We circled each other for a moment. I’d gotten the rifle out of Nash’s hands. That was the most important thing. Now it was more of a waiting game until someone came to help.

  Then I realized the mistake I’d made. Nash had maneuvered so that he was now between me and his rifle. I couldn’t waste any time. I reached for my Glock, locked in the holster on my right hip.

  Before I even had the pistol fully clear of the holster, Nash lunged toward me and slapped it away. Somehow I initially managed to hold on to the gun. Then his punch to my solar plexus knocked me for a loop and I let the pistol drop out of my hand.

  It hit several empty fifty-five-gallon drums and disappeared between them. When I looked up, Nash was smiling. He knew he had the advantage now.

  I ducked a wild right hand and immediately threw a low kick, hoping to take out his knee.

  Nash lifted his leg, so I struck his lower leg, his prosthesis made of titanium. The shock that went through my system was incredible. It was like someone had hit me with a TASER on the foot. I limped back a few feet and decided to take another tack. I said in a loud voice, “Is this what you want to do? Fight a cop doing his job?”

  That brought Nash up short. He just stared at me for a moment. Then he shook his head. “You’re right. I don’t want to fight you. I just want to get away. Considering all the help I’ve given the NYPD the last few months, I think you might let me go.”

  “You’ve misread the situation. And me. You’re wrong. Nobody appreciates what you’ve done the last few months.”

  “The cops and courts aren’t doing anything to help people. Killers are let out on bond. No one cares when poor people have their money stolen by fraudsters. I still think you’ll let me walk. I’ll even leave my rifle over there.” Nash turned his back to me.

  He’d made a decent point. It’s tough to be a cop. I got it. I still only let Nash take two steps before I tackled him. When I tried to yank his wrist behind his back so I could cuff him, Nash did a little spin move on the ground and we ended up face-to-face again. Then he bit me on the hand.

  Before I could react to the bite, he headbutted me. My nose started to pour blood. Then Nash squirmed out of my grip. He took two steps toward the rifle on the ground, but I was able to reach out, grab his ankle, and yank him back toward me.

  He was strong and I was a little woozy. I needed help but couldn’t reach my phone. We grappled like wrestlers until somehow I found my arms around Nash with my hands locked behind his head in a modified full nelson.

  Once Nash had stopped struggling in the powerful hold, I looked up and saw FBI ASAC Robert Lincoln step around the pile of debris where Nash had hidden. Lincoln had a nasty gash on his head and blood had soaked into his white shirt. He turned away and I heard him say in a calm voice, “I’ve got eyes on Bennett. He’s got Nash.”

  As Lincoln took control of Nash and cuffed him, I sat on a toolbox to catch my breath.

  A few seconds later, Rob Trilling stepped around the same pile of debris, cradling the AR-15 Lincoln had given him. He took in the scene with Nash lying face down on the shale-rock ground and me sitting a few feet away. Trilling looked at me and said with a deadpan delivery, “See? I told you I wasn’t the shooter.”

  CHAPTER 107

  AS SOON AS we took Darnell Nash into custody, I wondered when politics might jump up and slap me in the face. I was surprised that Robert Lincoln didn’t object when I announced we needed to take Nash to One Police Plaza to be interviewed. In fact, the FBI ASAC asked if he could come along.

  The NYPD headquarters houses some operational units as well as most of the administrative offices. It’s not set up for prisoners or interviews, but I figured this would qualify as a special circumstance. It wasn’t hard to slip in through a back door with the prisoner and commandeer an empty office.

  Rob Trilling made sure Nash was comfortable. He grabbed him a bottle of water and a package of crackers with peanut butter. Usually officers try to be aware of prisoners’ needs. It can come back to haunt a detective later if the prisoner complains about being mistreated and giving a confession under duress. In this case, I thought it was one military veteran looking after another, no matter what the circumstances.

  Lincoln took a seat in the corner while Trilling and I sat in sturdy metal chairs across a table from Nash. Lincoln had been very good about accepting the fact that the NYPD was the lead on this case. The fact that the suspect was an FBI employee didn’t even come up. This guy was surprising me at every turn today.

  We got some background and read Nash his Miranda rights. He didn’t try to deny anything. I wasn’t a psychotherapist. I didn’t want to get into the reasons why he did what he did.

  After a few minutes, I asked, “Are there other victims we’re not aware of?”

  Nash didn’t answer immediately. Then he shook his head.

  “So Marie Ballard was your first victim?”

  He nodded.

  “And the antifa activist your last one?”

  That made Nash laugh. “There’s no way I’d ever consider that scumbag a victim. He tried to murder two cops by burning them. Have you seen his rap sheet? Domestic violence, arson, theft. I’m sure his parents are proud.”

  Nash looked directly at Trilling. “Sorry I shifted the blame to you by planting that casing in your car. I knew why you’d been called back to the NYPD. I also realized your background would make you a tempting suspect. I hated doing it to a fellow vet. I apologize.”

  Trilling didn’t say anything. He gave Nash a little nod.

  Nash said, “I was so tired of not contributing. After the Marines, everything seemed sort of pointless. This gave me a sense of accomplishment. I know you all think I’m a nut and you can’t believe I’d do something like this, but you’ll see I was right. When we start letting people get away with crimes so easily, society goes to hell.”

  Nash said, “I didn’t realize that was Joe Tavarez earlier today. Joe was like a brother to me. I saw movement by the car and realized I’d stepped into a trap. I was just trying to get away. I knew if I shot someone, it’d throw the whole operation into chaos, and I could slip away. It hasn’t hit me yet that I shot my best friend.” He looked down and shook his head. “I’ll never be able to look Cindy in the eye again. Hell, the list of things I’ll never do again is really long.”

  He turned and glanced at Robert Lincoln behind him in the corner. Then he looked back at both of us. “Any chance you could leave me alone in here for a while? It’ll save the taxpayers a lot of money and me a lot of embarrassment.”

  I shook my head. After all the time I’d spent on this case and all the heartache I’d gone through, I couldn’t believe I actually felt kinda sorry for this guy. He was rational enough to know he’d ruined his life along with so many others.

  I felt a little sad being in on the interview. I wished we could save a veteran like this. Smart, educated, and dedicated. Maybe a little too dedicated. It is times like this when I wish I had more answers.

  CHAPTER 108

  INTERVIEWING AND ARRESTING Darnell Nash, and everything that went with it, took us into the evening. When I got home, Mary Catherine and the kids had already huddled around the TV. They looked like a group of fans watching a sporting event, but they were actually watching a live NYPD news conference about the sniper investigation.

  No one even glanced away from the TV when I stepped into the apartment. Contrary to the scoldings I’d gotten as a kid—that I would ruin my eyes by sitting too close to a TV—my grandfather was positioned about three feet from the screen. The kids were grouped around him in rows, with Mary Catherine at the center of the back row. Naturally she got to sit in the recliner with everyone else either leaning on it or sitting on the floor.

  I made my way across the living room, then slipped through the kitchen to come into the living room behind the crowd. I eased up to the rear of the group without anyone noticing me.

  On the screen, the NYPD public information officer provided background on the case from a podium in front of a US flag, a New York City flag, and a blue, green, and white NYPD flag. Behind the PIO was the usual NYPD brass. I saw a few faces who’d actually been involved in the case. Inspector Lisa Udell again looked impressive, standing next to the police commissioner. A little farther back, I noticed Harry Grissom wearing a fairly sharp suit and looking less grizzled than usual.

  Ricky, sitting next to my grandfather, said, “Where’s Dad? It was his case. Why isn’t he at the news conference?”

  That’s when I said in a good, clear voice, “Because I’d rather be here with you guys.” It was true. Harry had asked me if I felt up to attending the news conference. I had politely declined, citing the fact that I had been in a gun battle today.

  The kids sprang off the floor and swarmed me like piranha around a bloody cow leg. Or whatever happens down in the Amazon. Mary Catherine was particularly agile, coming out of the chair and spinning around to hug me. I wondered if there was any event in life that would ever equal the feeling I have when my whole family embraces me.

  I waved off questions about why I was home so we could watch the end of the news conference. Most everyone went back to their original places in front of the TV. Except for my grandfather, Seamus. He stood next to me and wrapped a bony arm around my shoulders and gave me a squeeze. He said in a low voice, “This city needs to thank God it has someone like you around.”

  A murmur of excitement rippled through the kids as Harry Grissom stepped to the microphone and gave a quick recap of the actual arrest. He left out a lot of detail, which I was glad to avoid discussing with my family. Most cops never want to let their kids know the kind of danger they face every day.

  Harry opened up questions from the media. There looked to be about twenty reporters and seven or eight cameramen all wedged into an area in front of the podium. I smiled when the first person Harry called on turned out to be none other than Lois Frang of the Brooklyn Democrat. Suddenly I realized why Harry looked so dapper and cleaned up. He had a new girlfriend. I’m sure he’d never use that phrase or even admit it, but it was clear the way he was gazing at Lois from the podium that she was more than just a reporter for a little-known newspaper in Brooklyn.

  Lois asked, “This seems like quite a complex case. Did any one tip or piece of info break the case open?”

  Harry straightened at the podium and leaned toward the microphone. “We found multiple pieces of evidence that allowed us to assemble information leading to the arrest of Darnell Nash. I’d like to acknowledge not only NYPD personnel but also FBI personnel, who helped us narrow the focus of our investigation.”

  That was the most politically correct statement I had ever heard Harry Grissom make. But it was true. The damn FBI had saved my bacon today. And I wouldn’t be forgetting it anytime soon.

  CHAPTER 109

  AFTER THE NEWS conference, we all settled down to a modest feast of sloppy joes and a Greek salad. I could tell by the awkward pairing of cuisines that our resident chef, Ricky, had not prepared the meal. He was a little bit of a nut when it came to the dining experience. He always insisted that every side dish complement the main dish. But when you regularly feed thirteen hungry people for dinner on an NYPD detective’s salary, cheap meals like sloppy joes are essential.

  Brian hurried into the kitchen. A few seconds later he walked out holding up a bottle of champagne. Not the ritziest and not the nastiest of champagnes. He had a broad grin on his face as he said, “Dad solving this case means we can finally pop the cork.”

  It was Korbel, and it sounded like a fine idea to me, so I gave him a little nod.

  Brian was prepared, with a dishrag around the collar of the bottle. He pointed the bottle at an angle and worked the cork slowly. It still made the good popping sound. Brian managed to catch the cork in his hand and avoid spilling any of the champagne.

  My grandfather stood up and took plastic champagne flutes from a bag sitting on the dining room table. That’s when I knew the entire incident had been preplanned. The place got boisterous fast. The kids all politicked for some champagne. We settled on letting anyone over the age of twelve have a sip and anyone over sixteen a small glass.

  I held two plastic glasses, each filled halfway. I turned to Mary Catherine and offered her one, but she held up her hand. I knew it had to do with her fertility treatment. So I gave it to my grandfather, who gladly threw it down with gusto.

  Now I could focus on my sloppy joe dinner. I couldn’t believe how much better I felt listening to the chatter around the table. It made me wonder what it’d be like to be around the house full-time. Retirement was just around the corner if I wanted it to be.

  It didn’t help that Seamus sat next to me. About midway through dinner he said, “You doing okay, boyo?”

  “I am now.”

  “We haven’t seen much of you lately.”

  “It was a big case.”

  “Technically, every homicide is a big case. Don’t try and tell me that a family in the Bronx is any less grief-stricken than a family in Tribeca when a family member is murdered.”

  “You know I don’t feel anything like that. I don’t think I’d even talk to someone who thought that was true. This investigation was complicated. That’s what made it a big case.”

  “You’ve got a big family too. They need you more than the police department does.”

  I nodded without responding. This was a recurring theme. What I think a lot of people have to deal with in life: finding the right balance.

  After dinner—and a dessert of pound cake made by Chrissy and Shawna, with serious oversight by Juliana—we played a few hands of Go Fish using three decks of cards.

  About an hour later, as soon as we were able to name Bridget the Go Fish champion, Mary Catherine gave me a subtle signal that it was bedtime.

  CHAPTER 110

  IT HAD BEEN a remarkably long and stressful day. I knew Mary Catherine was constantly tired from her treatments, and wrapping up a big case was always draining. We said our good nights to the wild mob that is our family, then headed to our bedroom.

  The sheets and the pillow under my head felt like heaven. I could still hear the kids talking in the hallway and around their bedrooms. The boys had a habit of shouting to one another from the bathroom to their bedroom. Still, there was something comforting and normal about the noise.

  Mary Catherine snuggled up close to me in bed. She said in a soft voice, “I don’t know what’s better, a family get-together or being so close to you in bed.”

  “Definitely bed. None of those annoying kids around.”

  She let out a gentle laugh and draped an arm across my chest. Mary Catherine said, “Also, I’m not loud or whiny, and I change my underwear every day.”

  I snorted at the shot at Trent, Eddie, and Ricky, whose hygiene practices were still evolving. Much like any adolescent boy’s. “I’m glad you have a goal, like changing your underwear every day. I think you’re doing great at it.”

  Mary Catherine gave me a little bite on the shoulder.

  Then I turned so I could look her in the eye and said, “How are you doing? I’m sorry I’ve been a little scarce. Seamus reminded me at dinner.”

  “He’s a good conscience. And he’s been a huge help. All the kids adore him, and he’s still the only one who’s heard Jane’s complete speech.”

  I asked, “And what does he think of it?”

  “You know your grandfather. He never lets out a hint. It must be all the practice he’s had keeping confessions to himself.”

  I smiled at the idea that one had to practice to keep quiet.

  Mary Catherine propped herself up on her elbow. “I have a secret I’ve been keeping for a couple of days.”

  “Oh, yeah?”

  “Yeah.” She twisted in bed and grabbed something out of her nightstand. She turned and held out her hand.

  Just as I was about to ask, What’s this? I took a closer look and saw the pink plus sign in the middle of the white plastic handle. It took only a moment to click in my brain exactly what I was looking at. My eyes shifted from the pregnancy test to my wife’s beautiful face.

  All I said was “Really?”

  Mary Catherine nodded vigorously. She said, “I still have to confirm it with the doctor next week. That’s why I haven’t said anything to anyone else yet.”

  I tried to grasp this news. I didn’t even go into the future implications, like being the oldest father at graduation. Or teaching a kid to drive when my eyesight was failing. Looking at Mary Catherine, I realized how happy she was. Maybe it was partially because she didn’t have to go back for any more fertility treatments. But it was much more than that. There was actual joy on her face. And the idea of a new baby rumbling around the house made me ecstatic.

  Mary Catherine looked at me. Finally frustration overcame her, and she said, “Well? What do you think?”

  “Hallelujah!”

  “And you’ll keep it a secret?”

  “From the kids?”

  “Anybody.”

  “This is big news. I might blurt it out.”

  She smiled. “You Bennetts just love telling good news.”

  “And kissing beautiful women.” I planted a kiss on Mary Catherine’s lips.

  Her smile was contagious. So were her giggles. Then we laughed and hugged and I had to say a quick prayer of thanks.

  CHAPTER 111

  WHEN I WOKE up the next morning, it felt like a new age had dawned. We were having a baby. I wanted to gently shake Mary Catherine awake and shout that we were having a baby.

  We were having a baby, my nightmare case was over, and Jane was speaking at Columbia University. I wanted to pinch myself. Just to make sure I wasn’t dreaming.

  As I flipped pancakes, Fiona shuffled into the kitchen wearing big pink bunny-shaped slippers that Seamus had bought her. She looked at me and said, “What are you smiling about?”

  I turned and kissed her on the forehead. “You’d be smiling too if you had kids like mine.”