“You can run Tommy Burke, but you can’t hide.” He hadn’t bothered to look at the caller ID before answering his office phone. “Hi, Mom” “Tommy, a lesser mother might think her son is avoiding her, but not me, I am sure you have a terrific reason why you haven’t called your mother in over in a week.” The guilt. The Catholic guilt. His mother always reverted to it because it worked. He went from a year old grown adult male, full of confidence, to a sniveling eight year old boy in less than two seconds. “Mom, you know I love you, it’s just that I’ve been consumed by this case,” he offered, knowing this would not sate his mother. “Tommy, I know you are a big homicide detective who is incredibly dedicated to his job, but I find it hard to believe you didn’t have five minutes of free time to call your mother just to let her know you were still breathing. You know I worry about you.” “I’m fine mom.” “So you say,” she replied, “but how would I know that?”
