Cross

They waited for me to talk some more, and they didn't take their eyes off me, as if I might suddenly run away on them.

"Lots of changes are happening in our lives," I said. "We have Ali here now. Nana's getting older. I'm seeing patients again."

"You like it?" Damon asked. "Being a psychologist?"

"I do. So far."

" So far. That's so you, Daddy," said Ja

I snorted out a laugh, but I didn't go fishing for a compliment about what Ja

Then I finally did the hardest thing – I told Ja

When I was done, when I couldn't talk anymore, Ja

That had been my mantra for the kids when they were little and Maria wasn't around. I'd walk them by the Anacostia River or the Potomac and make them look at it, the water, and say, "Watch the river… the river is truth."

Or at least as close as we'll ever get to it.

Chapter 105

I WAS FEELING strangely emotional and vulnerable, and I guess, maybe, alive these days.

It was both a good and a bad thing.

I had breakfast with Nana Mama at around five thirty or so almost every morning. Then I jogged to my office, changed clothes, and started my sessions as early as six thirty.

Kim Stafford was my first patient on Mondays and Thursdays. It was always a hard thing to keep personal feelings out of the sessions, at least for me, or maybe I was just out of practice. On the other hand, some of my colleagues had always struck me as too clinical, too reserved and distant. What was any patient, any human being, supposed to make of that? Oh, it's okay if I have the affect of a turnip; I'm a therapist.

I needed to do this my way, with warmth at times, with lots of feeling and compassion rather than empathy; I needed to break the rules, to be unorthodox. Like confronting Jason Stemple at his station house and trying to punch that scum's lights out. That's what I call professional.

I had a break in my schedule until noon, so I decided to check in with Mo

Mo

"I followed the trail you set up, and you were right on. It led me to a guy who was at Sullivan's wedding, which was small, as you might expect. The pal from Brooklyn you told me about, Anthony Mullino, he was there. Apparently, Sullivan didn't want many people to know about his private life. His own mother wasn't invited, and his father was dead, as you know."

"Yeah, killed by his son and a couple of pals. What did you find out about Sullivan's wife?"

"Well, it's interesting stuff, not what you'd expect, either. She's originally from Colts Neck, New Jersey, and she was a first-grade teacher before she met Sullivan. How about that? Salvatore Pistelli, the Witness Protection guy, said she was a sweet girl. Said Sullivan was looking for a good mother for his kids. Touching, huh, Alex? Our psycho hit man has a soft spot. The wife's name was Caitlin Haney. Her family's still living in Colts Neck."

That same day, we had a tap set up on the phones of Caitlin Sullivan's parents' place. Also on a sister who lived in Toms River, New Jersey, and a brother who was a dentist in Ridgewood.

I had some hope again. Maybe we could close this case after all and bring down the Butcher.

Maybe I would see him again and take a little bow myself.

Chapter 106

MICHAEL SULLIVAN HAD BEEN USING the name Michael Morrissey since he'd been living in Massachusetts, Morrissey being a punk he'd more or less drawn and quartered in his early days as a hit man. Caitlin and the boys kept their first names but went under the surname Morrissey now too. The story they had learned by heart was that they had been living in Dublin for the past few years, where their father was a consultant to several Irish companies with business co

Now he was doing "consultant" work in Boston.

The latter part happened to be true, since the Butcher had just gotten a job through an old contact in South Boston. A job – a hit, a murder for hire.

He left the house overlooking the Hoosic River that morning at a very civilized nine o'clock. Then he drove west; he was headed to the Massachusetts Turnpike in his new Lexus. He had his work tools in the trunk – guns, a butcher saw, a nail gun.

He didn't play any music on the first part of the trip, preferring to travel down memory lane instead. Lately, he'd been thinking a lot about his early kills: about his father, of course; a couple of jobs for Maggione Sr.; and a Catholic priest named Francis X. Conley. Father Frank X had been messing around with boys in the parish for years. The rumors were all around the neighborhood, the stories laced with plenty of kinky, slimy detail. Sullivan couldn't believe that some of the parents knew what was going on and hadn't stepped up to do something to stop it.

When he was nineteen and already working for Maggione, he happened to spot the priest down at the docks, where Conley kept a little outboard for his fishing trips. Sometimes he would take one of the altar boys for an afternoon. A reward. A little sweet treat.

On this particular day in the spring, the good father had come down to the dock to prepare his boat for the season. He was working over the engine when Sullivan and Jimmy Hats stepped on board.

"Hey, Father Frankie," Jimmy said, and beamed a crooked smile. "How 'bout we take a little boat trip today? Do some fishin'?"

The priest squinted up at the two young hoods, frowning when he recognized who it was. "I don't think so, boys. Boat's not ready for action yet."

That brought a laugh from Hats, who repeated, " Ready for action – yeah, I get you."

Then Sullivan stepped forward. "Yeah, it is ready, Fodder. We're goin' on a sea cruise. You know that song? Frankie Ford's 'Sea Cruise'? That's where we're goin'. Just the three of us."

So they cruised on out of the boatyard, and Father Frank X was never seen or heard from again. "God rest his immoral soul in hell," Jimmy Hats joked on the way back.

And that morning, as he drove out on his latest job, Sullivan remembered the old Frankie Ford song – and he remembered how the pathetic priest had begged for his life, and then for his death, before he got cut up into shark food. But most of all, he remembered wondering whether he had just done a good deed with Father Frank, and whether or not it was possible that he could.

Could he do anything good in his life?

Or was he just all bad?