Page 145 of I Will Find You

And as that realization washes over me, the first bullet hits my body.

Eight Months Later

I stand to the left of my aunt Sophie as my father’s casket, a plain pine box, is lowered into the ground. Philip and Adam Mackenzie are both pallbearers. Cops young, old, and retired have come out in big numbers. My father had a lot of friends. He hadn’t been in their lives in a long time, but they’ve come out to say a final goodbye.

I can feel Uncle Philip’s eyes on me. He gives me the smallest of nods, but it says a lot. He was there. He’ll be there.

I was shot three times at the Payne estate.

It would have been more. That’s what I was told. But Matthew ran over to me. When the cops saw that, they stopped firing. I wasn’t conscious for any of that.

From my right side, I feel a small hand slip into mine. It’s comforting. I turn and smile down at Matthew. I look past my son to Rachel, who holds Matthew’s other hand. She gives me a small smile, and my chest fills. I meet her eye and let her know I’m doing okay.

My father had been sick for a long time. He was more than ready to go. I think he held on long enough to see me exonerated—and to see his grandson again.

I can’t tell you how grateful I am for that.

We all lower our head for the Kaddish. I am first in line to throw ceremonial dirt on my father’s grave. Aunt Sophie goes next. I hold her arm as she does it, more for my balance than hers. I spent two months in the hospital and went through six operations. I’m told that it is unlikely I will ever walk without a cane again, but I’m going to work my ass off in physical therapy.

I like trying to defy the odds. I’m good at that, I guess.

After the funeral we head back to the old house in Revere to sit shiva. The ghosts are there, of course, but they seem respectfully quiet today. None of us are religious, but we find solace in the ritual. Friends have sent us enough food to fill Fenway Park. I sit in the low chair, as is the custom, and listen to stories of my dad. It is a comfort.

Aunt Sophie will live here alone now.

“This neighborhood,” she told me. “It’s all I know.”

I understand, of course.

When there is a break in the line of mourners, Aunt Sophie nudges my arm and gestures toward Rachel. Rachel is helping set out yet another plate of sloppy joe sandwiches.

“So you and Rachel…?” she asks.

“Early days,” I say.

Aunt Sophie smiles. She will have none of that. “Not so early. I’m very happy about it. Your father was too.”

I swallow and stare at this woman I love. “She makes me happy,” I tell my aunt. And I’m not sure I’ve ever meant something so much in my life.

Special Agent Max Bernstein is at the end of the mourners’ line with his partner Sarah Jablonski. They both shake my hand and offer their condolences. Bernstein’s eyes dart all over the room.

“I don’t know if this is the right time,” Bernstein says to me.

“For?”

“For giving you an update.”

I look at his partner, then back to him. “It’s the right time,” I say.

Jablonski takes that one. “We may have a lead on…on the victim’s identity.”

The little boy in Matthew’s bed. I look toward Bernstein.

“There’s an overseas orphanage the Payne family runs,” he says. “That’s all we know right now.”

“But we’ll learn more,” Jablonski adds.

I believe them. But I don’t think it will be enough.

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