“Want her to stay,” Catherine whispered. “Talk alone. Please, Granny.” Tears trickled down the sides of Catherine’s pale face.

Renee gave me a look that seemed to question what her granddaughter

saw in me, but she moved with her usual decision. “You can have ten minutes. Eds, you and I will get a cup of coffee. And find out why the guard let this woman into the room.”

When the two had left, I made sure the door was shut all the way, then pulled a chair up next to Catherine’s head, leaning close to her so I could speak softly and keep any eavesdroppers from making out my words. “Ben jamin is safe, but I’m not going to tell you where he is. You’ve been gallant and heroic, standing up for him, but the police will be coming through here in waves. You’re Calvin and Renee Bayard’s granddaughter-the cops won’t abuse you-but they are going to question you. A lot. The less you know, the better for both you and Benjamin.”

“I rescued him. I … have a right-“

“This situation isn’t about rights; it’s about keeping Benjamin safe until we find out whether he really does have any terrorist affiliations.”

Her mouth set in a mulish line. “Benji is not a terrorist. I know him. He’s scared. He’s lonely. He needs me.”

I shook my head. “You can’t take him back to Larchmont. And even if you had some other place to hide him, you’re wounded. You couldn’t look after him. Besides which, the FBI is looking for him. Because they may be tailing me, I’m not trying to visit him. And as soon as you get out of this bed, they’re going to be questioning you. He’s safe where he is.”

“On your say-so. I looked after him for three weeks and never breathed a word to anyone.” She sat up in bed, her eyes fierce in her pale face. “You can’t just barge in and take him away and not tell me where he is.”

I shook my head, tired of the orders of the rich, even the young, ardent rich, but I said, “I will tell you if you promise not to try to see him until I let you know it’s safe. And if you agree to answer my questions.”

She thought it over for a minute, not wanting to give me anything, but finally agreed. When I told her he was at St. Remigio’s, she objected to my putting a Muslim in a Catholic rectory, but, after I’d described Father Lou, she reluctantly agreed it might work. Mindful of Renee’s timetable, I cut short Catherine’s further questions to ask my own.

“How did you come to take charge of Benji?”

The ghost of a smile flitted across her face. “In the cafeteria one day. I’d left my books. Room was empty, ‘cept for him. Saw him trying to read …

out of one of the third-grade books … helped him. After, he’d stop sometimes during lunch … he bussed tables, you know … he’d ask what a word meant … never intruded … I liked him … didn’t know his story … uncle died here … mom home in Cairo … three little sisters … a brother … sending them money … learned that … later.”