Chase Read Free

already been told by my older daughters to keep my talk brief and to the point. There was to be no going off script, and there would be absolutely no displays of the patented Bennett sense of humor.
    I had absolutely no idea what they were talking about. My kids were far too sensitive.
    I took a breath and Chrissy’s teacher, Sr. Claire, smiled at me encouragingly.
    “Try to keep the f-bombs to a minimum, Serpico, would you, please?” whispered my grandfather, Father Seamus, who was at my side to observe the proceedings. “Try not to scar the minds of these fine young Christians any more than necessary.”
    “I’ll do my best, Monsignor. Thanks for the pep talk. It means a lot coming from a man of the cloth.”
    Seamus was my actual grandfather and, yes, a priest. He’d gone into the seminary after Nana passed. Though well into his eighties, he was still as sharp and sarcastic as ever.
    “Hello, boys and girls. I’m Chrissy’s dad, and I’m a police officer. Who knows what police officers do?” I started.
    A cute, nerdy little kid with glasses, Henry, raised his hand from the back.
    “Yes, Henry?”
    “Have you ever handled a sniper rifle?” he said as the other kids started laughing.
    “Well, yes, actually. I have. Now who knows what a policeman does?”
    Just as I said this, my phone started ringing. I had forgotten to put it on airplane mode, and the loud tones started playing, to the amusement of all the kids.
    Naturally, one of my kids at home had set it onto the stupidest ring available in the settings, a doofy electronic ditty called “By the Seaside.” As I unsuccessfully tried to hit the right button to shut it off, Henry leapt up with an impromptu belly dance for his buddies. Thanks, Henry.
    As the chaos erupted, I looked down at my phone screen and saw that the call was from Chief Fabretti, my boss. Which was actually a little concerning. He didn’t call me unless there was something happening.
    “Hey, Sr. Claire,” I said, waving my phone. “I’m sorry. I actually have to take this.”
    “Please, Detective. Take it, by all means,” she said, settling Henry back into his place on the floor.
    Leaving, I glanced back and saw Chrissy covering her face in abject embarrassment. Great.
    “Another fine speaking engagement, Tony Robbins,” Father Seamus said, giving me a mock thumbs-up as I left. “But don’t worry, I’ll cover for you.”
    I shook my head as my stage Irishman of a grandfather rushed to the front of the class and cleared his throat elaborately.
    “Boys and girls and girls and boys. Please allow me to introduce myself. My name is Father Seamus,” he said, taking a bow as the door closed behind me.

Chapter 2
    Twenty minutes later, I was on 67th Street between Broadway and Columbus, standing in front of a beeping Caterpillar front loader as it was about to drop a bunch of rubble into a curbside dump truck. Inside the hollowed-out dirt worksite behind it, I could see yellow crime-scene tape cordoning off a section to the right.
    “Hey! Hold it right there! Back it up!” I yelled to the hard hat in the cab, showing him my shield.
    “What the hell is this?” said a big guy, who looked like the contractor in charge. He rushed over and got in my face. “What’s the problem? We’re working on the other side, away from the body. The first officer said it was okay.”
    “The first officer was wrong,” I said, stepping up till we were practically forehead to forehead. “I’m the responding detective. This entire site is a crime scene. Nothing gets moved out of it. In fact, you and everybody else get out on the sidewalk until I say different.”
    “Are you mad?” the contractor said, in his thick Brooklyn accent. “We’re on a schedule. Cement is on its way. We’re pouring in less than an hour.”
    “Not anymore,” I told him as I walked toward the crime-scene tape.
    “Hey, Detective. Sorry about that,” said a young black sergeant, stepping up beside me as I arrived