Shattered (Michael Bennett #14)(56)

We’d made a simple plan to meet at the mall, then find where The Burning Land was protesting. It was a good bet that Jeremy Pugh would be with them. If not, we’d fall back on good old-fashioned police work. We’d go to that warehouse they hung out in, or Barbucks, find out where he was living, and check there. Generally ask a few questions until one of his friends got so annoyed they gave him up.

Before I started to walk over toward the mall, my phone rang. I immediately noticed it was my grandfather. My first thought was that it could be bad news. I took the call.

“Hey, Seamus. Everything okay?”

“Of course it is, my boy. I wouldn’t burden you with my problems when you have the weight of the world on your shoulders.”

“It sounds like you’re buttering me up for something.”

“It was more of a sarcastic impression of you. But I really am calling to see how you are holding up.”

I smiled. This elderly man, who never shrank from a challenge and did the best he could raising me, was still worried about me. Some people might say he was treating me like a child. I preferred to think of it as true parental concern. It was just one more reason to admire him.

Forget the fact that he ran a successful bar for decades and decided to join the priesthood in what many would say was the twilight of his life. He fooled them all. He had been a priest for many years now. He made a serious impact, not only at Holy Name but also around the entire Upper West Side. I felt honored that he would be so concerned about me.

I decided to change it up on him. I said, “Mary Catherine tells me you burned your hand.”

“It doesn’t look too bad. It’s about the width of a pencil and runs maybe two and a half inches along the back of my hand. It hurt like a son of a bitch.”

“Should a Catholic priest use that kind of phrase?” I knew I was setting him up for a great retort.

After the slightest hesitation, Seamus said, “I don’t know. Should a New York City detective be working a homicide in Washington, DC?”

“Touché. Seriously, how did you burn it?”

“For the sake of art and my beautiful great-granddaughter. Shawna is very excited about this. No injury or other catastrophe will delay its unveiling. Besides, the burn isn’t bad and it makes me look tough. At least tough for an old priest.”

We chatted for longer than I expected. It was just nice to hear the old man’s voice. To hear little details about each kid and Mary Catherine from a different perspective.

Seamus said, “I swear you must’ve been a saint in a previous life to find a woman as perfect as Mary Catherine.” He paused, and I knew that impish grin was spreading across his face. “Or maybe Mary Catherine was a sinner in a past life. Yeah, that makes more sense.”

I glanced at my watch and realized I had to pick up my pace to the National Mall. But I wasn’t done with my grandfather yet. “Can I ask you a philosophical question?”

“That’s my specialty. You may have the degree in philosophy, but I have the experience.”

“That’s why I’m asking. I’m headed to the arrest of a man who assaulted me a couple of times. You’re one of two people I told what he did to me the first time. His name is Jeremy Pugh. He beat a New York Times reporter half to death.”

“So what’s your philosophical question?”

“Not only am I excited about the arrest. I’m also in a good mood. It almost feels like vengeance.”

“Would you describe your job as getting revenge on people?”

“Absolutely not.”

“And are you doing your job?”

“Yes, I am.”

“Then vengeance is just a perk. There’s no reason you can’t enjoy your work. Every once in a while God gives you a little blessing you can smile about.”

“While I was thinking about it alone, I went back to what you used to say: ‘What would Jesus do?’”

Seamus laughed. “First of all, even Jesus would not let someone pee on his back.”

That made me laugh the rest of the way to the mall.





Chapter 73



I walked to the edge of the National Mall, where two of my three new friends with the Metropolitan Police Department’s Special Investigations unit had told me to meet them.

David Swinson and Nancy Gorant were standing with two big, uniformed officers. One of them, a muscular black man about thirty, looked bored. The other uniformed cop, a white guy a few years younger but just as big and muscular, looked excited. If I’d had to choose, I would’ve chosen the bored one. Bored veterans cause fewer problems than enthusiastic rookies. But to be honest, the idea of seeing Jeremy Pugh in handcuffs made me kind of excited as well.

Nancy Gorant said, “I’m going to go with them. Maybe he’ll be less likely to cause problems if there’s a woman talking to him.”

Dave Swinson let out a good laugh. “That’s bullshit. You just want to be there to get a good lick in if this mope tries anything. You’re hoping you can get in your workout during company time.”

Nancy just smiled and shrugged.

I knew I’d do nothing but upset the big asswipe. I stayed put. I was content to stand thirty feet away with Detective Swinson and watch.

There was a fair amount of activity on the mall today. Competing groups protested various issues. Others were on the mall as well: tourists, two groups of schoolchildren, and what looked like residents of a retirement home on a field trip. Even with all the people, I figured we were close enough to see and hear what would happen during the arrest.