“So this Joe DeMeo character, he gave the chief enough money to look the other way?”
“I expect the money was a bonus, like a reward for doing the right thing. DeMeo probably got the chief’s attention by threatening his wife, kids, and grandchildren.”
The composite plastic affixed to the edge of my hand was invented by an engineering team at the University of Michigan in mid-2007. It’s strong as steel and as thin and pliable as a small sheet of paper. Made from clay and nontoxic glue, it mimics the brick and-mortar molecular structure found in seashells. The nanosheets of plastic are layered like bricks and held together with a gluelike polymer that creates cooperative hydrogen bonds between the layers. It takes several hours to build up the three hundred layers needed to make the thin sheet I kept in my wallet at all times.
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 fi ngers 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.”
“
“I don’t want him sneaking up behind me while I’m attacking the others.”
“You’re planning to attack the others? Trained killers? No way,” she said. “I’m calling the cops!”
I put my taped hand on her arm, shook my head. “Don’t make such a fuss. This is what I do.”
She looked … everything at once. Angry. Frightened. Exasperated. The businessman at the table across from us got to his feet. He put a little menace into his voice for my benefit while speaking to Kathleen. “Are you okay? Do you need any help?” She looked at him and back at me, and we locked eyes. She smiled at the man and shook her head no. Then she settled back in her seat, took in a deep breath, let it out slowly. When she spoke, her voice was small but steady. “Okay.”
“Ma’am?” the businessman said.
“I’m fine. Really,” Kathleen said, and the guy eased back into his seat, much to the relief of his wife. He did the
