The hearse carrying Detective Mark Dempsey's casket north on upper Broadway was escorted by two lines of N.Y.P.D. officers on motorcycles. Three police helicopters flew in formation above the cortege as it turned into Trinity Cemetery at One-Hundred and Fifty-Third Street. Bagpipers at the burial site played a mournful dirge as the hearse approached, making its way through the rows of tombstones, some of them moss-covered and dating back centuries, to the freshly dug grave.

Dempsey's obituary in this morning's New York Times gave the cause of death as a heart attack, the after-effect of a stabbing he received in the line of duty. (An article later in the week would mention the irony of his having been buried almost within shouting distance of the underground lair that belonged to the serial killer who stabbed him. Police said the lair was discovered by a young man whose name was not given.)

City and police officials and fellow detectives watched solemnly as six white-gloved officers in dark blue uniforms carried the casket on their shoulders from the hearse to the grave, the coffin draped with the N.Y.P.D. flag of green stripes and blue and white stars.

The department priest gave the benediction, and Dempsey's older brother gave a short eulogy in a low voice that was difficult to hear. Then Commissioner Stuart Sherner came forward and faced the gathering. He drew a somber breath, and in a clear but comforting voice, spoke of the citation he was holding.

"One of New York's highest honors, the Police Combat Cross, has been awarded posthumously to Detective Lieutenant Mark Dempsey, for valor while engaged in action against an enemy of this great city and its people." Sherner went on to recount some of Dempsey's achievements during his rise through the ranks, from patrolman to homicide detective to special assistant to the commissioner, and concluded on a personal note. "Detective Dempsey gave this city a career of courage and inspiring leadership. I know his fellow officers will miss his comradeship and the example he set in carrying out his duties. For myself, I shall very much miss him as a valued associate and friend."

The honoree had been a bachelor, and so it was to Dempsey's young niece that Sherner then turned.

"Accepting the honor for her uncle on this solemn but proud day is Miss Sarah Michelle Dempsey."

Fourteen-year-old Sarah Dempsey, daughter of the brother who gave the eulogy, stepped up and stood at attention.

Sherner gently draped the beribboned Combat Cross around Sarah's neck. He stepped back and saluted the tear-stained young lady in black, then turned and stood shoulder-to-shoulder with her, the two facing the casket.

The pallbearer sergeant called out, "Present arms!"

The six pallbearers gave the casket a white-gloved salute. A young patrolman raised his trumpet and began to play Taps. Sherner put his hand on Sarah's shoulder as her uncle's casket was slowly lowered into the ground.

The N.Y.P.D. flag had been removed and folded into the traditional triangle. As the last note of Taps faded, the pallbearer sergeant presented the flag to Sarah and gave her a crisp salute.

There was a moment of silence – and then Sherner touched Sarah's shoulder, turning her toward the gravel path that led to the black department SUV that had brought her and her family to the ceremony.

The department and government people stood respectfully aside as Sarah and her family made their way to the car. Doris Sherner came over and stood with her husband.

"That was nicely done," she said.

"Thank you. He had his good moments."

"He had your balls in his fist."

Sherner gave her a sharp look.

She cocked an eyebrow. "Well, didn't he?"

"You don't have to put it quite like that." He glanced around to see if anyone else had heard.

"You can be what you're meant to be now," Doris said, "with no loose ends."

They separated themselves from the others and followed the gravel path back to the cars. Sherner checked over his shoulder, saw that his two security men were far enough back that they couldn't overhear them.

"The less we talk about it the better," he said.

"Whatever."

He knew he still couldn't rest easy, not without having put that fetus to rest. Even with Dempsey having taken care of its mother and putting her murder on Sickblade, there was still the fetus itself. He didn't truly believe the fire had destroyed it. Or if the thing had even been in the fire.

"Who knows that he wasn't keeping the brat-to-be for himself?" Doris said, as though she'd been reading his thoughts. "Bring it out at just the right moment and make his big play."

They'd had an open marriage from the beginning, agreeing that each could do as they pleased when it came to fidelity. But she was never going to completely forgive him for having gotten that Tanya pregnant.

But they'd work it out.

They always did.

Because they both knew they were each other's ticket to the bigtime.

# # #

I was going to take the subway, but Gaga insisted I use her driver to take me and Doc Granith out to Queens. I asked if she wanted to come with us, but she said it was better we go by ourselves, given the personal aspect of what we'd be doing and all. 

I called upstairs to Doc when we got to Agnes Marselli's building and he came down a minute later, moving OK in his walking cast and carrying a little wooden box. He got in the back and put the box between us and we settled in for the ride.

Not that it was a long one.

The driver took the Fifty-Ninth Street Bridge across the East River, cut over to the Long Island Expressway, went a couple miles in medium traffic and got off at the cemetery exit.

Curly Sasso's undertaker friend had arranged on the quiet to have a small grave dug next to where Tanya's was (a grave that would stay unmarked, given the circumstances), and that's where we were going to put the baby to rest. The baby Tanya never got to see. My nephew.

Doc had made a nice little casket, that box the fetus was resting in now. I'd thought about opening it in the car on the way out, but was having mixed emotions and decided that the last look was best left till graveside.

I glanced over at where we'd buried Szu not that long ago. Gave her headstone a nod and hoped she'd understand I'd be back to visit with her another time.

Doc hadn't said much on the trip out, didn't say anything when he opened the little casket now, the thing no bigger than a milk carton. He lifted the lid and set the casket on the ground, stepped back and stared at it – at that tiny person who never was, but who'd caused more complications than most people do in their whole lives.

Like his mother's death.

And some others as well.

Well, now him and her would be together.

"What are you thinking about?" Doc said.

"His mother."

Doc nodded. "Me, too."

We both stared some more at the fetus. I could see that Doc had shut its little eyes. It was quiet here, the only sounds a bird nearby chirping and the hum of the L.I.E. traffic.

"How well did you know her?" I said.

"Pretty well."

Which figured, them living in the same household. But something made me take it a step further.

"You ever sleep with her?"

He didn't answer right away. After a bit, he looked up and stared toward where the bird was chirping. "I loved her."

I watched him and the reality sunk in. Tanya had used him to manipulate Sherner. And when she was murdered and things started happening with the fetus, Doc being a doctor, he would naturally have had his own DNA run.

"You're the father, aren't you?"

He stared for another little while. Then he nodded. "I am."

(To be continued...)