Chapter 12

We get some insight into Frank's back story and why he left his former life behind.

Jacksonville has many barbecue restaurants, both chains and small independent joints. Frank's favorite was Mona's, a tiny shack near his trailer. He stopped in and ordered three barbecue beef sandwiches with a side of Mona's signature cheese tater tots. He put the brown bag on the driver's seat and made the short drive to Nancy Rafferty's Veterinary Clinic. Nancy had a small house behind the clinic and, since it was now after hours, he decided to drive around the back to the house. When he pulled in, Nancy was sitting on the front porch on a comfy looking chair with a familiar looking black dog by her side on a dog bed. At the sight of Frank, Lucy's ears perked up and her heavily sedated tail wagged slowly.

"She looks a bit too comfortable here with you", Frank said as he walked to the porch.

"The sedative helps her look comfortable, but we have engaged in some bonding.  She's a great girl", Nancy said.

"Takes one to know one", Frank said clumsily, regretting what he said as soon as it came out.

"I brought dinner", he said, trying to recover.

"Well, it's not the new seafood place, but it smells like BBQ from Mona's which is good any day", Nancy said. "Guess I'll have to settle for what I can get".

Frank settled into the chair next to Nancy with Lucy in between them.  As he dug through the bag to distribute the food, Nancy poured him a large glass of sweet tea.  Calling iced tea in the south "sweet tea" is an understatement.  Sugar was added to this tea to the saturation point.  Frank unwrapped a sandwich for Lucy and set it down in front of her. She sniffed it, then explored it with her tongue and finally began eating it with her tail wagging in rhythm with her chewing.  Frank handed Nancy her sandwich and relaxed in the chair with a heavy sigh.

"Tough couple of days, Mr. Detective?" Nancy asked.

"Just full of surprises", Frank said. 

He filled Nancy in on some of the general details of the recent events of the case.  She was a good listener.  When he finished, she said, "Frank, I'm not sure how you do it.  You get involved in the lives of your clients and help them clean up their messes while you have the police and others trying to sabotage your efforts".

"It does make life interesting, but sometimes working on the problems of others helps you put your own issues aside", he said, not sure why he was revealing this much of himself.

"Frank, I know you're carrying some sort of burden from your life up north. You know I'm here for you when you're ready to talk about it", Nancy said looking deeply into Frank's eyes.

Frank exhaled, took a sip of his tea and said, "I think I'm ready to talk about it with you.  You deserve an explanation for my behavior toward you".

Nancy sat back and Frank began to tell her his painful story.

--------------------------------------------------------------------

Frank was born and raised in Syracuse, NY.  He was second generation Italian American and grew up in the mostly Italian north side of the city.  He lived in a two family house that was over 100 years old.  Frank, his brother, and his parents lived upstairs. His grandmother, mother to nine children, among them his mother, lived downstairs.  He had a very large family which resulted in fond memories of holidays and family events.  In his family, everything revolved around food. If there was a birth, a death, a marriage, a graduation, a christening, or a confirmation, there was food.  If you were happy, have some food to celebrate.  If you were sad, food could cheer you up.  His grandmother was a magician in the kitchen.  Everything she made was organic before anyone knew what organic was.  Learning to cook was a mandatory task for him.

Frank's father was a police officer.  He was well-regarded in the community and had excellent instincts as a cop. Being an Italian cop in the late 70's was interesting based on the preconceived notions of Italians that had resurfaced as part of the popularity of the Godfather movies.  Contrary to the stereotypes, Frank's father was a clean cop.  He had no ties to organized crime and was not on "the take".

Frank also had two uncles that were policemen on his father's side of the family.  His mother's side of the family was a bit more colorful. His father's family was originally from the Northern, blue-eyed, blond-haired part of Italy.  His mother's family was Sicilian. This difference was a bit deal when the families came together for his parents' wedding in the 60's.The Northern Italian Rozzani family looked down upon the Sicilian Scarpino family in a similar fashion that Indian castes look down on the "untouchables". The Rozzani counted police officers, business owners, and priests among their ranks.  The Scarpino's were swarthy and drove big black cars in from such places as Rochester, Buffalo, and Utica.  There sources of income were shady at best.  This was especially true of the Rochester contingent which was headed by the patriarchal oldest brother, Louie Scarpino.  Uncle Louie owned a night club.  Although business at the club seemed light, with a small, but select clientele, Uncle Louie always seemed to carry huge rolls of bills primarily made up of hundreds.  He lived in a large house that was part of a compound where several of his children also had homes.

This blend of families was difficult for both sides.  Frank's father, in particular, was subject to unreasonable scrutiny due to his wife's family origins.  There were many in the police department that assumed Frank's father, Francis, had mob ties.  Francis Rozzani did all he could to overcome this perception including volunteering for organized crime investigations. In spite of his spotless record and talents, Francis Rozzani never rose above the detective rank.  Though he would never admit it, this was likely due to his wife's colorful family.

As Frank and his brother Michael grew up, it was apparent that they would follow in their father's footsteps and become police officers.  Michael was five years older than Frank. He attended the police academy and became a rookie cop as Frank was entering his sophomore year of high school.  Unlike his brother and the rest of his family, Frank was the first in the Rozzani clan to attend public high school. His shift away from Catholic school came as a result of his parents move to the suburbs when he was 13.  His grandmother, along with many of her contemporaries, had passed away. The charm of the Italian north side of Syracuse was disappearing as the population became more homogenized.

Frank had two life changing experiences in high school.  The first was around music.  Like many Italian boys, Frank had taken accordion lessons. He was drawn, however, to the baby grand piano in his grandmother's living room and began to transfer what he had learned on the accordion to the piano.  He listened to his grandmother's recordings of Frank Sinatra, Tony Bennett, Perry Como, and Dean Martin, and was drawn to the chord progressions of the standards that they sang.  These songs were written in the 1930's - 1960's by such masters as Gershwin, Porter and Van Heusen. This music spoke to Frank and he quickly learned to play the songs by ear.

This love for standards was private to Frank until he entered high school. He was walking the halls one day when he heard the music he loved coming from a piano in one of the practice rooms in the music section of the high school.  He looked through the glass of the practice room door and saw a stocky man making incredible music come from an old studio piano.  Frank immediately noticed the conflicting image of the squat looking man with fingers, that looked like over-stuffed sausages, flying across the keys with the sound of "Here's that Rainy Day" coming out with chord progressions that he had never heard before, but wanted to hear more.

Suddenly, the music stopped and Frank was a bit too slow ducking out of the window before the pianist spun around on the old-fashioned piano stool to see who was watching him.  "Did you need to use the room?" the man asked in a gravelly voice. He had a round face with an attempt at a beard, wire framed glasses, and eyes with a glint of mischief as he tried to sound authoritative. Frank had the feeling that he had just encountered some type of musical leprechaun.

"No sir. It's just, the music...the way you play it...I've never", Frank stammered.

"You like what you heard?" the leprechaun asked.

"Yes sir", Frank said.

"Do you play?" the man asked.

"I do, but not like you sir. The chord progressions are so different than what's on the recordings", Frank said.

"What recordings?" the man asked.

"Sinatra, Bennett, Como..." Frank said.

"Those guys diluted this music. I'm playing it the way it was meant to be heard", the man said.

"Sir, can you teach me that style?" Frank asked.

"You're Italian, right son?" the man asked.

"Yes sir", Frank answered tentatively.

"Well, I'm Irish. Tommy O'Neill is my name. I teach music lessons to brass players and run the jazz band here", the man said.

"It's nice to meet you sir, but what does any of this have to do with me being Italian?" Frank asked.

"Your mom can cook, right? My price for teaching you my technique is food from your mom. I might be Irish, but I hate Irish food.  Italian food is my favorite. Meet me here on Thursdays after school and bring something tasty", O'Neill said with a fully mischievous smile. So Frank met with O'Neill every Thursday throughout high school and his love and proficiency for jazz piano was born.

The other life changing event for Frank in high school was when he met Sarah. They shared an English class starting in his junior year and he knew he had met the love of his life the minute he saw her.  It took him the better part of his junior year to convince her that she felt the same, but when she fell for Frank, it was totally and completely.

They dated through the rest of high school and afterward, as Frank attended the police academy and Sarah attended LeMoyne College for a degree in Business, the stayed in love and planned for their future. Frank earned extra money playing in bands at night and on weekends and Sarah was always there to listen, often with text books in tow.  The day Frank graduated from the Academy, he proposed to Sarah at the celebration afterward. This surprised no one, but delighted everyone.

Sarah and Frank were soon married and moved into a two bedroom townhouse near LeMoyne. Sarah finished her degree and went to work for a family run accounting firm.  Frank worked his way up through the police force to the rank of detective.

Their marriage was a very strong, happy one. The endured through the death of both of Frank's parents and through the shooting of Frank's brother Michael. He was shot and killed during an armed robbery the he tried to stop while off-duty. Michael's death hit Frank especially hard as he viewed his older brother as a role model and a hero.

Sarah and Frank welcomed two children into the world.  Michael, named for Sarah's late father, and Lilliana, named for Frank's maternal grandmother. Life was wonderful and then one day, it changed and would never be the same again.

Frank and Sarah had just moved into a new home. The kids were getting older at seven and three and they needed more space.  They moved into an old, beautiful home in the Irish Tipperary Hill area of Syracuse. Frank took a couple of days off and it was time to go back to work.  When he came into the downtown police station he was immediately summoned to the captain's office. Frank saw his partner, Bob Kingsley, but there were two dark-suited men in the office that he didn't recognize. He did, however, know FBI agents when he saw them.

"Hello Frank", the captain said. "Come in and take a seat".

Frank sat down and waited for whatever mundane task the FBI had determined the local police could handle.

"This is Special Agent Ashburn and Special Agent Thompson. They are here to ask for our help on an important case. You two have some availability so I'm assigning it to you. Agent Ashburn, would you like to elaborate?" the captain asked.

"Thank you captain. Gentlemen, have you ever heard of a company called Lackawanna Specialty Services out of Buffalo?" Ashburn asked.

"Don't they own the Price Choice supermarket chain?" Frank asked.

"Among other enterprises, yes detective", Ashburn answered. "For the past five years, we have suspected that Price Choice has been a front for laundering money from other non-legitimate LSS holdings.  We have an inside man who has had access to the books and we now have enough evidence to file charges. Our inside man has turned one of the store managers and now we need to offer protection to him. The manager is going to be a key witness when we go to trial. We don't want anything to happen to him. We will put him into witness protection along with his family after the trial".

"So the alleged mob connections to LSS are true?" Frank asked. "I thought that was just an urban legend".

"Organized crime has changed over the years, detective. It's gone mainstream into traditional business. There is still, however, a propensity to evade taxes and launder money. We have had success bringing down the remnants of organized crime using racketeering and tax evasion charges. Gathering evidence for these crimes takes time and often involves long-term undercover work focused on turning those on the periphery of the organization that have access to the evidence without realizing it.", Ashburn said.

"So that was the case with this store manager?" Frank asked.

"Yes. He's been with LSS for 15 years. He finally had enough and became tired of looking the other way. We need him to stay safe for the next two weeks and we need you gentlemen to guard him in the safe house we have set up south of town".

"Why can't the FBI babysit this guy?" Frank asked.

"The FBI is already spread very thin on this case.  We can't afford to use two additional assets when there is a more than adequate local presence that can supplement our ranks", Ashford explained.

"So you're outsourcing to us to save money. Meanwhile we have cases piling up", Frank interjected.

"Frank, we have a responsibility to cooperate with federal authorities in matters like this", interrupted the politically motivated captain. "Is that understood"?

"Yes sir. Understood", Frank relented.

Frank and Kingsley left the captain's office with instructions to pick up their charge from the Embassy Suites hotel at Carrier Circle on the east side of Syracuse. When they arrived, they went to the room number they were given and knocked. After a short wait, the room door opened and a large, dark-suited FBI agent filled the doorway. "Let's see some ID", he said, trying to sound intimidating, and succeeding. Frank and Bob handed over their badges and the door opened for them to enter.  In the living room section of the suite, another large dark-suited agent with an ear piece stood drinking a cup of coffee.  Seated on the brown sofa bed watching television was a small, unassuming man with a brown buzz cut wearing khakis and a flannel shirt. He looked nervous and out of place.

"This is Ernie Linden, the manager of the Prime Choice store in Camillus", Agent one said. "He is packed and ready to go".

"OK", Frank said. "Let's move it out. Bob, can you bring the car around to the side entrance and I'll walk out with Mr. Linden".

"Sure thing, Frank", Kingsley replied.

Frank walked the frightened manager out through the side door and helped him into the back seat of their unmarked Ford Crown Victoria.

"Mr. Linden, how does it feel to be so popular with the FBI?" Kingsley asked as Frank got into the front passenger seat.

"Actually, I've never been so scared in my life. I can't wait until all of this is over. I wish I could go back to being a simple store manager. I'm no hero.  My family is already in witness protection. I just want to see them again", the small man in the back seat said nervously. Frank felt sympathetic toward the man.

"We are here to protect you and see you through this. Your testimony will put some bad people in jail and then you can get on with your life", Frank said reassuringly.

"Where are we going, anyway?" Linden asked.

"We are going to a location between Lafayette and Tully. It's a town house near a series of cross-country ski trails. Since it's summer, the place will be deserted", Kingsley answered. "The feds checked it out and picked the location because it is so remote and impossible to approach without being seen".

"Great", Frank said. "Out in the middle of nowhere with you guys while my family is at home".

"At least you know where your family is and that they're safe", the back seat passenger said making Frank feel guilty, but nervous for some reason. Frank wasn't sure shy he felt this way, but he couldn't shake the feeling. Later, he would find out why.

As they passed out of the city and down I-91 south, Frank started thinking about his own family. His wife Sarah had been disappointed when he took this assignment, but she knew when she married him that the life of a cop's wife would be a roller coaster ride. She was proud of her husband, though. He was a good husband and father to Michael and Lilliana. Frank reflected on this duty. Protecting a federal witness was usually dull, but important work. The man they were in charge of didn't think of himself as a hero, but his testimony was going to take down a major group of players in organized crime. Frank's father would have been proud.

As they took the Lafayette exit on 81 and turned onto Route 11, they began to pass through rolling grass-covered hills. These hills were busy during the winter months with skiers headed to some of the small but popular ski resorts in the Central New York Snow Belt. After five miles, they slowed and turned left sharply onto an inclined driveway. It was quite dark and the one spotlight near the end of the driveway was out.

In the glare of their headlights, they say a brown two-story townhouse with a large wooden deck in the front. There were no lights on in the house and it looked quite abandoned. "Frank", Kingsley said as he brought the car to a stop, "Why don't I go in and look around before you bring Mr. Linden in?"

"That's probably a good idea", Frank said.

As Kingsley unlocked the front door and entered the townhouse, Frank tried to use the radio to check in at headquarters. Because of the distance from downtown and the remote area they were in, he only heard static on the radio. He looked at his Blackberry and barely had a signal. He would have to hope it was enough of a signal to check in by cell phone. As he punched in the number, he was surprised by headlights that swung up the driveway and pulled up close behind the Crown Victoria. Instinct kicked in and Frank yelled, "Mr. Linden, get down". Just as they both hit the floor, the back windshield exploded in a hail of bullets. Whoever was shooting was standing directly behind the car. The car was still running so Frank slid across the seat, threw the car into reverse and stomped on the gas. By sheer luck, the shooters did not have time to move from their spot in between the cars and ended up pinned between the bumpers. Their lower legs were shattered. Frank took advantage of the moment and, after telling his passenger to stay down, he exited from the car, using its metal body for cover, and crept to the back.

What he found were two very large men in dark suits moaning in pain from their shattered legs. Their guns had flown from their and out of their reach on impact. The trunk of the Crown Victoria had popped open, so Frank grabbed some plastic zip ties and quickly secured the men ignoring their cries of pain when he secured their ankles. He then retrieved their guns.  With the men now secured, Frank's next problem was finding out where his partner was. Kingsley had not come back from the house, even after the sound of gunfire. Frank needed to go into the house to potentially help his partner in case he had been ambushed inside. He also needed to ensure the safety of his witness. His only course of action was to take Linden into the house with him. He couldn't leave him out in case the two men that shot at them had re-enforcements on the way.

"Mr. Linden. I need you to follow me into the house sir", Frank instructed. "I need to check on my partner, but I can't leave you out here alone".

"That's OK detective. I don't want to stay out here alone", Linden answered nervously, still quite shaken.

"One question, sir", Frank asked "Have you ever used a gun?"

At this question, Linden smiled. "I teach a gun safety course, officer and I'm a trained military marksman", he said.

"Well in that case..." Frank said as he handed Linden one of the guns he retrieved from the shooters with a full clip of ammunition.

Frank and the store manager quietly crept up the stairs to the deck. Frank opened the door and found Kingsley just getting up from the floor rubbing the side of his head.

"What happened, Bob", Frank said to his partner.

"I don't know", Kingsley said in a dazed voice. "I came in and somebody hit me in the head and knocked me out".

Frank explained the action that had taken place outside and left Linden with Kingsley to sweep the rest of the house.

"Which way did they go, Bob", Frank asked.

"I don't know. Didn't they come out the front?" Kingsley asked.

"No", Frank said. "They either found another exit or are still in the house somewhere".

Frank walked through the living room and found the back door which was still secured with a keyed deadbolt. He found the stairs and cautiously went up to the second floor to check out the two bedrooms and bathroom that were up there.  All of the rooms were empty.  As he came down the stairs, he saw his own footprints in the dust on the old dark hardwood floors. At that moment, he came to a realization of the situation. He only saw his own prints. If someone besides Kingsley had been in the house and had escaped out the back, he would see more prints in the dust and the door would have been unlocked. By the time he realized the situation, he also hoped that it wasn't too late. Kingsley and Linden were no longer in the living room. He raced out the front door and his worst fears were confirmed. He first saw the two gunmen that he had secured laying on their backs with bloody wounds spreading across their shirts in the glare of the headlights. What he saw next rocked him to his core. He saw his partner, Bob Kingsley, standing over the kneeling witness who was obviously pleading for his life.

"Drop it Bob!" Frank said.

"I can't do that Frank", Kingsley said in an uneven, detached voice.

"Bob, this is not what you want to do. Your career will be over", Frank said.

"Not necessarily, Frank", Kingsley said. "Now hear me out. Some very important people want this guy dead. Those same people have offered to help me out with a little gambling debt if I make sure he doesn't testify. You messed it up, Frank. You should have let these guys shoot him. Now I have to do it".

"No you don't, Bob. We'll get you help for the debt. I've saved a little and..." Frank started.

"I owe over $100,000, Frank, with interest compounding daily. The people I owe money to are the same ones that want this guy dead", Kingsley said. "Now listen to me Frank. I'm going to tell you the story of what happened here tonight. When we got here, we realized these guys had followed us. There was a shootout and they were killed by me while you protected the witness. Unfortunately, a stray shot got him and he died tragically before he could testify. Isn't that a great story, Frank?" Kingsley asked, sounding more mentally unstable by the minute.

"There is a problem with story, Bob", Frank said. "It did not happen that way and I will never say that it did".

"That's unfortunate, Frank. That changes the details of the ending", Kingsley said as he turned toward Frank. He was holding one of the dead man's guns and was going to shoot Frank with it. Just before he pulled the trigger, the store manager shoved Kingsley's arm enough that the shot went wide missing Frank.  Frank's shot, however, did not go wide. Kingsley fell dead along with the mob shooters in the glare of the headlights.

Frank had killed his partner. He should have seen this coming. Looking back on the night's events, Frank realized that the signs were all there. Kingsley seemed unusually nervous. He also seemed anxious to check out the house on his own which was not the usual protocol. He had tipped off the people trying to kill Linden. He had set him up. Frank was apparently meant to be killed as well.

Frank decided at that moment that he had better leave the area with Mr. Linden and that he also needed to contact the captain for direction. The Crown Victoria was still functional after the collision. He closed the trunk and told Linden to get in the front passenger seat. He pulled around the other car and headed north on Route 11 back toward Syracuse. He dialed his captain's cell phone. Even though it was after ten, he knew that the captain would answer. He carefully recounted to the captain what happened. He was saddened by what happened, but also admitted to Frank that this explained why Kingsley was so eager to volunteer for this case. He thought, at the time, that Kingsley was trying to impress the FBI. The captain said he would call special agent Ashburn to find out what to do, but that Frank should head back to headquarters with the witness. Frank ended the call and eased through the intersection at Lafayette road and turned back on to I-81 north.

Just as he pulled on to the highway from the ramp, his Blackberry rang. Expecting the captain, he looked at the phone and saw that it was his home number. He knew that Sarah was having dinner with her sister and that the kids were staying there for a sleepover with their twin cousins. Frank deduced that she must be back home and was calling him to hear about his day and to say goodnight. What a day it was. He answered the phone saying, "Hello sweetie".

A decidedly masculine voice that Frank did not recognize replied, "Well, hello yourself, darling".

Frank's heart sank. "Who the hell is this", Frank demanded.

"We'll get to that", the voice responded. "But first, your 'sweetie' wants to say hello", the voice said.

What Frank heard next caused rage to fill his entire body. He heard his wife's voice let out a blood-curdling scream. Then the man's voice came back on.

"As you can hear, detective, we have someone you care about in our 'protection' and you have someone we care about in yours. How about a trade? Your wife for our beloved store manager", the man said.

"You b*****d", Frank said. "If you hurt her, I will find you and kill you".

"No need for that, paisano (the Italian word for friend). You give us what we want and we'll give you what you want. Just get here soon. We are losing patience. That partner of yours turned out to be as unreliable in this endeavor as he was with paying his gambling debts", the voice said. Then the call ended abruptly.

Frank was filled with confusion and rage. How could this have happened? Just as he was searching for an answer, his Blackberry rang again. This time it was the captain.

"Frank, Ashburn wants you to bring the witness into the station and the FBI will take him into protective custody", the captain said.

Frank cut him off and told him what had developed. The captain sighed and talked to someone else in the room. "Ashburn says to take him to your house and the FBI will move in and grab everyone", the captain finally said.

"What about my wife's safety?" Frank asked.

"The FBI will not move unless they can guarantee her safety", the captain replied.

Frank did not feel good about the situation, but could not think of any other options. He filled Linden in on the plan and headed for his house in the Tipperary Hill area of Syracuse.

When he arrived, he panicked at what he saw. There were black sedans and SUV's with flashing lights all around his house. There were also city police cruisers. Frank screeched to a stop and sprung from the car heading toward his house. The captain and Ashburn intercepted him.

"Frank, you don't want to go in there", the captain said.

"The hell I don't. My wife is in there", Frank said as he broke free of the captain's grip.

As he burst through the front door, everything became surreal. For months after this event, Frank would recall bits and pieces of the details in his dreams. One vivid, constant detail was the blood. There was blood all over the tile floor in the kitchen, on the kitchen table, and the chairs. He saw his wife's lifeless body hunched over the table. She had not died quickly and painlessly. She had been tortured and had bled to death.  Frank collapsed and everything went black.

Frank later woke up on his couch to find the captain and Special Agent Ashburn hovering over him. He had hoped he was waking from a dream until he saw their faces. Then the reality crept in.

"What happened", Frank demanded of whoever could answer him.

"Someone tipped them off, Frank", the captain said. "When the FBI got here, the front door was wide open and the lights were on. They found Sarah. They never planned to keep her alive".

"Who would have tipped them off?" Frank asked.

"It had to be someone at headquarters that saw all of the activity going on their tonight. I will find out, trust me", the captain promised.

"I hope for their sake that you find them before I do", Frank said. "What about my kids? They're with Sarah's sister".

"They are safe at headquarters right now", the captain said reassuringly.

"And Linden?" Frank asked.

"Safe in FBI protective custody thanks to you, detective Rozzani", Agent Ashburn answered. "I am so sorry for your loss".

"Sorry for my loss? Excuse me if I don't say 'you're welcome'", Frank said bitterly.

Just then, Frank's Blackberry rang. It was a number with a 716 area code. Buffalo, NY. Frank went white and pounded the green "talk" button.

"Detective Rozzani, I'm sure you're aware of what happens when you don't follow instructions by now", the same voice from earlier in the evening said menacingly.

"You sick son of a b***h", Frank said. "You killed her".

"Sending in the FBI was not part of our arrangement", the voice said. "You had to pay a price. You will continue to pay a price if that little weasel, Linden, testifies".

The phone went dead. Frank told the Captain and Ashburn what was said. Ashburn responded. "We are prepared to take you and your children into protective custody. New names, relocation, a fresh start".

"Do you think these people will give up? It's hard to hide when you're a single father with two small kids", Frank said.

"I'm trying to give you an option. I know it doesn't begin to make up for what happened here tonight, but it is a start", Ashburn said.

"I have a lot to think about", Frank said despondently.

The days following his wife's murder were especially hard on Frank. Those directly responsible for the crime, although obviously tied to the defendants in the trial for which Ernie Linden was going to testify, could not be tied to her murder by any solid evidence. Although the murder was especially brutal, the killers were meticulous about not leaving a trace of evidence to tie them to the crime. Frank and his two children remained at a hotel under FBI protection while the trial commenced. Frank convinced the FBI to let him attend the trial every day. He wanted to sit in the gallery and see justice brought to those responsible for Sarah's death even though the trial was for another crime. He also wanted to face them to let them know he was not afraid.

Throughout the trial, Frank watched the federal prosecutor go through a staggering amount of evidence as he presented the case before Judge David Peebles, the federal magistrate in the Central New York district. Frank listened to the extremely damaging testimony of Ernie Linden. The former store manager systematically covered the multiple improprieties he had witnessed during his tenure at Price Choice Supermarket. Throughout his testimony he would often make eye contact with Frank with a gaze that expressed both sorrow for Frank's loss and reassurance that he would take down the defendants in this case with his testimony.

He delivered. The defendants were convicted of multiple counts of tax evasion, money laundering, and racketeering. They were sentenced to multiple consecutive prisons terms by Judge Peebles. The time in jail added up to about 250 years.

Frank was relieved that the outcome was favorable and that the case was over. During the course of the trial, as he watched Linden, he came to a difficult decision. His children were facing a life of looking over their shoulder with their father. Frank had made long-term enemies with far-reaching connections. They would not forgive and forget now that the trial was over. In fact, their need to exact vengeance was now greater than ever. Although witness protection would work for a while, Frank felt that the protection was temporary. He felt that if he would separate himself from his children somehow, they might have a chance at a normal life. He had come to a conclusion, and now he had to follow through with it in spite of how painful it would be.

On the day following the trial's conclusion, Frank met with Special Agent Ashburn and the captain. He told them his decision and plan of action. They were stunned at first, but soon realized the depth of his conviction and that he was probably right.

Frank had decided to terminate his parental rights to his children freeing them up to start a new life with new names in a new family. He then turned in his gun and badge and resigned from his position as a Syracuse Police Detective. It was a job he could no longer perform based on his new life situation. Frank said his goodbyes to his coworkers and rode with Ashburn to the hotel where his children were still under FBI protection. His son was old enough for a partial explanation. Lilliana, at only three years old, would bounce back more readily. It was a painful and tearful goodbye, but in spite of the unbearable pain, Frank felt that he had done the right thing.

Frank then packed a small bag with some essentials, threw it into his rusty Mazda protégé, and started driving south. He intended to end up in Miami or the Florida Keys. He drove straight through over the Georgia-Florida border and fatigue started to overtake him. As he passed through Jacksonville, Florida on I-95, he saw a sign for the Jacksonville Beaches. Something drew him in that direction. He headed for the beach and turned north on A1A. He drove until he came upon a small, out of place restaurant with the sound of good jazz and the smell of good food emanating from it. By sure change, his relationship with the Sun Dog began. That was three years ago.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Frank finished telling his story to Nancy. He could feel the moistness in his eyes and the tightness in his chest. When he looked up at her, her eyes were moist as well.

"Frank, I can't imagine the pain you have gone through. I am so sorry if I pressured you", Nancy said while squeezing his forearm.

"It felt good to be able to trust someone enough to share it", Frank said. "I appreciate you listening".

"You are a good man, Frank; better than most", Nancy said. "I will always be here for you".

Frank felt a warm moistness on his right hand and looked down to see Lucy meeting his gaze and licking his hand. Frank patted her head and finished his tea in silence.