There are some feelings, and actions, for which words are utterly useless.
But words do have their place, especially when Courtney said, “You were right, Nick.”
I grinned as I said, “First time for everything.”
SO MUCH FOR joy and happiness and all that.
I closed my eyes and drew a deep breath down close to the bottom of my lungs. I was hoping that when I opened my eyes I’d no longer be standing at Derrick Phalen’s grave site under a sea of gray clouds at Trinity Church Cemetery. I was hoping that this was all just a dream.
But no, it was as real as real gets, and it was also heart-wrenchingly sad. Dwayne Robinson may have had a host of Yankees at his funeral, but Derrick’s service overlooking the Hudson River was no less shy of New York ’s heavy hitters. In attendance were the mayor, the Bronx borough president, the Bronx DA, and two congressmen, both of whom had campaigned heavily on fighting organized crime. Derrick’s victories in the courtroom had helped bring them victories at the polls, and they knew it.
Of course, David Sorren – the mayor in waiting – was on hand, as was Ian LaGrange. I avoided any eye contact with LaGrange while noticing that Sorren seemed to be keeping close tabs on him. Was he worried that LaGrange would take another swing at me?
If so, he should’ve also been checking out the other prosecutors from the OCTF. I was getting some serious dirty looks from more than a few of them.
Ironically, it was Derrick’s family – his parents and sister – who proved to be the most forgiving. Or maybe they were just too numb to be angry. I couldn’t tell when Courtney and I approached them to offer our condolences.
Given the incessant media coverage, along with the usual gossip mill churning out whatever tidbits the press didn’t, my connection to Derrick Phalen was pretty well established. What wasn’t known was exactly why I was connected to him.
That’s the question I thought I was about to be asked when Derrick’s sister, Monica, caught up to Courtney and me a few minutes later. She wanted to know if she could speak to me alone for a moment.
Never was I so relieved to be wrong. It was an answer, not a question, that Monica had for me.
Scratch that. It wasn’t just an answer. Hopefully it was the answer.
Chapter 77
“I’LL BE OVER here when you’re done,” said Courtney, who had never been more understanding, and kind of selfless, in all the time we’d known each other. I had never felt closer to her either, or more in love. Bad timing, I know, but there it was.
I watched as she walked over to the shade of one of the immense oak trees that were scattered across the cemetery’s lawn. She always looked great in black, and today was definitely no exception. How could anybody ever cheat on her?
Nearby, David Sorren was chatting with the Bronx DA. He gave me a quick nod of recognition as our eyes met briefly. Yes, David, I’m still on the right side of the grass.
I turned back to face Monica. She was tall and slender, with auburn hair cut straight around her shoulders. A few dozen freckles dotted the bridge of her nose.
The only thing I knew about her was what Derrick had mentioned that one time we’d had lunch. We’d been discussing his reputation as a tough prosecutor. “If you think I’m tough, you should talk to my sister,” he’d said with a laugh.
Now here I was, doing just that. What I wouldn’t give for our meeting to be under different circumstances.
“I wanted to let you know how sorry I am about Derrick,” I told her.
“You feel partly responsible, don’t you?” I nodded. “Yes.”
“You shouldn’t,” she said matter-of-factly. “It’s not like Derrick was an accountant or a plumber. His job was trying to put mob guys behind bars. Serious, big-time hoods, the worst of the worst. Did you know he had to wear a bullet-proof vest?”
Again I nodded. “Yes. I knew that.”
“A lot of good that did him in the end, huh?”
Derrick was definitely right about his sister being tough, or maybe, like Courtney, she just compartmentalized very well. But what I was hearing more from her was anger. She was so angry, in fact, that some of it was spilling over onto Derrick.
“Anyway, that’s not what I wanted to talk with you about,” she continued. “It’s about something I found the other day, something belonging to my brother.”
She reached into her black purse, removing something. It was so small, though, I couldn’t see it in her clenched fist.
“What is it?” I had to ask.
“If you were ever in Derrick’s office, then you know he had this crazy thing for Post-it notes. Those little yellow stickies were everywhere around his desk.”
I remembered. “Yes, I know. I saw them when I visited Derrick in White Plains.”
“Well, they were all over his stupid apartment, too,” she said. “Last night I was over there going through some of his files, trying to find Derrick’s life insurance policy. That’s when I came across this.”
She opened her fist to reveal a small USB flash drive, the kind you can pick up at any computer supply store for about twelve bucks. It was barely over an inch long.
“What’s on it?” I asked.
“I have no idea. I didn’t look at it – but I’m pretty sure Derrick wanted you to have it.”
“How do you know that?”
“Because there was a yellow sticky on it. He’d written your name.” She extended her hand, placing the flash drive in mine. “Promise me one thing, though, okay? You have to promise. That’s the quid pro quo here.”
Hell, I’d pretty much promise her anything to see what was on that flash drive. How could I not think that it was what Derrick had wanted to tell me the night he’d died?
“Sure,” I said. “What is it?”
“Out of respect for my brother, could you not tell anyone you have this until you’ve had a chance to look at it?”
“Absolutely.”
“Good,” she said, but I could tell there was something else she wanted to say. She seemed unsure about it.
“Go ahead,” I said. “It’s okay. I owe your brother, and I feel like I owe you.”
“You don’t. It’s just that I was…”
She stopped. A tear formed in her eye, and she quickly wiped it away. “Everyone who worked with Derrick said all the right things, that he was really good at his job and was a great guy and all that. What I want to know, though, is that he didn’t die in vain. Can you promise me that, too?”
I reached out and took Monica’s hand, squeezing it tight. “Yes, I can promise you that, too. I’ll make sure of it,” I said.
If it’s the last thing I do.
OFFICER KEVIN O’SHEA turned to his partner, Sam Brison, in the lobby of my apartment building as I looked on. “Heads or tails?” asked O’Shea, tossing a shiny quarter in the air.
“Tails,” said Brison.
Apparently, this was what my first shift did every morning when they arrived. Instead of taking turns standing guard in the lobby or outside my door, they flipped for it.
O’Shea caught the quarter and sneaked a peek. “Shit,” he muttered underneath his square, bushy mustache. Tails it is.
“Ha!” said Brison, heading for the comfortable couch in the lobby. Outside my door there was only a metal folding chair with no padding. Enough said.
I rode the elevator up with O’Shea, continuing with what I thought was my stellar acting job since the funeral. I didn’t want to seem overly anxious, but I absolutely couldn’t wait to get home so I could plug in that flash drive.