Robert Walker - Bitter Instinct

The city was famous for both its Quaker roots-hospitality and brotherly love-and for the ease with which people could get around, thanks to William Penn's surveyor general, Thomas Holme. Holme had laid out the city streets in 1682 on a grid quite visible from the air. The resulting rectangle, two miles long and one mile wide, enclosed approximately 1,280 acres between the Delaware and the picturesque Schuylkill River.

“East-to-west streets are named for trees,” Jessica told Kim. “North-to-south are numbered.”

“How… efficient.”

“Quaint, too, but there's a catch.”

“Naturally.”

“Early settlers counted back from both rivers, requiring each street to be additionally identified as Schuylkill Second or Delaware Third, and so on.”

“You're putting me on.”

“Actually, city fathers put things right around the turn of the century. The numbering now begins on the Delaware River side and moves westward to the city limits. Makes cab hopping a lot easier.”

“I should think.”

“If you'd like, Dr. Coran,” came the helicopter pilot's voice over the PA system, “I'll take you over the city first. We can pass the air station field for a helipad at Police Precinct One downtown. This'll cut out the need for a cab, and you'll have a nice view of the downtown area.”

Jessica put on a headset resting on her chair and spoke. “Thanks, Pete! That would save us a lot of hassle.”

Center Square with its massive Colonial-style city hall then came into view. When it had been erected in 1901, Philadelphia's city hall stood as the tallest and largest public building in the United States. “This area is the true heart of the city,” commented Jessica. “Philly is a walker's city.”

“A walker's city?”

“Down here it's impossible to get lost, given the layout, and in any direction you're going to run into an oasis with a park bench.”

Kim and Jessica saw the greenery of George Washington Park, David Rittenhouse Park, Benjamin Franklin Park, and James Logan Park, each flanked on all sides by traffic.

“Rush hour looks like hell,” commented Kim, pointing out a long snake of snarled metal on the street below.

“It is. Streets look quaint and narrow from up here, don't they?”

“Yes.”

“Fact is, the streets are quaint and narrow.”

“A quaint pain in the ass for those poor devils stuck in gridlock,” muttered Kim, breaking into a laugh. “While we blithely fly above it all.”

“Yeah, like winged goddesses.”

“Goddesses; really, Jessica,” Kim replied in mock amazement. A moment of static gave way to the pilot's voice over the PA again. “Doctors, welcome to Philly. Home of the Flyers, the 76ers, the Eagles, cheese steak sandwiches, Mummers, funky South Street, gateway to the Jersey Shore, the Liberty Bell, and don't forget soft pretzels.”

The chopper pilot worked his magic, aligning the machine with what looked to Kim Desinor like a postage stamp-the helipad atop the building. Jessica smiled at how calmly Pete brought the huge Soviet-made monster into the center of the X on the helipad marker. But her smile waned on seeing the people awaiting them at Philadelphia's police headquarters. Pete had called ahead, alerting officials of their arrival.

An uncharacteristic quiver could be seen in Jessica's jaw as she made out Area Special Agent in Charge James Parry, his broad-shouldered form standing beside what appeared to be the chief of police and most likely the detective in charge of the Philly task force, a towering dark-haired Sigourney Weaver look-alike.

Jessica saw that behind his resolute stance, Parry's nerves must be somewhat frazzled, the quiver in her jaw being matched by the clenched fists. He appeared as anxious about the prospect of working with her as she was with him.

“He knows you're coming, Jess,” said Kim, as if reading her mind. “He likely wants closure on this relationship as much as you, so just go easy.”

Jessica sat silent, unable to respond, her thoughts racing. She flashed on all the extremely happy moments she'd spent in James's presence, all the trips they'd shared, all the passion, and all the heartache.

“You okay, Jess?” Kim had reached out a hand to lay over her friend's. She had not missed Jessica's narrowing eyes and gritted teeth on seeing Parry.

“It's been a hell of a ride getting here,” Jessica replied, “but it's going to be even more hell seeing this through, I fear.”

Kim said into Jessica's ear, “But nothing you can't handle.”

“Thanks for the vote of confidence. I'm not so sure.”

“You've faced far worse foes. This will be a Cakewalk for Jessica Coran.”

“I'm not at all sure.”

“Hang tough, girl.”

“You sound like my father.”

“I'll take that as a compliment.”

“Absolutely.”

The helicopter touched down and the blades began to slow. To Jessica, the big Soviet chopper's last groan felt like her insides, and it sounded like the final breath of a dinosaur. She steeled herself to get up, step out, and meet anew her former lover, James Parry, special agent in charge of the Poet Killer case. “God, I feel like I'm going to stumble or say something stupid,” she confided in Kim.

“If you stumble, just be sure not to fall into his arms.”

“You'll catch me, then?”

“Count on it.”

“Thanks, Kim.” Jessica clamped onto her friends hand and squeezed.

“Don't mention it. What're friends for?”

When she looked directly into James Parry's eyes, Jessica felt her knees weaken with the memories-vivid, precise, and unbidden-that flooded her mind, memories of the most intimate, most delightful moments on holidays they had spent traveling around the globe. James's sandy-brown hair now had a liberal dusting of gray, making it appear lighter, but otherwise he looked the same. A tall, handsome man with broad shoulders and a winning smile, he stood as straight as an oak. She wondered how she would ever completely free herself of him, but then she wondered if it was worth the energy even to try. The sadness and pain of her memory of James would be a part of her forever. After all this time, after all she and Richard Sharpe now meant to each other, one part of her mind fought to hold on to her and Jim's love, or at least to the spirit of that love. At the same time, another part of her fought to pry it from memory. She felt like a wounded wolf wanting to chew its paw off to free itself from a trap.

Focus, she heard her father's admonition from the grave, focus on the job at hand, Jess.

During introductions, there was just enough awkwardness between Jessica and Parry to alert even the dullest mind in the group. Afterward, something inside Jessica told her to relax. She owed the investigation her full attention and support, and she owed Parry nothing other than her thanks for a long and wonderful relationship, and her thanks, after all, for his having once saved her life. Instead of focusing on James-who failed the “cool” test, first by stammering that he'd already had the pleasure, then by offering his hand to shake only to retract it immediately- Jessica turned her attention to the other man, a solidly built fullback type with a limp, who appeared to rock his way along rather than walk.

The police chief introduced himself as Aaron Roth and added, “I am putting all my faith in this team, ladies and gentlemen, and I fully expect to see results soon. Is that clear, everyone?”

He then introduced the tall, stick-thin woman beside him as Lieutenant Leanne Sturtevante, whose firm handshake, take-charge air, and strong voice made it clear that, as she said, “I am heading up and coordinating the Philadelphia Police Department's task force on the Poet Predator, as the press has dubbed the murderer.” Jessica recognized Sturtevante's need to take immediate control of the situation-not unlike herself-and she knew they would have difficulty working together unless they tried extra hard to be sensitive to each other's rough edges.