Kathleen watched me studying my hand. She said, “If Chief Blaunert’s involved in the cover up, why didn’t he destroy the evidence? It’s been two weeks.”
“I’m guessing he hasn’t had a chance, what with all the press coverage, candlelight vigils, and people coming day and night to place shrine items on the lawn.”
“But he must have known the insurance company would send someone to investigate.”
“That’s the thing. He told me he wasn’t expecting anyone this soon, which tells me no one has filed the claim yet. Or if it’s been filed, someone at the insurance company has either submitted a phony report or they’re delaying their investigation.”
“Are you sure this DeMeo guy has that much clout?”
“That much and more.”
Again she looked at the piece of sandwich in her hand but didn’t taste it.
“There’s something bothering you,” I said. “What is it?”
“Are you in danger?” she asked.
“I could be. The chief probably called DeMeo this morning right after my guy set the appointment. DeMeo probably told him to meet me and find out what I was up to.”
“Doesn’t DeMeo know you’re with the government? Doesn’t he know you’ll turn him in?”
I smiled. “These things aren’t as black and white as you might think. Taking Joe DeMeo down won’t be easy. He’s killed enough people to fill a cemetery.”
Kathleen’s eyes began to cloud up. “Are you going to die on me?”
“Not on purpose,” I said. “But nine million dollars is a lot of money, even to Joe DeMeo.”
“What will he do?”
“Send some goons to try to kill me.”
She put her uneaten sandwich wedge back on her plate. “Donovan, I’m scared. What if he really does send some men to kill you?”
“I’ll kill them first.”
“You can do that?”
I smiled. “I can.”
“Are you sure?” she said. “You aren’t even scared?”
“Not even,” I said, trying to sound not even scared. Then I asked her to help me tape the fingers and wrist of my left hand.
“Why are we doing this?” she asked.
“Don’t turn around,” I said, “but DeMeo’s goons are here.”
A look of panic flashed across her face. “What? Where? How many are there?”
“Two in the parking lot, one in the kitchen.”
“Jesus Christ, Donovan! What are we going to do?”
“The right thing.”
“What, call the cops?”
“No. The right thing in this situation is kill the guy in the kitchen first.”
“Kill him?” Her words came out louder than she’d intended. I noticed the couple across from us glancing in our direction. Katherine lowered her voice. “Why would your first thought be to kill him?”
