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that his black hair was still thick and curly. He would be a hard man to take down.

Randall Torrance studied me with eyes as green as his father’s, as if appraising livestock. “Might even be someone to interview, Matt. He looks like he’d be up to the job.”

“I insist on remaining in the room, sirs.” Matt moved to the corner nearest mine and, ignoring the shell chair, stood with his arms at his sides.

James Torrance looked at Rory and Ophelia. “Mr. Donatello has considerable latitude in how he guarantees our safety. He will repeat nothing he hears in this meeting.”

“Neither will Gideon,” Bobby said.

Before Torrance sat at 10:00, he touched Judge Vassi on the shoulder and smiled down at her. As his son pulled up a shell chair behind him, I put their names on my clock face and in a bottom corner jotted Matt Donatello, DPS—the letters on his blazer pocket.

The meeting lasted another hour and a half. Agenda items included the closing brunch menu, tech requirements of the national media, four days of increased downtown police patrols, and the number of shuttles needed to carry speakers and registrants between the airport and the Torrance. A year in development, NCADI would be one of Buffalo’s biggest national conferences ever. My eyes glazed over from the minutiae of such a massive undertaking. I turned to the window, but the word security pulled my attention back into the room.

“Security will be an ongoing concern,” Rory said. “As you know, several of our featured presenters and our keynote speaker are high-profile public servants, intellectuals, entertainers, or authors. A few of them regularly receive death threats for their views or activism. Some may come with personal security but others may depend upon us for it.” He turned to the hotelier. “Mr. Torrance.”

James Torrance leaned forward, elbows on the table and thumbs under his chin. “In addition to stepped-up police patrols the mayor promised, our hotel will have its own small force on duty for the entire conference. Ordinarily, we have five or six officers from Donatello Protective Services on-site at all times, most to patrol the property and respond to incidents, with one or two to evaluate the monitors in the CCTV control room. For the conference, we’ll have at least fifteen, all ex-cops or ex-military.” He nodded toward Matt, still standing in the corner. “Mr. Donatello and his brothers screen their hires very well.”

Legislature chair Amari Lockwood shifted in her seat, perhaps trying to get comfortable in the blue maternity suit that matched her headwrap. “What about metal detectors? They’re in County Hall. Other public buildings. Sports events. Even the Chicken Wing Fest at Sahlen Field.”

“Everybody’s used to them these days but they’re impractical for every meeting room,” Torrance said. “We can use them outside the main convention hall.”

Christina Donohue pushed aside a shock of shiny auburn hair and focused her dark eyes on Torrance. “What about off-site protection?” She sat next to William Cathcart, owner of the TV station where she hosted Morning in Buffalo. “I plan to have conference speakers in the studio Thursday and Friday, five live cut-ins of out-of-towners visiting Canalside every day, and lots of exterior shots of the waterfront and the hotel, courtesy of our drone fleet.”

The eyes peering above Cathcart’s lowered glasses were on Torrance as well.

“We can protect staff and guests when they’re on the property.” Torrance’s voice was firm. “I know long shots are good publicity, but we can’t cover anyone off-site.”

“CitiQuest used to do VIP coverage before they went out of business a while back,” Bart Novak said. “They were even contracted for some of our bank branches. We use North Forest Solutions now. Who else has picked up the private security slack?”

The mayor glanced at me. Undermined by a murder it had not anticipated, CitiQuest was a casualty of its own attempt to derail her re-election campaign. We shared responsibility for revealing the scandal that led to its demise, but now was no time to say so.

“Donatello does a lot of it,” Randall Torrance said. “But how many of our speakers get serious threats, not just garden variety internet babble?” He looked around the room but no one answered. “I’m sure Donatello can do something to give those few extra protection.”

“We can work something out,” Matt said. “Some of our temps worked at CitiQuest.”

I raised my hand.

“Mr. Rimes.” Rory looked surprised.

Once again all eyes were on me.

“Your keynote speaker already survived a murder attempt,” I said. “Drea Wingard. She watched her husband die and named the killers in her book on white supremacy. They haven’t been caught yet. She still gets death threats regularly.” I let that hang in the air for a few seconds. “She’ll be here before and after the conference, for public appearances away from the hotel.”

“She’s speaking at the Central Library the morning before the conference,” Ann Marie Marciniak said, black glasses low on her nose and a red nail tapping the table. “Can you keep her safe there?”

Rawboned, gray-haired, and wearing wire rims, bookstore owner Will Johannes raised his hand. “She’s doing a signing at Talking Leaves that afternoon. She’s also scheduled to sign books at three vendor tables during the conference, ours, Dog Ears from South Buffalo, and Zawadi from the East Side. Will she have bodyguards for all that?”

Buffalo State VP Ramirez and Professor Downey of the UB Law School reminded everyone they were co-sponsoring Drea’s post-conference talk at the Fine Arts Center on the North Campus. The UB police would offer supplemental security there.

Rory looked confused. “I thought her publisher was handling security.”

“I’ve already talked with her publisher,” I said. “They provide door-to-door coverage, pick-up and drop-off, which leaves her protected outside but vulnerable in her hotel room.”

Randall Torrance leaned past his father and looked at Rory Gramm. “Our card entry security system is second to none. You need a room card to access the hotel at night, to use the parking ramp day or night, to choose your floor on the

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