Chapter 127

 

New York, New York, 1985

 

When she was young the dream of coming here paled all others, now she was here and the place terrified her.

Nervously she plucked at aggravating lint on her navy skirt. She watched the man’s face for some hint as he continued to read through the reports. Now and then he shook his head and smiled. Finally he looked up and said, “Mrs. Quinn, I’m going to have to admit everything you’ve been told by your own physicians is true. All these new tests confirm is there is nothing physically wrong with your son’s arm.”

“He can’t move it.”

“I’m well aware he won’t move it.”

“You’re tellin’ me my Paddy’s bluffing. A child his age?”

“No.” He reached out to pat the worried mother’s hand. “The boy’s not bluffing. You’re right he’s too young to carry it off so well. It’s a deeper emotional problem. When your son had his accident, did something else occur at the same time—or shortly after? Perhaps some drastic change took place in his young life?”

She needed only a moment to consider. “Plenty, why after the accident we moved in with my husband.”

“Your husband?”

“Well, sure, he wasn’t my husband then. I was his housekeeper and tended ta his sick pa.”

“Your husband is not Paddy’s father?”

“Not by birth.”

“Then we probably have part of the answer—jealousy. Paddy dislikes your new husband?”

This brought a smile to Sandra Quinn’s lips. “Not the case at all. Why Paddy’s been callin’ that man papa and loving him before he’d even the right.”

“And your husband? How does he feel about the boy? Perhaps unconsciously he rejects him and the child senses it?”

“Not hardly. Richard pampers him fierce. No Doctor, it’s more I should feel neglected not our son.” She could see in his expression he didn’t believe her. Why was it so difficult to accept that a man could love a child that wasn’t his? All men took their children on faith. She felt like telling him, his own weans might look like him but that was no assurance they were his, especially if he has a brother— the man’s a doctor, heavens he knows that. She kept her tongue in check.

 He asked, “Your husband is still in England?” She nodded. “We could be considering this from the wrong angle. Children have a tendency to cling to symbols for security, a blanket, a binky, a bottle. After his accident Paddy acquired his father; he could be associating that achievement with the loss of the use of his arm.”

“That’s ridiculous! A boy, Paddy’s age, able to concoct—”

“Hold on.” He grinned at her. “I don’t mean to give the impression he’s consciously aware of what he’s doing. I don’t believe for a second he’s smart enough to deliberately make his arm into a security blanket.”

“Holy Mother, and what do I do about it? Will he go through life hugging that limb to his chest?”

“No, I don’t think that will happen. I think if you keep up the therapy and the relationship between Paddy and his new father is as strong as you say in no time the child will lose the need for his crutch.”

~~~

 

Only Richard Quinn wasn’t with them. She was beginning to doubt they would every see him again. Since the morning Thomas Devlin had come to fetch them, ‘take only necessities’ he’d ordered and, she’d felt like a criminal in flight.

“A short stay”, he’d promised, “then Rick will join you”, but it was turning into months. The holidays came and went in the big house, where too often she heard her child cry himself to sleep. Paddy had reverted to bed wetting and was developing such a nasty disposition she didn’t dare leave him alone with Stella, the housekeeper whom he plagued to no end.

“Ain’t nothing like our Gavin,” the woman assured hourly until Sandra longed to trade her own urchin for that virtuous boy she’d never met. Now and then Richard would call, but it made matters worse, for afterwards Paddy carried on and they both cried together for hours.

This morning she forced the pink rubber ball between his tiny fingers and ordered, “Squeeze,” as she began the tedious massage of his arm.

“Hurt me.” Paddy whined.

“I’ll be hurtin’ you; you don’t do like you’re told. Squeeze the blasted ball!” She shook the small body. “Squeeze!” In spite, Paddy opened his fingers and let the ball roll free. “Rotten boy!” Her hand slashed across his cheek. “Holy Mother,” she wailed gathering up her howling youngster. “I’m sorry, Paddy, Mummie didn’t mean to hurt you.” Her tears mimicked his.

He sniffled as if in understanding. “Papa come soon.”

Sadly she smiled at the confidence in the tiny face. “Of course he will.” She thought she lied.

“Tom say so.”

“And he’d be the one to know.” Her words had a sarcastic ring. In and out like a blasted breeze, Tom Devlin was. An hour or two and then he’d be gone for—weeks.

A child of this big house had been on trial in London for murder. Devlin told her very little about it. But a worried Stella quickly became her confidant and together they watched the news and read the papers as they followed the agonizing trial. Though Tom never gave her the slightest hint her husband was involved in this terrible travesty, in her heart she knew he was.

“Hey, what gives?”

Pushing away from his mother, the small boy hurled himself at the crouching male with a happy shriek. Allowing several rewarding swigs, Devlin made no mention of the tears or bright pink cheek. Finally setting the boy down he ordered, “Go let Stella horse you up in that ridiculous snowsuit.”

“You’re takin’ me out?” Was accompanied by a squeal of pleasure.

“Better than that. We’re going to fetch your pa. Now move it.” This was rewarded by another squeal and the quickly scurrying feet.

“You’d not be joking with us?” Sandra begged as she watched her son’s vanishing form.

“Never,” Devlin smiled. “It’s like I told you, Rick had some things to clear up before he came over. He thought it best for you and the boy to stay here.”

“Oh, Tom, I’ve been so wretched to you.”

“Forget it. Who could blame you? Hell, you hardly knew me—a voice on the phone. Then I’m dragging you off to God knows where. You held up a lot better than we had a right to expect. Now let’s go greet that flight.”

~~~

 

The child spotted him first, and the two men approaching Rory Hanlon were nearly knocked off balance by the miniature tornado hurling between them. “PAPA!”

Hanlon dropped his onboard luggage and scooped up his son. Two small arms encircled his neck and his stern mouth creased in a wide grin.

Then his moment of pleasure died as an ID flashed in a pink palm. “Mr. Hanlon? the black man said. “Immigration.”

Thomas Devlin said, “Wrong man,” and stepped by them to side Hanlon as he continued. “Gentlemen, this is Mr. Richard Quinn. I’m meeting him as a favor to Senator Michael O’Neill.”

Well aware of this intruder’s identity, the white officer replied, “Mr. Devlin? We would simply like to question Mr… Quinn? On a few items concerning his identity. If he would accompany us?”

“I’m certain Mr. Quinn would be only too willing to comply. He is allowed legal representation?”

The black officer sneered. “You being that representation?”

His partner frowned and said, “It’s really not necessary. If everything is in order.”

“Tom comes.” Hanlon said. “What about my wife and kid? You going to detain them too?”

“Of course not.” The white officer shrugged as if such an idea never came to them.

“Sally, take the lad out of here.”

“No, Papa.” Paddy slapped at his mother with one hand while the no longer useless arm clung to his father’s neck and he whimpered, “stay with you.”

“Haven’t seen my boy in months,” Hanlon said. “Sent him to your country for treatment.” He caressed the tiny limb. “Suppose I should be damn grateful.” Carefully he loosened the arm from around his neck, as he kissed the small forehead and said, “Paddy, go with your ma, I’ll be along in a bit.”

“Stay with you!” Paddy’s pitiful wail caused a number of rushing commuters to stop and stand watching the tableau. “STAY WITH YOU PAPA! STAY WITH YOU!” “Gentlemen,” Devlin said. “Mr. Quinn and his family are guests at the O’Neill’s making him very convenient to reach. What do you say? If I tend to the paper work? I’m certain everything is in order. Why, couldn’t your questions wait?”

The two officers found themselves confronted with a sobbing child, a delicate young female whose accusing eyes were on the verge of tears, and a growing crowd of spectators some who were becoming verbal. “All right,” the black officer said. “You can go with your family for now Mr. Quinn? If you’d come this way Mr. Devlin.”

As he stepped between the officers Devlin said, “Rick, I promised Paddy an airport lunch. I should be right along—meet you in the lounge.” As they headed towards an office they could hear the condolence being offered to the family behind them. Devlin grinned as he heard the title, ‘Gestapo!’ emphasizing one gentleman’s opinion of the law in general.

~~~

 

 For the better part of an hour, Dan Mitchell had remained in the shadows and watched the progress of the show he’d instigated. Now, as the American agents approached him, he showed the aggravation in his tone. “You could have detained him temporarily. Or at least questioned the man himself.”

“Don’t sweat it Inspector, he’s not going anywhere.” The white official said. “You’ll get your chance at him. Tomorrow morning, our office, at nine o’clock.”

“But you’d better have more than you’ve shown us, so far.” His black counterpart grumbled. “Quinn’s not even Irish. That briefcase he handed Devlin contained a legitimate Canadian passport. Hell, man, he’s carrying Canadian plastic that’s over sixteen years old. You should see the limits.” He whistled.

“You think he will show?”