The FBI agents exchange a look that suggests they have whatever they were after. I decide it’s time to terminate our little chat and get the hell out of here before one of us says—or neglects to say—something that might come back to haunt us. The agents look smug as they see us out.
The ramifications of the past half hour unnerve me. The prospect of Rick and Billy being found liable for millions of dollars in a lawsuit was a daunting-enough prospect. The added concern of not having insurance coverage to cover the cost has come as an unwelcome shock. That said, at the end of the day, the lawsuit is all about money. The threat of Billy and Rick facing criminal charges in the deaths of five people is a problem of a whole other magnitude. Is that where the FBI is heading?
Chapter Thirteen
The autumn wind is biting late the following Monday morning as we leave Ed Stankowski’s funeral mass at St. Aloysius Church. It’s an ill wind that portends even more heartache. Breaking somewhat with the Catholic Church custom of burial within two to three days of death, the burial was postponed an extra day to accommodate an autopsy and then again to avoid either a Halloween or Sunday service. In a further rupture from tradition, Ed’s widow eschewed a full-blown police funeral. Max told me that she remains bitter about the force casting Ed aside, railing, “Now they want to pay tribute? Why? To assuage their guilt about discarding him, or just to pretend they care?”
I’m with Papa, Brittany, and Pat. Brittany’s boyfriend, Bobby Harland, is also here at her request, and she’s leaning on him for support. I feel a little stab of irrational jealously; that used to be my job. Bobby and I have barely spoken… this is hardly a social occasion, let alone the time or place to get to know someone. As I watch Brittany and him together, I wonder what I don’t know about her life these days. A stupid thought, I know, but the topic of Brittany is a loaded one today. No sooner had I finished breakfast this morning than I was served with papers from my ex-wife. Michelle is taking me to court, seeking full custody of our daughter. This morning has been difficult enough for everyone as it is, so I haven’t mentioned Michelle’s bullshit to anyone. Breaking the news after dinner tonight or waiting until tomorrow will be plenty soon enough.
The church service brought back unwelcome memories of Mama’s elaborate funeral mass last summer in this very church. Ed, a Polish Catholic, had gotten the full treatment as well, including a vigil and service at the funeral home last night. We’d stayed away. Given Jake Plummer’s current hostility to Papa and reasoning that he might not be the only one of Ed’s buddies feeling that way, it seemed the prudent thing to do. Pat went and spoke to Ed’s widow to pass along our condolences and appreciation for all Ed had done and ultimately sacrificed to keep Papa safe. Mrs. Stankowski was very gracious, offered her thanks, and extended her apologies for any grief we’ve taken from Ed’s buddies. She told Pat that she wants to speak with Papa and me today.
So, we’re hanging around on the sidewalk twenty yards from the church entrance in case she still wants to. Mindful of Jake Plummer’s wrath, we’re doing our best to keep out of his way while remaining available.
Mrs. Stankowski emerges from the church into the sunlight with Max Maxwell and looks around. When Max points to us, she pats his arm and starts in our direction. Mrs. Stankowski is a fine-looking woman, a little taller than Ed’s modest height. She’s dressed in a calf-length black dress under an open slate-gray wool overcoat with a matching veiled pillbox hat that rests atop graying shoulder-length hair.
“Thanks for waiting,” she says in a crisp New England accent as she walks up to us.
I introduce myself, Pat, Brittany, and Bobby, leaving Papa for last.
“Ed was very fond of you,” she tells Papa after greeting him with a brief lean-in hug. “He told me last week that he didn’t mind getting shot for you, Francesco… not that he was happy about it,” she adds with the trace of a smile. “He enjoyed spending time at your home and probably would have come even if he didn’t have the security work for an excuse.”
Papa is overcome with emotion to the point at which he can’t speak. His eyes fill with gratitude and a few tears.
Mrs. Stankowski turns to me. “I’m sorry about Jake Plummer. Max told me he’s been hard on you. Jake’s real upset, but he shouldn’t be taking it out on you people.”
I wave the apology aside. “We understand. I know Jake’s a good guy.”
She nods. “I’m happy to hear that.”
This leads to an awkward moment. All that needs to be said has been said.
Mrs. Stankowski wears a sad smile when she touches Papa’s arm and says, “Okay, then. God bless you folks.”
We intend to go straight home. Papa has been attracting hostile stares from a few of Ed’s buddies. Like Plummer, they’re pissed at Papa for being outside with Ed that night and incensed at him for putting people at risk by refusing to move out of the house. Thankfully, the fossils who
