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Chapter86
MY DAY WENTby in a blur.
Sitting at the dinner table with everyone, including my grandfather, Seamus, took my mind off the case for a little while. Listening to the chatter among the kids never failed to entertain me.
Eddie said, “I beat Fiona playing Horse on the basketball court at Holy Name.”
That surprised me. I stole a glance at Fiona but couldn’t read her expression. Maybe it did happen.
That’s where Eddie, like many teenage boys, made his mistake. He kept running his mouth. “I sank one from the top of the key and I even did an old-school skyhook like Kareem Abdul-Jabbar. She just couldn’t close it out.” He had a broad smile as he looked across the dinner table.
It must’ve been too much for Fiona to take. She blurted out, “I spotted himH-o-r-s.And I made the shot from the top of the key too.”
Eddie was quick to say, “Part of our bet was that if I won, you couldn’t tell anyone about spotting me four letters.”
Fiona hung her head and said, “You’re right, I did. I’m sorry.”
In an instant, Fiona displayed the biggest difference between boys and girls around that age. She was mature enough to accept responsibility and admit she was wrong. I was happy her basketball skills were so solid that she was confident enough to give her brother such a competitive advantage.
After all the dinner plates were cleared, I approached Jane as she sat at the end of the table, working on calculus. I slid into the seat next to her. In a classic, smart teenagegirl move, she simply turned her head and said, “What?” in a flat tone.
“I was wondering if you could help me navigate Facebook.”
Jane set down her pen and looked at me. “I’m sixteen, Dad. I don’t use Facebook. That’s for elderly people.”
I guess I hadn’t realized the change in technology. Then I heard Seamus clear his throat. I looked at him, standing in the kitchen doorway. I said, “Don’t tell me. You’re a Facebook expert.”
“And I’m elderly. Just what you’re looking for.” My grandfather stepped over to the table and sat down next to me. I noticed Jane used that as an excuse to gather her book and slip away. Seamus said, “The wordexpertimplies study and schooling. I just use Facebook to promote the church and keep up with friends and parishioners. Why do you need help?”
I told him what I was trying to do.
My grandfather looked shocked. He said, “You’d have yourdaughterwork on a homicide?”
I wasn’t sure, but I thought he was kidding. I said, “This is basic. I’m looking for connections. That’s all.”
Twenty minutes later, we’d looked through the profiles of my suspects. William Tassick had an old profile with no activity in the past year. As we looked back, I realized he had started his account just after he was released from prison. It looked like he was married with a young son. A cute boy about seven or eight years old, who would be a teenager now.
We looked at the profile of Coach Perry Martin. Michelle Finnegan was right. He had a beautiful family. Super-cute kids and a pretty wife. But most of his posts were about football or exercise. Nothing remotely negative or related to the case.
Seamus looked further back on the coach’s timeline and then followed a couple of links. He said, “Looks like this guy was engaged to a different woman before he married this one.” He showed me a link to an announcement of the engagement. Sure enough, it was a different girl. I wondered what had happened.
Seamus navigated to the woman’s profile. She worked as the sports director at a youth center. And it was in the Bronx. How convenient.
Chapter87
I WANTED TOtalk to Coach Perry Martin’s former fiancée to gather some background. Cindy McCallister’s profile showed her employment as ayouth specialistand listed the youth center where she worked, located off Rosedale Avenue in the Bronx.
The place had a good reputation for serving local underprivileged neighborhoods. If kids had more role models and safe spaces like this and YMCAs, the country would need way fewer cops. I think everybody would be on board with that.
I pressed the button at the main gate. A stout metal fence ran around the entire perimeter to keep people not involved with the youth center out. That was a good idea. The door to the small administration building opened and an extremely heavyset African American man about fifty ambled down the path to meet me.
He didn’t say anything. He just waited for me to speak.
“I’m looking for Cindy McCallister.”
The man looked over his shoulder at the administration building, then back at me. Something about his facial expression and eyes made me think he was asking me,Why?
I pulled out my badge and ID. “I need to ask her a couple of questions about something unrelated to the center.”
