The Daughter She Used To Be

by Rosalind Noonan

  As her father walked them to the door, Bernie wished she could feel better about the case they were building. She wanted something to grasp on to, something hopeful, but finding the killer would not bring the victims back.

  Chapter 26

  The crushing pain had not left Sully’s chest since that day. Still, he got out of bed each morning, showered and even had his coffee. He came here to the shop, his only connection to his son now, his only way to help get the man who had had the audacity to steal human lives on Sully’s turf.

  Peg didn’t ask much. She knew to leave him alone. But the kids, their questions about the shop and the investigation, they drove him nuts. Their voices rang in his ears.

  The shop was his only escape, but even here the pain rent him in half like a fat vine of thorns spiraling in his chest.

  Technically, he wasn’t supposed to be admitted to a crime scene, but no one had said a word to stop him. The cops and detectives and bosses realized that he knew police work inside out. They knew he wouldn’t go around emptying the trash or picking up overturned furniture. They wouldn’t find him mopping the floor or wiping the print dust from the countertop. Not until he got the go-ahead.

  These guys and gals knew Sully would bend over backward to assist in the investigation, and they liked having him around. Good ol’ Sully, a cop’s cop, a gregarious, stand-up guy. You could count on him for backup and a funny story, too.

  Every morning he got himself down to the shop to talk the talk and walk the walk.

  But inside, he wasn’t the same Sully.

  Inside, he was broken, and the spirit that had danced him through more than fifty years on the job had drained from him. Empty.

  Maybe he’d change the name of the place to Empty Cup.

  From the doorway, he watched the detectives head across the street to the precinct. His precinct, the 109. When he’d come up with the idea to have a coffee shop for cops, he’d thought it was brilliant. He’d considered himself a real Einstein. Now he was wondering if it wasn’t the idiot blunder of his life.

  The sign over the door caught his eye—SULLY’S CUP in neon. A week ago he’d been so proud of it. Now the sight of the sassy cursive letters turned his stomach.

  Time to switch on if he wanted to make some headway before Kevin Puchinko’s funeral this afternoon. He wheeled around and burst back into the shop. “Okay.” He clapped his hands together, then rubbed them vigorously. “Time to make the donuts. They’re done with the crime scene. We can give the place a thorough cleaning.”

  “Do you want me to do the floors first, or the countertops?” Padama asked as she slid an apron over her head.

  “Let’s start with the countertops and furniture.”

  “Got it.” She finished tying the apron and ducked into the back room.

  “Dad, do you want me to help?” Bernie actually looked frightened. She wasn’t the domestic type.

  “Nah. I’m expecting your sister any minute now.”

  “Mary Kate?”

  He couldn’t tell if she was surprised or insulted. “MK’s a good worker. Your mother said she didn’t have the heart to step foot in here yet, and you’ve got your prosecutorial stuff to do.”

  “I know, but there’s so much to do here, and I know you don’t want to miss Puchinko’s funeral this afternoon.” She bit the cuticle of one thumb as her dark eyes swept over the mess.

  “I’ll be at all the funerals. I owe those guys at least that much.” During his career Sully had attended many funerals for cops killed in the line of duty; cops who gave their lives serving this city deserved a hell of a lot more, but an NYPD send-off was a start.

  “One day at a time, darlin’.” He stepped behind the counter and turned on the spigot of the service sink. “Don’t worry, doll. We’ll get it done, and I’ll see you at the funeral. You just stick to what you do best, the legalese.” He was proud of her accomplishments as a prosecutor. “So what did you think about the case we’re building? Can you believe the shooter stopped for a drink and left his plastic cup behind? What an idiot. He actually stopped to get a drink.” He frowned. “But that’s the thing with criminals. We give them more credit than they deserve. Most of them are not that intelligent.”

  “That’s kind of a generalization, but I agree, this guy isn’t the brightest bulb on Broadway.”

  “We’re going to get him, Bernie. It’s just a matter of time. I only hope the cop who finds him fills him with lead. It’s like killing a sick animal; Old Yeller when he’s got rabies. You just got to put him out of his misery.”

  “Dad ... wow. What about the criminal justice system? Innocent until proven guilty? Every man is entitled to a trial by jury of his peers. Any of this ringing a bell?”

  “This is such a clear-cut case.” Usually he didn’t mind a good argument with his daughter, but right now he wished she would go. He had work to do, and he was in no mood to hear a diatribe about the criminal justice system. “When they find this guy, he’ll have the remnants of the hollow point bullet from Indigo’s gun inside him. He left prints on the plastic cup.”

  “Partial prints,” Bernie said. “I don’t want to burst your bubble, Dad, but partials are not irrefutable. And how do we know he acted alone? Maybe someone put him up to this, and unless we properly interview and prosecute this perp, we’ll never know.”

  I know, Sully thought. I know he’s the one.

  You couldn’t survive a lifetime as a cop on the streets without developing excellent instincts, a sixth sense. There wasn’t any grand conspiracy, and there was no good reason to waste countless dollars of taxpayer money on the incarceration and trial of an animal like this.

  “Sometimes you’ve got to go with your instincts,” he told his daughter.

  “Instincts are a wonderful thing. Yours protected you when you worked on the street, Dad. But that’s different from street justice. We can’t just tar and feather the next black male who limps down the street.”

  “No, but those detectives will whittle it down. They’ll find the man who was in this shop. They’ll find the monster who pulled the trigger.”

  “And he’ll stand trial, thank God.”

  Not if a stand-up cop can get to him first, Sully thought. Not if we can help it.

  Chapter 27

  Mary Kate made sure her car was locked, clubbed, and alarmed with no valuables in sight before she started out of the triple-decker parking lot on Union Street. Downtown Flushing was not one of her haunts, and with the traffic, congestion, and tight parking, she could certainly see why. When she was a kid, Ma had loaded them all on a city bus to come to the dentist here. Dr. Kane had a second-floor office on Roosevelt, with a drugstore and pharmacy underneath. After a checkup, each kid got a certificate for an ice cream cone from the soda shop in the pharmacy down below.

  Those days were gone. The billboards touting products in Chinese or Korean made that very clear. Now Mary Kate could barely decipher what sort of businesses most of these shops conducted. Sure, the precinct was still here, and a fruit stand was a fruit stand, but the offices on the second floors were mysteries, as were some of the contemporary storefronts with dark tinted glass and strings of tiny lights.

  Driving here today, she’d been astounded by the neon signs that stretched all the way across the street, suspended in the air between buildings, just like in a Jackie Chan movie set in Hong Kong. Flushing was now mostly Asian, and she’d read that some people shunned Chinatown in Manhattan and rode the train out here for authentic Chinese food. She wouldn’t go that far, but she had been willing to drive in today and help her dad out, especially when she considered the gruesome task he had ahead of him. Nobody could go that alone.

  The wind blew her hair into her face as she left the parking lot. No purse to guard today, just her license and cash buried in her jeans and her keys laced through her right fingers in the pocket of her jacket. She rounded the corner, passing Asian women toting handcarts, mothers with kids, and commuters. Her heart sank a little when
Sully’s Cup came into view and she saw the giant plywood patch, like a rotten tooth in a pirate’s smile. It was no wonder that the spring had gone out of Dad’s step. She was worried about him, and was hopeful that he’d open up a bit while they cleaned up the shop.

  As she got close, a young woman with wild hair came out of the door. Her sister. She was walking at a good clip in the opposite direction.

  “Bernie!” Mary Kate stuck two fingers in her mouth and whistled.

  Her baby sister stopped and turned. “You have got to teach me how to do that.”

  “I didn’t expect to see you here today.” Mary Kate felt a surprising warmth toward her sister today; they tended to snipe at each other, but tragedy did have a way of pulling people closer together.

  “I wanted to check on Dad.” Bernie sank her hands into her hair and raked it back. She had gotten the thick hair from Mom’s side of the family, while Mary Kate had been stuck with wispy hair the color of sand. Genetics could be so unfair.

  “How’s the big guy doing?” Mary Kate asked.

  “Feeling good enough to argue with me, though he looks a little gray in the gills.”

  “It was a hard hit for him.” Mary Kate looked up at the unlit SULLY’S sign. “His shop was violated. He lost his son and ... I don’t know. None of us could have imagined anything so horrible. Taking down cops on Dad’s turf just cut him to the bone.”

  “I know.” Bernie stared down at the ground.

  “You’re looking a little gray yourself.”

  “I’m tired. Not sleeping much.”

  Mary Kate wanted to tell Bernie that she was also up most nights, despite the fact that she had a whole queen-sized bed to herself. They hadn’t discussed Tony yet, and Mary Kate didn’t like loose ends, but it seemed a little self-absorbed to bring it up with all the other crises that were gripping their family now.

  “I’m still sleeping on the sofa at Sarah’s,” Bernie added.

  “Well, that’s your problem.” Mary Kate smiled. “You need to get back to your own bed for a good night’s sleep.”

  “God, would you stop with the condescending advice?” Bernie clapped her hands atop her head. “You always do that.”

  Mary Kate’s smile soured.

  “It’s not all that simple,” Bernie went on, scraping her hair back. “You always try to simplify things that aren’t that simple.”

  “I’m sorry.” Mary Kate was stung. “It’s my nature to try and be positive, but that doesn’t mean I’m stupid. Yeah, I see the complexity in things. You don’t think I have issues? But does it help to sit around and worry and whine?”

  Bernie pulled her coat closer against the wind. “Do you think I’m a whiner?”

  “Did I say that?” Mary Kate held her hands out. “Now who’s oversimplifying?”

  When Bernie squeezed her eyes shut, the gray half moons became apparent. “My bad.” She opened her eyes and the spark of annoyance had faded. “I’m on edge. The sleep thing, and I don’t think I’m dealing well with Brendan’s death.” She glanced over her shoulder at the shop. “He’s haunting me, MK. I pretend things are normal. I cajole Gracie and help Mom in the kitchen, but that’s all an act. I’m a wreck, and, to be honest, I came here for some closure.”

  Mary Kate pulled a hand from her pocket and put it on her sister’s shoulder. “Did it work? Did you find some peace from seeing where it all happened?”

  Bernie let out a breath. “I really don’t know.”

  “I’m afraid it may take awhile.” Mary Kate tried to say the right things without pissing Bernie off again. “You and Brendan were close. It’s a huge loss for all of us, but you were buds.”

  “I didn’t think you noticed.”

  “You really do think I’m dense.”

  Bernie shook her head. “You know, MK, you have a surprising sense of humor.” She glanced back at the shop. “Dad is expecting you. I hope you wore your grungies, because it’s bad.”

  “Got my rubber gloves in my pocket.”

  Bernie squinted. “You know, you don’t have to do this. We could hire a crew. They have teams that specialize in cleaning up crime scenes.”

  “For a small fortune, I’m sure. Don’t worry. I’ll have it under control in no time.” She pulled a Ziploc bag of rubber gloves from one coat pocket. “It’s been a little awkward, trying to fill my time these last couple of days. They don’t expect me at work, and there’s not much to do around the house with Tony gone. Conner’s pretty self-sufficient. He knows how to make Ramen noodles and scrambled eggs.”

  “Conner is a great kid,” Bernie said. “I’m glad he’s started coming around. Have you noticed how Maisey adores him?”

  “I think the feeling is mutual.” Mary Kate felt warmed by her sister’s compliments. She’d always known he was a good kid; at last the family was getting to know and love him, too. “I’d better go.”

  “Oh, and MK? About Tony. I just wanted to say, it’s probably not an easy situation, but I’m proud of you for standing your ground.”

  Another shock, coming from Bernie. “Ma thinks I should take him back.”

  “Ma is old school. What do you think?”

  “I think ... it’s complicated.”

  Bernie nodded. “I’m sure it is.” She bristled against the wind, then lifted her hands from her pockets and gripped Mary Kate in a hug. “I’ll see you at the wake.”

  Chapter 28

  The night before Brendan’s funeral Bernie hung her black suit in Grace’s closet and let her D&G flats drop to the floor, thunk, thunk. The day she’d bought those shoes, she’d been ecstatic, thrilled that she could finally afford something that fit her well and had a designer label.

  She had not anticipated wearing them to not one, but three cops’ funerals.

  “Can we watch a movie?” Grace asked from under her pink and purple comforter. She was writing in a journal with a fuchsia feather pen. “I’m not tired.”

  “We need to get up early tomorrow,” Bernie said. “Do you know what you’re wearing?”

  Grace nodded and pointed the feather pen at her desk chair, where clothes were laid out.

  “Of course, you do. You’re a lot more organized than your Aunt Bernie.” She leaned over the bed and kissed Grace on the forehead. “Good night, Tigger.”

  “Good night, Pooh.” Grace didn’t look up from her writing. “Can you leave the light on for a while?”

  Bernie shrugged. “Sure.”

  In the living room, Sarah was opening up a sheet to cover the couch. “Sarah! You don’t have to do that.”

  “What, don’t want me to tuck you in?” Sarah teased.

  “I’d love nothing more, but go tuck yourself in. Tomorrow’s going to be stressful.”

  Sarah tossed a pillow to Bernie. “Yah think?”

  Bernie sat down, hugging a pillow. “And one of these days I’m going to have to go back to my own apartment.” She would have to go home, go back to work, go back to her own solitary life, and maybe it was time. The cradle of family was reassuring, but the routine of life would be a good distraction from grief. “It’s been almost a week now. I can’t keep mooching off you forever.”

  “Here I thought you were helping with the girls, but you’re actually here for the free food?”

  “Listen to us. So funny. You’d never know we were depressed.”

  “Grieving,” Sarah said. “There’s a difference.” She picked up her teacup. “You know you are always welcome here, Bernie. And now ...” She yawned. “I gotta get horizontal.”

  “Good night.” Catching the yawn, Bernie dropped onto the sofa, pulled the comforter to her chin, and reached up to turn off the lamp on the end table. She was tired, but not so sick anymore. Something had changed today at the coffee shop. A subtle change, but a shift. Somewhere in her subconscious mind she was preparing to let Brendan go.

  She must have slipped easily into sleep, because the next thing she recalled was Grace’s voice.

  “Aunt Bernie? Are you awake?�
��

  “I am.” Bernie opened her eyes to see her niece standing before her, the kitchen night-light turning the wispy edges of her hair to gold, like an angel.

  “I can’t sleep.”

  Bernie lifted the edge of the comforter. “Climb aboard.”

  Grace homed in on her warmth, fitting herself to Bernie’s side.

  Like a sister, Bernie thought, recalling her run-in with Mary Kate today. My own sister, but I never felt comfortable snuggling up to her or even hugging her. Of course, they were some fifteen years apart. But MK had reached out to her today, and that had taken a lot of nerve and poise. Mary Kate had surprised her.

  “I can’t stop thinking about my dad,” Grace said, the statement coming from out of nowhere.

  “I know what you mean. I was a little obsessed myself.”

  “What’s obsessed?”

  “I couldn’t stop thinking about him, either. Right now, everyone’s thinking about your dad and praying for him. You’ll see that tomorrow. Everyone will want to share their Brendan stories. That’s sort of the purpose of funerals, to celebrate a person’s life.”

  “Aunt Bernie, do you think he’s in heaven now?”

  “Absolutely.” Although Bernie had her issues with the Catholic Church, she figured that Brendan had more than paid his dues to get through the Gates of Pearl. “You know that your dad and I went to Catholic school, right? At St. Pete’s?”

  Grace nodded.

  “Well, the nuns made sure we did all the right things for our church. Once a month our whole class went to confession. We attended Mass for every holy day, and for the first Friday of every month. One day your dad and I counted the times we’d been to Mass that year. He used a calculator, and it turned out to be more than sixty times.” Would Brendan have remembered that day?

  “Sixty? Wow.” Grace leaned on her shoulder, and Bernie held her close, stroking her hair back.

  “We thought of it as a bank account, and each time to Mass was a deposit or a credit, like on a school paper. If we were getting graded, we would have gotten an A.”