Brian sighed. He started slowly. “It was going to be a wedding gift.”
“Brian, we don’t need—”
He held up his hand. “No, Dad, it’s not like that.”
Now he had my full attention.
Brian said, “Remember when I said I was looking into air-conditioning repair?”
I didn’t. I probably heard him tell me and then put it down to one of those ideas kids talk about but never act on.
Brian said, “I didn’t make much of a plan at first, but then I signed up to finish my certification. I’ll be done in about three weeks. I’ve already got a job with a company that services office buildings in Manhattan.”
I had a lot of questions, but this was my son’s story to tell. I let him talk.
Brian said, “I heard people saying how trade school was better than college, so I looked at a few different trades, and air-conditioning repair seems to make the most sense. And I like it.”
If Brian expected me to give him a speech, he was wrong. All I did was turn and hug this young man who’d made me so proud.
As I sat there holding my son, I felt my eyes start to water. Then Brian started to cry. I finally felt like I had my son home again.
Chapter 101
The next day, I found myself standing in a crowd outside One Police Plaza. Harry Grissom had called me to tell me about the news conference. He said I didn’t have to be there. He also said if I did come, it would last only an hour at most. Though I didn’t see how that was likely once I heard the mayor start with “Once again our city is safe.”
I tuned him out, sorry I’d wasted my morning coming down here. Then I turned to my right and saw John Macy standing near me, sharply dressed in a dark suit with a red tie.
He faced me and said, “Detective, nice to see you. Too bad you couldn’t keep hold of your prisoner.”
“Too bad you couldn’t keep hold of confidential information,” I countered. “Your buddy Funcher dropped a hint that you have a tendency to overshare during happy hour. I asked around, and sure enough, the late Jeffrey Cedar was on the outer edge of your circle. You were the one who let slip to a copycat serial killer the detail about Ott’s signature of stabbing his victims in the eye. The detail we were withholding from the press. But you didn’t tell Cedar which eye. Ott is right-handed. And Cedar was left-handed. Which explains why Ott went for the left eye and Cedar for the right.”
As I turned away from him in disgust, I added, “How’re your balls feeling? The mayor is about to put them in a sling.” Harry Grissom had stepped up on the other side of me. Macy had a lot of questions to answer, and he wouldn’t be going anywhere until he did.
We listened as the mayor, the NYPD commissioner, and Robert Lincoln, assistant special agent in charge of the FBI in New York, all made comments about the arrest of Daniel Ott. There was no mention of him being a spy.
Harry Grissom leaned toward me and said, “Macy has been reassigned. He now reviews business licensing for anything that doesn’t relate to food or beverage.”
“Sounds like a slice of heaven.”
Harry chuckled. “I’ve still got friends who don’t put up with people screwing with the NYPD. But there is a catch.”
“I don’t like the sound of that. What sort of catch?”
Harry said, “There was no copycat killer. Receptionist Olivia Green was lying—not about Jeffrey Cedar but in her dealings with the IRS. In exchange for amnesty, she’ll say Cedar panicked after having a domestic dispute with his wife and died avoiding arrest. Daniel Ott takes the blame for all the murders. The mayor’s office prefers to calm public fears about two different killers loose in the city.”
“But none of it’s true.”
“Neither is Santa Claus, but people still believe,” Grissom said. “See you at the wedding.”
Chapter 102
My wedding day arrived. I sat in a small room just off the altar of Holy Name. Mary Catherine and I were putting the kids to good use today. Brian was my best man. Trent, Eddie, and Ricky were the groomsmen and ushers. Juliana was the maid of honor. Jane, Bridget, and Fiona were bridesmaids. Shawna and Chrissy were the flower girl and ring bearer respectively. My grandfather, Seamus, would be the one to marry us.
Following tradition, I had not seen or spoken to Mary Catherine today. She and the girls had spent the night in a hotel. It was as close to a bachelorette party as Mary Catherine wanted.
The boys and I had had a pretty good bachelor party too. We’d continued the video game marathon that had been interrupted in the line of duty, and we also managed to eat six pizzas, drink eight liters of soda, and destroy a pile of chicken wings.
At the moment, Brian sat with me, and the other boys rotated to my side as their ushering duties allowed. They all looked extremely sharp in their tuxedos.
Sister Sheilah popped her head into the little room where we waited. She was in full habit but looked different somehow. Then I realized she was wearing makeup. Not a ton, but enough to change her look dramatically.
Sister Sheilah said, “It’s showtime. Your boys have seated all the guests, and your grandfather told me to get you moving.”
Brian and I stood together. He took a moment to straighten my tie and brush a microscopic piece of lint off my shoulder.
Then Sister Sheilah stepped forward. As a child, I’d been her student, and she’d also taught all ten of my children. In her eyes, I’d never grown up. Sheilah looked at me, giggled, and pinched me on the cheek, repeating the words she’d been saying for months: “I can’t believe our little Michael Bennett is getting married.”
Today, it was finally true.
She kissed me on the forehead, and I received her blessing.
Brian and I took our positions at the front of the church. It was all I could do not to cry at the sight of my sons escorting their sisters down the aisle to take their places near the altar.
Chrissy followed, holding our rings, and Shawna dropped rose petals on the way to join us at the front of the church. This was a family event. Only Maeve was absent. I felt her looking down on me and smiling at the happiness she’d brought me and the kids by sending Mary Catherine.
The crowd was a sea of familiar faces. Harry Grissom sat next to Terri Hernandez. All the priests and nuns from the church intermingled with dozens of friends.
A movement flashed in the back corner of the church, and I craned my neck to see. It was Brett Hollis, sitting in a wheelchair, raising his arm in something between a wave and a salute. I was honored by his presence, even more so that he was accompanied by detectives from our squad—not his mother.
It was tough to keep the stupid grin off my face. Everything was great.
Then it got better. Almost to the point of fantasy.
The organist played the opening chords to the “Bridal Chorus”—“Here Comes the Bride.” Mary Catherine, dressed all in white, took her cue, appearing to float along the rose petals Shawna had tossed onto the carpeted aisle.
The veil covered her face, but I could tell she was beaming with joy. She touched hands with several people in the pews as she continued her graceful glide toward me.
She was so gorgeous, I barely noticed my grandfather walking her down the aisle. He looked sharp too. Dressed in his best vestments, he stood tall and walked with a determined pace, planting each foot carefully.