'You're kidding!'
'No. The mystery visitor turned out to be a goddamned priest. Imagine my surprise. Didn't know I could still be surprised. Anyway, I tailed him to this church and called Annie. We lost him while I was waiting for her to show but a secretary gave us his address. We tracked him down—Annie did all the talking—but his story sounds pretty hinky. Some bullshit about how my father's murder changed his life. It was an epiphany for him and he's never forgotten.'
'Well, how did he know your father?'
'He didn't. The man was a total stranger to him. He claims he heard about it the morning after it happened and he went and visited the spot and practically ascended. His story holds water like a leaky bucket. Annie and I went back to the precinct and worked the computers for a couple hours. Nothing unusual apart from the fact that he is
Frank summarized from the notes she'd been jotting down in her notebook.
'Born nineteen fifty-three, in Colon, Panama. Mother Rosalia Pretto, father Romeo Cammayo. Mother's remarried. Name's Calderon. The guy does prison ministry so there was a lot of DOJ background on him. He was arrested twice for public protest. Has a sister with a rap sheet half a mile long, mostly prostitution and possession. Sister's name is Alvarez. Flora Alvarez. Last known address was Baruch Houses, where the mother lives. So guess where I'm going tomorrow. Of all the places to live in Manhattan she's got to live there.'
'What's Baruch Houses?'
'The last place my mom and I lived.'
'Oh.'
'Anyway, the padre's story smells. He spends an inordinate amount of time paying homage to a thirty-six- year-old memory.
Just doesn't make sense, so we'll pump the mother tomorrow. See what she remembers.' Frank reached for the bottle of Perrier by her bed. 'Another thing. Why would my dad's death in particular stand out? This was the seventies. The city was in the middle of a huge crime wave. People getting killed—especially where Cammayo lived—would have been an everyday thing. So why the sudden epiphany for a murder that one, he didn't even witness? Supposedly. Two, for a man he didn't even know? A complete stranger. And three, my dad was popped up on Ninth Street. If Cammayo was living down on Delancey at the time, like he claims, then that's not even his neighborhood. It all stinks like a week-old fish. I'm not buying it. I don't know what he's hiding but we'll figure it out.'
'Well, it's great you have a lead.'
'Yeah. It is.'
'You don't sound happy about it.'
'No, I am. It's just. . . weird. Standing in this guy's apartment and listening to him talk about my dad. I felt like I was watching a movie I'd already seen. I gotta admit I'm a little numb. It was exciting following him, but it's still weird. Half of me really hopes he knows something but the other half wishes this would all go away. Half the time I'm sorry I opened this whole can of worms, then half the time I can't wait to dig deeper. Guess the cop and the daughter in me are duking it out.'
'Who's winning?'
'I don't know. Doesn't matter, I guess. Either way, it won't bring him back. Even if Cammayo did it, even if he turns out to be a hope-to-die junkie turned priest who killed my father, it still won't bring him back. Nothing can ever change that and I still hate that.
'I guess that's the bottom line. I hate all this. And I want to find the hype that started all this shit and make him hurt, too. Priest or not. Whoever he is I want him to hurt as bad as I do.' Frank sighed. 'But I know hurting him won't fix the hole my dad left. Nothing can change that. So then I start arguing, why am I doing this if nothing's going to change? I can't fix all those years without him so what the hell's the point? Then Lieutenant Franco chimes in—'It's the law. Justice. Man committed a murder he should be caught and punished. The fact you can't bring your father back is irrelevant. It's a matter of law and order. Period.' I just wish it were that simple. Sorry. I'm rambling.'
'You're right. You've become practically loquacious since you quit drinking.'
'Ah, there's my English professor. What's loquacious mean?'
'Talkative.'
'Ah. Sorry.'
'No, I like it much better than your characteristic reticence. That means silence.'
'I knew that one.' Frank smiled at the wall.
'I like it a lot. I like knowing what's going on in your head. It makes me feel like you trust me enough to tell me. I hated when you were drinking and you'd just shut down. I always felt so left out.'
'I know. You were. Everybody was. Including me.'
'So talkative is much better.'
'Good. 'Cause that's what I've got to learn to do. Talk, talk, talk. I've even started a journal. Can you believe it?'
Gail laughed. 'No, I can't. My God, you really are changing.'
'I'm trying, doc. Trying like hell.'
'Well, it sounds like you're doing a wonderful job. Tell me more.'
'Let's see.' Frank stretched on the bed, reveling in Gail's voice. 'It's been a helluva couple weeks. For that matter, a helluva last six months. I wonder what I'd be doing right now if I hadn't called Joe that night.'
'I can guarantee you wouldn't be talking to me.'
'Or sleeping in a cop's guest room in New York, and certainly not tracking down leads in my father's murder. It still sounds weird saying that. My father's murder. It's almost like having an out-of-body experience. I think I'm still kind of numb around it. And that's okay. I need some distance to be able to do this. But you know what? I didn't call to hear my own voice. Tell me about Gail.'
'Gail's all right. It's nice to see Trina. I miss her. I should take a weekend off and go up to my mom's to see everybody.'
'You should. It'd be good for you to get out of the morgue and spend more time in the fresh air. How much of that shit can you breathe before it gets to you?'
'Oh, come on. I'm lucky if I spend a couple hours in there. You know I'm always in a meeting or at the university or in my office. I'd love to be in there more.'
'Well, I'm glad you're not. Can't be good for you.'
'Hey, congratulations. When did you get your medical degree?'
'Same time you went into stand-up comedy.' Gail laughed, making Frank smile again. 'Think when I get home you can squeeze me in for dinner? Sometime between your day job and your night job?'
'I'll check my schedule,' Gail assured.
'You do that. Let me know.'
'I will.'
To postpone hanging up, Frank asked how Gail's co-workers were, her boss, even her cats. When the clock on the nightstand flicked to midnight, she said, 'I'd love to talk to you all night but I should let you get back to Trina.'
'Yeah. We're going to watch a video. Romantic comedy. You'd hate it. You should get to bed. It's late there.'
'Yeah, I know. See you when I get home?'
'You bet. Get some sleep, copper. Good luck tomorrow.'
'Thanks. Say hi to Trina for me.' There was a pause at Gail's end. Frank had seen the women in Gail's family close ranks around each other and she guessed they hadn't been happy about Frank dumping Gail. 'Or don't,' she added.
'Yeah. Maybe later.'
'Right. Well, have fun.'
'Okay,' Gail answered softly. 'Sleep tight.'
Frank hung up, too wired to sleep. She paced the small room, sipping Perrier and pausing to write in her notebook or check her father's file. In between, she tried not to read too much into why Gail wouldn't say hi to Trina
