The Guilty - Jason Pinter [115]
paying attention to human interest stories that day--but I
wrote a piece about a woman in Nebraska who'd lost her
husband to cancer and her son to a carjacking. Childless and
widowed at forty-one. She'd never worked a day in her life,
and suddenly decided to join the police force, and became a
cadet on her forty-second birthday. Her name was Patti
Ramona, and I remember she told me that if she saved just
one life doing her job, if she prevented one family from going
through what she went through, then their deaths wouldn't
sting so much."
Jack coughed into his hand.
"A week after the article came out, I got a letter from a man
in Idaho, Robert something, his name escapes me. Robert had
lost his wife and daughter and had been dying of loneliness
for a decade. Robert told me the moment he finished reading
my story he went out and became a volunteer firefighter. He
said thanks to Patti he knew his life could still have a purpose.
You see what I'm saying, Henry? You don't need a whole city
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to remember you. If you make your mark on just one person,
change one life for the better, that's the noblest thing you can
ever do. It's easy to be a celebrity. It's harder to actually mean
something."
He clapped me on the shoulder and left without saying
another word. I watched him turn the corner and disappear.
And then I was alone.
Sitting at my desk, my mind was blank. I didn't know
what to write about. I stared down at the paper Jack had left
on my desk. My phone was silent. E-mail inbox empty. I had
a sudden and terrible feeling of deja vu, remembering walking
the streets of Manhattan after Mya had been attacked a year
ago. Getting drunk and hoping the needle in a haystack would
cross my path. I remembered the anger and sadness, a dangerously potent mixture. I felt that way now.
It was easier when there was a story. Something to focus
on, something to prevent my mind from wandering. But right
now all I could focus on was that emptiness. And hope it
didn't consume me.
And suddenly everything changed.
I saw Wallace running from his office down the hall.
Evelyn followed from Metro, her short legs having trouble
keeping up. Then two more got up and ran after them. Frank
Rourke ran past my desk. I grabbed his shirtsleeve.
"What's going on? Where's everybody running to?"
"Anonymous tip just came in, there's a hostage situation
going down. Some maniac took a girl."
"Where?" I asked.
"Downtown," he said. "199 Water Street." Then he ran
off.
I couldn't breathe. 199 Water Street. That building housed
the New York Legal Aid Society. Where Amanda worked.
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But the stringers...there was no police activity.Yet everyone
at the news desk knew about it. What the hell was happening?
My heart racing, I picked up the phone and dialed Curt
Sheffield's cell phone. He picked up, said, "This is Sheffield."
"Curt, it's Henry. Have you heard anything about a hostage
situation down on Water Street?"
"That's a negative, nothing's come over the radio, and I'm
downtown right now so I would've heard something. Why,
what's going on?"
"I don't know," I said. "Somebody called in an anonymous
tip about a hostage in the building where Amanda works. But
if it hasn't been reported to the cops yet... I'll call you back."
I hung up, dialed Amanda's number at the office. We hadn't
spoken in days. I didn't know how she'd sound, what to expect,
but I needed to know what was happening, that she was all right.
I regained my breath when the line picked up and I heard
Amanda's voice say, "New York Legal Aid Society, this is
Amanda."
"Amanda, it's me."
"Henry...hi..."
"Listen, is everything okay over there?"
"Of course it is, what do you mean?"
"Are you in trouble? Have you seen or heard anything
strange?"
"Other than your calling me just now, I was having a pretty
uneventful day."
"Thank God."
"Thank God I was having an uneventful day?"
"No, not that at all, I...well, yeah...I'm just glad you're safe."
"Safe? Why wouldn't I be? If there's something I should