Hawes carried the kettle of hot water to him.
Carella brought him paper towels from the rack over the sink.
“Just going to wash him off a little, miss,” the intern said.
“You got a fine baby boy,” Meyer said to Jose, smiling.
Jose nodded.
“What’re you gonna name him?” Kling asked.
The black man, who’d been silent since he’d entered the squad room, suddenly said in a deep and sonorous voice, “ ‘Behold, a virgin shall conceive and bear a son, and his name shall be called Emmanuel.’ ”
“Amen,” Knowles said.
The detectives were gathered in a knot around the bank of filing cinets now, their backs to Carmody. Carmody could have made a run for it, but he didn’t. Instead, he picked up first the shopping bag of pot he and Knowles had been busted for and then the valise containing the loot Kling had recovered when he’d collared the black man. He carried them to where Maria lay behind the cabinets, the baby on her breast. He knelt at her feet. He dipped his hand into the bag, grabbed a handful of pot and sprinkled it onto the blanket. He opened the valise. There were golden rings and silver plates in the valise, bracelets and necklaces, rubies and diamonds and sapphires that glittered in the pale, snow-reflected light that streamed through the corner windows.
“Gracias,” Maria said softly. “Muchas giacias.”
Carella, standing closest to the windows, looked up at the sky, where the snow still swirled furiously.
“That’s not a bad name,” Meyer said to Jose. “Emmanuel.”
“I will name him Carlos,” Jose said. “After my father.”
Carella turned from the windows.
“What’d you expect to see out there?” Parker asked. “A star in the East?”