"To the mystery."
"Yes. To an infinite . . . indefinable conviction that rests in the marrow of my bones."
"That's a paradox. Infinite and indefinable yet sitting in the marrow of your bones."
"That's the thing!" Annie slapped the table. "It is a paradox. It's cellular yet it's immense. It's indefinable yet it's absolutely know-able. That's the mystery of it all. It's why one face, one name, can't start to describe it. So I have my faith, I have my Mary, but I know they're limited. I know that priests and nuns and popes are limited. They're only human. All they can do is tell the stories that might get you to the mystery, but they're not the mystery. They're just spokesmen, the pitch men."
"PR for the unknowable."
"Exactly." Annie leaned over the table. "You ever tell my mother we had this conversation and I'll cut your tongue out, ya hear me?"
"She believes the story?"
"God bless her." Annie nodded. "The story's more important to her than the meaning of it. That's how you get your fanatics, your zealots. It's easier to believe in the stories than to seek the mystery behind them. Dogma's for people too tired to think. But faith, that's trickier business. It requires work and effort, especially when things aren't goin' your way."
Frank probed, "When your son died, did you have faith?"
Annie sat back. She smoothed the creases in the tablecloth. "I was angry. I was mad. But under it all I think I always knew it was the way it had to be. I didn't know why—I never will—but you and me, we see it every day. People die every day. Kids, good people, people that got no business dyin'. Like your father. It's just all part of life, part of the mystery, much as we hate it and much as it hurts. That's when I started turnin' away from the church I was raised in and leaning more on Mary. She was comfortable. Her story reassured me I wasn't the only one to suffer, that people suffer all the time, for reasons we don't know why. And we endure and we go on and life goes on. And there's joy again and pleasure. It's all cycles and we take each day as it comes."
"One day at a time."
"Exactly," Annie affirmed. "One day at a time."
Frank pulled the pizza toward her.
"Want I should warm that up?"
"Naw. It's good. I guess it's all good, huh?"
Annie nodded. "All part of the mystery."
Frank chewed. The pizza was good. She got up for a Coke. "You mind if I talk to Cammayo?"
"'Bout what?"
"His brother. Just some things I want to know. I wanna put a face to the man who killed my dad. I been trying to see it for a long time."
"You okay with talkin' civil to him? I don't want you harassin' him."
"I'm not gonna harass him. I just want to ask a few questions. Come with me if you want."
"Nah. I got all the answers I want. Just be respectful, huh?"
" 'Cause he's a priest?"
"No. Because he lost somebody, too. You're not the only one lost somebody that night. You even said so yourself."
Frank agreed. "I'll behave."
"Better." Annie pointed a sharp nail. She pushed out of her chair, rising with a yawn. "I'm bushed."
"Yeah. Long day. Hey."
Annie looked at her.
"Thanks for everything."
"Forget about it. I'm happy. I closed a case, right?"
"Right. Sleep well."
"Yeah, you too. Sweet dreams, huh?"
"Back at you."
Frank was left with dinner as cold as her anger.
CHAPTER 42
"I know you've got a busy day but I need five minutes of your time."
Cammayo protested, "I've already told you and Detective Silvester everything I know."
Frank squashed her irritation. "Telling me everything I want to know would take months. All I want is five minutes."
Cammayo bowed his head. He opened the door and Frank entered the familiar apartment. Seeing her, Cammayo's roommate retreated from the living room. Cammayo switched off the TV.
Frank said, "Tell me about Pablo."
"What about him?"
"Anything. Everything. What was he like? What was his favorite color? Did he have a nickname? Did he like baseball? Football? Everything."
"He liked baseball. He was a Yankees fan. I don't know his favorite color. I do know he was good boy and I wonder every day what kind of man he would have been. If he could have kicked the dope."
"You say that like you know he's dead."
"I'm under no illusions, Detective. I know the kind of junkie my brother was. I know the odds of him being dead by now. But you asked what he was like. He was kind. That's what I remember most. He could be stern and sometimes he hit us but never without a reason. He punished to teach a lesson. But mostly he was affectionate. I remember my sister hugging him all the time. My younger brother, too. He'd sit with them on either side of him, an arm around each child. He smiled a lot and laughed. Pablo laughed like birds singing. I always envied him. I never saw humor in the world the way Pablo did. He was kind. He had a gentle soul. That's why it was easy to keep his secret all these years. He was easy to help. If you knew him, you'd want to help him. He was like that. A very kind young man. Very giving."
Frank took an unoffered chair and Cammayo perched on the sofa.
"How old was he when he started using?"
Cammayo frowned. "I was twelve so he must have been sixteen. I tried to get him to stop but he'd just laugh and tell me not to worry. Which of course I couldn't do, so I prayed for him. I prayed for all of us. With our father passed on, Pablo was the head of the household. My mother worked two, sometimes three jobs, so you see, it was Pablo who raised us. Until the drugs became more important and then it was my turn to wear our father's shoes."
"Is that why he came to you that last night?"
"I suppose. And he knew I'd help him. I loved Pablo. I'd do anything for him."
"And you did. For a long time."
"Yes."
"I never had a brother or sister," Frank volunteered, "but if I loved them I'd have probably done the same thing."
"Maybe, maybe not. We're all different. I wrestled with my conscience a long time. For me, in the end, blood was thicker than water. It's ironic."
"How so?"
"I wanted to be a priest so I would be freed from all corporal attachments yet I am bound to my brother by this invisible chain."
"And you never told anyone?"
"Only God."
"Why didn't you tell?"
"The better to protect him. I chose the lie that he owed a dealer money. It was certainly believable. It explained why he left in such a hurry and it protected him from harmful speculation. It was easily assumed he was in trouble over drugs and that was what I wanted everyone to think."
"Where do you think he might have gone?"
"He didn't have any money. I managed to find a little over twenty dollars but I imagine that was quickly used on dope. He couldn't have gone far. I remember he said he might go to Panama and that he'd call me. But of course he never did."
"What's in Panama?"
"Our grandparents were there. Our mother and father were from Panama City. They came to the United States when Pablo was seven. My mother always talked of going back. .."
"Of everyone in your family, who do you think Pablo was closest to?"