Step On A Crack

Chapter 80

I CALLED HOME on my cell phone as I left the hospital and hurried toward my car. Julia picked up.

“How’s Mom?” she said.

In homicide interrogations, sometimes it takes lying very convincingly in order to extract a confession. At that moment, I was glad I’d had some practice.

“She looks great, Julia,” I said. “She sends her love. To you, especially. She’s so proud of the way you’ve been taking care of your sisters. So am I, by the way.”

“How are you, Dad?” Julia said. Was that static or extremely mature concern in my baby’s voice? I remembered that she’d be heading to high school next year. How the heck had my little girl grown up without me noticing?

“You know me, Julia,” I said into my cell. “If I’m not actually freaking out, I guess I’m doing pretty good.”

Julia laughed. She’d been front row center for my classic comedy, Dad Meltdowns.

“Remember that time when everyone was fighting on the way to the Poconos, and you told me to ‘close my eyes and look out the window’?” Julia said.

“I wish I could forget it,” I said with a laugh. “How are things in the barracks?”

“There’s quite a line behind me, waiting to tell you,” she said.

As I drove through the cold city streets, I spoke briefly to each of my kids, telling them how much their mother and I loved them. I apologized for not being there for their pageant or Christmas Eve. I’d missed holidays working cases before, but there was never a time when neither Maeve nor I had been there. As usual, the kids were taking things in stride. Chrissy was sniffling when she got on the line.

Uh-oh. What now? I thought.

“What is it, honey cub?” I said.

“Daddy,” Chrissy said, sobbing, “Hillary Martin said Santa can’t come to our apartment because we don’t have a fireplace. I want Santa to come.”

I smiled with relief. Maeve and I fortunately had heard this lament at least twice before and had devised a solution.

“Oh, Chrissy,” I said into the phone with mock panic. “Thank you so much for reminding me. When Santa comes to New York City, because people in a lot of apartments don’t have fireplaces, he lands his sleigh on the roof of the building and comes down the fire escape. Now, Chrissy, do me a real big favor, okay? Tell Mary Catherine to make sure the window in the kitchen is unlocked. Can you remember that?”

“I’ll tell her,” Chrissy said breathlessly.

“Wait a second. Wait, Chrissy,” I said, turning up the police radio under my dash. “Oh, wow! I just got an official report from our police helicopter. Santa’s approaching New York City right now. Quick! Get to bed, because you know what happens if Santa shows up and children are awake, right?”

“He keeps going,” Chrissy said. “Bye, Daddy.”

“Mr. Bennett?” came Mary Catherine’s voice from the receiver a few seconds later.

“Hi, Mary,” I said. “Where’s Seamus? He should have relieved you by now.”

“He did. He’s holding court in the living room with ’Twas the Night Before Christmas.”

Reading that story had always been my job, but I felt more gratitude than sadness. Despite the negatives, my grandfather Seamus was a wonderful storyteller and wouldn’t hesitate to do anything to make sure the kids were getting the best Christmas they could under the awful circumstances. At least my kids were safe, I thought. They were surrounded by angels and saints. I wished the same could be said for me, but the job I’d chosen often involved the sinners. The very worst of them.

“Please, Mary. Feel free to get out of there,” I said. “And thank you so much for picking up all the slack. When this craziness at the cathedral is over, we’ll sit down and figure out a sane schedule.”

“I’m glad I could help. You have a wonderful family,” Mary Catherine said. “Merry Christmas, Mike.”

I was speeding south past the wreath-and-holly-decked Plaza Hotel when she said it, and for a second, I wanted to believe that it could be. Then in the distance down Fifth, I spotted the harsh glow of the siege tinting the black sky.

“Talk to you later,” I said, and snapped my phone shut.