End of Watch

Annie thought about it, suddenly blurting, 'For his murder.'

Cammayo's firm gaze weakened. It wandered from the couch, to the floor, around the room.

Annie pressed, 'How do you know him, Father?'

He flapped a lifeless hand. 'I don't. I never knew him.'

'So tell me why thirty-six years later you're bringing flowers to his grave.'

'You wouldn't understand.'

'Try me.'

The father gave the women his back. 'When I was a young man I lived near where he was killed. The morning after he died I heard some neighbors talking. I found a paper and read about it. There wasn't much, just a paragraph that said he'd died in a mugging. I went to the spot where he was killed. There was still blood on the sidewalk. The paper said his little girl had been with him.'

Frank was impassive under Annie's quick glance.

'My father was killed too. When I was six years old. I barely remember him. I felt sorry for the little girl but I suppose I felt sorrier for me. I think it was on the sidewalk that morning, standing there, that I knew I was going to be a priest.' He faced them, clarifying, 'For less than pure motives, mind you. I decided to join the church that I may never again be attached to corporal flesh. Neither wife, nor child, nor lover. I was done with entanglements. I wanted only to attach myself to God, who I knew would never desert me. And that is why I visit that man's grave even after all these years, lb pay homage. To remember where I came from. To fortify my will when I feel weak. I talk to God. It's quiet there. Peaceful. I get ideas for sermons when I'm there.' He shrugged. 'It's not a crime, is it?'

'Not at all,' Annie allowed. 'How often do you visit?'

'Every few weeks, time permitting.'

'And you've been doing this thirty-six years?'

'Off and on. It's more convenient now that I live closer to the cemetery.'

'Father, forgive me, but thirty-six years is a long time. I remember the day I decided to be a cop, believe me. I was at Brooklyn College sitting out under a tree studying for a final when two cars crashed in front of me. I went over to help but within seconds, whoop-whoop-whoop, here come the police. They call an ambulance, get the drivers separated, calm 'em down, get all the details sorted out, and as I'm watching these guys I know right then and there this is what I want to do with my life. I want to be the one that people call on in an emergency. I want to be that first responder, right? Let me tell you, I remember that moment vividly, but the thing is, Father, I don't go back to that street in Brooklyn every couple weeks and leave flowers, you know what I mean?'

The father offered a patronizing smile. 'I dare to say our callings are vastly different.'

'How so?'

'No disrespect, Detective, but I don't think being a policeman compares to devoting your life to God.'

'Maybe so,' Annie said into his gaze. 'Still and all, an epiphany's a pretty powerful thing, huh?'

'It is indeed.'

Annie continued, 'An epiphany sets you on a path and you move ahead. You grow from that moment on and move out from the epiphany. You don't keep clinging to the moment. Pardon my language, but it's like getting a kick in the pants. It pushes you forward. It doesn't keep you tied to the past.'

The father blinked.

A lock of hair fell across Annie's eyes and she tossed it back, asking, 'How old were you when Franco was killed?'

'I was seventeen.'

'Where'd you live?'

'Lower East Side.'

'Whereabouts?'

'Delancey Street.'

'That's a rough neighborhood. A lotta kids don't make it out.'

'I take no credit for it. God gave me the strength and the faith to succeed.'

'Where did you go to school?'

'Seward Park.'

'Are you a diocesan priest?'

He nodded once.

'That must keep you pretty busy.'

'The Lord's work is never done.'

'Amen,' Annie replied, crossing herself quickly.

'You're Catholic?' he asked.

'For all of my fifty-four years.' Annie smiled. 'Father, I know you're busy, but if I could trouble you with just a few more questions, what exactly was it you heard your neighbors talking about the morning after Mr. Franco was murdered.'

He waved a hand as if chasing a fly from his face. 'Talk. That a man was stabbed while walking home on Ninth Street. What a shame it was. What sort of place were they living in where a man loses his life for three dollars. That kind of talk. Nothing concrete. Just the idle chatter of women and old men.'

Annie said, 'Well, thank you, Father. I'm sorry we've taken so much of your time.' She slipped him a card. 'If anything comes to mind, maybe you could give us a call, huh?'

Cammayo read the card. 'Of course.'

Heading out the door Annie stopped to ask one more question. 'Father'—she smiled—'pardon my ignorance, but why do you burn a Nino de Atocha candle at the grave?'

She and the father locked eyes. A small smile tipped his lips. 'Much of my work is related to prison ministry. Saint Nino de Atocha, my child, is of course the patron saint of prisoners. And as I told you, I get much of my inspiration at Mr. Franco's grave.'

Appearing satisfied, Annie said, 'Thanks again for your time, Father.'

She and Frank didn't speak until they were back in the car.

'Don't forget the Nova,' Frank told her.

'Right.'

'What do you think?'

'What do I think? I think it's funny that considering the Lord's work is never done Father Cammayo makes time every two weeks to visit the grave of a stranger dead thirty-six years. I think that dog's not runnin' on all fours.'

'It's kinda odd.'

Checking traffic over her shoulder, Annie said, 'I think we need to do a little background on the padre.'

CHAPTER 37

'Hey. It's Frank. Just wanted to say hi. I'll try you later.'

Frank wondered where Gail was on a Saturday evening. Her jealous streak itched but she didn't scratch it. Instead she reached for her journal. She got a paragraph written before Gail called back.

'Hi. I got your message. How are you?'

'Okay. How'bout you?'

'I had a lovely day. Trina's here and we went for a walk on the beach and had a scrumptious dinner. It was really nice.'

Trina was Gail's sister and Frank answered, 'How long's she staying?'

'Just tonight. She's going home tomorrow.'

'I'm glad you took a whole day off. You're not working too hard.'

'I know. I've got a stack of paperwork I brought home and I'll get to it tomorrow but today I played. How about you? Are you about frozen to death?'

'Yeah. Ready to come home and thaw out.'

'When's that going to be?'

'I'm not sure. I got a bite today.'