“Yeah,” I said. “A tough break for his sister.”
“Do you think it‟s tied in to these other deaths?”
“I wouldn‟t know. The body‟s down south of here. The autopsy will be done there.”
“I see. Look, I want you to know that any help you give us in cleaning up this mess will be greatly
appreciated. Things have been happening so fast it‟s hard to assimilate them.”
“Yeah,” I said, “the pace has been breezy.”
“I suppose you‟re accustomed to such things.”
“Not really. Murder is always ugly, no matter where it happens or who the victim is.”
“Yes, I suppose. At any rate, if you need any help at all from me, just ask.”
“Thanks,” I said. After a decent pause I asked, “Did you know Tagliani?” I tried to sound casual.
“Yes. But as Frank Turner.”
“Were you social friends?”
“Not at all. I met with Turner on a couple of occasions to help him get oriented, but that was some
time ago.”
“And to size him tip?” I suggested.
He stared at me intently for a few seconds, then nodded slowly. “That, too.”
“So you knew him personally?”
“Not really; it was all business. I haven‟t seen him to talk to since he moved here.”
“When was that?”
“I couldn‟t say accurately. About three years ago.”
“Did you meet here in Dunetown?”
He nodded. “The first time we were supposed to meet at the old Beach Hotel, but it didn‟t suit him, so
we switched the meeting to Charlie Seaborn‟s yacht. The second time he had his own boat down
here.”
“What did you talk about?”
“Development ideas, other money interests. Later he put us on to”—he waved a hand vaguely in the
air—”several others.
“Bronicata, Chevos,” I said.
“Yes, only not by those names. You‟ve got to remember, he came very highly recommended. He had
development resources, excellent credit references, all in the name of Frank Turner.”
“And you never suspected who he really was?”
His face clouded up. “Of course not,” he said. There was a touch of indignation in his tone but he
tempered it quickly. “Look,” he went on, “we were looking for developers here. It was obvious the
track was going to change things, and Turner talked an excellent game. He seemed very civic-minded.
His development ideas were sound. We had no reason to doubt him.”
“I wasn‟t accusing you of anything,” I said.
“I know that. I just want you to understand, this is all very new to us. At worst we were guilty of
naiveté.”
Babs Thomas appeared in the doorway, tapping her foot.
“The party‟s in here,” she said sternly. “You two can talk football, or whatever you‟ve found so
damned interesting, some other time. And you, Sam, have a phone call. I think it‟s Charlie. You can
take it in the bedroom.”
“Damn” Donleavy said. “I‟m sorry. „We can finish this over lunch tomorrow.”
“Just one other thing,” I said. “Do you happen to remember the date „Tagliani came here the first
time?”
He thought about it for several seconds, then took out a business card and scrambled a number on the
back.
“No, but I‟ve got an old date book at home,” he said. “Here‟s my number. Give me a call about
quarter to eight and I can give it to you precisely. Don‟t wait until eight or you‟ll be out of luck. Dutch
Morehead usually calls me then. We talk once a week, keeps me in touch. He‟s very prompt and
we‟ve been known to talk for an hour or more.”
I thanked him, pocketed the card, and we started back inside. As Donleavy hurried off to take his call,
Stonewall Titan materialized from behind a potted plant.
“Hello, doughboy,” he said. “Don‟t miss a trick, do you? Just pop up everywhere.”
“I was thinking the same thing about you,” I said.
Titan looked at me, the candles igniting sparks in his narrowed eyes.
“You‟ve done it again, raised more hell, ain‟t you, son?”
“What do you mean?” I asked.
“I mean your conversation with Harry at the track. That was a damn fool thing to do.”
“„time somebody levelled with him.”
“You‟re a bad penny, doughboy,” he growled. “You show up back here and within four days we got
somethin‟ akin to twelve homicides.”
He slashed at a potted plant with his cane.
“I haven‟t had two unsolved goddamn homicides at the same time in this county in forty damn years.
Now I got twelve!”
Donleavy came out of the bedroom, made his apologies, and left to await Dutch‟s weekly call, waving
good-bye as he did. It was seven fifteen. In another thirty minutes we could all leave.
“I‟ll give it to you again,” I said. “I didn‟t cause the homicides and murder isn‟t my game. It‟s not
why I came here and it isn‟t why I‟m staying.”
“I mean altogether I haven‟t had twelve unsolved homicides since I been sheriff,” he said, ignoring
my comments. “You understand my concern when we have twelve in the space of a couple of days?”
“Sure.”
“Sure? What do you mean, sure?”
“I mean sure, 1 understand your consternation.”
“Hot damn, college boy. Consternation. Well, listen close, because my consternation tells me you
know one helluva lot more about what the hell‟s goin‟ on than I do, and since this is my county, I
think it‟s time we shared whatever information you might have.”
I smiled. “And what would I get out: of it?” I asked.
“Your ass, in one piece,” he said flatly.
I laughed. “What‟re you going to do, Mr. Stoney, put out a contract on me?”
“It may be funny to you, doughboy—”
“That‟s not what I‟m laughing about,” I said, cutting him off. “I‟ve been under the impression we
were both on the same side.”
He ignored my comment and went right on making his point. “I‟m not without considerable influence
where it means something,” he said. „1 could have your tail bent till it hurts by just raisin‟ a question
or two about your conduct of this investigation.”
“I‟m sure you could.”
“What the hell‟s goin‟ on? What are you after, Kilmer?”
“I‟m looking for RICO violations, M. Stoney. You know that. Now, I could be wrong. Tagliani may
very well have inched in here without anybody knowing who he really was. But I‟ve got to know that
for sure.”
“No matter who gets hurt, that it?”
“I don‟t give a damn whose tombstones I have to kick over to get to the truth.”
“Or whose bed you sleep in?”
“Who are you really worried about, Mr. Stoney? Who are you trying to cover?”
“The integrity of my county,” he snapped.
I shook my head with disbelief. “You mean what‟s left of it, don‟t you?”
“You can be an irritatin‟ son of a bitch.”
“Probably. I didn‟t come here to run for Queen of the May.” His tone became more condescending.
“I don‟t wanna see things blown out of proportion, okay, doughboy? People make mistakes. It‟s
natural. We ain‟t all perfect.”
“I‟ll buy that,” I said. “I just want to make sure that‟s what they were—mistakes.”
“I‟m tellin‟ you they were.”
“Sheriff, I‟ll tell you everything I think. Not what I know, because I don‟t know that much. I think the
same gun killed Tagliani, Stinetto, and O‟Brian, possibly an American 180. I think the same gun was
used to kill Stizano and his bunch and Draganata, probably an M-16 equipped with a grenade
launcher. Whoever used them has a military background and killed Logeto and Graves‟ girlfriend,