Jack put one foot inside his apartment. For a moment he straddled the doorway, one foot in, one foot out. Then his back foot slid forward and he was in his living room. Without turning around, he fumbled for the handle of the door, found it, and slid the glass shut.
He wiped the moisture from his forehead, ran his hand through his sopping-wet hair, went into his bedroom and sat on the bed. When he lay down, he pulled the light, summer quilt up to his shoulders and then over his chin. Soon, almost all that was visible were his eyes. They stayed open for several more hours, staring straight ahead, and then, close to seven in the morning, they finally closed and Jack slept a fitful but dreamless sleep.
BOOK FOUR
THE FINAL FALL
TWO DAYS LATER
THIRTY-ONE
Even for a funeral, Kid's burial was an extraordinarily dreary and sobering event. Dom accompanied Jack and the first thing he said when Jack's car came by to pick him up was 'Christ, Jackie, we're goin' to too many fuckin' funerals.' When Jack nodded grimly, Dom then added, 'Do you remember the last time we been to this goddamn place?' There was no need for Jack to respond to the question. They both knew exactly when they'd last been there. It was eleven years earlier. The day they'd gone to Sal Demeter's funeral. Sal was not quite forty-five when he died. His son had not lived to see his twenty-sixth birthday.
The car dropped them off at the loading station for the Staten Island Ferry. Both men bought tickets and ambled onto the boat. Jack and Dom were the only ones in suits and ties. Most of the crowd wore shorts or jeans and T-shirts. Most were tourists or adventurous Manhattanites, happy to be escaping the island for a few hours, anxious to see new sights. Some of the men on the boat, Jack was sure, were policemen or firemen sitting through part of their normal commute. A lot of city workers lived on Staten Island. It had a comfortable blue-collar neighborhood: houses had yards, which was great for raising lots of kids and having pets. And because of those workers, living on Staten Island had its practical advantages. Snow was always shoveled off the streets first. Blackouts were attended to immediately. Garbage was always picked up on time.
During the short ride across the water, Dom stayed down below but Jack was feeling antsy and went up on top. He'd never been a smoker but now was one of the few times in his life he wished he had a cigarette. He just wanted something in his hand, something to keep himself busy. Instead of tobacco, he went to a vending machine and bought a Baby Ruth bar. It was enough of an activity that it relaxed him. Chewing on the too-sweet candy, he leaned against the railing, looking down at the churning waves. Even though the sun was shining and the air was warm, the water looked cold and forbidding.
As the salt spray splattered on deck, daubing his face and hair, Jack's thoughts drifted back to his conversation with Sergeant McCoy. Even now, three days later, he was still trying to piece the whole thing together, still trying to have it make sense and absorb the impact.
'No, it's not possible' is how he'd responded to McCoy's pronouncement, as she stepped out of the elevator, that Kid had committed suicide.
'I'm afraid it is,' the sergeant had said. She seemed genuinely sad, Jack thought, as if she weren't just delivering bad news as part of her job. It was as if she cared. As if she too felt the loss. It was her sadness that convinced him she was telling him the truth.
Jack didn't speak after that for quite a while. Her words had rocked him and he felt wobbly, so without even asking McCoy inside, he made his way to the living room and sat down on the couch. McCoy followed but not immediately. She gave him time to compose himself.
When she stepped slowly into the living room, she eased herself down onto one of the leather club chairs. Even then she didn't speak, until finally Jack was ready, saying, 'Did he leave a note… uh… Officer… what do I call you?'
'My first name's Patience, maybe the worst-named person on the face of the earth, because that is something I normally do not have a lot of. You can call me that if you want. Or Sergeant's just fine. Most people are more comfortable with Sergeant.'
'Okay… Sergeant. Did he leave a note?'
'If there was one, we didn't find it,' she said. 'But we've got people going through the apartment now.' Sergeant McCoy hesitated, leaned forward, a rather urgent expression on her face, then she must have thought better of whatever was behind her motion, because she just as suddenly tilted back into her original position.
'What?' Jack asked.
'Hmmm?'
'You looked like you wanted to ask me something, then changed your mind. Please, go ahead. Anything you feel might be relevant.'
Patience McCoy let out a hoarse little burst of laughter. 'It ain't exactly what you call relevant,' she said. 'I was going to ask if you'd mind if I made myself a cup of coffee. Not very professional, I know, but if I don't get some caffeine in me, I'll be falling asleep in this very comfortable chair.'
Jack nodded, told her to stay put. He was glad to have something to do. He left her in the living room and headed into the kitchen, where he ground the beans and turned on the DeLonghi ten-cup coffeemaker. He was glad to be alone for a few minutes, doing nothing more than listening to the hum of the appliance and the steady drip from the filter to the pot. When he went back into the living room, he was carrying her coffee, black, as asked for.
Sergeant McCoy took a sip, exhaled a satisfied sigh. 'This is delicious. Jamaican Blue, or something thereabouts, with a touch of cinnamon, am I right?' And when Jack nodded, she couldn't help but give a pleased little smile. The jolt from the coffee seemed to bring her back to her purpose for being there. She crossed her legs, began asking him about Kid, and she listened attentively as he told her what he knew – how they'd met years before, how Kid had reentered his life, the physical therapy they'd been doing, that Kid had been working as a personal trainer, that he'd been dating various women.
'Did you notice any signs of depression? Frustration? Any hint that he was thinking of ending his life?'
Jack shuddered at the phrase. 'No. Just the opposite.' He hesitated – the image of Kid's angry outburst at the restaurant popped into his head, and then Kid's face as he talked about his new Destination and his secrets. But he shook those pictures away. They were aberrations. Normal ups and downs. He didn't know if Sergeant McCoy had noticed he'd skipped a beat, but to cover it he hurried his next sentences. 'He was going to graduate soon, from business school. He was really looking forward to that, getting his master's.'
'Ahhhh,' she said.
Her little noise annoyed him, as if she'd just now gotten a clue to something he didn't understand. 'What does that mean? 'Ahhh.''
Sensing his hostility, she said, 'Sorry. The problem with being a cop is we tend to see things as statistics. You knew the person, so you're seeing something different, as you should. All I meant is that now there's some sense to this. We typically have an upsurge in suicidal behavior from students during finals. The pressure, you know. They bottle it up and then they just let go.'
'I don't think that's the case here. I never saw any-'
He was interrupted by the jarring ringing of her cell phone. She gave him an apologetic look, took the phone out of the clip on her belt and spoke into it. 'McCoy, go.' No one seemed to be on the other end because she said, 'Hello?' and then said it again, followed by a 'Shit,' then she whacked at the phone with her free hand. 'Damn budget cuts. Next thing they'll be giving us some Dixie Cups and a string. Probably didn't pay the goddamn phone bill this month.' She shook her head, held both hands up to show him the distraction had passed. 'Sorry. Do you have any idea how I can reach George's next of kin?'
For a moment, Jack stared at her, thought it was all a mistake, that she was talking about someone else, then realized that she was referring to Kid by his given name. He nodded. 'His mother,' he told her. 'LuAnn Demeter. She
