And that was enough. Angie understood it all. Walter Odette had approached her father with an offer. Pay him whatever amount of money it took, and instead of the Contis becoming the DeRose family as planned, it could be the Harringtons—William, Claire, and Amelia. They were the perfect match—like organ donors, only instead of tissue types, it was the number of people in the family and the relative ages that were a perfect match. Angie’s mother knew Isabella Conti would die so that her daughter might live.
And Isabella had died all right. She’d died on March 4, 1988, the day they were supposed to enter witness protection, the day Walter Odette, a person the Contis had trusted implicitly, had murdered them all.
“You hired that man to kill me and my father,” Angie said, pointing at the puddle of a man without a skull. “Why?”
But Walter’s eyes held all the life of a cataract. His chest no longer rose and fell to any rhythm, and the final breath had left his body.
CHAPTER 60
The memorial service for the man who was Gabriel DeRose, but wasn’t, would have been more crowded had press been allowed to attend. It was Angie’s wish not to turn the somber occasion into a circus. Of the several dozen or so people who came to the Silverstone Funeral Home to pay their last respects, some were friends and professional associates of Gabriel, some were friends of Kathleen, some were connected to Angie. A few introduced themselves as relatives of William Harrington.
One such relative, a cousin named Marcia Lane, approached Angie from behind. She tapped Angie’s left arm, not seeing it was still in a sling. A string of apologies soon followed.
“What can you tell me about my father?” Angie asked after apologies were accepted and introductions made.
Marcia shrugged, making it clear nothing much would be forthcoming. “I heard on the news what happened and of course when they showed a picture of William, I mean your father, or Gabe, well, it triggered all sorts of memories of my cousin and his family who vanished one day without a word.”
The two women exchanged contact information and made promises to meet.
Over time Angie would dive into genealogy, but she needed to mourn the loss of her father. His actions, his horrible crimes, and those of her mother, didn’t erase the love she felt for her parents. And while she couldn’t condone their extraordinary actions, she could give her mother one thing she’d wanted.
Forgiveness.
Angie forgave her parents while she mourned for them and for the little girl with the sad smile and misshapen ear. A girl whose fate very well could have been Angie’s were it not for the terrible choice her parents had made.
Mike Webb and Bao each gave Angie a gentle hug—she’d been shot, and they were careful. For the occasion, Mike wore a semi-wrinkled beige suit, and Bao had on a long-sleeved Oxford shirt buttoned to the top, crisp looking dark jeans, and his best Doc Martens. They each expressed their sincere condolences, but the conversation wasn’t all about matters of life and death.
“You think you can come back to work next week?” Mike asked. “I got a big rental gig to prep for and we’re really swamped. I mean, I know it’s a horrible thing what happened to you and all, but honestly Ange, the publicity has been incredible for business.”
It hurt to laugh—if the bullet in her side had gone a few millimeters to the right, she’d be dead—but Angie let go a little one anyway.
Maddy, who was nearby, said, “Hey, Mike, let the girl heal and farm out the jobs you can’t handle for now.”
“Maybe we should hire a new full-time associate.” Bao had made the suggestion on other occasions, but thought this time it might carry a bit more weight.
Angie said, “Guys, let me say good-bye to my father. Okay? We’ll talk shop later.”
Maddy gave Mike and Bao a look that said I told you so, and the three took seats in the fourth row, directly behind Carolyn, Greg, and Nadine Jessup, who had come as a family to offer their condolences.
Bryce showed up in a sharp-looking suit minutes before the service was scheduled to begin. His wounds were more severe than Angie’s, and he had spent the better part of a week recovering in the hospital. He walked slowly. Like Angie, he would carry the scars of that day around with him forever.
He made his way to the front of the room where he pulled Angie aside. “I’ve got some new news.”