“This isn’t baseball, though, is it?” Emily said after a moment.
I took another sip of my Coke and dropped the transmission into reverse to let the death van out.
“You’re right,” I said as we bumped off the sidewalk onto the wet street. “There’s no crying in baseball.”
Chapter 15
IT WAS DARK by the time we rolled across the Madison Avenue Bridge and safely back into Manhattan.
Along the way, Emily had called her Bureau boss and dropped the bad news. Then she made another call to what I assumed was her family. It sounded like she was talking to a little kid.
Then and only then did I check her hand for a ring. Yes, men are that dumb. At least I am. There was no ring, which meant what? Maybe she didn’t wear one at work. I shouldn’t get my hopes up. Was I getting them up? I guessed I was.
As I drove, I called the TARU tech for an update about the phone leads. They’d actually made some headway. The phone numbers recorded at the Dunnings’ and the ones to my cell phone were from prepaid cells bought at three different locations in Queens, Manhattan, and Five Towns out on Long Island. Precinct detectives were being sent to interview the salesmen to see if they remembered anything about the purchaser.
My next call back to the Crime Scene guys was less promising. There were no bullet casings or fingerprints anywhere. Our guy had even had the presence of mind to take the piece of chalk he’d used to write the message.
All in all, this animal who’d killed Jacob had been calculated, methodical, and very careful. All negatives from where we sat. I still couldn’t get his perfectly inflected PBS voice out of my head.
We were on Fifth Avenue just passing Central Park North when I looked up. I was supposed to drop Emily off at the Hilton near Rockefeller Center, but I decided I couldn’t wait any longer. The suspense was killing me about my kids’ game. If Seamus had shown me up in the coaching department, I didn’t know if I’d be able to live it down.
Emily looked confused as I stopped in front of my building on West End.
“I need to stop at my apartment for a second. I have to, uh, see about something. You want to wait in the car-or what the hell, come up. I’ll get you an umbrella and a real Scotch if you need one. I know I do.”
EMILY LOOKED EVEN more confused as my doorman, Kevin, opened the lobby door.
“How much do they pay New York City cops?” she said as we headed for the elevator.
“Very funny,” I said. “Don’t worry, I’m not on the take. It’s a long story, but basically I won real-estate lotto.”
You could hear the ruckus as soon as the elevator opened in my foyer.
“Is someone having a party?” Emily said.
I laughed as I opened the door.
“Oh, the party never ends around here,” I said.
Everyone was in the living room. Seamus. The teens, the tweens, and the little ones, who were getting bigger and more expensive by the hour. Wall-to-wall people, laughing, fighting, gaming, watching TV. The mosh pit that was my home life.
“Dad!” several of my kids cried when I was eventually noticed.
When I turned back to Emily, I could see that she was beyond confused and now deep in utterly bamboozled territory. I smiled, remaining silent. Teasing her was becoming quite pleasant.
“They’re not all yours,” she said.
“Except for the priest,” I said, making an expansive gesture with my hands. “He’s just a loafer.”
“Very funny,” Seamus said. “We won. So there.”
“No!” I yelled, stricken. “No, it’s not possible. How? You threatened to excommunicate the other team?”
“No, I tried something you wouldn’t know about. Sound coaching techniques. Take that, ya wiseass,” Seamus said. “Now how about introducing me to your lovely friend here.”
“Emily, meet Father Seamus Bennett, our local pastor, and though I don’t like to admit it too often, my grandfather. We’re working together on a case, Monsignor. Emily’s an FBI agent.”
“FBI,” Seamus said, impressed, as he shook her hand. “A G-lady in the flesh. Is it true they let you torture suspects now?”
“Just annoying old men,” I answered for her.
The kids, finally noticing that there was a stranger in their midst, quieted down and sat staring. Trent, one of our family’s many comedians, stepped over like a four-foot-tall butler.
“Hello,” he said, offering his hand to Emily. “Welcome to the Bennett home. May I take your coat?”
Emily stared at me as she shook his hand. “Um…,” she said.
“How do you do?” said Ricky, getting in on the act. “It’s sooo nice of you to come for dinner, ma’am.”
“All right, you goofballs. Enough,” I said.
Just then, Juliana, my oldest girl, stopped as she came in from the kitchen. She pulled out her ever-present iPod earbuds before turning back for the kitchen.
“Mary Catherine, Dad brought a guest home. Should I set out another plate?”
Mary Catherine appeared a minute later.
“Of course,” she said.
“Oh, I couldn’t. I wouldn’t want to impose, Mrs. Bennett.”
“Did you hear what she said?” cried Chrissy. “Hey, everyone. Did you hear that? She called Mary Catherine Mrs. Bennett!”
“I’m sorry?” Emily said, looking at me, raw pleading in her face.
“That’s it, you guys. Back off now, and I mean it,” I said. I turned to Emily. “It’s a long story. Mary Catherine and I aren’t married,” I started. I laughed suddenly. “That didn’t come out right. What I mean to say is-”
“What he means to say is that I work for this crew,” Mary Catherine said. “Pleased to meet you,” she said, shaking Emily’s hand briskly.
“Oh, my mistake,” Emily said.
Just then, the saliva-inducing scent of rosemary, garlic, and pepper hit us like a freight train. Emily turned as Juliana placed a massive roasted leg of lamb on the dining room table. It smelled insanely good.
“On Sundays, Mary Catherine pulls out all the stops,” I explained.
Emily’s eyes went wide as Brian came in carrying mashed potatoes on a platter the size of a toboggan.
“You definitely do not have to stay,” I said to Emily. “Don’t let these tricksters fool you with their polite routine. We redefine the term family-style.”
Socky began rubbing himself on Emily’s shin.
“But, Daddy, look. Even Socky wants her to stay,” said Chrissy, batting her butterfly-wing eyelids up at Emily.
Emily knelt down and finally petted the cat.
“Well, if Socky says I should, I guess I have to,” she said.
“In that case, here,” I said, pouring Emily a huge glass of red wine. “You’re going to need this.”
TRYING TO KEEP her balance amid the swirl of kids and motion in the bright, warm apartment, Emily Parker sipped her wine and smiled.
Incredible, she thought. All these children. So many races. They had to be adopted, right? At least some of them did. And was there a Mrs. Bennett? She’d definitely gotten single vibes off Mike.
She watched as Mike knelt down and lifted up the seven-year-old black boy and softly judo-flipped him over his shoulder onto the couch next to an Asian girl.
She certainly hadn’t expected this.
“Hey!” one of the kids yelled. “Check it out!”
On the TV screen, Emily and Mike were on the sidewalk in front of the Bronx building. The coverage of the kidnapping had already begun.
The children all started clapping. One of the tween girls put her pinkies in her mouth and whistled like a doorman hailing a taxi. Emily chuckled as she watched Bennett take an elaborate bow.
“Thank you, everyone. No autographs, please. Enough fame for now, it’s time to eat!”
And the dinner, Emily thought as they finally sat, looked incredible. One of the hugest dining room tables she’d ever seen, and set with china, no less. How did they manage that? Looking at the faces of the kids finding their seats, she thought of herself and Olivia eating Lean Cuisines at the kitchen island in her silent town house. Could this be more different?
They all folded their hands together and closed their eyes as the priest led them in saying grace.
