Bloodlines

Corrigan, who had been tipped off about the discovery in the grove before O’Co

A young detective just making his way up through the ranks, Dan Norton, was kindest to him, and kept in touch with him long after others in the department began avoiding him-as the likelihood of solving the cases seemed more and more remote, the less welcome his unanswerable questions were to them.

Norton told O’Co

“Why do you believe that?”

“The coroner found similar fractures on each of the other women’s skeletons-a kind of ritual, you might say, something that indicates they were tortured.”

O’Co

“Co

It was hard to hear. It was also the begi

Within two months of Maureen’s funeral, O’Co

He knew that there was only one place she had ever considered to be home, but still, he was shocked by this a

“This is where you’re at home. It’s a fine place for most, perhaps, but I’ve lost too much here. I don’t blame the whole country for what’s happened to us, but I won’t live with ghosts. I can’t walk past the corner without thinking of Maureen. God knows I can’t live in this house without thinking of your poor father and all he suffered.” She paused. “That’s why I packed up all your sister’s things, Co

He said nothing.

She sighed. “If you want Maureen’s things, lad, you may have them. I’ll not be taking them with me.”

“Yes, thank you.” He took his hand from hers and put his arm around her shoulders. “Lord, I’ll miss you so.”

She began to cry. “I know there’s no sense asking if you’ll come with me…”

He shook his head. “Not as long as her killer is free.”

She pulled a clean handkerchief from the pocket of her dress and wiped her eyes. “Well, you must come to see us, then. And…if they should learn anything…about Maureen…”

“I’ll tell you straight away.”

A month later he got a call at the paper from Vera. He nearly did not remember who she was, until she said, “We met in April.” She named the day of his sister’s funeral. “Remember?”

“Yes, I remember,” he said quietly.

There was a pause. “Look, I’m living in Las Vegas now. I’m just in Las Piernas for a few days. Let’s have lunch together.”

He hesitated. “It occurs to me that I don’t even know your last name.”

“Smith,” she said, and laughed. “True fact.”

“Look, Miss Smith-”

“It’s extremely important that you meet me for lunch, Mr. O’Co

“All right.”

They met at Big Sarah’s diner. It was a hell of a place, he thought later, to be told you were about to become a father.

“I won’t demand you marry me,” she said. “It’s just that I’d like some help.”

He thought of how he had felt on the morning after Maureen’s funeral, his feelings of having betrayed his sister’s memory by sleeping with this woman. But he also remembered that Vera had comforted him, and until now, she had asked for nothing. What should I do, Maureen? he asked silently.

A strange feeling came over him, a feeling he was too Irish to ignore. It was as if everything inside him that had been in turmoil for these past five years grew quiet and calm. At a moment when he had every excuse to feel confused and unsure and panicked, he found instead that he knew exactly what he must do.

He studied Vera for a moment, then said, “I’ll marry you.”

She looked taken aback. “To tell you the truth, I’d rather you didn’t.”

“I won’t have my son or daughter raised a bastard. If you don’t want to live with me, fine. If you think I’m going to ask you for…for anything else, I won’t.” He paused. “What kind of situation are you in that you can think of living openly as an unmarried woman with a child?”

“I can tell people I’m a widow. The Korean War, I’ll say. There aren’t so few widows around these days that one more will attract much attention. Besides, suppose you meet some woman you really want to marry, and you’re tied to me?”

“I won’t.”

“You don’t know that.”

He was silent.

“I can see there’s no use trying to talk you out of that prediction. Okay- suppose I meet someone else?”

“Then we can divorce, but if the man you marry has any prejudice against the child, the child will come to live with me.”

“Divorce! I thought you were Catholic.”

“I am, and I wouldn’t like it, but I won’t father a child and not give it my name. That would be worse.”

They argued for a while. He was sober now and more than able to hold his own in a verbal battle. He found himself admiring her ability to do the same. In the end, after setting down several conditions of her own, she capitulated.

They would meet at city hall the next day, witnesses in tow.

When he got back to the paper, he tried to concentrate on the story he was writing and could barely do so. The newsroom was always a noisy place-a mixture of the clatter of keys being struck, the ching of typewriter bells ringing at the end of each line, the zip of carriage returns. The sounds of pages pulled free, the shuffling of thin layers of carbon paper between sheets of cheap copy paper. Voices calling “Copyboy!” The low chug-chug-chug of the wire service Teletypes. Phones rang on empty desks. Conversations went on everywhere. If not on the phone or writing, men were making wisecracks or arguing or horsing around.

Sound and smell. Cigarette smoke hung thick in the air, along with the scent of the stale remains of takeout lunches. A good number of the room’s occupants reeked of booze, and more than a few would be half in the bag by four o’clock. Sometimes, O’Co

This afternoon, most of them were here, trying to finish stories before deadline. Summer and sweat and men under pressure. Men, and Helen Swan, who kept glancing his way. He could swear she could read his thoughts. He kept watching the door.