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The crowd was festive. Keeping in mind that about a quarter of the crowd on the Holy Name side of the bleachers was my family, it was a nice atmosphere. I noticed Bridget cheering loudly for her twin. It made me smile the way only a daughter can make a father smile.
I had to rein in Fiona a bit. I’d never seen her like this. She was trying to psych up her teammates but starting to sound a little like an NBA head coach screaming at his team. I stepped in and placed a hand on my daughter’s shoulder.
“Hey, Pat Riley, back off a little bit. This is the first game. Just a chance for you guys to scrimmage against someone besides one another. Show good sportsmanship, use the skills you’ve learned in practice, and, most importantly, have some fun.”
Fiona didn’t look particularly happy with my goals. She wanted to crush our opponents. I was just looking for thirty-two minutes of fun for both teams.
In the bleachers, Mary Catherine tried to start a wave. It didn’t even make it all the way through my family, but I smiled when I saw Sister Sheilah, sitting a few feet from my family, join in the wave.
Seamus sat directly behind the bench. He was my unofficial assistant coach along with Sister Elizabeth. His main job was to make sure the girls drank water and had clean towels. Sister Elizabeth’s experience in college basketball dictated our lineup and strategy.
I noticed my son Brian come in and join the family just as the game started, still wearing his air-conditioning company shirt. That made me smile. Then Juliana came in behind him. She was in a form-fitting dress and looked like she was going out after the game. Her long dark hair was tied in a straight ponytail that hung down her back. I couldn’t believe this was the little girl who used to like to jump in the mud in the park near our building.
Seeing Juliana made me think of Suzanne Morton. I wondered if Suzanne had gone to her brother’s events. I thought about how the Mortons were handling Suzanne’s death. I pictured them sitting in their nice home in Yonkers, fixating on what they had lost. I hoped it wouldn’t be to the exclusion of their son, Paul. That happens more often than you’d think. A family loses a child, then they drift away from the children still in the house. It’s a tragedy piled on top of tragedy.
Then a basketball whizzed right past my head. It snapped me back to reality. Here I was thinking about parents ignoring children while I was ignoring my own child. I focused back on the game as Fiona leapt into the air and sank a basket. It wasn’t exactly a dunk, but it was incredibly athletic. I couldn’t believe it.
The crowd went wild. About a fourth of the crowd went extra wild. Chrissy held up a sign she’d been waiting to show. It was on white poster board with giant, colorful letters saying, “Fiona Shoots and Scores!”
Everything came together at once for me. My daughter Fiona excelling. My family here to support us. The kids making posters for their sister. Who could ask for anything more?
I guess I could. I badly wanted to have a good interview with Kyle Banning and charge him with murder.
Chapter47
I WOKE UPearly Saturday morning. A tingle of anxiety ran through me at the prospect of interviewing Kyle Banning. That’s right, I was excited to work. Show me a detective who doesn’t get pumped about a good case, and I’ll show you a detective who doesn’t clear a lot of cases.
I drove past the building on Fifth Avenue where Banning lived with his parents. I was treating this like some sort of narcotics surveillance. I drove past it again. I wanted to know alleys and back entrances, foot traffic in front of the building, everything. I stashed the car a few blocks away and walked back past Madison to the building.
The building had a spectacular view of Central Park but especially the reservoir directly in front of it. This was one of the areas where old money lived. Or at least people who’d had money in the 1980s. Now you had to be some kind of ungodly celebrity or tech tycoon to have an apartment in a building like this.
The doorman Ronald Higdon, Esquire, had told me about stood in front of the building. His name was Dorian. He was tall, with an extra fifty pounds wrapped around his waist. He wore a traditional doorman’s uniform and stood just outside the ornate entrance to the luxury apartment building. He looked a little on the nervous side. I wondered if it was because he knew I was coming. I’d told Ronald I’d be at the building between 10 and 12 on Saturday morning.
I approached the hulking man, who appeared to be in his mid-forties. The little rim of hair he had around a bald head was already graying. He noticed me almost immediately.
I approached him with a smile and wave. I said, “Are you Dorian?”
The immense man hustled down the five steps to meet me on the sidewalk. He had a Brooklyn accent and held out a hand with pudgy fingers to stop me. “You Ronald’s friend?” He whispered it like someone inside the building might hear him.
I nodded.
“I left the back door open. I can’t risk you being seen on a security video in the lobby. Just in case somebody complains. People pay a lot of money to have peace of mind in this place. But I needed the favor Ronald worked out for me. I’m just glad you’re not here to collect from me.”
“What do you mean, ‘collect’?”
“Ronald said you were collecting a debt. That if I didn’t let you in, maybe you’d be collecting from me.”
“I’m not here to break anyone’s fingers. I’m a cop. I’m just trying to do a surprise interview.” This seemed to confound Dorian. He gave me an odd look and then glanced up at the building like he was trying to figure out who I might be talking to.
Dorian turned back to me and shook his head. “I don’t know. I’m not sure I can let a cop in.”
“Let me get this straight: you were okay with me if I was going to break someone’s arm if they didn’t pay, but you wouldn’t let in a cop on official business? You’ve got some screwed-up values.”
Clearly, Dorian realized his extension on his gambling debts was based on me getting into the building, not what I did for a living. Finally, he said again, “The back door is unlocked. Go back the way you came, turn left behind the building. The door’s directly across from the back door to the building behind us.”
I made sure to give the doorman a good stern glare before I left. To a guy like Dorian, it didn’t matter if I was investigating a homicide, child molestation, or parking tickets. He didn’t want to be seen helping the police.
I slipped through the unlocked metal door in the remarkably clean and orderly alley. Nothing littered the asphalt, and no graffiti scarred the walls. I took the service elevator to the top floor. It didn’t sayPENTHOUSE, but that’s what it had to be. When I got off, I noticed there were only two doors. Each apartment must have a phenomenal view of the reservoir.
