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seat. He looked like he was about to say something, but a glance from Volkman kept him quiet.
    “Roy DeMeo was a made member of the Gambino crime family,” Volkman said. “He was into pornography, among other things. Weren’t you also involved in the pornography business at one time, Mr. Kuklinski?”
    Kuklinski felt the blood rushing to his face. “Pornography? No, Detective. I told you, I’m a family man.”
    Shaba whimpered as he dug his fingers into the dog’s neck.
    Unwanted memories drifted back. The office on Lafayette Street in Manhattan around the corner from the film lab. Roy’s crazy crew. The apartment behind the Gemini Lounge where Dracula lived. Sausage and angel hair. The sharks off Long Island. Unconsciously Kuklinski touched the scar high on his forehead.
    Volkman continued. “DeMeo’s body was found in the trunk of his own car in January 1983.”
    “Yeah? So what?”
    “Something was found on top of his body. You wouldn’t have any idea what that item might be?”
    Kuklinski didn’t say a word. He just stared and let the moment stretch. Then he smiled. “Are we playing games here, Detective?”
    Kane barked. “No, Mr. Kuklinski, we are
not
playing games.”
    “Then what are you doing here? I told you already. I don’t know any of those guys you’re talking about.”
    “We have a reliable source who says you—”
    “Would you like me to tell you what you can do with your ‘reliable source,’ Detective Kane?”
    He pictured Percy House’s big ugly face. Rat bastard.
    Detective Kane was fuming. He looked like he was having a hard time just keeping himself on the couch. Kuklinski grinned at him.
    Volkman flipped some more pages. “Now just to be absolutely sure, Mr. Kuklinski, let’s go over the names one more time. Okay?”
    Kuklinski shrugged. “Whatever’ll make you happy.”
    “George Malliband, Junior. You say you didn’t know him?”
    “I don’t believe I ever met anyone by that name. No.”
    “And did you know Louis Masgay?”
    “Nope.”
    “Paul Hoffman?”
    “Don’t know him.”
    “Robert Prongay.”
    Kuklinski shook his head.
    “Gary Smith.”
    “Don’t know him either.”
    “Danny Deppner.”
    “Never heard of the guy.”
    Kane was squinting at him. He looked very skeptical. “If you don’t know any of these men, Mr. Kuklinski, then why are you grinning like that?”
    Kuklinski’s grin broke out into a toothy smile. “I guess I’m just a happy guy, Detective.”
    “Why do I have a feeling you know more than you’re saying, Mr. Kuklinski?”
    Richard Kuklinski just grinned at him.
    He ran his fingers through Shaba’s thick coat as the two detectives looked at each other, trying to figure out how to walk away from this without looking like a couple of assholes. But these two jokers came in here with nothing, Kuklinski thought. That was their first mistake. They were on a fishing expedition. But they had nothing, and they
were
nothing. The way Richard Kuklinski figured it, they were a couple of two-bit state cops, struggling with their mortgages and their car payments, scraping to get by, looking forward to nothing more than getting their twenty years in so they could get their shitty little pensions. They were losers. They knew nothing and they had nothing.
    But Richard Kuklinski, on the other hand, had everything.
    The big man adjusted his glasses and grinned with satisfaction. “Now is there anything else I can do for you, gentlemen?”

THREE
AUGUST 1986
    The duck pond in Demarest, New Jersey, was Barbara and Richard Kuklinski’s special place. They would come here two, three times a week after breakfast just to sit and feed the ducks and Canada geese. Richard would go across the street to the deli and buy a loaf of bread, and they’d while away the morning, tearing up slices and throwing the pieces into the water. It was very peaceful here, and Richard always said this place calmed him down. But sitting next to him on their usual park bench this