“ ‘All right,’ said Poison, and he was standing now, with his hand in his coat pocket, and he stepped forward until his ugly, scarred face was lit by the fire. ‘How much?’

“ ‘Five hundred dollars,’ said the shadow.

“ ‘All for me? What do I need to do for it?’

“ ‘Nothing,’ said the shadow. ‘I just want to take away one of your gang without you giving me trouble.’ And the shadow stepped forward into the circle of light from the fire, and it was Seamus. Like he was stepping toward me from out of a dream. And he said, ‘I want to take away Wayne.’

“Poison looked over at me with a sneer and said, ‘Wayne’s with us.’

“ ‘Not anymore,’ said Seamus.

“ ‘Do you have the money on you?’ said Poison.

“Seamus took an envelope out of his pocket. Poison stepped forward to reach for it. Seamus jerked it back. ‘Do we have a deal?’ he said.

“ ‘We’ll have to discuss it some,’ said Poison with an eerie smile plastered on his ugly face, but just as he said it, his hand jerked out of his coat pocket and he charged at Seamus, the fire shining in the knife’s long blade.

“Seamus turned sideways and kicked him in the face. Poison went spinning to the ground, his knife flying out of his hand. When Poison raised himself onto his knees, Seamus kicked him in the face again. Jesus, he just wiped him out. Then he looked around at the crew, saw me, and said, ‘Let’s go, Wayne.’ And I went. And he brought me here, to you, Father Kenneth. Do you remember?”

“I remember,” said Father Kenneth, nodding. “And we cleaned you up, bought you some clothes, and got you into a treatment program. But it was you who did the hard work. It was you who stuck with it.”

“Because Seamus visited and told me I had to. Because Seamus told me there was something golden on the other side.”

“And was he right?” asked Father Kenneth.

“What do you think, Father?”

“I think you’ve come a long way.”

“But if it was so golden, why did Seamus get back into the life? Why did he get himself killed like that?”

“I don’t know, son,” said Father Kenneth. “I don’t know.”

“And that’s why you think you were betrayed?” I said.

“He left me here alone,” said Wayne. “Without him.”

“Who was the old man who had helped him?” I said. “Did you ever find out?”

“No,” said Wayne. “He didn’t want to tell me anything about him, and I understood. That kind of thing, who would want to talk about it?”

“Was Seamus always a good fighter?”

“Hardly. He was one of those big, timid guys.”

“It didn’t sound like he was timid when he took on Poison.”

“It was like he was a different person, like he had turned into some sort of comic-book hero.”

“Was he ever arrested by the police, do you know?”

“Not that I was aware of,” said Wayne. “Not when he was hanging with me.”

“You have any idea what happened to Kylie?”

“She disappeared. Maybe you should ask her mom.”

“I tried,” I said, “but she didn’t know. She’s been too busy picking up her Mother of the Year award.”

“Is there anything else you need for that legal case of yours?” said Father Kenneth.

I looked at Beth, she shrugged. I slapped my knees and stood. Beth stood, too. “I think we’re through here, Father. Wayne, it was a pleasure meeting you. Thank you so much for your time. And good luck.”

“Give me a minute, Wayne,” said Father Kenneth before he led us out of the small room.

He was quiet for a long moment as we walked up the church aisle. “I don’t know if that helped,” he said finally, “but if you need anything more, give me a call, and I’ll do whatever I can.”

“Thank you, Father.”

“Now let me ask you, Mr. Carl. After hearing all that, is Wayne in any legal trouble?”

“I wouldn’t think so. All this happened a while ago. The statute of limitations on most everything he might have done would have already run.”

The priest glanced back toward the still-open door. “That’s good to know.”

“It looks like he’s trying,” I said.

“Oh, he is, Mr. Carl, believe me. But it will be a struggle still for a long time to come. Sometimes confession alone isn’t enough. Sometimes you can’t move forward until you’ve gone back to take care of the past. It would help him, I think, if we could find Kylie. And that man he beat up. He didn’t seem like a nice man, but even so, maybe I’ll find out his name. Maybe Wayne will find some way to make amends. You’ll keep me informed of anything more you find out about Seamus?”

“Sure, Father, if that’s what you want.”

“Oh, I do, yes. And best of luck in saving your client in that prison.”

“Thank you, sir,” I said. “We’ll certainly need it.”

13

“Quite the story,” said Beth as we wended our way out of Fishtown.

“Yes, it was,” I said.

“Three old friends, descending into the maelstrom of crime and drugs and prostitution, their bonds seemingly obliterated. And then, out of the blue, like some superhero with a cape, this Seamus Dent emerges to save his friend before succumbing to the dark side once and for all. But does anything we learned help François?”

“Not yet,” I said.

“Then what’s the point?”

“Most of the facts behind the murder of François Dubé’s wife were fully presented in court. They will become relevant if we get to try the case again, but not when we’re fighting to get a retrial. For this we need something new, something that will pique the judge’s interest. Seamus Dent’s story is exactly that.”

“But you said facts that might have affected credibility aren’t enough to get a new trial.”

“The facts themselves, no. But who else knew those facts? If the police were aware of his background, then the prosecutor might have known about it, too, and her failure to turn over the information to Whit would be a Brady violation.”

“Let’s subpoena her records.”

“They won’t show anything. Whatever anybody knew wouldn’t have been written down. We’re going to have to make the connection ourselves.”

“How do we do that?”

“I don’t know.”

“Victor, we’re not getting anywhere.” There was something in her voice, a line of frustrated desperation.

“Calm down,” I said slowly. “Don’t take this all so personally. It’s just another case. It’s been three hours today already, times two lawyers, times our usual fees, plus expenses, including mileage on the car. We’ve got a retainer to run through, and with our morning’s work we’re making a good start.”

She laughed. “My God, you get more cynical every day.”

“It’s just that over the years I’ve learned that most people in prisons deserve to be there.”

“I don’t believe that of François.”

“And you could tell by looking in his eyes.”

“Yes.”

“See, but you can’t. That’s just the way of it, Beth. He might be innocent, he might be guilty, he might be a saint, he might certainly be a sinner, but whatever he is, you can’t tell by looking in his eyes. The eyes aren’t the window to the soul, they are just sacks of jelly.”

She stayed quiet for a moment, unhappy, I could tell, with her cynical partner.

“You want to stop for lunch?” I said.

“And charge it to the client?”

“Sure, but we’ll consult about the case over Cokes and a burger. I could use a burger.”

“Victor.”

“All right, no lunch, but we still have one more visit.”

“Where?”

“The intersection of Whitaker and Macalester, just next to Juniata Park,” I said.

“What’s there?”

“Someone who might know how Seamus Dent was killed.”

The sergeant sat hunched at his desk, heavy eyebrows raised wearily. He looked as tired as the entire squat brick building, swamped as it was with a steady torrent of crime. There are twenty thousand auto thefts a year in Philadelphia, twenty thousand a year, every year, year upon year. And against all odds, the great majority of these cars are recovered. What condition they are recovered in is another story, but they are recovered still, and the center of this Sisyphean effort is the Philadelphia Police Department Auto Squad.