CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

"According to the radio," said Angelina, "the real storm's going to hit this evening."

"Lake Effect," said Arlene.

John Wellington Frears looked up from the book he was perusing. "Lake Effect? What is that?"

Like true Buffalonians, both Arlene and Angelina were eager to explain the meteorological wonder that was a cold arctic air mass sweeping across Lake Erie, depositing incredible amounts of snow on the Buffalo area, especially in the "snow belt" south of the city along the lake.

Frears looked out the twelfth-story window at the blowing snow and blue-black clouds moving toward them across the frozen river and lake. "This isn't the snow belt?"

The penthouse was a pleasant enough place of refuge during the long winter day. Kurtz knew that it was literally the lull before the storm.

A little before noon, Angelina brought the bodyguard Marco into the corner kitchen, where Kurtz stood with binoculars, looking down at the Pontiac and the old Chevy parked back-to-back along Marina Drive. Seeing Marco, Kurtz touched the pistol on his belt.

"It's all right," said Angelina. "Marco and I have had several long talks and he's in this with us."

Kurtz studied the big man. Marco had a good poker face, but there was no denying the intelligence behind those gray eyes. Obviously Angelina had appealed to the bodyguard's loyalty and good nature—and then promised him shitloads of money when this dustup with the Gonzagas was over. With the $200,000 she'd taken from James B. Hansen's safe that morning, she could afford a few payoffs.

Kurtz nodded and went back to watching the watchers.

James B. Hansen's audience with the Boy Scouts and their troop leaders went well. Captain Millworth gave a short speech in the briefing room and then the scouts and their leaders came up to have their photographs taken with the homicide detective. There was a photographer there from the Buffalo News, but no reporter.

Later, Hansen walked across the street to the courthouse for a private lunch with the Mayor and the Chief. The topic was the bad press the city and Department were getting because of the increased drug trade flowing through Buffalo to and from Canada and the resulting increase in murders, especially in the African-American community. The Mayor also had concerns about Buffalo being the first stop for Islamic terrorists carrying explosives in from Canada, although one glance exchanged between the Chief and Hansen communicated their skepticism about someone wanting to bomb Buffalo.

All during these activities, Hansen was considering the complicated mess that had blotched out like an ink stain on felt over the past few days. If possible, he would like to continue in his Captain Millworth persona for another year or so, although the events of the past twenty-four hours made that very problematic. A lot of people would have to be buried, and soon, in order for him to maintain this identity.

Well, thought Hansen, I've already buried a lot of people. A few more won't matter.

Hansen had always been excellent at multitasking, so he easily made comments and handled the occasional question from the Chief or Mayor while pondering strategies for the resolution of this Kurtz-Frears problem. It bothered him that he still could not get in touch with Dr. Howard Conway in Cleveland. Perhaps the old fairy had taken his muscled pretty-boy and gone on vacation.

When Hansen's cell phone first rang, he ignored it. But it rang again. And then again.

"Excuse me, Chief, Mr. Mayor," he said, "I have to take this." He stepped into the small sitting room next to the courthouse dining room and answered the phone.

"Honey, Robert, you've got to come home. Someone's broken in and—"

"Whoa, whoa, slow down, sugar. Where are you?" Donna should have been at the library until three.

"They closed the library because of the storm, Robert. The schools are shutting down early as well. I picked Jason up during his usual lunch hour and we came home and… someone's broken in, Robert! Shall I call the police? I mean, I did, you are, but you know what I mean—"

"Calm down," said Millworth. "What did they steal?"

"Nothing, I think. I mean, Jason and I can't find anything missing from the house. But they left the door to your basement office open, Robert. I peeked in… I'm sorry, but I thought they might still be in there… but the door was open and the door to a big safe is open in there, Robert. I didn't go in, but they obviously did, the thieves, I mean. I didn't know you had a safe down there, Robert. Robert? Robert?"

Hansen had gone cold all over. Spots danced in front of his eyes for a minute. He sat down on the small couch in the sitting room. "Donna? Don't call the police. I'm coming home. Stay upstairs. Don't go in the office. You and Jason stay where you are."

"Robert, why do you think—"

Hansen broke the connection and went in to tell the Chief and the Mayor that something important had come up.

Marco showed them the marina pay phone where Little Skag would be calling for his weekly information update. Marco said that Leo usually did the talking. Kurtz, Angelina, and the bodyguard had left the apartment tower by its south door, out of sight of Brubaker and Myers, parked on the street to the north. Angelina told Marco to return to the penthouse, and Kurtz rigged the small cassette recorder and microphone wire the don's daughter had supplied.

The call came precisely at noon. Angelina answered it. With the additional earphone, Kurtz could eavesdrop on the conversation.

"Angie… what the fuck are you doing there?"

Angelina winced. She had always hated the nickname.

"Stevie, I wanted to talk to you… privately."

"Where the fuck are Leo and Marco?"

"Busy."

"Miserable incompetent motherfuckers. I'm going to fire their asses."

"Stevie, we need to talk about something."

"What?" To Kurtz's ear, his former fellow convict sounded not only irritated but alarmed.

"You've been hiring cops to whack people. Detective Brubaker, for instance. I know you've put him on the payroll that used to go to Hathaway."

Silence. Little Skag obviously didn't know what his sister was up to, but he wasn't about to encourage his own entrapment. Finally, "What the fuck are you talking about, Angie?"

"I don't care about Brubaker," said Angelina, her breath fogging in the cold air, "but I've gone over the family notes and I see that Gonzaga's got a captain of detectives on the arm. A guy named Millworth."

Silence.

"Millworth's not really Millworth," said Angelina. "He's a serial killer named James B. Hansen… and a bunch of other aliases. He's a child-killer, Stevie. A rapist and a killer."

Kurtz heard Little Skag let out a breath. If this dealt with Gonzaga, it was not his sister trying to entrap him. "So?" said Little Skag.

"So do you really want me doing this deal with Emilio when he has a child-killer on his payroll?"

Little Skag laughed. It was an unpleasant laugh and every time Kurtz had heard it in Attica, it had been at someone else's expense.

"Do I give a flying fuck who Emilio hires?" said Little Skag. "If this cop is a killer like you say, it just means that the Gonzagas own him. They got him by the balls. Now put Leo on."

"I wouldn't expect you to do anything about someone who rapes kids," said Angelina.

"What the fuck is that supposed to mean?"

"You know what it means, Stevie. You and that high-school Connors girl who disappeared twelve years ago. Emilio kidnapped her, but you were in on it—you raped her, didn't you?"

"What the fuck are you talking about? Have you gone out of your mind? Who gives a shit about something that happened twelve years ago?"

"I do, Stevie. I don't want to do business with a man who pays a serial child-killer."