“Oh my God.”
“I’m sorry, dear, but that’s what happened.”
Matt leaned forward. “What did O’Neil do?”
“He drew on the uniform, and there was a shootout. Cormac’s partner was killed, and Cormac jumped from the roof—he landed on a fire escape and got away.”
“Why did the patrolman do that? What was he trying to accomplish?”
“This young police officer was on the payroll of organized crime. His buddies discovered Cormac and his partner were working on a case against them, and they ordered them both killed. This patrolman had a superior officer ready to back his version of events. They made Cormac out to be the corrupt one, the dirty detective who killed his partner, murdered the dealer, and ran off with the drug money.”
Matt rubbed his goatee. “Sounds like your guy was an Irish Serpico...”
To older New Yorkers, Detective Frank Serpico was more than just the subject of a Hollywood movie. Serpico’s near-death experience at the hands of fellow officers was legend, and his testimony about widespread police corruption led to the Knapp Commission, which cleaned up much of the NYPD.
Madame nodded. “Corruption was certainly rife in the early seventies. The Knapp Commission helped, but it wasn’t a cure-all. Cormac told me this particular patrolman was well connected. He had a few relatives high up on the force. Cormac intended to bring his story to the Justice Department—and that meant he had to disappear for a while.”
“Did he go to the Feds?” I asked, hopefully.
“I assume he did, but I don’t know what happened after that. I thought he would come back for me . . .” She shook her head. “I hoped he would, but he never did. And when that corrupt patrolman was never brought up on charges, but instead promoted as a hero, I came to believe they got to Cormac. I thought for sure he’d been killed.”
“What about the grand jury?”
“Before he disappeared, Cormac implored me not to say a word to anyone about what I knew, not even to a judge or jury. What could I say? I couldn’t prove anything—and the corrupt cops would have known I was a threat. The possibility of my being murdered for exposing it all—with no evidence, mind you—was just too great. I wouldn’t risk making Matt an orphan. I vowed to stay silent to protect my son. So I refused to answer their questions, and the judge sent me to jail.”
“Jesus,” Matt whispered.
“Alicia was the one who saved me. She was a tower of strength, so efficient and fearless, like a machine. She took over the Blend, ran it in my absence. She found a lawyer for me and the means to bail me out. She continued to prop me up and run the coffeehouse even after I was released from jail, until I was emotionally able again.
“Alicia was even the reason for my subsequent happiness. When she met Pierre Dubois at a Long Island charity dinner, she absolutely
I looked at Matt. He exhaled hard. Finally, we understood.
“If not for Alicia,” Madame said, “I never would have held on to the Blend or gotten through losing her the way I did...”
Madame’s gaze was downcast. It was so late now, and I wasn’t sure I’d heard her right. “You mean, losing
“No . . .” She took a breath, let it out. “I lost my daughter. Our daughter. I had a miscarriage in jail. Cormac didn’t know I was expecting. I didn’t think I could anymore . . . I was going to name her Clare—after the younger sister he’d lost in his childhood . . .”
Matt appeared shocked. Neither of us knew what to say.
“Life may take from us, but God gives back, in His own time. A few years later, when Matt came home from Europe with a young woman named Clare, who was pregnant with a daughter . . . well, I knew it was meant to be.” She turned to me. “I knew you were a gift from God the moment I heard your name. The daughter I’d lost came back to me.”
I put my arms around her, blinked back tears. “I can’t believe you’ve been carrying that around all these years . . .”
Matt swallowed, his voice hoarse. “No wonder you never trusted the police.”
“My darling boy, it wasn’t that I didn’t trust them. I simply needed to get to know them before I could judge which cops were good and which weren’t.”
She paused, met my eyes.
“Mike’s a good cop,” I said quietly.
“I know he is, dear. Officer Quinn saved your life and Joy’s.” She squeezed my hand. “I don’t know why Cormac is back again, after all this time. But I have to trust that your blue knight will protect him from men like that deputy commissioner Hawke. If Cormac gets a fair hearing, I’m sure everything will turn out all right.”
I shifted on the sofa, suddenly queasy. “What did you say about Hawke? How do you know him?”
Madame blinked. “Didn’t I say? Larry Hawke was the name of the corrupt patrolman. The young officer who appeared on the roof, shot the dealer, Cormac’s partner, and tried to kill Cormac. Hawke was the cop who framed him.”
Shaken to the core, I sat frozen a moment. Finally, I rose and quietly excused myself.
In Madame’s bathroom, I sat on the edge of the tub, ran my fingers through my hair. In my bones I knew that Madame was telling the truth. But her facts ran completely counter to the police file.
I recalled the words we’d had at the dock about Franco. What would Quinn do? Side with me and Madame? Or with the towering command structure he’d trusted for his entire career?
I checked my watch. It was past midnight, but I had to call him, try to explain. I fumbled in my pocket, found my cell. A voice mail was waiting for me. Mike hadn’t rung through. He’d sent a silent message.
“Clare, listen to me carefully. This cold case has gotten complicated... and a little dangerous. I’m going to be out of touch. I’m not sure how long. You won’t be able to reach me through my cell or the police radio. Sully and I need to follow a few leads. For our own safety, we can’t be traceable. I can’t say more to you now, except . . . well, I think you’ll understand this. I’m about to pull a Franco . . .”
“Try not to worry . . . and, please, do not tell anyone what I’ve just told you. It could put our lives in danger. Just . . . I don’t know, say a prayer for me today. I’m going to need it...”
Praying was the first thing I did, asking God to keep Mike and Sully and Franco safe. Then I squeezed my eyes shut, realizing in a whole new way what Madame must have felt all those years ago.
Did Mike hear the same story from Cormac and believe him? Were they trying to gather evidence and go to the Feds together? Or had Mike confronted Hawke, just like Franco? Did Hawke try to take Mike’s badge and gun? Or was it even worse? Did he try to take his life?
I closed my eyes, bowed my head, and lost track of time. When a soft knock sounded on the door, I rubbed the back of my neck.
“Clare?”
I’d spent so long in the bathroom that Matt had grown concerned. I opened the door, moved into the hall.
“Are you okay?” Matt asked.
“I’m staying here with your mother tonight . . .”
“You look like hell,” he whispered, opening his arms.
I stepped into them.
Matteo’s body felt as strong as ever, as strong as his spirit, and I let him lend me that strength. Holding on tight, I let myself break, felt the hot tears dampen his shirt.
