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“I’m so stupid,” she whispered.
“Lisa,” I said, patting her on the shoulder. “Don’t blame yourself. This guy was bad news. I’m not here to pry into your personal life—really. I’m just trying to find the guys who killed him. Were you two together a lot? Did he ever take you to his house, or maybe to an apartment in Hamilton Heights?”
“No, he would pick me up over on Broadway, and we would go to this motel in the Bronx. I’m from a small town in Rhode Island, and at first I thought it was kind of gritty and exciting. You know, like that old Police song ‘Don’t Stand So Close to Me.’”
She made a disgusted face.
“Then he started being a jerk to me after a month or so. But I couldn’t stop seeing him.”
“Lisa, did he mention if anyone was after him? Maybe you heard him talk on his phone about someone or something he was worried about?”
“He was always cryptically talking on his phone,” Lisa said, shrugging again as she darted a pained look at me. “Only in Spanish, though. He could be rude like that, speaking in Spanish in front of me to people, like I didn’t exist. I was sad when I first heard the news, but I think I’m happy now, Detective. In fact, I’m glad the bastard’s dead.”
“Lisa, if this is too much for you to deal with, they probably have counseling services on campus. Maybe you should talk to someone.”
“Maybe,” she said with another shrug. “I don’t have a lot of friends here. New York, I mean. It’s so cold at times. I’m thinking about maybe going home at the end of the semester. Get my head straight.”
“That might be a good idea, Lisa,” I said as another bell sharply rang out in the hall. “Here’s my card. Don’t hesitate to call if I can be of help to you. You’ve been through a lot.”
“Thanks, Detective. Maybe I will.”
Chapter 21
After a day spent digging dry holes, I finally lucked out by walking smack-dab into the middle of Bennett pasta night when I got home.
Mary Catherine must have been part Sicilian somewhere way back in her family tree, because the Irish lass made the kind of meatballs and marinara gravy Martin Scorsese’s mother would have been proud of.
I gleefully pulled up a plate and sat down beside our new houseguest, Marvin Peters, who’d come home with Brian. Marvin was a big African American kid, about six four, with double-wide shoulders and a boyish, round, soft face that made him look approachable despite his formidable size. He looked like a friendly bear. He also looked a little shell-shocked as he sat staring at our frenetic dinner table.
“Quite a sight, isn’t it, Marvin?” said Seamus, who was sitting on the other side of him. “But I’d be doing more shoveling than staring, if I were you.”
“He’s right, Marvin,” I said. “You’ll need to tap into some of your athletic skills at mealtimes around here if you want to feed yourself before it’s all gone.”
“I can’t tell you how much I appreciate you letting me stay with you, sir,” Marvin said, staring at me earnestly. “All you guys are such kind people. I don’t know how to thank you.”
“I do,” said Seamus as he swirled spaghetti on his fork. “A Catholic school win in the all-city basketball finals this year should do quite nicely. Also, Manhattan College would be a grand school for you to play for in a few years. A grand school with a fine Catholic tradition, right here in the city of your birth.”
“Seamus, would you please stop recruiting Marvin at the dinner table,” I said. “I can’t believe I had to actually just say that.”
“What? A priest isn’t allowed to support Catholic schools now?” Seamus said. “We’ve been locked out of the all-city three years in a row. And Manhattan needs to make it back to the dance, and quick. Marvin here is fierce powerful, so he is. Just look at him. He’s our meal ticket.”
“Seamus, do I actually have to send you to your room?” I said as everyone started to giggle. “He’s a real priest, Marvin, I swear. I know it’s difficult to believe.”
“Oh, don’t worry about it, Mr. Bennett.” He turned toward Seamus. “I don’t know about Manhattan College, sir—I mean, Father. I’ll have to look into that. But I’ll do my best for you to win this year in the all-city, if we get there. I promise.”
“Don’t let Seamus bother you, Marvin. He just likes to tease,” said Mary Catherine, not missing a beat with our newest family member.
Marvin smiled his friendly-bear smile.
“Hallelujah,” Seamus said sheepishly.
Chapter 22
“Puller, ready,” President Buckland said as he gently shouldered his Mossberg over-and-under 12-gauge shotgun.
“Ready,” said his son, Terrence, a safe twenty feet to his rear.
“Okay, let’s see one,” Buckland said.
