I had my hand around a gold-rimmed coffee cup when I asked, “Donna, what is your relationship to Walter Brenner?”
“Oh, you didn’t know? Walt is my half brother. We own this place together.”
“Terrific house,” said Conklin. “Very homey. How long have you been living here?”
“About three years. What’s wrong? Is Walter okay?”
Conklin said, “He’s fine, just fine. You know we’re talking to all of Chuck’s employees. We noticed that Walter pretty much goes to every store once a week. We hoped he might have some thoughts on anyone with an attitude, a grudge against the company, something like that.”
“Walt loves his job, if that’s what you want to know. He’s the poster boy for happy employee of the year. Gee,” said Donna, “talk about timing. Here he comes. You can ask him whatever you like.”
I followed Donna’s gaze to the windows and saw a white van with a Chuck’s logo on the side pulling up to the garage doors. I hadn’t planned on the complication of Donna Timko, so the next few minutes were going to require finesse.
I thought of several scenarios, including the one where Timko shouts at Walt to run—and he does it.
Timko said, “Walt’s a very funny guy. Everyone thinks he ought to do stand-up. Sit, sit,” she said to us. “He’s coming through the back door.”
Timko placed her napkin next to her plate, got up from the table, and went into the kitchen. I heard the kitchen door open to the garage and then I heard the voices of a man and Donna talking low.
I took out my gun and put it on my lap and was looking to Richie to do the same, when Donna returned to the dining room with her brother.
There he was in the flesh, Walter Brenner, the skinny man I’d seen in several different guises on security tape. But this time he was life-size, in color, and clean-shaven, and he had dimples that hadn’t shown up in the Hunting Wolf run-through. He was also holding a .38.
I jumped to my feet, raised my gun, and shouted, “Drop the gun. Do it now.”
I was aware of Conklin getting to his feet at the same time, but my eyes went to Donna as she lifted her hand from behind her voluminous house dress and pointed a small gun at me.
She said, “Take it easy, Sergeant. Sit back down. Put your gun on the table and slide it over to me. Take your partner’s gun and give me that, too.
“Let’s go,” she snapped. “Or I’m going to shoot the two of you where you stand.”
CHAPTER 82
I SAT DOWN, took my gun up out of my lap, and put it on the table as Donna had told me to do. But I didn’t release it from my grip. I moved slowly, using whatever few seconds I could gain to assess our situation.
The dining room was a twelve-by-twelve-foot open-ended box with two arched entranceways, one from the living room to the dining room, the other from the dining room to the kitchen.
There was a squat lowboy on the wall to my right, and past Conklin, on the opposite wall, were a pair of windows.
The table and chairs were too big for the room and took up the center of it, leaving very little margin around the sides.
Donna was standing six feet across the table from me, aiming her ladylike Colt with steady hands. If I leapt for her, she’d shoot. No doubt about it. The only way she could miss was if her gun jammed or she had a heart attack.
I couldn’t count on either of those possibilities. Accordingly, I didn’t see how we were all going to get out of this room alive.
I put the safety on my gun and slid it across the table. Conklin was also sitting down. He’s a quick draw and good shot, but his gun was in its holster on his hip.
He showed Timko that he wasn’t holding a gun and said in a very reasonable tone of voice, “Donna, no. Put that away. You, too, Mr. Brenner. We’re just here to talk. No need to get bent out of shape. You don’t want to accidentally shoot a cop. You really don’t.
“And just so you know, I called for backup before we entered the house. So there are going to be cruisers in your driveway any minute.”
Had Richie called for backup?
That would have been prudent, but I’d been busy getting out our Kevlar vests and hadn’t noticed what my partner had done.
Time had slowed to one solitary frame per second. I was alert to the facial expressions of the two people holding the guns, watching the tension in their hands at the same time.
Donna Timko was focused and tightly coiled.
Walt was relaxed. He handled his weapon casually, like he was familiar with it and welcomed an opportunity to let ’er rip.
“Right,” Walt said to Conklin. “Cops are on the way.”
Conklin said, “Pulling a gun on a cop is plenty bad enough, Walter. But, if you shoot a cop, no one can help you. Understand what I’m saying? Put the guns away and we’ll forget this happened. Right, Sergeant? Or, you have a running head start. See how far you go.”