“All right,” she said.
“Here it is, Mother Moffitt,” Coughlin said. “That’s Jack’s badge.”
“That’s Jack’s badge?” she asked, looking at the badge Coughlin was holding out to her.
“Yes, it is.”
“You told me, Dennis Coughlin, that it had been buried with him.”
“I was wrong,” Coughlin said.
“And where was it all these years? She had it, didn’t she?”
“Patricia’s Jack’s widow, Mother Moffitt.”
She snatched the badge out of his hand.
“Well, at least she won’t have it now,” Mother Moffitt said.
“If you will all go into the conference room now?” Dianna Kerr-Gally asked, gesturing at a door. “We can get the ceremony under way.”
When the mayor tried to follow the procession into the conference room, Dianna Kerr-Gally held up her arm, palm extended, to stop him.
He stopped.
Dianna Kerr-Gally, using her fingers and mouthing the numbers, counted downward from ten, then signaled the mayor to go into the conference room.
He walked briskly to the head of the table, where a small lectern had been placed. He looked around the room, smiling, attempting to lock eyes momentarily with everyone.
There were five promotees, all of whom looked older than Detective Payne, and all but Payne were in uniform. Two of the promotees were gray-haired. All the promotees were accompanied by family and/or friends. Dianna Kerr-Gally had put out the word no more than four per promotee, and apparently that had been widely ignored. The large room was crowded, just about full.
There were three video cameras at the rear of the room, and at least half a dozen still photographers. One of them was Michael J. O’Hara of the Bulletin.
I’ll have to remember to thank him for that front-page story about the task force.
Jesus, is that who I think it is? It damn sure is.
Brewster C. Payne in the flesh.
The last time I saw him was on Monday in Washington, in the Senate Dining Room. He was the “something really important has come up” reason our distinguished senior senator was sorry he couldn’t have lunch with me.
What’s his connection with Detective Payne?
When Dianna Kerr-Gally came to the lectern to hand him the three-by-five cards from which he would speak, he motioned her close to him and whispered, “The tall WASP in the back of the room?”
She looked and nodded.
“His name is Brewster Payne,” she whispered back.
“I know who he is. Ask him if he can spare me a minute when this is over.”
She nodded.
“If I may have your attention, ladies and gentlemen?” the mayor began, raising his voice so that it could be heard over the hubbub in the room.
The next time we do something like this, there should be a microphone.
“I realize you’re a busy man, Mr. Payne,” the mayor said, as Dianna Kerr-Gally ushered Brewster Payne into his office. “But I did want to say hello. I don’t think we’ve ever actually met, have we?”