Shattered (Michael Bennett #14)(33)

I had just been scolded.





Chapter 41



After a couple of hours in my hotel room to clear my head, I started to think about dinner. Dinner alone. I was tired of talking to people. Very few people had been particularly nice to me today. That made me miss Mary Catherine. The nicest person I knew. With just a look, she made me feel like I could conquer the world. But she was so much more. She got me. She got the kids. She’d found a way to integrate her life with ours and make all of our lives better. It made my heart hurt to think about her and my kids in New York City. And me stuck in DC.

Then my phone rang. At least I’d get to talk to them. I sprang up from the bed and jumped for my iPhone on the cramped hotel desk. When I looked at the screen, I felt a wave of disappointment. It was Harry Grissom. He knew I was officially on vacation. This wasn’t a call from a friend.

As soon as I picked up, all I heard was “Mike, what the fuck!”

“Hey, boss, nice to hear from you too.”

“Cut the shit.”

This was un-Harry-like. He rarely got rattled. It made me pause and just listen for a change.

“I’ve gotten calls from our captain all the way up to the commissioner. Who’d you piss off in DC?”

“Actually, Harry, there’s a whole list of them.”

“Come home. Now.”

“Harry, I have a gut feeling on this. My gut tells me no one’s going to solve this if I don’t stay here.”

Harry’s voice was even but scary. “I have a gut feeling you’re going to be fired. Let the goddamn FBI handle this.”

“C’mon, Harry. If it was someone close to you, would you let the FBI handle it?”

There was just silence. Finally, Harry said, “Sometimes it’s tough being your friend. That doesn’t compare to being your boss.”

A smile crept across my face. I said, “If it means anything, you’re a good boss and a better friend.”

Harry said, “When you get to be my age, you realize that’s really all there is. Friendship. That’s also why I’ll try to buy you some time.”

“I won’t forget this, Harry.”

“When we’re working together at McDonald’s, I’ll remind you of that.”

It was good to have friends like Harry.





Chapter 42



Generally, I listened to Harry Grissom. Why not? He was a smart guy. You didn’t get to be where he was in life without making good decisions. As a lieutenant with the NYPD, a friend, and one of the people I would trust with my life, I listened to him. Except when I couldn’t.

He’d told me to let this go. He wanted me to come home. But I couldn’t. Seamus was big on going with your feelings. Usually he’d apply that by saying, “Trust in faith.” It was a Catholic way of saying, “Don’t overthink things.” That’s why I was trying to figure out why I felt this need, this compulsion, to find Emily Parker’s killer.

It made me remember an incident from my childhood. Something I hadn’t thought about in years. I got a nice Spalding basketball for my twelfth birthday. At least it was nice for me. It was one of my most treasured possessions.

One day I decided not to use the courts at Holy Name, where I knew everyone and they knew me. I made the perilous journey across West 97th to the courts at PS 163. I knew a bunch of kids from the neighborhood who went there. It just felt a little cooler to be playing with my new ball at a public school instead of a private, Catholic school.

A few minutes into a three-on-three pickup game I made a beautiful pass to a kid a little older than me. Maybe thirteen or fourteen. He tried to look like a surfer with long blond hair that hung in his face. He caught the pass, smiled at me, turned, and ran away with my ball.

He was fast. I chased him. I guess it was my first foot pursuit of a criminal. After a few blocks, I lost sight of him and lost my ball. I was heartbroken. I remember sitting on the steps of Holy Name and crying uncontrollably.

Later, at home, Seamus told me to let it go. Just like Harry had done. The next day he bought me another ball and told me not even to think about the last one. In his own odd way he could be quite comforting. He explained that not everyone had the same sense of right and wrong. He even said maybe the boy couldn’t afford his own ball. We should consider it a good deed that he’d ended up with mine.

But it still bugged me. Enough that even Sister Sheilah—a much younger version of the one who has guided my ten kids through Holy Name—sensed something was wrong. When I told her what had happened, she simply said, “You’re a good boy, Michael. I’ve never seen you show malice toward anyone. The boy who took your ball had a lapse of judgment. Perhaps one day he’ll see his error. Either way, God will work it out in the end.” She suggested I pray for the boy’s soul.

I should’ve listened. Of course I didn’t. I haunted the courts around PS 163. Not playing. Just watching.

Eight days later, I saw him. The same kid, playing with my ball. His hair still flopping in his face. I thought about what Sheilah had said. Looking at him, I realized he wasn’t poor. He was wearing new Nike Air Maxes. He was just a jerk.

I marched up to him. When someone passed him the ball, I intercepted it. Then I ran. What I hadn’t considered was that if the boy could run away from me, he could also catch me. And he did.