hands. His white
shirt was pressed and immaculate, the cuffs carefully folded
51
John Donohue
back. Fiorella had freshly cut silver hair brushed back from a
pleasant face that looked like it had seen a great deal. Cop, I
thought.
He sat down behind a desk that had a gold nameplate, a
black phone with lots of buttons, and a carefully placed pen set
that had some sort of engraving in the base. The desktop was
polished and totally devoid of paper.
“So you’re the researcher,” he smiled. It wasn’t a crack; Fio-
rella seemed relaxed and open to my presence. “Lori told me
you’d be coming by.”
“I guess you’re supposed to bring me up to speed so I can
figure out what to do next. That’s what Roy tells me.”
Fiorella made a face. “Roy. What a troll. They get you set up
okay, with a room and everything?”
“Yeah,” I nodded. “A bit more elegant than the Motel 6.”
Fiorella grinned. “Just a bit. I gotta warn ya, though. Lori
will want her pound of flesh…”
“She seems like someone who’s used to getting what she
wants.”
Fiorella’s eyes went slightly out of focus as if he were men-
tally reviewing data for a second. “That’s probably a pretty
accurate observation, Dr. Burke.”
“Connor,” I told him.
Fiorella looked at me and squinted. “I got the background
on you. I ran across your brother once at a conference in New
York.” He seemed like he wanted to say more. It’s not an
unusual occurrence when I meet people who’ve met Micky.
“You’re not from around here, are you?” I was trying to
place his faint accent.
Fiorella smiled. “Not many people are. The Southwest is
filling up with people from all over. Nah,” he said, getting to
52
Kage
my question. “I retired as chief of homicide in Buffalo and
decided that fifty-five years of snow was enough.”
“How was the transition?”
“You know, Connor, every time there was a homicide in the
city of Buffalo, the chief had to be called in. Day or night. Hol-
idays. Weekends. I spent so much time at crime scenes talking
to the TV people, that my friends started to call me Captain
Video. Here? I get to sleep nights. I can get a full round of golf
in before work. I got a good staff of young, ambitious types and
a bunch of rich people staying for a few days, maybe drinking
too much or screwing too much, but that’s it. I keep a lid on
the over exuberant and keep the troops from stepping over the
line. It’s like a paid vacation.”
“You’ve got a homicide on your hands now,” I reminded
him. “Or at least that’s what your boss thinks.”
Charlie Fiorella grimaced. “There’s some differing opinions
on that…”
“But she’s got you working it, doesn’t she?”
He smiled. “You too.”
I held my hands up. “I’m just supposed to read her father’s
books and render an opinion.”
Fiorella stood up: a pretty good size, but trim and fit. He
was wearing creased gray trousers and shiny oxblood loafers
with little tassels on them. He swung a navy blazer off a chair,
straightened his tie. “Let’s take a walk, Connor.”
“What? The walls have ears?”
Fiorella shrugged. “Who knows? Probably. Mostly, it’s time
for me to make the rounds. Show my face to the troops.”
We wandered around the hotel grounds. Fiorella moved with
an easy economy, like someone who’d done it for a long time.
He’d stop occasionally and have brief, low-voiced conversations
53
John Donohue
with various people. They all smiled and seemed both respect-
ful and genuinely glad to see him. If Lori Westmann’s presence
made everyone stiffen up, Charlie Fiorella seemed to have the
knack for making people feel comfortable. Probably not a bad
skill for an investigator.
“You know what Lori wants you to find don’t you?” he
asked me as we ambled along a shaded colonnade by a pool.
Attendants were busy collecting wet towels and taking drink
orders from vacationers in various
shirt was pressed and immaculate, the cuffs carefully folded
51
John Donohue
back. Fiorella had freshly cut silver hair brushed back from a
pleasant face that looked like it had seen a great deal. Cop, I
thought.
He sat down behind a desk that had a gold nameplate, a
black phone with lots of buttons, and a carefully placed pen set
that had some sort of engraving in the base. The desktop was
polished and totally devoid of paper.
“So you’re the researcher,” he smiled. It wasn’t a crack; Fio-
rella seemed relaxed and open to my presence. “Lori told me
you’d be coming by.”
“I guess you’re supposed to bring me up to speed so I can
figure out what to do next. That’s what Roy tells me.”
Fiorella made a face. “Roy. What a troll. They get you set up
okay, with a room and everything?”
“Yeah,” I nodded. “A bit more elegant than the Motel 6.”
Fiorella grinned. “Just a bit. I gotta warn ya, though. Lori
will want her pound of flesh…”
“She seems like someone who’s used to getting what she
wants.”
Fiorella’s eyes went slightly out of focus as if he were men-
tally reviewing data for a second. “That’s probably a pretty
accurate observation, Dr. Burke.”
“Connor,” I told him.
Fiorella looked at me and squinted. “I got the background
on you. I ran across your brother once at a conference in New
York.” He seemed like he wanted to say more. It’s not an
unusual occurrence when I meet people who’ve met Micky.
“You’re not from around here, are you?” I was trying to
place his faint accent.
Fiorella smiled. “Not many people are. The Southwest is
filling up with people from all over. Nah,” he said, getting to
52
Kage
my question. “I retired as chief of homicide in Buffalo and
decided that fifty-five years of snow was enough.”
“How was the transition?”
“You know, Connor, every time there was a homicide in the
city of Buffalo, the chief had to be called in. Day or night. Hol-
idays. Weekends. I spent so much time at crime scenes talking
to the TV people, that my friends started to call me Captain
Video. Here? I get to sleep nights. I can get a full round of golf
in before work. I got a good staff of young, ambitious types and
a bunch of rich people staying for a few days, maybe drinking
too much or screwing too much, but that’s it. I keep a lid on
the over exuberant and keep the troops from stepping over the
line. It’s like a paid vacation.”
“You’ve got a homicide on your hands now,” I reminded
him. “Or at least that’s what your boss thinks.”
Charlie Fiorella grimaced. “There’s some differing opinions
on that…”
“But she’s got you working it, doesn’t she?”
He smiled. “You too.”
I held my hands up. “I’m just supposed to read her father’s
books and render an opinion.”
Fiorella stood up: a pretty good size, but trim and fit. He
was wearing creased gray trousers and shiny oxblood loafers
with little tassels on them. He swung a navy blazer off a chair,
straightened his tie. “Let’s take a walk, Connor.”
“What? The walls have ears?”
Fiorella shrugged. “Who knows? Probably. Mostly, it’s time
for me to make the rounds. Show my face to the troops.”
We wandered around the hotel grounds. Fiorella moved with
an easy economy, like someone who’d done it for a long time.
He’d stop occasionally and have brief, low-voiced conversations
53
John Donohue
with various people. They all smiled and seemed both respect-
ful and genuinely glad to see him. If Lori Westmann’s presence
made everyone stiffen up, Charlie Fiorella seemed to have the
knack for making people feel comfortable. Probably not a bad
skill for an investigator.
“You know what Lori wants you to find don’t you?” he
asked me as we ambled along a shaded colonnade by a pool.
Attendants were busy collecting wet towels and taking drink
orders from vacationers in various
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