest modern appliance. It whirled, it whizzed, it banged. But in the end it did the same job that other machines have done for one hundred years—it produced black coffee. “It’s always good to see my family.”

  “Well, your family is growing.”

  Ella stopped pouring the coffee. “Who did you get pregnant? I’m going to be an aunty? Oh my gosh, Bill! Bill! That’s—”

  “No, no, no.” Harvey held out his hands before Ella embraced him in another hug. “Nobody’s pregnant.”

  “You’re getting married?”

  “No.” Harvey drew a long breath and thinned his eyes.

  “What is it?”

  He looked down at the table. “Jonathon’s back.”

  “Jonathon? Our brother Jonathon?”

  “Yes, Ella. Our brother Jonathon.”

  Everything stopped.

  Ella’s world stopped spinning.

  Her breath caught in her throat. She didn’t know where to look. She didn’t know what to grab. She didn’t know what to do next.

  “When?”

  “Two days ago. He called me.”

  “What did he say?”

  “He asked for my help.”

  “Help? He needs money? Or he’s in prison?”

  “Prison. He needed a lawyer.”

  Her head dropped. If he was alive, this was what she expected.

  A junkie locked up to save him from himself.

  “He’s clean. Has been for over twelve months. He looks well.”

  Her head shot back up, looking to see if Harvey was telling the truth. “Really?”

  “Twelve months. No drugs. He even looks healthy. There’s white in his eyes. The last time he had white in his eyes was when he was fifteen.”

  “Then what’s he been arrested for?”

  “First-degree murder. A homeless man was found wearing Jonathon’s jacket, strangled to death in an alley.”

  “Is he guilty?”

  “I don’t know.” Harvey shrugged. “It’s hard to tell. The evidence isn’t strong, and he said he’s innocent, but that means nothing. I don’t know whether he did it or not.”

  “Come on, Bill. You always know if they’re guilty. You know if they’re lying, or if they’re spinning falsehoods. You know that. You’re the great Bill Harvey, the person that can spot a lie from a mile away. You must know if he’s guilty or innocent. In your heart, you must know it.”

  “Usually.” Harvey looked at the coffee mug, still only half poured. “Most of the time, I can see it straight away. A flick of the eyes, a brush of the hair. The body tells me more than words ever do. But with Jonathon, I can’t tell. I can’t see it. I don’t know if he’s innocent… or guilty. I just… I can’t tell. I can’t see any of the signs. He’s my brother, and he acts the same as I do. I can’t tell what he’s doing.”

  Ella drew a long breath and finished pouring the coffee, then passed a mug across to her brother. “Evidence?”

  “Not a lot.”

  “Any other suspects?”

  “Maybe.”

  “Maybe?”

  “I’m not sure yet. There could be. I’m still trying to work it out.”

  “Well, you need to work it out quickly. Who else do you have as a suspect?”

  “A young girl that hates drunks.”

  “Doesn’t sound likely. Does she have a boyfriend?”

  “Yes. And he’s a former Marine.”

  “Well, maybe the boyfriend wanted to protect her. A drunk guy grabs at her skirt, and he lashes out, killing the guy.”

  “Maybe.” Harvey shrugged. “Maybe not. Who knows?”

  “What?” Ella laughed. “What are you talking about? I have never heard you talk like that. You always know the answer. There’s never any doubt. You’re Bill Harvey. My brother. The man that can tell a lie a mile away. Don’t tell me you have lost your edge in your old age.”

  “Old age? I’m not that old, thank you very much.”

  “You’re going gray.” She giggled.

  “Hey.” Harvey laughed. “It’s distinguished. It makes me look more intelligent.”

  “You should dye your hair then. You wouldn’t want to deceive people.”

  He laughed again, not because of the joke, but because he was happy. This was his sister, his little angel. The one that always had a place in his heart.

  “So he looks well?”

  “Healthy.”

  She smiled. For all their faults, for all their mistakes, these people were her blood.

  The siblings chatted long into the night, remembering the good times, reminiscing about their distant childhoods, and avoiding any reference to the pain of their adult lives.

  When the night was long, Harvey delivered the statement that he came to make.

  “You should come down and see him.”

  “Me? Jonathon? No…” She shook her head. “I’m not ready yet. I’m not ready.”

  “Ella, I’ve never pushed it, but… I still don’t know what happened between the two of you in the end. What happened? Why didn’t you ever want to talk to him again?”

  Ella stared into her empty mug, a cold distance suddenly created between the siblings. “I… I can’t talk to you about it.”

  “Did he hurt you?”

  “I…” she repeated. “I’m sorry, Bill. I’m just not ready to talk about what happened. Not yet.”

  Chapter 15

  Reginald C. Cooper was once respected.

  Admired.

  Sought after.

  He was once a motivational speaker, throwing his words out to the masses, entertaining them with such a vast array of vocabulary. People traveled from far and wide to listen to him shout at them, motivate them to do such great things with their lives.

  He yelled. He screamed. He got through to his audience.

  He helped so many people change their lives for the better. Hundreds.

  He made the world a better place.

  More loving. More caring.

  But that mattered for little in the eyes of addiction.

  For the person that he needed to get through to, the person he needed to inspire the most, was resistant to calls for greatness. Despite his wealth of knowledge, his motivation to see greatness in others, he couldn’t help himself.

  After a motivational performance, the dizzying highs of respect and power left him flat and empty. His life was on the road, his family was thousands of miles away, and the hotel rooms were lonely, desolate places.

  Alcohol was t
he only thing that helped him avoid those feelings.

  He convinced himself that he deserved it. He deserved the time to relax. He had sacrificed so much to help others, he deserved to treat himself with a drink.

  Suddenly, he was drinking a bottle of Jack Daniels a night, and he couldn’t think about anything else. His days began to revolve around the time that he could start drinking.

  At first, it didn’t affect his motivational performances.

  He was fit, otherwise healthy, and still motivated to see others succeed. Despite his addiction, he still functioned at a very high level.

  But that all came crashing down when, with no willpower left after a bottle of whiskey, he slept with his twenty-year-old assistant. She accused him of sexual assault, exposed their night to his wife, and made his drinking habits visible to the media.

  He lost all respect.

  How could someone help others when they can’t help themselves?

  He lost his wife. His job. His future.

  He had nothing left.

  That only pushed him further into the depths of addiction.

  That was the only way he could forget his mistakes.

  Tonight, he had tried his best to forget. He turned to the nearest trashcan, one that was bound to have traces of food. As he scurried through the trashcan for food scraps, he noticed a shadow at the end of the street.

  5’10.

  Broad.

  Moving in the shadows.

  Once, he was strong. He was powerful. He wouldn’t be scared of any shadows.

  But time had not been kind to him. His once solid arms were now weak, his once washboard abs were a slab of fat.

  The shadow moved closer.

  The alley around them was quiet.

  Dark. Out of the way.

  The perfect place to not be seen.

  That was Reginald’s intention, as was his attacker’s.

  Closer.

  Reginald took his attention away from the trash, and towards the shadow. With an empty bottle of cheap wine gripped in one hand, he looked down the alley with blurred vision.