Chapter Four
Bobby Goren moved carefully out of the back of the patrol car and tried to ignore the pain and weakness in his body.
"Take it easy, kid," Matt Cleary said. "You know what the doctors said. You're still weak…And your leg is held together with stitches and a lot of hope."
"I know," Bobby said, trying not to clench his teeth against the pain. A small part of him started to agree with the doctors that he might have left the hospital too early. "I'm sorry, Cleary. I really appreciate you helping me get here…"
Cleary unfolded a wheelchair, which Bobby eyed with suspicion. "Not a problem, kid," the old cop said. "You know you don't have to do this."
"Yea…Yea I do," Bobby replied. He shifted into the wheelchair. "How do I look?"
Cleary closely examined the younger detective. "Well, for a guy who shouldn't have left the hospital, you don't look too bad."
Bobby winced.
"You clean up fine," Cleary added quickly. "You look good in the uniform…But I wonder if anyone will recognize you or me. We've been undercover so much." He handed Bobby his cap.
"Thanks…thanks for talking me into the chair," Bobby said. He tentatively moved his injured leg and tried not to show how much pain it gave him. He tried to wheel the chair, but could only manage a few inches.
Cleary moved to the back of the chair. "Let me push you. Enjoy this life of luxury while you can." He pushed the chair towards one of the church's side entrances. Around a corner, Bobby saw that a blue sea had already formed outside the building.
"You're…you're not going to put me up near the front?" Bobby asked apprehensively.
"No…Linder scoped out the church and found the best entrance for us to get the chair in," Cleary said.
"But…but won't that put me near the front? I…I don't want any attention…"
"Don't worry, kid," Cleary said. He smiled sadly. Goren hated to draw any kind of attention to himself, even good or sympathetic attention. "We'll be in a corner." Cleary maneuvered the chair at the end of a pew and took a seat next to Bobby.
The church began to fill, and Bobby and Cleary saw their Captain, looking uncomfortable in his dress blues, amidst a flock of other Captains and Lieutenants.
"Cleary," Bobby whispered. "I think I should tell you…I'm probably leaving Narcotics…I want to give you some warning…"
Cleary nodded. "Good. You should be going after real criminals. Not to say the drug dealers are bad enough, but you deserve better than freezing out on the streets." The older cop looked around the church. "Truth is…This…and what happened to you…I don't want Agnes and the kids to have to come to one of these for me."
"You…You aren't leaving the Department?" Bobby asked. He watched as harried men and women in black suits placed several large bouquets on the altar. Images of his father's funeral flitted through his mind. It had been a much smaller affair in scope and attendance.
"Not the Department," Cleary said softly. "I'm moving to Fraud. Not so exciting, but better hours. No more cold corners. And I owe you, kid. The squad's done so well under you that everyone got their choice of assignments. Linder's getting a promotion. Fin's still trying to decide. Phillips finally gets his shot at homicide. I get to see my family on a regular basis." Cleary smiled. "So, where you going?"
"The Captain thinks I should go to Major Case," Bobby said. His thoughts moved back to his last few days as an altar boy, when the Masses he served were frequently disrupted by his mother ranting and raving about saints and demons. He was never a saint, and frequently one of the demons.
"That would be a great place for you," Cleary said. He saw Bobby disappearing inside his head, and the older cop wanted to keep him from going into what seemed a dark place. "Real challenges…"
"Yea," Bobby murmured. "But…I'd have to work with a partner…I haven't had much luck with that…Politics…I got lucky with this squad…The Captain…"
"Hang in there, kid," Cleary said. "You're good at the job. Maybe the best detective I've ever seen…Certainly the smartest…"
Bobby, embarrassed, stared at the stone floor. The appearance of other members of the squads rescued him. Tommy Phillips was particularly well turned out, with his uniform pressed and his shoes shined to a blinding reflection. Fin wore his dress uniform, but his ponytail and demeanor didn't match his dress blues. Linder looked like both the good cop and mother she was. Even in their corner, Bobby saw the eyes of many cops on him, with some turning to whisper to each other. Several cops entered the pews reserved for the family and friends of the dead man. The Brass and politicians arrived and vied for spots near the front and on the aisles. Shame stabbed Bobby as he realized he was grateful that this cop's death had taken attention away from his case and from him.
The shrill drone of bagpipes sliced through the quiet. "Great." Linder whispered. "It's the whole Irish Catholic thing."
"Not the right bagpipes," Bobby said very softly. "Irish pipes are actually pretty quiet."
Cleary smiled sadly. "Yea, but it's the tradition. I'm Irish Catholic and I can't stand those things."
Bobby desperately wished he could stand and fidget. The wheelchair confined him, and his leg throbbed mercilessly. "I will not leave," he thought. "I will not faint…I will not make a scene…This is for the dead…"
The funeral moved in its awful parade. The Brass and politicians finally settled on their seats. The pipers led the coffin, draped in the NYPD flag and supported on the shoulders of six red-eyed officers, up the main aisle of the church. The family followed the coffin. A slightly beyond middle-aged woman Bobby guessed to be the dead man's mother wept and wailed, but Bobby found the young widow's quiet grief far more disturbing. He recognized her as the woman who'd stared at him in disappointment at the hospital. She, like many of the family members, wore a police dress uniform. She was pale, almost white, and her eyes circled with black rings. She walked at the side of an older man whose features suggested hers, and Bobby guessed that the man might be her father. She appeared to be supporting the older man far more than he supported her. As she started to move into the front pew, she stopped to look at the coffin, and for one moment Bobby wished he could change places with the man in the coffin. Through the Mass, Bobby's gaze returned again and again to the young widow. He noticed that the nearly hysterical older woman occasionally looked at the younger in astonishment.
"She…Others…May think she doesn't feel anything," Bobby thought. "But she's feeling…She's feeling a lot…It's as if she's both shocked and expected this…She's strong…really strong…There's more strength in that little body…"
She was motionless throughout most of the service, but her hands occasionally dropped in front of her body or into her lap. "Oh, God," Bobby thought. "She may be pregnant…Poor kid…" He blinked. "That's the last thing she'd want…Pity…I bet she'd hate it…"
There were readings, shakily given by a red-eyed cop and a tearful woman. "A time to live and a time to die…" ("Whenever that time to die is," Bobby thought. "It shouldn't be when you have a wife and maybe a child on the way.") St. Paul on love—"Love is patient; love is kind…" ("Strange," Bobby thought. "That a man so concerned about sins of the flesh should know so much about love.") The gospel offered the familiar lines of the Beatitudes—"Blessed are the peacemakers…" ("I wonder," Bobby thought. "If it makes sense to extol the virtues of peacemaking for the funeral of a man who died violently...") There were eulogies from the dead man's brother, from his Captain, from his partner, all praising him as a cop, a friend, a son, a husband. As Bobby watched the widow, he thought that stabbing her might have given her less pain.
And, suddenly, all the words were spoken, all the prayers raised, all the hymns sung. The six officers with the black bands on their badges and spotless white gloves on their hands slowly lifted the coffin to their shoulders and began the slow march out of the church. As she moved from the pew to follow the coffin, the widow's composure broke for the first time and her shoulders hitched. Bobby and the hundreds of others in the church fought against great lumps in their throats, but she recovered and calmly walked on.
"You ok, Bobby?" Eva Linder asked gently.
Bobby looked around him and saw that all of the men near him were fighting against tears with varying degrees of failure. Only Linder seemed to be in control of her emotions, and Bobby wondered how much it cost female cops to be tougher than their male counterparts.
"My…my leg…" Bobby said, willing to admit the physical but not the emotional pain.
Matt Cleary wiped his eyes. "C'mon, kid…Let's get you out of here…"
They left the church in silence. Cleary carefully maneuvered Bobby to their car. With a great deal of effort, Bobby slipped into the back seat. Cleary placed the wheelchair in the trunk and slipped behind the steering wheel. He studied Bobby in the rearview mirror.
"I…I don't think I can hold it together for the cemetery, kid," Cleary said deliberately.
Bobby stared at the line of cars behind the hearse. Beyond them, lined at attention along the street, was a wave of blue. He knew the older cop was giving him an out. "I…I don't think…I could make it either," he said.
"We'll have to wait for the procession," Cleary said.
Bobby nodded. The hearse moved forward with agonizing slowness, followed by the black Lincoln carrying the family. One of its back windows was down, and Bobby saw the young widow leaning her head out and breathing deeply. For the briefest of moments their eyes met, and Bobby again wondered why the man she loved was dead and he was alive.
END CHAPTER FOUR