'My fiancee's pregnant, man,' Isaiah said, his voice low. 'If I don't get outta here soon and get her down an aisle, she's gonna get her heart broke. And her momma's. She don't want to be showin' in front of the whole church, and I don't blame her neither.'
'Shit, man,' Lucky Seven said, hanging his head. 'Why'n't you say somethin'?'
'She told me last night, durin' the visit. I'm sorry, Kenny, I'd like to go with you. I know how you feel about convictin' Steere, and you might be in the right. But I don't blame the man and I can't stand with you, bro. I can't even take the time to fight with you about it. I got to take care of my family. I got to get home.'
Kenny just glared back; then his dark eyes slid over to Lucky Seven, who threw up his hands like he'd been held up. 'Don't look at me, man,' Lucky Seven said, from between large palms. 'It's up to you. I go with you, you know that.'
'Christopher?' Megan said in alarm. She rose to her feet and was almost at his side as a wave of agony wracked Christopher and he collapsed in his chair.
58
Ten phone calls later, Marta sat at the edge of the futon, her thoughts racing. 'So what have we learned?'
Judy sat slumped into the white cloth cushions. A carton of milk was wedged between her legs. Crumbs were sprinkled across her gray sweats. 'We learned that we're terrible people, intruding on the privacy of the bereft.'
'What else?'
'That all the people we called are dead.'
'And all died violently or by accident.'
'Yes. In the City of Brotherly Love.'
'And all died a little over four years ago. And they were organ donors.'
Judy took a slug of milk. 'A file of organ donors. That's why it didn't show up on the computer fields. The whole file is of organ donors.'
'What do you mean?'
'In Pennsylvania, you can tell by someone's driver's license if they want to be an organ donor.' Judy crossed to the counter, retrieved her wallet, and handed her driver's license to Marta. 'See? It says right there. I'm an organ donor. Aren't you?'
'Of course not.' Marta looked down at the small plastic card. Under an unflattering photo of Judy it said in bright green letters, ORGAN DONOR. Like a grisly caption. 'How disgusting.'
'No it isn't. Everyone should be a donor. You know how many people die each day waiting for an organ transplant? I signed up at City Hall. They have an organ drive every year.'
'City Hall does?'
'Sure. It's run by the mayor's office. It started when the mayor was D.A.'
'When did you sign up?'
'A long time ago.'
'When, exactly?'
'Must have been five years ago. They had a big drive. The whole office went. We were at Stalling and Webb then, Mary and I.'
Marta felt suddenly antsy and rose from the futon. Her ribs were killing her, but she had to pace to think more clearly. She had her best ideas pacing or in the shower; if she could pace in the shower she'd be attorney general. 'Let me get this straight. You're telling me the mayor's office has a list of organ donors in Philadelphia.'
'I guess. The donor drives are a high-profile thing. The city runs it with the local organ donor organization.'
'The mayor can monitor deaths of organ donors in the city?'
'I suppose so. City Hall could tap into a network of organ donors. I think it's a public organization that runs the network. I doubt it's even confidential information.'
Marta paced back and forth. 'Assume City Hall connects up with the network, so they know when an organ donor dies. Some of the donors die right before the mayoral election. Their deaths get reported because their driver's license says they want to be donors.'
Judy followed Marta's line of reasoning. 'Their deaths don't show up in enough time to take them off the voter registration rolls. City Hall finds out first because they're hooked up with the information.' The associate paused, momentarily stumped. 'But why would they do that? Why would they care?'
Marta's eyes met Judy's. 'Ten to one, Mr. Swenson and Mrs. Minton voted in the last election. And Jacobs and Walters. All of them, on all those driver's licenses. They all voted even though they were dead.'
'How? How would they physically go and vote?' Judy frowned and Marta resumed pacing.
'Good question.' Judy was more able than Marta had realized; it was almost better working together. 'Maybe somebody pretends to be them and votes for them.'
'Not possible,' Judy said, shaking her head. 'There are women and men. Some are white, some are black. They're all different. You can't vote without somebody seeing you.'
Marta froze. 'Yes you can. An absentee ballot. Somebody makes out absentee ballots for them. Somebody finds out they're dead before anybody else knows it— because of the donor card— and makes out absentee ballots for them. They have their signature right on the license, and they forge the ballot. That's why they need the licenses on file. Because the licenses have the
