And then came the waterworks.

And then she'd basically repeated what she'd said.

And then came the waterworks again.

Javier found it curious that Sasha almost never looked Corporal Crowe in the eyes, and when she did it was for only a split second-then she'd bury her face in her hands and sob.

It wasn't that he felt the tears were not authentic.

The girl was clearly in deep emotional distress, and damn near inconsolable.

She's shaking to her core, she's crying so much.

But… there's something that's just not right, something that's missing, not being said.

Yet when asked if anything at all suspicious had happened in the last days, weeks, even months, she'd said there'd been nothing.

She said, "Grammy got sick a lot, mostly from her diabetes. And her weight. I guess… I guess her heart just couldn't take it anymore." Kim Soo and Javier Iglesia rolled the gurney out the front door and the wooden boards of the porch creaked under all the weight. The two uniforms talking with Sasha Bazelon looked over their shoulders and made eye contact with the medical examiner techs.

Sasha looked up from her hands, saw the packed body bag strapped to the gurney, and let out a wail.

"Officer Pope," Javier Iglesia said, "when you get a moment?"

Javier dipped his head once sideways, in the direction of the white Ford panel van.

Pope nodded. Soo and Iglesia wheeled the gurney past the small crowd, trying to remain professional and not make eye contact. But then a tiny, ancient-looking black lady-Javier thought she easily could be in her nineties-held her Bible up to her forehead and cried, "Go with God, sweet Joelle. Rest in peace. Praise be the Lord!"

Javier saw that she was clearly upset, but unlike the other younger women had her crying under control.

A strong and brave lady, Iglesia thought as they made eye contact, and with sad eyes and thin pensive lips, he nodded. Far braver than I.

"Amen," he said softly to her. As Kim swung open the two rear doors of the white Ford panel van, Javier said, "You know, this and South Philly have been my home all my life. And it's all changing. It's all slowly going to shit."

"Mine, too. The whole city is," Kim replied. "So, what's your point?"

"My point is, good people are getting hurt. And someone needs to step up, is my point. I mean, I know we did pot and stuff at South Philly High. But now dealers are selling to middle schoolers, and not just pot, but bad stuff like candy smack."

"Candy smack?"

"Yeah. I mean black tar heroin, is what I mean. Cheap deadly shit from Mexico, mixed with sugar. And other junk. And then the kids get hooked, then need money to go score more, so then they go rob some old lady, maybe tie her up and kill her. That's what I mean, man!"

Kim Soo looked wide-eyed at Javier Iglesia.

"You don't know that's what happened to her," Soo said, glancing at the body bag.

Iglesia glanced up at the row house porch, then turned and stared Soo in the eyes and said, "I know two things. One, that girl knows something that she isn't telling about Principal Bazelon. And two, I'm not going to sit around while my neighborhood goes to hell."

He gazed down the block. Across the street, three houses down, he noticed that another group had gathered. Five boys. They were sitting on a short brick wall and watching the activity at the Bazelon house. They looked to be teenagers, a couple maybe a little older, and in their baggy jeans, oversize gangster jackets, and hoodie sweatshirts, they did not appear to be on their way to church.

The only thing they worship is trouble.

"See these punks?" Iglesia said as he nodded at the group. "I guarantee you they're up to no good. Ten bucks says they're using, five says selling. And who knows whatever the hell else."

Kim Soo turned to look, then faced Iglesia and said, "Aw, hell, Javier. You don't know that. A lot of kids do that gangsta-from-the-'hood look. We used to hang out in high school wearing tough looks, too."

"Uh-uh," Iglesia said, shaking his head. "It's different now, is what it is."

Soo shrugged his shoulders.

After a moment, Iglesia added, "You see any of the speech that Ben Franklin rich guy gave last night on the news? While Jimmy's team was at the Old City scene of the first two pop-and-drops?"

"Pop-and-drops?"

"Yeah, that's what a sergeant I know in Homicide says they're calling them. There was five to start. Now there's eight. And they're all stacked up in the meat locker, waiting for Mitchell and his buzz saw. The Homicide sergeant came by the office one day and took a look at them."

"Yeah, I saw that eye-for-an-eye guy's speech right before I hit the sack. He's paying ten grand for anyone bagging a bad guy-'evildoers,' he called them!"

"Yeah!" Javier Iglesia said, his face lighting up.

Soo realized that Javier was quickly getting his talkativeness back.

Javier went on: "Now, that's what I'm talking about! I mean, someone has finally had enough of the city going to hell and they're stepping up to help fix it, is what I mean. Ten large per 'evildoer' is some seriously high stepping up."

He paused and looked down at the body bag.

"Too damn bad it's too late for Principal Bazelon."

Javier then softly repeated, "Rest in peace. Praise be the Lord."

He shoved the gurney, causing its framework to collapse as it rolled up and inside the rear of the van. Then he gently, respectfully, closed the left door, then the right one.

Police Officer Geoffrey Pope was standing on the curb, behind where the right door had been open, making Javier wonder how long he'd been there and how much he'd heard.

"Hey, Geoff," Javier said to him. "You standing there long?"

"Long enough to hear the news flash that the city's going to hell. And your short prayer for the deceased." He paused, then added, "You don't look too good, Javier."

"I'm-"

He stopped as he glanced at the small crowd on the sidewalk. A few were watching the conversation between the cop and the tech with rapt interest.

"Step around here," Javier said, walking around to the far side of the van to block the view of the curious.

Javier pulled out his wallet and from it extracted a business card. He held it out to Officer Pope.

"Here's my card, Geoff. It's got my cell phone number on it. I live eight blocks away, the other side of Warrington, over where the middle school is."

"Yeah, and?"

"And if there is anything I can do to help get this girl to talk, as a citizen, as a concerned neighbor, whatever, you let me know."

"I'm not sure I should share anything-"

"Who the hell am I going to tell anything?"

Pope held up his hands chest high, palms out. "Hold up, Javier. I'm just-"

"Look, Geoff. My baby sister is her age, and I know when she's holding something back. And I'm telling you, that poor girl is holding something back."

"You don't think she did it, do you? What'd be her motive?"

"Maybe she gets the house?"

"That banshee cry of hers is deep. It's not contrived."

"Whatever it is, she's lying."

Pope shrugged.

Javier said, "I mean, I don't think it's a malicious lie, I don't. But there's something not being said."

"There always is, Javier. Welcome to police work."

V

[ONE] 2620 Wilder Street, Philadelphia Sunday, November 1, 9:02 A.M. Will Curtis drove the rented white Ford Freestar minivan up onto the cracked South Philly sidewalk, braking to a stop in front of the tiny, run-down, two-story row house.

He studied it and thought, Hope this sonofabitch is in there.

I can't believe that last sonofabitch's address was so old the house was completely gone, burned to the damn ground.

Don't want two dead ends to start my day.

Curtis wore his Federal Express uniform, complete with the grease-smeared FedEx cap. The driver and front passenger doors of the minivan each had a three-foot-square polymer sign displaying the red-and-blue FedEx logotype and the words HOME DELIVERY. He knew his makeshift package delivery van wouldn't pass muster with anyone back at the distribution warehouse, but so far it had looked like the real deal to everyone else.