End of Watch

'We think he mighta seen somethin',' Annie said.

'Well, he be dead now. I tell you. What he seen, only God know now.'

'What was your brother's full name?'

'His full name?' Alvarez struggled again. 'Pablo. Maybe he have middle name. I don't know.'

'Pablo Cammayo?'

Alvarez bobbed her head. Loosing another cigarette from the pack she lit it off her stub.

Annie asked where her mother was.

'To my aunt's.' Flora pointed with her chin. 'She in da next buildin' over.'

Done with Flora, the women crossed to the next building in the complex. Rather than take their chances in a project elevator, they climbed eight flights to the aunt's apartment. Both were breathing hard when they got to the landing.

'All that ice cream,' Annie gasped, but Frank didn't answer. She was trying hard to ignore the smell of frying onions and old piss, the drone of music and noticias and babies, the scrawled graffiti and stripped light fixtures.

She'd lived two floors below. Sixth floor. Below the bug line so mosquitoes and flies still found her on sweltering summer nights.

'Ready?' she asked Annie.

Annie nodded and they knocked. The apartment number was painted on the door in glitter and Frank's hand came away speckled in gold.

A broad woman, her gray hair in cornrows, opened up. Annie flashed and asked for Rosalia Calderon.

'Rosa,' the woman called without taking her eyes off the cops, 'look like your girl in trouble again.'

CHAPTER 39

Rosalia Calderon confirmed what her daughter had said. She had, might have, didn't know, a son named Pablo Arturo Cammayo, born in 1949 in Panama. She and her husband moved from Panama to New York in 1956. She did laundry and ironing, he took day labor. She eventually got secretarial work and he found electrical jobs. He died when Pablo was twelve.

'Hard times for everyone,' she remarked, a quiet woman with sullen eyes. 'I lose my husband. I lose my son. Soon my daughter...'

Annie said, 'You have two other sons. Tell us about them.'

'Edmundo, he's a mechanic for Ford. He's a good son. Given me t'ree grandbabies. And Roberto, he's a priest. That bwoy.' She nodded with grave solemnity. 'He was called. He always knew he was gwan be a man of the Lord. Even from a teeny bean of a bwoy.'

Annie and Frank shared a glance.

'Always?' Annie asked.

'Always' the mother insisted.

'Didn't decide it later in life, in his teens?'

'No. Always he knew. My second husband, he called him Padrito, Little Fat'er.'

'How was Roberto after Pablo disappeared?'

'He was always a quiet bwoy. Not joking all the time like Pablo and his father. Berto's more like me. He knows there's much pain in the world. He missed his brother, anyone can see that, but he just prayed more. All the time, Berto was prayin'.'

'Did Roberto ever use drugs?'

Calderon looked disgusted. 'Never. Not him. Not once. I tell you, he was a man of the Lord, even from a small bwoy.'

'How did you find out Pablo was gone?'

'Berto. He said Pablo come to him in the night. That he was in trouble wit' a man over drugs. That the man wanted to kill him and he had to leave for a while. Bobo told me he stole money from my purse for him. I cried more for the money than that bwoy, I can tell you. I long since used up all my tears for that bwoy. My firstborn.'

'Who's Bobo?'

A faraway smile flitted over Calderon's face. 'Berto. When Flora was small she couldn't say Roberto. It came out Bobobo. We called him Bobo back then.'

'Thank you, Mrs. Calderon.'

Frank stood quickly.

Walking downstairs Annie smirked, 'Still leavin' Monday?'

Eyes straight on the step in front of her Frank gave a joyless smile.

'Well,' Annie said, 'I think we better talk to the Father again.'

'Let me ask you something. Can you be objective, Cammayo being a priest and all?'

Annie whirled. She lifted the ID around her neck. 'I didn't get this sellin' Girl Scout cookies, Frank. You askin' whether I can do my job or not?'

'I just need to know.'

'You just worry 'bout yourself, cookie, and keep outta my way.' Annie brushed past and Frank let her stomp ahead.

Back in the car, Annie gunned into traffic.

Frank explained, 'It's just you being Catholic and him being a priest, it made me wonder.'

'Yeah, well, don't wonder no more. You maybe let your personal life interfere with your work. Me? I got twenty-six years on the Job. You don't think I've ever worked a priest before? I could work the Pope if I hadda, cookie, so don't you worry about a chump like Cammayo.'

'All right. Sorry.'

Annie shook her head and grumbled. She fished through her purse and chomped on espresso beans. 'It's Sunday, you know. I could be home, but what am I doin'? Runnin' around chasin' down a cold one for you, that's what I'm doin'. And what do I get for it? 'Annie, can you interview a priest?' No, this I do not need.'

Staring out her window, Frank let Annie rant.

Annie parked at the precinct and Frank followed her upstairs. Annie flipped on her computer. Frank sat and watched.

'Think you could make coffee while I work?'

'You runnin' Pablo Cammayo?'

'Yeah. Wanna tell me how to do it?'

Frank bit off a smile and made the coffee.

After she brought Annie a 'regular,' meaning with a regular amount of cream and two sugars, Annie told the monitor, ' 'Fraid we ain't gonna get much, this being 'sixty-nine and prior. Got somethin', though.'

She hit the print button and Frank retrieved the paper. Lifting a brow she read, 'Nineteen seventy. Busted in Kansas. Armed robbery. Did half a nickel in Leavenworth. Paroled early.'

Annie scrolled and typed. Her coffee got cold. At last she sat back, whipping off her reading glasses. 'After that, nothin'. Probably shot a hot load and is pushin' up daisies in a Podunk Potter's Field. You know that's the odds, right?'

'Yeah,' Frank agreed. 'I still want to talk to Cammayo.'

'He's got a five o'clock mass. It's one thirty. Ya already ruined my Sunday. Wanna ride to Brooklyn?'

'Thought you'd never ask.'

CHAPTER 40

Father Cammayo was at Our Lady Queen of the Angels. Obviously dismayed to see the women, he checked his watch. 'Sunday's a busy day for me.'

'It's my day off,' Annie countered. 'Surely you can spare ten minutes.'

Cammayo looked at his watch again. 'No more.'

'Good. You tell us the truth, Father, and it shouldn't even take that.'

'What truth might that be?'

'We talked to your sister Flora this mornin'. And your mother. Very nice women, both of 'em. Very helpful. Very fond of you. Very respectful of how you've always wanted to be a priest. How you had the callin' since you