Kurtz had surgery for his left leg, right lung, and both arms that day. He slept all that evening.

On Saturday, the third day, Arlene attended the funeral of her neighbor, Mrs. Dzwrjsky, and brought a tuna casserole to the family afterward. That same day, the Buffalo News ran a copyrighted story that canceled the President's visit: a world-famous violinist named John Wellington Frears had come forward with documents, photographs, and audio tapes showing that Captain Robert Gaines Millworth was an imposter, that the city had hired a serial child-killer with no history of law enforcement in his background, and that this imposter had once been James B. Hansen, the man who had murdered Frears's daughter twenty years earlier. Furthermore, Frears had evidence to show that Millworth/Hansen had been in the pay of crime boss Emilio Gonzaga and that the Train Station Massacre had not been a cops-versus-robbers fight at all, but a complicated gangland killing gone terribly wrong.

The Mayor and the chief of police announced on Saturday afternoon that there would be an immediate grand jury investigation into both the Gonzaga and Farino alleged crime families.

On that third evening, the CBS, NBC, ABC, Fox, and CNN news all led with the story.

On the fourth morning, Sunday, it was revealed by the Buffalo News and two local TV stations that Mr. John Wellington Frears had produced an audio tape of a telephone conversation between Angelina Farino Ferrara—a young woman recently returned from Europe, a widow, and someone never connected to the Farino family's business of crime—and Stephen "Little Skag" Farino, calling from Attica over his lawyer's secure phone. The transcript ran in that morning's edition of the Buffalo News, but copies of the tape were played on radio and TV stations everywhere.

Ms. Farino:

You've been hiring cops to whack people. Detective Brubaker, for instance. I know you've put him on the payroll that used to go to Hathaway.

Stephen Farino:

Stephen Farino: What the [expletive deleted] are you talking about, Angie?

Ms. Farino:

I don't care about Brubaker, but I've gone over the family notes and I see that Gonzaga's got a captain of detectives on the arm. A guy named Millworth.

Stephen Farino:

[no response]

Ms. Farino:

Millworth's not really Millworth. He's a serial killer named James B. Hansen… and a bunch of other aliases. He's a childkiller, Stevie. A rapist and a killer.

Stephen Farino:

So?

And so on. Along with the transcript, the Buffalo News released a list of forty-five names that included cops, judges, politicians, parole-board members, and other Buffalo-area officials shown to be on the Gonzaga family payroll, along with the amount they were paid each year by Gonzaga. There was a shorter list—eight names—of lesser cops and minor politicians who were in the pay of the Farino Family. Detective Fred Brubaker's name was on the second list.

On the fifth day, Monday, three of the most expensive lawyers in the United States, including one famous lawyer who had been successful in the O.J. Simpson defense years ago, all now in the hire of Emilio Gonzaga, held a press conference to announce that John Wellington Frears was a liar and a scoundrel, as well as someone intent upon slandering Italian-Americans everywhere, and they were prepared to prove it in a court of law. Their client, Emilio Gonzaga, was suing John Wellington Frears for slander to the tune of one hundred million dollars.

That evening, Frears appeared on Larry King Live. The violinist was sad, dignified, but unwavering. He showed photographs of his murdered daughter. He produced documents showing that Gonzaga had hired Millworth/Hansen. He showed carefully edited photographs of Millworth/Hansen posing with other murdered children—and with Frears's own daughter. When Larry King pressed Frears to tell how he had come by all this material, Frears said only, "I hired a skilled private investigator." When confronted with the news of the hundred-million-dollar lawsuit, Frears talked about his battle with colon cancer and said simply that he would not live long enough to defend his name in such a lawsuit. Emilio Gonzaga and Stephen Farino, said Frears, were murderers and child molesters. They would have to live with that knowledge, Frears said. He would not.

"Shut that damned thing off," Kurtz said from his hospital bed. He hated Larry King.

Arlene shut it off but lit a cigarette in defiance of all hospital rules.

On the sixth day after the massacre, Arlene came into the hospital to find Kurtz out of his bed and room. When he returned, pale, shaking, trailing his IV stand, he would not say where he had been, but Arlene knew that he had gone one floor up to look in on Rachel, who was in a private room now. The doctors had saved the girl's remaining kidney and she was on the road to recovery. Gail had put in the necessary papers to become Rachel's legal guardian, and the two spent hours together in Rachel's room each evening when Gail got off work.

On the seventh day, Wednesday, Arlene came in with a copy of USA Today: Emilio Gonzaga had been found in New York City that morning, stuffed in the trunk of a Chevrolet Monte Carlo parked near the fish market, two.22 bullets in the back of his head. "A double tap, obviously a professional hit," said the experts in such things. The same experts speculated that the Five Families had acted to end the bad publicity. "They're sentimentalists when it comes to kids," said one source.

But Kurtz was gone on that seventh morning. He'd checked himself out during the night. The previous evening, an inquiring mind from one of the newspapers had come by the hospital to ask Kurtz if he was the "skilled private investigator" mentioned by John Wellington Frears.

Arlene checked the office and the Royal Delaware Arms, but Kurtz had taken some essentials from both places and disappeared.

The week Joe disappeared, she'd had to move everything out of their basement office so the city could tear down the building. Gail and some friends helped her with the move. Arlene stored the computers and files and miscellaneous stuff in her garage out in Cheektowaga.

The week after that, Angelina Farino Ferrara phoned her. "Did you hear the news?" asked Ms. Ferrara.

"I'm sort of avoiding the news," admitted Arlene.

"They got Little Skag. Shanked him eleven times in the Attica exercise yard last night. I guess it's true that cons don't like Short Eyes any more than the Five Family bosses do."

"Is he dead?" asked Arlene.

"Not quite. He's in some sort of high-security secret infirmary somewhere. They won't even let me—his only surviving family member—visit him. If he lives, they'll move him out of Attica to some undisclosed location."

"Why are you telling me?"

"I just thought Joe would like to know if you happen to talk to him. Do you talk to him?"

"No. I have no idea where he is."

"Well, if he gets in touch, tell him that I'd like to talk to him sometime. We don't exactly have any unfinished business between us, but I might have some business opportunities for him."

"I'll tell Mr. Kurtz that you called."

That same afternoon, Arlene received a check for $35,000 from John Wellington Frears. The note on the check said only: "Wedding Bells.com." Arlene vaguely remembered discussing her idea with him the day they were together at her house. The news that evening reported that the violinist had checked himself into a hospital—not Erie County, but an expensive private hospital in the suburbs. A few days later, the newspaper said that Frears was on a respirator and in a coma.