Byrne had put in a call to the commander of Danny Palumbo’s old district. As a favor the commander had freed Officer Hyland from duty for as long as they needed him.
‘Greg Hyland,’ the young man said.
‘Good to meet you,’ Byrne said. ‘Kevin Byrne. My partner, Jessica Balzano.’
They all shook hands.
‘Just trying to get a handle on what happened,’ Byrne said. They had the official version of why Daniel Palumbo had quit the force. They were hoping to get the real reasons now. ‘We appreciate your time.’
Hyland nodded.
‘You came up with Danny?’
‘Yes, sir,’ Hyland said. ‘Same class at the academy.’
‘What can you tell us about why he quit?’
‘It was probably a number of things,’ Hyland said. ‘But there was one thing that was probably the tipping point for Danny.’
Jessica and Byrne just listened. The pained expression on Hyland’s face spoke of the friendship the young man had once shared with Danny Palumbo, a fellow officer
‘We were working day-work,’ Hyland said. ‘Summertime. Hot as hell. There was a BOLO on a guy who had been seen touching girls around the parking lot behind Holy Spirit.’
‘Over on Hartranft?’ Byrne asked.
‘Yes, sir. We made it a point to check on the school more than usual, making a few extra passes. This one morning we came around the corner, saw this guy kneeling down in front of this little girl. The girl looked really scared. The guy fit the general description so we parked, got out. Danny approached the guy, asked him to move away from the girl, asked for ID. The guy stood up, all squirrelly, like he was ready to bolt. Danny put a hand on him, and that’s when the guy took a swing. He punched Danny in the shoulder … no damage really. Nonetheless we took him to the ground, booked him, made out the report, got back on the street.’
Hyland turned his cap a few times in his hands.
‘Two days later the real perp gets caught in the act. Had a little girl with her pants down behind those apartments on Eighteenth. That night our guy, who didn’t make bail on the assault on a police officer charge, hangs himself in his cell. Turns out he was a little challenged — developmentally challenged — and used to play with a lot of the kids in the playground.’
A true nightmare for a cop, Jessica thought. One of the worst.
‘Danny took it hard,’ Hyland said. ‘He was never the same after that. It wasn’t his fault, of course, but that didn’t seem to matter. Media hounded the guy — especially this one piece-of-shit reporter who wouldn’t get off his case. Danny started drinking, showing up late for his tour. Eventually he just quit. Then he got popped for possession. All downhill from there.’
‘Did you know he was using?’ Byrne asked.
‘I never saw him using.’
Jessica knew, like Byrne and Greg Hyland knew, that the question asked had not been answered. But that was okay. For now.
Hyland continued. ‘You want to know if he was using when he was a cop? Here’s what I know. Danny wouldn’t have disgraced the uniform that way. He was a good man. He was a good officer.’
‘Did you stay in touch after he left the force?’ Jessica asked.
Hyland looked at the ground, perhaps a bit ashamed. ‘Not as much as I could have. Not as much as I should have. You know how it is. Life takes over. The job takes over.’
‘When was the last time you saw him?’
‘Maybe six months ago. He was standing on the corner of Broad and C. B. Moore. I passed him in my sector car, had to do a double take. I barely recognized him. I pulled over, sat there for maybe five minutes, thought about going up and talking to him, but I didn’t. I think it would have done more harm than good. I think he would have been humiliated.’ Hyland slipped his patrolman’s cap back on, squared it. ‘I wish I had now. Maybe I could have done something.’
‘You do what you think is right at the time,’ Byrne said. ‘We all do.’
Hyland shrugged, remained silent.
Byrne stuck out his hand. ‘Thanks for talking to us, Officer.’
‘Not at all.’ Hyland shook Byrne’s hand, looked at Jessica, touched a finger to the brim of his cap. ‘Ma’am.’
‘Have a safe tour,’ Byrne added.
‘You, too.’
As they watched P/O Hyland return to his car, Jessica thought about what a fine line there was between making the right call and the wrong call, how police officers were expected to be perfect in their judgment every time out. Lives were always at stake.
As they headed to the car, Jessica spotted Loretta Palumbo in the parking lot. She was standing by herself. She looked lost. Jessica got Byrne’s attention. They walked across the lot. As they approached, Loretta looked up. At first it appeared that she did not recognize them, then recollection lit her face.
‘Oh. Hi,’ she said. ‘Thank you for coming.’
This woman looked five years older than the one Jessica had met only a few days earlier, despite her hastily applied makeup. Jessica could tell that Loretta Palumbo was a woman who generally eschewed vanities like lipstick and blush. She wore an old camel hair calf-length coat, sixties or seventies vintage, perhaps her mother’s. Jessica noticed there was a button missing.
You wear your best to a family member’s funeral, Jessica thought. Especially the funeral of a child. The thought that this was Loretta Palumbo’s best coat broke Jessica’s heart a little more. This woman deserved better.
When everyone was out of earshot Byrne said, ‘I’m sorry to say there has been no progress in the investigation.’
Loretta Palumbo nodded. She put her hand on the door handle of her car, hesitated, took her hand back. ‘You don’t expect to bury your children,’ she said. ‘My husband was ten years older than me, you know. He had a bad heart. But Danny … You shouldn’t have to bury your son.’
Jessica felt another flush of sorrow. She thought about Sophie and Carlos, and was suddenly filled with an unnamable dread about their future. Parents burying their children happened all too often in a city like Philadelphia. ‘No, ma’am,’ was all Jessica could think of to say.
Loretta Palumbo looked out over the cemetery, at the just-turned earth of her son’s plot.
The wind suddenly picked up, slicing across the grounds. Neither Jessica nor Byrne was going to cut this meeting short. They would give this woman all the time she needed.
‘His father’s suit,’ Loretta said softly. ‘The blue one.’ She smoothed the front of her coat, pulled her gloves a little tighter to her wrists.
They stood this way for a long time.
‘Did you ever talk to Danny’s friend?’ Loretta finally asked.
‘His friend?’ Jessica replied.
‘He didn’t come today. I thought maybe he would.’
The question brought the two detectives back to the moment. ‘You mean the man you mentioned? The man named Boise?’ Byrne asked.
‘Yes.’
‘No, ma’am. We weren’t able to locate him.’
Loretta Palumbo bunched her collar around her neck, warding off the wind. ‘Danny told me once that they used to get meals down at St John’s.’
‘St John’s Hospice?’ Jessica asked. ‘Over on Race?’
The woman nodded. ‘Do you know it?’
Jessica knew it well. It was just a few blocks from the Roundhouse. ‘Yes.’
‘It’s a soup kitchen, you know.’
It wasn’t a question. Jessica heard the shame and sadness and defeat in the woman’s voice. This proud woman had her own kitchen, one in which her son was always welcome. Before Jessica could respond, Loretta Palumbo continued.
‘You might find him there,’ she said. ‘Unless …’
She did not have to finish the sentence. Both Jessica and Byrne knew what she meant.
Unless he’s dead, too.