“I understand.”
“In the meantime, I need you to do something that’s going to be difficult.” He looked at me steadily.
“I need you to see Gerald.
In person.
Before the funeral arrangements are finalized.”
“Why?”
“Because right now he thinks you don’t know anything.
That’s the only advantage you have.
If he sees you grieving and trusting, he’ll relax.
And when people relax, they make mistakes.” He slid a small card across the table.
“I want you to wear a wire.”
The coffee shop was warm.
Someone at the next table was laughing at something on their phone.
“You want me to sit across from the man who may have k*lled my mother,” I said, “and my father, and act like I don’t know.”
“Yes.”
Gerald suggested we meet at the house — Frank’s house, the one I had grown up in, which Gerald had a key to because Frank had trusted him with one years ago and never asked for it back.
