Free Beyond the Rage by Michael J. Malone Page A

and his eyes shone a whisky glow. He toasted Kenny. ‘You’re only an alcoholic when you want to stop and realise you can’t.’ He made a face of certainty. A challenge to Kenny to refute him. ‘I could stop tomorrow. If I wanted.’
    Kenny looked over at the photograph. As soon as the words were out of his mouth he regretted them. ‘That your wife?’
    Harry nodded. He stretched his mouth into the slip of a smile. He could only hold it for a moment. His eyes filled. ‘She hated my job. The long hours. How obsessed I became. She made endless plans about how we would fill our time when I retired. She even went to computer classes so she could get a computer and research holiday hotspots.’ He coughed, swallowed, but despite his best efforts to choke back his emotions a tear strayed and slid down his face. ‘She called it the interweb.’ His laugh was a short, sharp bark, like a warning of barely suppressed pain. ‘All those years together and me moaning about queues at the airport.’ With long fingers he twisted his wedding ring round and round. ‘Stupid bastard. Why didn’t I go on just one of those fucking planes?’
    He sobbed and leaning forward, hid his face in his hands.
    Kenny didn’t know what to do. He shifted forwards in his seat as if to offer comfort. He wondered about offering the man a glass of water. He settled for doing nothing.
    ‘Sorry,’ Harry whispered. ‘It’s not that long since.’
    ‘What happened?’ asked Kenny after he swallowed back his own reaction. He was wishing he was anywhere but in that chair and surprised by how moved he was by the older man’s grief.
    ‘Heart attack.’ He wiped at his cheek with the back of his hand. ‘I thought that was just a man’s disease. What do I know?’
    Feeling awkward and ill-equipped to deal with this situation and regretting his impulse to visit, Kenny stood up. ‘I really should...’
    ‘Nonsense, son.’ Harry drained his glass before continuing. ‘She’s been in her grave for ten months. Most of the time I’m fine and then...’ – a smile – ‘...it all comes back. You were just the poor sap who happened to be here.’ He laughed and this time his laugh had real humour in it and Kenny caught a glimpse of the cop. The man who dealt with all kinds of people and all kinds of events; wielding his humour like it was a baton against the dark thoughts that visit in the chill of a weak morning.
    ‘Do you remember the case I was asking about on the phone?’ Kenny dived in.
    ‘Like it was yesterday, son,’ Harry answered and stared out of the window and down through the years. ‘The woman died from an overdose. Can’t remember the pills but they were washed down with booze. This is Glasgow, after all.’ Harry’s voice strengthened. He was on safer, more familiar ground here.
    ‘I remember thinking there was something funny about it all.’
    ‘You do? How?’ Kenny’s stomach churned.
    ‘You get a feel for people, you know?’
    Kenny nodded.
    ‘Her sister pestered us with phone calls and letters. She refused to believe her wee sister had topped herself. A nice house, a man that loved her and a beautiful wee boy. That’s what she kept saying. Her sister had everything to live for so why kill herself?’ Harry shrugged as if sloughing off the worst the world could offer, knowing that his respite was only temporary. ‘The Fiscal ruled that it was suicide. What could you say to that?’ Harry leaned back in his chair. ‘But then the husband vanished... and the rumours started.’
    ‘Rumours?’ Kenny’s heart surged at his ribs.
    ‘Aye. The allegations were that the father was abusing the boy... the mother found out and unable to deal with it, swallowed–’
    ‘No fucking way.’ Kenny jumped to his feet. ‘No way Peter O’Neill was abusing his boy.’
    Harry stood up and took a step nearer Kenny. His eyebrows were raised. His eyes focused, sharp and peering into his.
    ‘You’re a wee bit too emotionally involved in