Chapter 90
I GOT HOME late, at least an hour past dinner.
I looked forward to having dinner with my kids almost every day.
But I had to admit we were onto something with this Tom Owens suspect.
Not only did he fit a number of different profiles but also the cigar connection to Leonard Barr was no coincidence.
We’d sent the cigar butt to be tested at the lab to confirm DNA, but sometimes you just knew when you were on the right track.
Maggie and I had done all we could for the day. We had also asked analysts at the NYPD and ATF, as well as the FBI, to look for relatives who might know where Owens was staying.
I still had Arjan Marku in my head. Even on the drive home from Millwood, I had been constantly looking in the rearview mirror to see if I could figure out if we were being followed.
It was hard for me to believe the guy would come all the way to New York for some kind of revenge. But I’d seen crazier things as a cop.
I’d had a homicide investigation once where the killer waited thirteen years to extract revenge on a man who had scammed him out of a few thousand dollars.
The killer had shown no remorse. He’d told me patience was his greatest strength.
He’d used patience to wait for the right time to commit the murder, and he planned to be patient in prison.
It might’ve been one of the easiest cases I ever worked.
I’ll confess that as I walked across the street from where I had parked my city-issued car near the front of my building, a car horn at the end of the block made me jump. Me, a New Yorker, frightened of a car horn? It sounded like the plot to some sort of science-fiction movie.
Goddamn that Arjan Marku. I should’ve been concentrating solely on Tom Owens. But this asshole from California seemed to be around every corner.
Rodney greeted me at the entrance. He gave me his quick report. “Nothing unusual except a couple of delivery guys I didn’t recognize. I questioned the drivers and they seemed legit. They certainly didn’t have any resemblance to the photo you gave me.”
I relaxed as I entered the elevator and headed up to our apartment. As soon as I stepped through the door, Chrissy looked up from her schoolwork at the dining room table and gave me a big grin. Seeing her smiling face turned my whole mood around. It was exactly what I needed.
As I came farther into the apartment and gave Mary Catherine a hug, I saw that the whole gang was at home. Brian playing video games with Ricky, Eddie, and Trent. Jane tutoring the twins in algebra at the end of the dining room table. Even Juliana had a night off from play rehearsal.
I saw Shawna sitting in the recliner with a book. I strolled over to her. “Whatcha reading?”
Shawna held up the cover. “Mary Catherine was showing me some of the places she visited in Ireland when she was growing up.” The cover of the book said Irish Myths and Legends. “She told me that she heard the cries of a Brahma on her grandmother’s farm.”
“Brahma? Like a bull?”
Mary Catherine chuckled as she came over and slid in next to Shawna. “Not a Brahma, a banshee. They’re a little like ghosts. Their mournful cries could be seen as a portent.”
Shawna said, “Important to what?”
Mary Catherine squeezed the girl and gave her a kiss on the forehead. “Not ‘important’ but ‘a portent.’ That means something that is giving a warning.”
After I chatted with each of the kids for a moment, I went over to where my grandfather was sitting in a recliner. He was dressed in civilian clothes, including a nice cardigan the kids had given him last Christmas.
Seamus said, “Your doorman was very inquisitive today. I think I smelled alcohol on his breath when I got here this morning.”
“You sure it wasn’t coming from your breath?”
“I have been known to have a glass of wine before I walk over from the church, though not quite so early in the day. My real question is, why are your doormen so cautious today? Is there something you’d like to tell me?”
I explained the whole Arjan Marku situation.
When I was finished, my grandfather didn’t hesitate to say, “I can spend the night here if you think you might need help.”
“I’m not sure what help a priest your age might be in a fight with a crazy Albanian.”
“I could say a prayer for both of your souls. And if that didn’t work, I’d be happy to break a bottle over this guy’s head. You don’t ever mess with family.”