End of Watch

were this high,' Annie said with her hand over the floor. 'So enough already with Franco's murder and your sudden epiphany. And tell ya the trut',' Annie confided, 'your story wasn't that good the first time ya told it.'

'What else did they tell you?'

'You're pressed for time, Father. We don't need to go into that. So tell us again why you're still takin' flowers to this man's grave.'

'They wouldn't understand,' he told his folded hands. 'It was an epiphany. A vision, if you will. I'd always known I would be a priest, yes, in my head. But standing on the sidewalk that morning I knew it in my heart. That was when I truly felt touched by God, when Christ became real for me, a man of flesh and blood as I was, who suffered. But as I admitted, I was weak. I didn't want to suffer like Christ—choosing to follow a life of the spirit seemed less a trial than following a life of the flesh. And that morning I felt as if God had touched me personally, had approved my choice and offered His grace even though I felt it was a coward's way out. So it was an epiphany. And I still am grateful after all this time.'

Frank clapped. 'Nice, Father. Maybe it'll play in the pulpit but I'm not buying it.'

'That's your choice,' he conceded. Looking at his wrist again, he added, 'Now I really must go.'

Frank looked at her watch too. 'Aw, you said ten minutes, Father. Don't tell me you're not a man of your word.'

'If you don't believe me what else can I say?'

'Well,' Annie responded. 'You could tell us about Pablo.'

Cammayo blinked. 'Pablo.'

'Yeah. Pablo.'

'What about him?'

'When was the last time you saw him?'

'Nineteen sixty-nine.'

'Yeah, winter, right?' Aiming in the dark, Annie added, 'The night of February twelfth, to be precise. What happened that night?'

Cammayo's Adam's apple rose and fell. 'I don't know where my brother is.'

Annie shot an eyebrow up. 'I didn't ask ya that. I asked what happened that night.'

'It was a long time ago. I was young. I don't remember.'

Annie was crestfallen. 'No disrespect, Father, but you're killin' me here. All my life a Cat'lic, and here's a Father lyin' to me. You're breakin' my heart here.'

Frank interrupted. 'Thing I wanna know is, how'd you know Franco died for three dollars?'

'What are you talking about?'

'You distinctly said yesterday that it was a shame a man had to die for three dollars. How would you know how much the killer took from him? You couldn't unless you were the killer or the killer told you, right? So how do you know that?'

Cammayo stood like a marble statue.

Frank stepped forward. She pulled her ID. 'Do you remember my name?'

'No. I can't recall.'

'You know it,' Frank urged.

'I don't think I do.'

'Sure you do.' Frank lifted the plastic holder. 'Franco. Just like my daddy.'

She let that sink in while Cammayo read her face.

'I was there that night and matter of fact he did have three dollars. I know 'cause we'd just got groceries. The bill was sixteen and change. He paid with a twenty. Got three bucks back. Just like you said.' Frank stepped closer to the priest. She put her hand on his chest and he stiffened. She leaned into him, speaking softly. 'I know you got a heart in here. I know you lost your daddy. You and me, we both know how that feels. Know how I know you got a heart? Because you bring flowers to a dead man. A man dead thirty-six years. Only a man with a heart would do that.' She patted his chest. 'Not only did you lose your father, you lost a brother, too. And if Pablo was my brother, I'd do everything I could to protect him. And you've done that, Berto. But it's over. You did the best you could all this time and now it's over. You don't have to keep a secret for a dead man. I hate to say that, but you and I both know, being the junkie he was, Pablo's probably dead. You're lying for a dead man. Lying in front of your God and for what? How's he gonna feel about that come Judgment Day? Is he gonna be pleased with you, Berto?'

She plied his weakness with the tender family diminutive.

'I don't know much about God but even I gotta think he's not gonna be too happy with you. But it's not too late, right? You can come clean. To us, and more importantly, to yourself and your God. It's time, Berto. None of us are gettin' any younger. It's time to tell the truth and put the past behind us, to bury it and let it go. What happened that night, Berto? It's time to tell. You're safe now. We don't care what happened after the fact. All we care about is seeing this through. For thirty-six years, you, me, even the taxpayers of New York been carryin' this corpse around. Let's bury it. Right here. Right now. Let Pablo go with full honors. He deserved that. You deserve that. Tell us what happened that night, Berto.'

Cammayo broke away and turned his back to her.

Frank went around him. 'Go ahead,' she whispered the demand. 'Tell the truth. You've protected Pablo long enough. It was a good hard fight but it's over. You did your best. Now finish it. Cleanly and with grace. Truly. For God's sake.'

She could tell from the way Cammayo slowly wagged his head that he was breaking, that he was fighting the telling. And she knew that great secrets were hard to tell. The greater the secret, the fewer the words for it.

'It's okay,' Frank urged. 'It's not a secret anymore. It's time to let it go.'

When Cammayo spoke he was barely audible. 'He was sick. He needed to score. I was afraid he was going to wake everybody up and scare the little ones. He was my oldest brother. Pablo. You'd have had to known him before the dope. He was kind and funny and he took care of us. He'd discipline us when we needed it and he'd protect us when we needed that. And I guess it was too much for a boy. He shouldered all the responsibilities of a man and at some point it became too much for him. I can understand that. After he left it was my turn to bear the load. But I was older then. And I had God to turn to. Pablo never had that. All he had was that false god in the needle. I tried to get him off it. Sometimes he'd be clean for months at a time but he'd always go back to it. He was scared that night. Scared like I'd never seen him. He made me scared. He thought he'd killed a cop. He said he needed the money. He had to fix and get out of town. I scrounged up what I could for him and he left. I never saw him again. Never heard from him. I heard the talk next morning, and later, in the paper, there was a paragraph about a man that had been robbed and killed in the East Village that night. There was no suspect. Anyone with information was asked to contact the police.'

When he finally looked at Frank, the priest's eyes were wet. 'I couldn't do that. I fought with my conscience, but blood won. Pablo was my brother. I loved him. I couldn't betray him. All these years . . . I've always wondered what happened to him. I think of him every time I visit your father's grave. It keeps me connected to him.'

Frank had heard enough. The urge to hurt Cammayo was a throbbing red pulse throughout her body. She stepped to Annie's ear. 'I'll be outside if you need me.'

'Yeah, sure.'

As Frank's hand hit the knob, Cammayo pleaded, 'Forgive me.'

Frank stopped. She took a deep breath and held it. Felt it turn scarlet inside her. She walked out the door.

CHAPTER 41

'You okay?'

Frank moved her head in the affirmative.

'I gotta bring him in for a statement.'

'You do that. I'll catch a taxi.'

Annie rubbed Frank's shoulder. 'I'll see you back at the apartment, okay?'

'Yeah.'

Frank walked away from Our Lady of the Angels. She walked blocks and blocks, ignoring taxis. She seethed. Passing bars, she noticed each one, fully aware that what was inside them could dampen her fury into a dull and manageable anger. She kept walking. One foot in front of the other. Over and over she thought, he knew. All this