Chapter 33
“ We haven’t told Rosemary D’Amato yet,” Morty explained. “But I’ve already called the father, and he’s on his way in from Scranton.”
“We think it’s best to wait until he gets here to tell her,” Peggy explained. “It’s going to overwhelm her.”
Maggie and I were thinking the exact same thing at the exact same time, both of us remembering the apologetic woman who had sat in the lobby of police headquarters, sipping tea, grateful for every small gesture of kindness shown her.
Her life had become such a single-minded quest for her missing son that she had no friends beyond the people in this room.
Her whole world had consisted of working and waiting and the occasional interaction with Morty or Peggy, her sole allies in her lonely vigil.
And now, both of them, knowing how much Rosemary D’Amato needed them, were willing to be there beside her, guiding her through the heart-wrenching journey that awaited her. They knew what she did not—that as much as she would think she had her son back, the man lying in that hospital bed would not be the little boy she had once loved. He would be a stranger, and a bitter and cruel one at that.
There was no way to escape it. With the life he had led over the past sixteen years, it was impossible to believe he’d remember her or still carry with him even a scrap of the love she had once shown him. When she realized this, it would be a blow as massive as when he’d first been taken from her. They would be there to help her get through it.
The basic decency of what they had done for Rosemary D’Amato over the years, and what they were prepared to do for her now, shamed me. Between them, they had put in over seventy years of service to the department, yet neither had ever been noticed much by others or given the respect they had been due. Peggy had been ridiculed for her awkward spinsterhood; Morty for choosing to walk a beat, even when his gait had slowed with age.
And yet, I realized, they had been the conscience of the department for all of those years. They had accepted the insignificance their position of conscience bestowed on them, and they had continued to do the right thing regardless.
“I want to prepare Bobby for this,” Maggie told Gonzales. “Please, sir. I’ve already talked to him. He didn’t want anyone to know his real name. He wouldn’t tell me.”
“So he knows it?” Gonzales asked her, skeptical.
“I’m not sure. But he knows he used to be someone else, and he’s ashamed of what’s been done to him over the years, and he’s terrified people will find out.”
“Or what he may have done to others,” Gonzales reminded her.
“Maybe.” Maggie was reluctant to admit it. “I can’t go that far, sir. I just know that we can’t simply send two people strolling into his room who say they’re his parents. Not without preparing him. Let me go to him and let me bring in the woman who hypnotized Robert Michael Martin. She’s a trained therapist. She was very kind. She has experience with abuse victims.”
Gonzales was not going to be the bad guy in this scenario. He had just emerged as the hero of the year, thanks to Tyler Matthews and Maggie, and he wasn’t about to come off as the heavy now. “Do what you think you need to do,” he decided. “Peggy and Morty are going to take care of preparing the family. Call the shrink and take care of the boy. But there’s a news blackout on this until further notice, understand?”
“Thank you, sir.” Maggie said.
Gonzales looked done with her. I think Maggie and I both thought she was going to get away with her renegade act, especially since both cases had ended so well. After all, the testimony of Bobby D’Amato, victim, would be more compelling to a jury weighing Serena Holman’s fate than the testimony of Cody Wells, arsonist and murderer.
But we were wrong about Gonzales. He glanced up at Peggy and Morty. “If I could have a moment with Gunn?” he asked pointedly.
The old veterans rose as one and left the room, Morty giving Maggie a fatherly pat on the shoulder as he went.
Maggie started to explain, but Gonzales cut her off at the start. “Stop, Maggie,” he said. “Neither one of us has the time. You get a pass on this one. You’re the only one in the history of the department who has ignored seven of my phone calls and lived to tell about it.” He smiled at her and she relaxed. A little.
“And I talked to legal,” he continued. “We’re in the clear on the arrest of the doctor. We’ll get her on the murder charges.” He waved his hand, making it plain that Serena Holman was not going to pull rank on him. He loved bringing high society killers down; he loved hearing them rant about it even more. He had survived the poorest, toughest neighborhood in the state growing up. This was his revenge.
“She’s going to be a pain in the ass, of course,” he warned Maggie. “But there was probable cause and the arrest was a good one. I would have preferred it if you had been up there with me on the podium for the Tyler Matthews press conference, however. I can’t let that happen again. That was your win, Maggie. You deserved to be up there.”
“I can’t do that stuff, sir. You know that. The guys would hate me if I became the department’s pet detective, trotted out for sound bites. Can you imagine what the press would start calling me? I have to work with these guys.”
Gonzales’s smile was genuine. “Point well taken. But you may end up not getting the credit you deserve if you continue to take that approach.”
“I don’t care about the credit,” Maggie explained—and she meant it. But Gonzales could not even grasp that concept. In the end, he let it go.
“Once again I find myself granting you a favor,” he said to her instead. “I feel like a fairy godmother. But you’ve earned one. Name your price.”
She was ready. But I was flabbergasted at what she wanted. “Sir,” she said. “I want you to give Calvano another chance.”
“Are you shitting me, Gunn?” he said, and I think it was the first time I had ever heard Gonzales use profanity. “That guy almost screwed up the case not once, not twice, but three times. He’s a disaster.”
“He’ll learn,” she promised. “I’ll teach him.”
“Please don’t tell me that the two of you . . .” Gonzales began.
“God, no,” Maggie interrupted. “It’s not that. It’s just that . . .” Her voice trailed off as she sought the words. “Sir, he wants it so badly. He really wants to be a detective, a good one. How many people in this building can you say that about? Let’s just give him one more chance. He’s learned his lesson. I’ll keep a close eye on him. Please, talk to Internal Affairs. See what you can do. I know it won’t be easy.”
“I can get them to do whatever I want,” he said, with no small satisfaction. “I just don’t know if it’s best for the department—or best for you.”
“He helped us,” she pointed out. “Do you want Bobby D’Amato to go to prison after all that’s happened to him? Getting shot in the back like that will make him more sympathetic to a jury. So, really, Adrian sort of did us a favor.”
Gonzales laughed. “Fine. I’ll make it happen. But, Gunn, really—do you realize what you just said? With logic like that, maybe you should have been a lawyer instead of a detective.”