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Chapter 33
Almost a month after Seamus’s heart attack—or, as he took to calling it, his “return from the dead”—I found myself standing in the same small break room on Rikers Island where I had visited Brian before his trial.
Between visiting Seamus in the hospital, attending Brian’s sentencing, and visiting him here, I felt like all I did was sit in small waiting rooms.
We had been chatting for a few minutes as I filled Brian in on everything that had happened. We were all still recovering from Seamus’s heart attack as well as Brian’s sentencing.
The judge said that the arrest of Albert Stass could not be tied to Brian because Stass had refused to talk and there was nothing directly relating the two arrests. Then the judge said, “But I recognize the service the defendant’s father has provided to the city of New York. I also recognize that the defendant has a chance to turn his life around.”
Suddenly I started to feel hope that Brian might be coming home soon.
Then the judge looked at Brian and said, “Therefore I will not sentence you to the maximum twenty-five years in state prison for a class B felony. Instead you will serve a term of between five and not more than ten years at a state prison chosen by the New York State Department of Corrections and Community Supervision.”
That was as big a blow as Seamus’s heart attack.
Brian seemed resigned and was happy to be leaving Rikers Island, no matter where he was headed.
When I sat down in the chair next to him, Brian said, “I know I’m responsible for Seamus’s heart attack. I know the stress of my arrest and trial is what led to it.”
“Don’t be silly. He’s a man in his eighties. He didn’t always take care of himself. There’s no way it was your fault.” Even as I said it, I didn’t believe it. I realized that the stress of the last couple of months had taken its toll on the old man. But Brian didn’t need to know that.
Brian started to cry. He turned in his chair and gave me a hug. “I’m so sorry, Dad. I’m so sorry I got involved in this. I just didn’t want any of you to get hurt, and that’s what they told me would happen. The guy you arrested, Caracortada, was just one of them. They said if I ever talked, they’d come after you and the family. I couldn’t let that happen. I didn’t want anyone to get hurt.”
Brian sniffled and wiped his nose on his sleeve. Suddenly I found myself crying as well.
“It’s okay, son. You just made a mistake. We all do it. I admire you for being worried about your family.” Then I really started to cry. I couldn’t speak. I put my head into my hands and just started to sob. I couldn’t help myself. This was my little boy. I taught him how to ride a bike. I helped him with his first math homework. And now I was about to lose him. For a long, long time.
I felt his arm across my shoulder, trying to comfort me. Then I heard Brian say, “It’s gonna be all right, Dad. Really.”
I sat up straight and wiped my face. I’d come here to support my son, and now he was the one helping me. I turned to him and said, “I love you, Brian. You’ll never know how much I love you.”
“I love you, too, Dad.”
Then the door opened and two uniformed corrections officers took my son away from me. I watched silently as he was led back to the main cell block.
At the end of the long hallway I saw the steel-bar door slam behind him. The sound echoed in my ears.
Part Two
Chapter 34
I couldn’t help but feel that winter was darker and lasted longer than usual. Now, as summer approached, our lives seemed to be getting back to normal. Despite Seamus’s objections, we’d moved him to our apartment a few blocks from his quarters at the Holy Name rectory.
He had fussed that he didn’t want to be any trouble. Then the old priest said that he didn’t want his great-grandchildren to look at him like he was an invalid. Finally, Mary Catherine talked to him quietly, as if he were a horse she was calming down. After she reasoned with the old coot for several minutes, he decided to take up residence in the downstairs bedroom.
Mary Catherine and I discussed getting away from the city for a few weeks. The kids needed a change of pace, and I needed some time. Time to think about what I wanted to do with the rest of my life. Maybe it was my philosophy degree working on my attitude, but I was starting to think there was more to life than police work.
Going through the criminal justice system on the other side had opened my eyes. Maybe I could do just as much good for society in a different position. I didn’t know, but I was keeping my options open.
Mary Catherine quickly warmed to the idea of a vacation, and a call from an old friend working as a cop in Maine gave me an idea. One evening I was on the phone, and Mary Catherine heard me say, “Really? The house is right on the lake? In moose country?”
Before I hung up, Mary Catherine said, “Where? Where is there a house like that?”
“Maine.”
“I’ve never been to Maine.”
“You’ve never been to Pennsylvania, either. That’s hardly a recommendation for a place to spend three weeks away from home.”
