Broken Angels

99

Byrne sat on a bench outside the courtroom. He had testified countless times in his career-grand juries, preliminary hearings, murder trials. Most of the time he had known exactly what he was going to say, but not this time.

He entered the courtroom, taking a seat in the first row.

Matthew Clarke looked about half the size he had been the last time Byrne had seen him. This was not uncommon. Clarke had been holding a gun and guns made people appear bigger. Now the man was craven and small.

Byrne took the stand. The ADA led him through the events of the week leading up to the incident where Clarke took him hostage.

"Is there anything you'd like to add?" the ADA finally asked.

Byrne looked into Matthew Clarke's eyes. He had seen so many criminals in his time, so many men who had no regard for anyone's property or human life.

Matthew Clarke did not belong in jail. He needed help.

"Yes," Byrne said, "there is."

The air outside the courthouse had warmed since morning. The weather in Philadelphia was incredibly fickle, but somehow it was near- ing forty-two degrees.

As Byrne exited the building he looked up and saw Jessica approaching.

"Sorry I couldn't make it," she said.

"No problem."

"How'd it go?"

"I don't know." Byrne shoved his hands into his coat pockets. "I really don't." They fell silent.

Jessica watched him for a while, wondering what was going through his mind. She knew him well, and knew that the matter of Matthew Clarke would weigh heavily on his heart.

"Well, I'm heading home." Jessica knew when the walls went up with her partner. She also knew there would eventually come a day when Byrne would talk about it. They had all the time in the world. "Need a ride?"

Byrne looked at the sky. "I think I'm going to walk for a while."

"Uh-oh."

"What?"

"You start walking, the next thing you know you'll be running."

Byrne smiled. "You never know."

Byrne turned up his collar, descended the steps.

"See you tomorrow," Jessica said.

Kevin Byrne didn't answer.

Padraig Byrne stood in the front room of his new home. The boxes were stacked everywhere. His favorite chair was positioned across from his new 42-inch plasma television, a housewarming gift from his son.

Byrne walked into the room, a pair of glasses in hand, glasses containing two inches of Jameson each. He handed one to his father.

They stood, strangers in a strange place. They had never been in a moment like this before. Padraig Byrne had just left the only house in which he had ever lived. The house into which he had carried his bride, raised his son.

They lifted their glasses.

"Dia duit," Byrne said.

"Dia is Muire duit."

They clinked glasses, downed the whiskey.

"You going to be okay?" Byrne asked.

"I'm fine," Padraig said. "Don't you worry about me."

"Right, Da."

Ten minutes later, as Byrne was pulling out of the driveway, he glanced up to see his father standing in the doorway. Padraig looked a little smaller in this place, a little further away.

Byrne wanted to freeze the moment in his mind. He didn't know what tomorrow would bring, how much time they would have together. But he knew that, for the moment, for the foreseeable future, everything was okay.

He hoped his father felt the same way.

Byrne returned the moving van, retrieved his car. He got off the expressway and headed down to the Schuylkill. He got out, stood at the riverbank.

He closed his eyes, reliving the moment when he pulled the trigger in that house of madness. Had he hesitated? He honestly couldn't remember. Regardless, he had taken the shot, and that was what mattered.

Byrne opened his eyes. He watched the river, contemplated the secrets of a thousand years as it flowed silently past him; the tears of desecrated saints, the blood of broken angels.

The river never tells.

He got back into his car, reached the entrance to the expressway. He looked at the green and white signs. One led back to the city. One led west, toward Harrisburg, Pittsburgh, and points northwest.

Including Meadville.

Detective Kevin Francis Byrne took a deep breath.

And made his choice.