City Dark(63)

“Thank you, Sean.”

“I was down there too—9/11. Fuckin’ still coughing.”

“I get that,” she said. He nodded and dropped his eyes.

“Anyway, that’s why I looked for you. Because of Ben.”

“Can you help me?”

“This guy, DeSantos, did he do it?”

“I don’t think so,” she said. His eyes met hers, and she held his gaze. “Even if I thought he did, though, I’m stuck with him. I’m his lawyer. You need to know that.”

“I can understand that,” he said. “I can respect that.”

“You asked, though, like it might make a difference.”

“It’s an old habit, okay?” Finally, a smile broke, toothless and slight, over his ragged face.

“I get it. So you were a PI hired by the Hawthorne family? I know that Hathorne himself spells it without the ‘w.’”

“Yeah, but I reported to him. I gathered info on stuff he wanted. He wanted a lot of stuff on your client.”

“Can you give me the time frame in which you worked for him?”

“About eighteen months, up until about two months ago.”

“What’d you think of him? Hathorne, I mean?”

“Gave me the creeps.”

“He has that effect.”

“That wasn’t the thing, though,” he said.

“No?”

“No. He’s a prick. I’ve dealt with plenty of psychos. This guy? Just a prick.”

“Gotcha. You must know a lot about my client.”

“Yes and no. I know stuff that happened to him. Probably stuff he doesn’t even know, or at least doesn’t remember. I don’t know anything about him as a man. Not really.”

“His brother too?”

“Some stuff on him, yeah.”

“I’ll take whatever I can get, if you’re willing to share it.”

He pulled a thick manila envelope from a canvas briefcase slung over his shoulder.

“There’re some records here from when Joe and his brother were born. Some other stuff too.”

“I appreciate this.”

“It’s for Ben,” he said. “Good cop.” He took a step back, gave her a quick, slight nod, and then turned away.





CHAPTER 51


6 Iroquois Way


Yorktown Heights, New York

10:47 p.m.

The boys were asleep, and Aideen’s king-size bed was again a loosely organized surface of papers, reports, photos, and files. Sharing this makeshift war room, bathed in soft, yellow lamplight, were Máiréad and Finster. Máiréad was seated cross-legged beside her mother. She yawned and stretched, clasping her hands over her head, then picked up the mysterious baseball card, still in the plastic baggie.

“Who was this again?” she asked.

“Reggie Jackson,” Aideen said. She had gone to Joe’s house to retrieve the card from his box of work stuff. Joe didn’t know it, but she had also done some light cleaning and aired the place out. The house had never been particularly comfortable or inviting, but it was musty and foreboding in his absence.

“That mustache is terrible,” Máiréad said, frowning. Jackson’s photo was of him in a tight, rounded Yankees cap and sunglasses. Below it was his name in curved red letters and then NEW YORK YANKEES, OUTFIELD below that.

“They were popular then. I don’t know what to tell you.”

“Huh.” She flipped it over and scanned the stats on the back, then set it down carefully in front of them. “Where did Joe say he found this again?”

“In a work file. A case file, like the ones I have.”

“I know, but where was he when he found it? In the office?”

“He was in court. He had the file with him for a hearing.”

“What kind of hearing?”

“You know, a hearing for a case. A guy, I guess, who was up for civil management. They call them respondents.”

“Wait,” Máiréad said, her eyes squinting, “like . . . a criminal, right? A guy who had been in prison already?”

“Yeah, that’s what respondents are. They’re people who have been convicted of sex crimes, and they’re back in court because of their mental health.”

“Okay, but who was the guy? The respondent.”

“I don’t know, Mair,” Aideen said with an air of impatience. She was making notes from another report and straining to read someone’s bad handwriting. “Why?”

“Because he’s a criminal, Mom!” Máiréad’s tone accused her of being even more obtuse than usual. “I mean, was this guy, like, anywhere near Joe during the hearing?”

Aideen looked at her daughter over reading glasses. “What do you mean by near him?”

“You know, like, were they close together?”

“There are different tables for prosecution and defense.”

“I know. I’ve seen Law and Order. What about after? How does Joe know that this guy—whoever he is—didn’t slip this baseball card in a file he was carrying around? Has anyone thought of that?”

Aideen stared at her, then down at the card. Indeed, she had not thought of that.