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I felt like we’d been constantly bombarded with big problems, one after another. The gang killings of two teens, the Bulldog murders, the drive-by shooting—and the slaying of Father Barry. How close my wife, my son, and my grandmother had all come to dying. How closeI’dcome.

“Tell me,” I said wearily.

“Donovan? The undercover officer? She’s missed her last few check-ins.”

“She could be deep into something and unable to communicate.”

“Or Rodolpho figured her out. Or Prince.”

We were in Pittman’s office five minutes later. Kurtz and Diehl were there too, as was Lieutenant Stacey Lindahl, Donovan’s narcotics commander.

“Shut the door,” Pittman said. “I want this kept quiet. I mean, if they’ll gun down a priest, they’ll do anything. Lieutenant? Can you bring us up to speed?”

Lindahl nodded, looking deeply concerned. “Donovan last checked in three days ago. She is supposed to be in contact once every twenty-four hours.”

“We saw her four days ago,” Sampson said. “At that café Rodolpho goes to all the time.”

I nodded. “She seemed upset.”

The lieutenant nodded. “She was angry that day when she checked in. She’d asked you to back off and yet you didn’t. Rodolpho told her you were following him.”

Pittman held up his hands. “That was my call, Lieutenant. We wanted to send Prince a message that we were not giving up on the Miller and Mansion murders.”

“I understand, Chief, but Donovan didn’t. She said she’d been getting closer to Rodolpho, but the surveillance spooked him. He’d gotten pissed with her and told her to leave.”

“Like I said, my call,” Pittman said. “But now I’m asking, how do we handle this?”

Lindahl said, “I’m concerned. But my gut says give her another day. She might be somewhere she can’t communicate from. Or she’s on the verge of something big and trying not to do anything to jeopardize it.”

Detective Kurtz said, “With all due respect, Lieutenant, you could also assume Donovan’s cover is blown, haul in every known member of LMC Fifty-One, and put the squeeze on them, bottom up, until we find her.”

Diehl said, “I agree. There’s a cop involved. They know the penalties. Someone will talk.”

Pittman thought for several moments. “I spoke with the commissioner right before I came here. He knows she’s missing and said that we were to prioritize her welfare, not the undercover operation.”

Lindahl looked somewhat unhappy about that but agreed. “Okay, there it is, then. I’ll get you a list of all known members of LMC Fifty-One in the greater DC area, along with last known addresses and aliases.”

I said, “Can I make a suggestion? Before you start hauling them in, put a few teams outside Rodolpho’s, at that café, at the crab-boil place Prince loves in Chesapeake Beach, and at the warehouse in Davidsonville.”

“Good idea, Cross,” Kurtz said. “Be in position if the rats start abandoning ship.”

Sampson raised his hand, said, “Since we found the place, we’d like to be in Davidsonville. See what they’re doing in there.”

Pittman thought about that. “I don’t know if we have enough to warrant a search.”

Diehl said, “Really? They tried to kill two of our people, theymurdered a priest, they’ve done God knows what to Donovan, and it’s not enough?”

The chief said, “Problem is, Detective, no witnesses saw who was behind the gun at St. Anthony’s, and the car with the license plate Sampson reported had been stolen.”

John said, “That Suburban will have at least three of my bullets in it.”

“I’m sure,” Pittman said. “But until we know for certain that LMC Fifty-One was behind the shooting or Donovan’s disappearance or both, best we can do is put surveillance teams in place and start bringing them in. Let’s build the pressure fast until something pops.”

PART FOUR

Revenge Is a Dish Best Served Cold

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