Final Appeal

“It’s not a Miranda warning, Winn.”

“McLean’s already in custody, what’s the difference? It’s more important that it be done right.”

“I’d do it right. It’s perfectly safe. Let me get the file.”

“Grace,” he says, “I want no suggestion that you tampered with the records. I want the chain of custody to be clear. Order the record, please. Keep the reason to yourself. Don’t go running in and telling everybody you caught Armen’s killer.”

“Come on.”

“You come on. Now order the record and call me when it comes in.”

“Mighty pushy for a Quaker.”

“You love me anyway.”

“Bullshit.”

“And one other thing. There’s a loose end.”

“What?”

“It doesn’t explain Armen’s bank account. Or Canavan.”

“Do I have to do everything for you?” I say to him before I hang up.

Then I look at the phone, thinking. He’s right. It doesn’t explain the money, but that was his investigation. My investigation is just about over.

We celebrate Ben’s big news at a picnic lunch on the grassy mall between the Liberty Bell and Independence Hall, just catty-corner to the courthouse. Ben got the call from Justice Scalia this morning and was so delirious he even became likeable, helping all of us box the last of the case files. For a time it was like when Armen was alive and we all worked together, despite the clerks’ bickering. My spirits were high, fueled by my certainty that the record would prove me right about McLean. I felt so good I sprung for hoagies all around.

“They call this a sub in New York,” Artie says, inspecting his sandwich with a frown.

“What do they know? We invented it,” I say, wiggling my toes in the grass. Behind my digits is Independence Hall, the most beautiful building in the world, in its own subtle way. Its muted red bricks have a patina that only two hundred years can bring, and its mullioned panes of glass are bumpy; perfectly imperfect even from here. A long line of schoolchildren piles two by two out of Congress Hall, the right wing of the building, where Congress used to meet.

“Look around you, Artie. This is a real city, a city where people can live. It’s beautiful, and there’s history everywhere.”

“Except for that,” Sarah says flatly, her long granny skirt spread out on the grass. She points over Ben’s shoulder at the new housing for the Liberty Bell, a structure of sleek concrete with corners that stab out onto the cloudless sky. “I hate that building. They call it a pavilion, but it looks like a Stealth bomber.”

“Something the matter with Stealth bombers?” Ben says, smiling.

Eletha picks a paper-thin onion out of her hoagie, her nails working like pincers. “It’s not that bad, Sarah. It’s just new.” She drops the onion onto a pile of its brethren.

“That’s the problem.” Sarah raises her voice to be heard over the tourist buses gunning their engines next to the pavilion. “It should be compatible with the surrounding architecture and it’s not.”

“I agree, they should’ve left the bell where it was. It belongs in Independence Hall.” I remember how angry I was when they moved the Liberty Bell from Independence Hall. Now Independence Hall has to face its bell’s new home; it’s like sitting across the table from your ex’s trophy wife. For eternity.

“You mean they didn’t consult you?” Artie says. “You, Miss Philadelphia?”

“Isn’t it terrible? I don’t know why they think they can run this city on their own.” I tear into my cheese hoagie.

“So Ben,” Eletha says, “the clerkship begins in September?”

He nods and sips his coffee.

“What’ll you do till then?”

“I’m working on an article.”

“What about?” she asks, fishing out another onion.

“The European Convention on Human Rights.”

“Human rights? You?” Sarah says, bursting into tactless laughter.

Ben smiles easily; not even Sarah can bother him today. “I’ve been doing some thinking on the subject.”

“You?” she says, still laughing.

“Real nice, Sar,” I say. “What are you going to do next? And you better say join the Peace Corps.”

“How about joining Susan’s staff? Is that good enough?”

“Not since she got my name wrong,” Ben says, and Eletha laughs.

“Is she still in Bosnia, finding facts?” I ask.

Sarah nods, and I hope she forgets that I accused the woman of murder. Nancy Drew, my ass. She had a roadster, not a station wagon.

“So Artie,” Eletha says, “are you all ready for Wall Street? You pack your toys?”

Artie looks down at his hoagie. He seems out of sorts today, quiet. “Guess so. Off to peddle my soul.”

“For how much?” Eletha asks.

“You don’t want to know, girlfriend.”

“Yes I do. Hit me with it.”

“Just shy of one hundred large.”

Eletha almost gags. “You’re kiddin’ me!”

“Not including the endorsements. Justice. Just do it.”

“Justice?” I say. “On Wall Street?”

“Isjdjr! Keidnbu!” shouts a young man with flyaway blond hair, who troops with a park ranger onto the lawn behind Ben. Suddenly, a group of tourists is thronging around the man and the ranger, a bobbing mass of blond heads. “Keird ishdsn!”

“What the fuck is this?” Artie says. “Our neighbors to the north?”

“I would like to propose a toast,” I say, ignoring the interruption. I hoist my Diet Coke in the air. “To all of us, even Ben. And to justice.” I’m thinking of McLean, behind bars.

“Perfect!” Sarah says. “To all of us, even Ben. And to justice!” She hoists her Evian bottle to Eletha’s paper cup.

“To all of us, even Ben,” Eletha says. “And to justice, and happiness.”

Artie raises his bottle of Yoo-Hoo. “There is no justice or happiness. To all of us, even Ben, and to Patrick Ewing.”

“Kirs eushjk!” shouts the young man. He points to the Liberty Bell, visible through the pavilion’s glass wall. Crudely embossed letters at its top say ALL THE LAND AND UNTO ALL THE until the sentence disappears around the cast-iron curve. Tourists encircle the bell, but a park ranger will prevent them from touching the rough-hewn letters. I touched the letters once, when the ranger wasn’t looking; they felt cool and ragged.

“Thank you, all of you,” Ben says. “It’s very nice. You’re all very…kind.”

Artie bursts into laughter. “Don’t choke up or nothin’, dude. It’s not like we meant it.”

“Artie, be nice,” I say. “Good things happened today for a change.” I think of my successful Lexis search. Wait until they find out Armen was murdered. Will it make it worse or better? Which way does it make me feel?

“God knows, we needed it,” Eletha says, taking a slug of her iced tea.

“Welcome to Philadelphia, ladies and gentlemen,” the park ranger booms, then launches into his spiel with official enthusiasm. The tourists frown up at him almost instantly. Either the sun is bright or they don’t understand English with a Philadelphia accent. My guess is they’ve seen the sun before.

“I have some good news of my own,” Eletha continues, shouting to be heard. She sets down her cup in the grass and inhales deeply. “I’m a free woman, as of today. I broke up with Leon.”

“Really?” I say. I was wondering what she meant about happiness.

“I told him this morning, no more shit. Life is too short to take shit from any man.”

“Good for you!” Sarah says, drawing a sharp look from Artie. There’s an awkward silence, and I think of my