Philly-style! Eat a hoagie at the Dollar-A-Hoagie tent, then watch the fireworks at the Art Museum! Happy Fourth, everybody!”
The neighbors cheered loudly, laughing and hooting, and Mr. Berman wielded his cane like a drum major. “Now, Mr. Reporter, you have your story! Go print it!
“Yeah! Get outta here! You don’t live here! Waltin Street residents only!” Mrs. Berman shouted, and a teenager, the tattooed daughter of a psychology professor, started chanting.
“Waltin Street rocks! Waltin Street rocks!”
“Waltin Street rocks! Waltin Street rocks!” the neighbors all began to chant, blasting the reporters and cameraman away with the power of their voices, singing out as one.
“Waltin Street rocks, Waltin Street rocks!” Anne chanted loudest of all, yelling at the top of her lungs, no longer so Kevin Satorno would hear it but because it made her feel good and happy and a part of a very special group, one that inhabited a block that formed one of the many blocks in the historic grid that built the United States of America. Ben Franklin himself designed the grid, she remembered with a new pride. Mental note: Patriotism is really about belonging, and Anne belonged right here.
But now it was time to get busy.
28
The sun was still high but glowing a late-day orange, scorching a slow descent through the sky. The air had grown oppressively humid, making Anne’s dress stick to her skin. She picked trash up off her street and from between parked cars, and stuffed it into a large Hefty bag, eyeing each person who walked by. She didn’t see Kevin and couldn’t help but feel increasingly tense.
She kept an eye out for him as she helped her neighbors gather bottles for recycling, fold up aluminum picnic tables, and Saran-Wrap an awesome leftover pasta-and-pepper salad. They all dragged the police sawhorses away from the top of the block, only reluctantly opening to the rest of the city the enclave that had been Waltin Street. Foot traffic increased, spilling into the street as everybody streamed to the Parkway to get the best spaces to watch the fireworks. They carried beach chairs, rolled tatami mats, and spare bedspreads. One kid trailed his father carrying a set of lighted brown punks, tapers that scented the air with their distinctive acrid smell.
She checked her watch. 7:15. Time was hurrying along and taking her with it. She had seen a schedule of July Fourth events on the Parkway, starting with a “celebrity reading of the Declaration of Independence,” then the Dollar-A-Hoagie sale, which ended at nine o’clock with the fireworks. She figured she would linger on Waltin a while longer, then head over to the Dollar-A-Hoagie tent, where Kevin would know to find her. It was almost time.
She bent down and picked up a smashed cellophane wrapper of Cherry Nibs, then put it in the trash bag, and, as she leaned over, felt the weight of her Beretta in her pocket. She had almost forgotten about the gun in the rush of good feeling generated by the block party. She began having second thoughts. Was there any other way? No.
She stuffed the bag under her armpit, dug in her other pocket for the phone, and flipped it open to see who was calling. Matt’s cell phone number glowed on the screen in bright blue digits. She hadn’t answered Bennie’s many calls, but this call she’d take. She pressed Send. “Matt?” she asked, lowering her voice. “Where are you? I’ve been trying—”
“I got your messages.” His voice sounded anxious. “How are you? Are you okay?”
“Fine, fine, really.” Anne cupped a hand over her free ear to hear better, and left the noisy street. She told him briefly about her debacle at the Dietz house, omitting the assault-and-battery part. No need to heighten his already heightened protectiveness. “Why did you tell Dietz about us? That was our business!”
“I had to. I called Beth and told her that Satorno was stalking her, but she didn’t take it seriously, so I went over. I think it was because Bill wasn’t buying it. He has a lot of influence with her.”
“Duh.”
“I had to tell Bill what happened to you, to make him believe it. He asked me how I knew so much, and I told him. I had to, or she’d be in danger.”
“I’m so sorry,” Anne said, chastened by the explanation. Between his client’s safety or his own representation, Matt had made a choice she admired. How could she have been angry at him? “I feel awful that you got fired. What are you going to do?”
“Clean up the file and hand it over. I think they’ll use Epstein now. Watch out, Anne. The good lawyers are coming.”
“Bullshit.” Anne bit her lip. “Can I help, or have I screwed things up enough already?”
“No, you didn’t do this. I did. I admit, I needed to lick my wounds after he fired me, and I wished I’d talked to Beth alone, but it’s okay now. He was my client, too, and he always speaks for Beth. You’re the one I’m worried about. Bennie called my house, saying you had given them the slip. She’s looking for you. She went up to your street to find you and there’s a block party, but some old guy wouldn’t let her in. Even Mary couldn’t sweet-talk him, or Judy.”
Anne smiled. Mr. Kopowski took no prisoners.
“She even called the cops, told them to look out for you. Where are you, Anne? You shouldn’t be alone, not with Satorno still loose. I want to see you, to be with you.”
Anne couldn’t let that happen. She’d involved enough people in this nightmare. “I’m fine, Matt. I don’t need my hand held.” People flowed past her on the sidewalk, her neighbors waving good-bye as they left for the fireworks.
“This guy is a killer,” Matt was saying. “He could be stalking you right now. Where are you? I hear people in the background.”
“I’m in a cab, I’m on my way over to your house, right now. Just stay there and wait for me.” It was a good idea, and would keep him in place until she caught Kevin. “I gotta go. Hear that beep? I’m low on batteries.”
“I don’t hear a beep. I’m worried that you’re going to do something crazy. Bennie said you own a gun. Is she right?”
“No, guns are scary. They go off by themselves, did you know that? There’s the beep again. I’ll be over as soon as I can. The traffic is a mess. Wait there for me!” Anne pressed the End button, and suddenly another message popped onto the phone screen. one call unanswered, read the blue letters. Probably Bennie again, but it could give a clue as to where she was. Her last two calls had been from her cell, and a mobile Bennie threatened Anne’s plan. She dialed for her voice mail, then listened.
It was Gil, not Bennie. “Anne, I’m really sorry for what I did last night.” His words sounded slurred and sloppy. “I never shoulda tried to, you know. Jamie’s thrown me out, and I was wondering if I could see you tonight, you know, just to talk it over . . . oh, shit! Willya look at that! I’m in the bar on the corner of Sixteenth and the Parkway, you know the one, and I’m watching you on the TV right now! Damn, you look awesome! I love your —”
Disgusted, Anne deleted the message, then hit End, troubled. Gil was only five blocks away and he’d seen the footage about the Dollar-A-Hoagie tent. She could only hope he wouldn’t interfere. She hit the Power button to shut the phone off, then slipped it back into her pocket. She glanced up at the sky, which had grown darker. The sun had dipped below the maple trees, flat rooftops, and loopy antennae. Its dying rays flooded the sky with a fierce orange. It was time to get started.
Anne removed the trash bag from under her arm, closed the drawstring, and set the bag down with the others, near the front of the alley. She couldn’t help noticing it was the same alley that she’d scooted down in her Uncle Sam stovepipe, now so long ago. She took off for the Parkway, pausing as she passed her house, with flowers still on the stoop. She knew what lay beyond her front door and flashed on the blood spattered on the entrance hall. The obscenity of the murder. The stench of death. Willa had died there, and now her killer would be brought to justice. Anne bowed her head, then slipped off into the twilight.
She joined the crowd flowing to the Parkway, scanning the people as she walked, remembering the details of Kevin’s newly dark hair and the shape of his head, watching for even the least sign of him. God knew what he’d be wearing. Something that blended in. She looked around. There were three hundred flag T-shirts in the moving crowd. Anne scooted along to catch up and check out as many as she could. None of them was Kevin.
She kept walking, slipping her hand inside her pocket for the Beretta, to reassure herself. She headed with the crowd onto the Ben Franklin Parkway, where the rowhouses disappeared. Eight lanes of the boulevard opened
