Criss Cross (Alex Cross #27)(94)

Even though all ten of my kids are adopted, I’m still at a loss to understand where they each got their unique skills. Eddie is a standout, with his phenomenal computer knowledge.

A few minutes later, my grandfather, Seamus, arrived. He was wearing his usual clerical collar, which identified him as a Catholic priest. Even though he’d joined the priesthood very late in life, he loved nothing more than walking around in his tab-collared clergy shirt.

He was the one man who knew not to coddle me. He was also the reason I didn’t like being coddled. He said, “Hello, my boy. Will you share a glass of wine with me? Think of it as a way to laugh in the face of death. You can drink and none of it is going to leak out through holes in your stomach or chest.”

Then he shocked me by giving me a hug. “Thank God the NYPD trained you well.”

We all filed into the dining room. I heard the news come on the TV where Ricky had been watching a cooking show. All I heard was the first line: “The Reverend Franklin Caldwell says he will personally investigate the claims that NYPD detective Michael Bennett shot an unarmed man in cold blood today.”

I cringed at the fact the kids had to hear something like that. My grandfather stomped to the TV and shut it off as he threw a quick scowl at Ricky for not turning it off after the show.

We all took our seats at the long table. One chair, as always, was left open for my son Brian. The other nine children, Mary Catherine, my grandfather, and I clasped hands for grace.

As always, Seamus said it. This time it was surprisingly short. “Dear Heavenly Father, all we can say today is thank you.”

Silently I added, Please have mercy on Ronald Timmons Junior’s soul.