The case made big news across the southeast, and the following day, Detective Quinones announced that his team had identified one more body, that of Tony Harris, Dog’s cousin. We could only assume that what Richie had suspected was accurate: Harris had called El Médico, aka Donnie Dom, not realizing he was more than just someone who had sold his cousin xylazine in bulk. Years earlier, Donnie was likely the one who had killed Dog—worried that Dog would rat him out for the xylazine sale.
On the grounds of Aurora House, Lucas Beach Police went digging and found the rest of Edward Burrows.
As for Donnie Dom’s story? His mother, Gracia Smolak, was a first-generation immigrant who worked as a waitress in a restaurant called Proof. When Smolak was twenty-three, she found herself pregnant and had the child, deciding to raise the boy herself. Records showed she received financial support—at first $5,000 a month. Then, over time, $8,000 a month.
In 2007, a local real estate magnate gifted Smolak a two-bedroom cottage five miles from the beach. She and her son moved there from the apartment above Proof. And she told her son that he would be in the will of the Burrows family, but not until the father and mother were both dead. This was a story his mother told Donnie to keep quiet about, and Donnie was a good listener. The one exception appeared to be a friend who lived far away, Freddie Pecos, who Donnie saw only four weeks every summer.
Donnie’s mother was diagnosed with lupus in her forties and passed away. A year later, Jennifer and Paul Burrows were killed by a drunk driver.
Upon their passing, the entire estate went to their son, Edward, leaving Donnie Dom with nothing.
Why Donnie Dom—or Donnel Smolak, per his birth certificate—chose to kill Freddie Pecos was harder to determine. Freddie was a criminal himself. Was he about to rat out his best buddy from youth—and if so, why?
Freddie was a curious guy, we all knew. And a big talker. As a C.I., he’d peppered Richie with questions about law enforcement. He would tell Richie over and over, “I’m a cop now, just like you.” Which was endearing to hear from a C.I., but of course untrue.
So maybe after they’d met at the ATM, Freddie had picked at the situation with Donnie more than he should have. Maybe he suspected something illegal was going on and thought of himselfas a cop, looking for the truth. Or maybe, seeing Freddie’s handguns and cash on hand, Donnie Dom shared more than he should have.
And suddenly, the two were at odds.
CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN
Two weeks later, an event was held in the Miami office.
Craig Poulton and Barry Kemp flew down to give commendations to each member of PAR, including Frank, for our work on the gun case.
I brought Camila. Rosa got her ready in a pink dress with dark tights and her black church shoes.
We also stopped on the way and picked up my mother.
The Sunday before, I’d moved Mom to a place called the Garden Palms, a nursing care facility in Miami that specialized in Alzheimer’s patients. I toured a condo on the same street with a two-bedroom unit for rent. The place was a hundred years old, and two stories tall, and Camila climbed inside an old dumbwaiter and pulled herself upstairs, falling in love immediately. I found it acceptable.
As for the ceremony, it was held in a side garden at the office on a Thursday night. Each of the members of PAR, including Frank, werecalled onto stage and pinned with the FBI Medal for Meritorious Achievement.
“This award is given for extraordinary service in a duty of extreme challenge and great responsibility in connection with national security,” Poulton announced, once we were all pinned with our medals. “These five agents put their own safety behind the larger goal of protecting Americans wherever they live, including members of law enforcement, Congress, and the White House.”
As he said this, I glanced at my mom, who had tears in her eyes. Then I looked at my team. Cassie and Frank. Shooter and Richie. I was proud to have run PAR during these investigations, and I was glad to have Frank back at the helm, too.
After the awards, Barry Kemp from ATF came over to congratulate me. “You celebrating tonight?” he asked.
“The team is,” I said. “But I’m here with my little girl, and I’m not much of a drinker.”
Cassie approached us as Barry moved away, and Camila recognized her from the science fair.
“What’d you think of the award?” Cassie asked her.
“The medal’s cool,” Camila said. “But the talking went on and on.”
Frank mentioned the bar the team was heading to, but I had to get my mom home, and I’d promised Camila frozen yogurt in exchange for her being quiet during the speeches.
As I loaded everyone into my car, Cassie found me in the parking lot.
“You’re leaving without me?” she asked.
“I have to get these two home,” I said. “I’m not going out.”
She waved at Camila in the back of the car. “I think I’ll take yogurt over shots.”
“Really?”
