When he finally looked at Frank, the priest's eyes were wet. "I couldn't do that. I fought with my conscience, but blood won. Pablo was my brother. I loved him. I couldn't betray him. All these years . . . I've always wondered what happened to him. I think of him every time I visit your father's grave. It keeps me connected to him."
Frank had heard enough. The urge to hurt Cammayo was a throbbing red pulse throughout her body. She stepped to Annie's ear. "I'll be outside if you need me."
"Yeah, sure."
As Frank's hand hit the knob, Cammayo pleaded, "Forgive me."
Frank stopped. She took a deep breath and held it. Felt it turn scarlet inside her. She walked out the door.
CHAPTER 41
"You okay?"
Frank moved her head in the affirmative.
"I gotta bring him in for a statement."
"You do that. I'll catch a taxi."
Annie rubbed Frank's shoulder. "I'll see you back at the apartment, okay?"
"Yeah."
Frank walked away from Our Lady of the Angels. She walked blocks and blocks, ignoring taxis. She seethed. Passing bars, she noticed each one, fully aware that what was inside them could dampen her fury into a dull and manageable anger. She kept walking. One foot in front of the other. Over and over she thought, he knew. All this time, he knew. The lying, hypocritical bastard knew. He knew.
The accusation became a chant. She walked, each step being the next thing to do. She reiterated her mantra, concentrating so brutally on Cammayo that she forgot the liquor stores and bars. By the time she walked her rage into a simmering, bruised anger, it was dusk. She had no idea where she was. Except on a corner. Near a bar.
Daley's Bar.
It sounded so welcome. The outside was brick, the door worn wood. Small signs in opaque windows blinked Bud and Open. A working-class bar. She bet it was dim inside and smelled like centuries of beer. She imagined the sour, malty smell, the way the bartender would draw the beer from the tap, the thick glass against her lips, how the beer would bubble over her tongue in a sharp gush.
She pulled on the door handle and stepped inside. She was right. It was dim and smelled of generations of smoke and sweat and ale. Three men at the bar turned to stare. She walked in their direction. Her eyes tracked the bartender.
"What'll it be?" he asked.
She leaned into the smooth, slick wood. Rows of bottles beckoned. She considered each one. The bartender shifted his weight, sighed.
"Phone book," she finally answered.
The bartender glared. He slapped the book on the bar and continued his conversation with the men.
Outside, Frank hailed a cab. The drive to Tribeca was short. Annie had the door open before Frank could turn her key in the lock.
"Where were you? I was gettin' worried."
"Walking."
Behind her Annie bolted the door. "Walkin'? You walked here from Brooklyn?"
Frank sighed. "I walked. I stopped. I took a cab."
"Oh. You hungry? You must be starvin'. I bought pizza. It's in the oven. I'll get you a slice."
Frank waved her off. "I'm not hungry."
"You sure? You had dinner?"
"No."
"You should eat. I'll get you a slice."
"I'm not hungry, Annie."
"Forget hunger. You should eat anyway."
Giving in seemed easier than fighting. Frank dropped into a kitchen chair. "Get your statement?"
"Yeah. You worked him nice," Annie said, sliding a plate onto the table.
Frank picked at an olive, wishing she had a beer chaser.
"The thing I don't get is why Pablo thought he'd killed a cop. What made him think that?"
Frank shrugged. "Ask his brother."
"I did. He couldn't say."
"Must've seen us coming outta Cal's."
"But how dumb is that to jack a cop?"
"Cop with a little girl's a different story. Cop's gonna protect the kid, so they'll probably just hand the money over and not make a fuss. Besides, it was winter. It was cold. Not like there were a lot of good marks out. And for Christ's sake," Frank snapped, "we're talkin' about a junkie, right? It wasn't fuckin' Einstein that jacked my pop. How fuckin' smart is a junkie? Especially one lookin' to fix?"
Frank pushed away the pizza. Annie watched from against the sink.
Frank apologized. "It's just... a lot to take in. That this bastard—this pious man of God, right? That he knew the whole time and never told anyone. All the time I was looking and wondering, he knew. All the time my Uncle Al spent looking and wondering, Cammayo knew. All the hours my uncle spent trying to find this bastard. He retired still looking. Died two months later. Liver failure. Drank himself to death. Never got over he couldn't find his own brother's killer. Pablo didn't kill just one person. He took a lot of other lives with him. So forgive me if I'm a little bitter, huh?"
"There ain't nothin' to forgive. You got a right to be angry."
"A priest, of all people. A guy you're supposed to be able to trust. That's the part that burns me. Pure and holy and all that crap." Frank ran her fingers through her hair. "Man of God, my ass. How can you believe what these people tell you, Annie? You're a bright woman. How can you believe that crap the church feeds you about truth and virtue and honesty? It's a ration of shit. How can you believe what they tell you out one side of their mouth when they're lying out the other side?"
"It's not a man I believe. It's an idea."
"Yeah, well, what fuckin' idea is that?"
"I understand you're upset but I don't think attackin' my belief is gonna make you feel better."
"No. I'm serious. I want to know. You don't believe in a man but an idea. So, enlighten me. What's the big idea? Let me in on the secret."
Annie pursed her lips and folded her arms. Frank was pleased with the conversation's distraction despite feeling guilty about needling Annie into a defensive posture.
"You really wanna know or am I just handin' you more ammo?"
"I really wanna know."
Annie pulled out the chair opposite Frank. "The big idea," she started slowly. "It's hard to put into words. It's more a feeling than an idea. It's a conviction, a certainty that someone is watchin' out for me. Like that story I told you about the lake. When that old woman fished me out, I was shook, but I felt absolutely safe. I felt rescued. Somethin', someone was takin' care of me. All that stuff about Mary and Jesus and God"—she crossed herself—"habit. It's all nice but in my humble opinion it's not the truth. For instance, Mary over there. I love her dearly. I cherish her, but she's not the big idea. Neither's Jesus or even God. They're just avenues to something much bigger, to a mystery, to a spirit so huge we can't even begin to imagine it. But for all its immensity that mystery permeates every cell of our bodies. It's there all the time, but I forget. I get caught up in paperwork, traffic, meetin's, a run in my stockin', everything, and I forget I'm part of somethin' much bigger 'an all that. I forget I'm a part of the mystery, of the immensity of it all, and Mary's my way of reconnectin' to that feelin'. She's the path I take to the mystery, to that absolute conviction that everything's right with the world no matter how messed up it looks from my miniscule perception. And there's lots of paths, but again, in my opinion, they all lead to the same the place."