Dead End Street

by Sheila Connolly

  I studied the woman in front of me. About my age, better dressed than I was, clearly intelligent and articulate. Did she believe in this venture? Or did she see it as a stepping-stone to a vice presidency at the firm? Assuming, of course, that the venture wasn’t a total bust. It wouldn’t be the first time: Philadelphia was littered with failed projects.

  “Why do you think this can be successful?” I asked. “Haven’t there been other efforts like this, such as Street’s initiative?”

  “Yes, of course. The neighborhoods problem in the city is not new, and the City, the state, and even the federal government have thrown money at it. Realistically, it’s usually too little, and it dries up too quickly. But times have changed. Impact investing has a decent track record. We’ve been careful about jumping in, waiting to see how other efforts have fared, and what mistakes were made. We think the time is right to move on this now.”

  “What does Tyrone think?” I said, mainly to satisfy my own curiosity.

  Surprisingly, Vee looked away. “If I may be honest, Tyrone thinks I’m selling out. That I’m going to ride this currently fashionable trend to get what I want, which is both money and job security. I won’t defend investment banking in general—a lot of established firms managed to tarnish their own reputations and have paid the price—but I believe in DH and their sincerity in advancing this effort. And I want to be part of it.”

  She looked past me, and I wondered if she was checking to be sure the door to her office was closed. Then she looked back at me. “Nell, I don’t often bring this up, but I was raised in the same neighborhood as Tyrone. I know what the problems are. I’ve worked hard to get where I am today, but in part that’s because I feel I can be more effective in bringing about real change from here, rather than on the streets like Tyrone.”

  That, I would never have guessed. “And how do you feel about what Tyrone is doing?” Which may have gotten him shot?

  “I respect my husband, Nell. He is truly committed to saving his neighborhood. My own opinion is that he’s pouring a lot of energy into his efforts, but they’re too small to really make a difference. It takes too much money and power to make the changes he wants to see happen, and he’ll never be able to access that through a small community organization.”

  I studied her for a moment. “It sounds like your goals are the same, but it’s your methods that differ.”

  “That’s true. Philadelphia is our home and always has been. It breaks my heart to see neighborhoods going downhill the way they have, even within my lifetime. I have the chance to make a real difference, and I’ve fought to make this firm see that. I hope Tyrone will be on my side. We want the same thing.”

  I gave myself a mental shake. It was getting late, and we needed to get down to details. “What would you like to see from us? And what’s your timetable?”

  Did Vee look relieved? “We hope to announce a fully fleshed-out project after the first of the year. Any sooner and it would get lost in the holiday muddle. In any event, it will take that long to get all the players lined up. Once we define a specific project, we’d like to see your Society put together a presentation on the ‘before’ aspects on the area—something we can distribute to investors. Something professional.”

  “With plenty of pictures? No, I’m not being sarcastic—I know that people like the old pictures, and that sometimes they don’t bother to read the words. But bear in mind that I wouldn’t want to put out anything that didn’t reflect conscientious scholarship, or that misrepresented the past. You know, not just happy children playing in the streets, or colorful festivals. These neighborhoods were diverse and vital—they had schools and shops and churches, and people knew one another, even watched out for one another. I hope that’s what you want to convey.”

  “Exactly. And I wouldn’t presume to interfere with your selection.”

  “I assume there would be some financial consideration?” Awkward phrasing, but not as crude as asking, How much?

  “Of course.” She named a figure that almost made me swallow my tongue. Just for a bit of responsible research? That we might even do anyway, pro bono? If she was trying to buy my support, she was doing an excellent job of it.

  I struggled to recover my balance. “If you’re successful, perhaps we could consider combining the individual portions as a book, sometime in the future?”

  “An excellent idea. So, are you interested?”

  “I can’t commit for my institution without consulting with my board”—not exactly true, but I was trying to be cautious and allow myself time to consider all sides of the idea—“but I’m sure they’ll be interested in your proposal. When do you expect to make a public announcement?”

  “Probably in January. Is that a reasonable amount of time for your people to pull together something we could use?”

  Maybe the cold and snow will keep the most active criminals behind closed doors and allow for some photo ops, I thought to myself. I glanced at the elegant crystal clock on her side table: nearly five thirty. “I’m sure we could manage that, as soon as you nail down which part of the city you want to target first. I’m sorry—I should be going. I’m meeting someone.”

  “Of course. I appreciate your taking the time to meet with me. Why don’t we walk out together? I’m finished for the day. Just let me gather my things and check with my secretary. Unless you’re in a terrible hurry?”

  “No, that’s fine.” Now that she thought she’d won me over, she was certainly being friendly.

  “I’ll be only a moment.” She hurried out to her secretary’s desk outside her office and began speaking to her. To give her privacy, I walked to the windows and gazed down at the city laid out below. There was city hall, the heart of the city, at the intersection of Broad Street and Market Street. Just as William Penn had envisioned more than three hundred years earlier. Much had changed, but history was still very much with us. And beyond it lay North Philadelphia, but there was nothing to be seen in that direction, just flat ground or what was left of the old row houses. I had to admit that some of the public commentators had got it right: it looked like images I’d seen of World War I war zones. I wondered if Vee had recognized the irony of her office location: looking back at the place she had come from, to the center of things. She had done well for herself. Maybe she saw this impact investing as her way of giving back, not merely a smart and trendy business idea. If it worked, she would probably accomplish far more in practical terms than Tyrone could hope for. What did he think about what his wife was doing? And why had he come to me before she had? Were they working together, or did they have separate agendas?

  Vee came up behind me. “All set. Wonderful view, isn’t it?”

  “It is. And it looks so different than what you see from ground level.” My office, albeit in a corner, had a wonderful view of a defunct night club, a parking lot, and—the only saving grace—one of the city’s murals. Maybe this view versus Tyrone’s summarized the two differing viewpoints: Tyrone saw individual people on the ground, while Vee saw the big picture, where old and new, rich and poor met.

  “Shall we go?” Vee asked.

  “Fine.” I followed her out to the elevator banks and we took an express to the ground floor. “Do you drive to work or take public transportation?” I asked, mainly to make conversation.

  “I walk when the weather permits. You know where we live—it’s not far. I call for a car if the weather is bad, or if I have an early or late appointment.”

  Must be nice. But then, I had a car and driver, at least for the moment—and they should be waiting for me downstairs.

  We walked out of the lobby on the Market Street side. Traffic out of the city was peaking. I scanned the curb for James’s car, but it wasn’t in sight. I wasn’t worried, since I was a few minutes early.

  “It was great talking with you, Nell,” Vee said. “I’ll call you when I have more information. I’m
heading home now.” She turned to walk toward the river, when suddenly her path was blocked by a large black man with a shiny bald head. He looked respectable enough, with a newish leather jacket that fit him well, and a large gold watch on his arm. Vee stopped just in time to avoid walking into him. “What do you want, Raheem?” she asked, her voice icy.

  Raheem? It couldn’t be a coincidence, could it? Raheem the North Philly drug dealer? Raheem who had arranged for that punk shooter? What was he doing here on Market Street?

  “Hey, Ronnie, just wanna talk with you. You don’t return my calls or nothin’.” His words seemed innocent enough, but his tone was cold. Wait—he knew Vee? Or Ronnie?

  “We don’t have anything to say to each other, Raheem,” she said stiffly.

  “You be wrong about that, I’m thinkin’. After what I done for you.” The man wasn’t budging.

  I tried to figure out what to do now. I could melt away and pretend I’d never seen him. Or I could jump to Vee’s aid, although apparently she knew the guy. Or I could call the police and give them some wild story and they’d send somebody, just to see if it was true. Or I could call James, although if he was driving I wasn’t sure he’d answer. I was reaching into my bag to find my cell phone when Raheem’s gaze shifted to me. It wasn’t friendly.

  “You—you the lady been all over the news this week, right? You a friend of Tyrone’s?”

  Vee turned to me and frowned. Was I supposed to play dumb? The man had already recognized me from the papers. “We’ve met,” I said neutrally.

  He nodded once. “Me and Ronnie here, we got things to talk about. We gonna go somewhere and talk. You can go.”

  I looked at Vee, and now I thought I saw a flash of fear. “I’m not sure Vee wants to go with you, Raheem.”

  Raheem had somehow managed to inch closer to Vee, and now he looked down at her. He must have outweighed her by a hundred pounds, easily. If he fell over on her, she’d be flattened. “That right, Ronnie? You don’t want to talk with me?”

  “I’m not going anywhere with you, Raheem. Leave me alone.” She took a step back, but he closed the gap again.

  “Jes’ wanna talk, Ronnie. About you and that little bitch your man was hangin’ around with.”

  And the pieces came together in my head. Raheem knew Vee. He had seen Tyrone and Cherisse together. Maybe in his mind he thought he was helping her, or that Tyrone was somehow insulting him by running around on his wife in the old neighborhood—Raheem’s turf. What conclusion he had drawn might or might not be correct, but he’d landed there with both feet. What had he done?

  “Is there a problem here, Nell?” James’s voice made me jump. I hadn’t heard him come up behind me, but I was overwhelmingly glad that he was there. I took a step back so I was standing beside him. Heck, I wanted to duck behind his broad back and hide, but that would make me look foolish.

  The little drama that followed, played out on a broad public sidewalk in the center of a busy city at rush hour, would have been highly entertaining—if I weren’t in the middle of it. Vee looked predictably confused; she had no idea who James was and what he was doing there, much less why he had stepped in and come to my assistance. Raheem, on the other hand, realized his control of the scene was being challenged, and somehow managed to make himself look bigger. Like a tomcat trying to scare off an adversary by fluffing out his fur, I thought irreverently. Of course, it didn’t work. James didn’t react, merely pulled aside his suit jacket so that Raheem could see his badge and gun. He didn’t have to say a word. Raheem’s expression changed quickly once he knew what he was facing. He took a step back.

  His eyes flicked back at Vee. “I can see I ain’t welcome here, Ronnie. But we gotta talk. You gonna listen, you hear me? You owe me.” He gave James a long look—like a kid on a playground saying, You don’t scare me, nyah nyah, then turned on his heel and walked away. He turned down the first street he came to and got into a waiting car, which disappeared quickly.

  James watched until he was out of sight. “I guess I wasn’t late,” he said.

  I resisted the strong urge to throw my arms around him. “No, I’d say you were right on time.”

  CHAPTER 25

  “Would you mind telling me what was going on here?” James asked. It seemed a very reasonable request—but I couldn’t explain much.

  I turned to Vee, who was standing stock-still on the sidewalk, looking mortified. I was pretty sure she would rather I hadn’t seen that confrontation. But what would have happened if I hadn’t been there? “Vee, that was Raheem Hill, wasn’t it?”

  That made her spin around to face me. “How do you know about him?”

  I glanced at James, who appeared to have made the connection, now that he had the name. Then I said, “I think we need to sit down and talk about this. Maybe with the police?”

  That startled Vee. “What? Why?”

  She actually looked like she didn’t understand what I was talking about. I wavered. Should we try to sort out what was going on here, or should we go straight to Hrivnak’s office before we jump into the story?

  “Raheem Hill is wanted for questioning in connection with Cherisse Chapman’s death.”

  “You mean, when Tyrone . . .” Now Vee seemed completely at a loss. I glanced at James for guidance.

  “Call the detective,” he said.

  I checked to make sure Vee wasn’t going to bolt—unlikely in those designer heels—then walked away a few paces to make the call. Luckily Detective Hrivnak answered.

  “What do you want?” she barked.

  “Don’t you ever go home? We’ve found a link to Raheem Hill, and you need to hear it, now. In fact, he was here just a minute ago, but he’s gone now.”

  “Crap,” she muttered. Maybe she had a life outside of work after all. “He didn’t happen to tell you where he was going?” Her tone was clearly sarcastic.

  “He got into a car and it headed toward the river, but it was a one-way street, so the driver didn’t have much choice. No way we could follow him or see where he turned.”

  Hrivnak sighed. “Where are you?”

  “Corner of Market and Eighteenth streets.”

  “I’ll meet you at your place in ten.” She hung up.

  I walked back over to where Vee and James were standing, as foot traffic flowed around them. “We’re meeting her at the Society. Have you two introduced each other yet? I didn’t mean to be rude, but I get kind of flustered when cornered by large, menacing men.”

  “Yes, we took care of the formalities,” James told me. “We should get over to the Society. We can’t do anything about Raheem right now, so let Hrivnak send her people after him.”

  “Vee, you okay?” I asked. She still looked stunned.

  She straightened her back and looked me in the eye. “Yes, I’ll be fine. Let’s get this sorted out.”

  We piled into James’s car and circled the block, making our way back to the Society. James scored a parking spot in the lot across the street, mainly by flashing his badge. It could have been a plastic copy of almost anything—the lot attendant didn’t examine it too closely, just waved the car in.

  We crossed the street and stood huddled in the doorway, watching for the detective. “You’ve never seen our collections, have you, Vee?” I asked, just making small talk.

  “No,” she said tersely.

  “You should come back sometime, when we don’t have other issues to deal with, and I’ll give you the grand tour.” Unless Vee was somehow implicated in whatever had happened with Tyrone and Cherisse and ended up in jail. So much for that generous consulting fee. Easy come, easy go.

  Hrivnak pulled up and parked on the street, oblivious to traffic. She charged up the steps to where we were waiting. “We going in, or we gonna stand here and freeze our butts off?” she asked me while scoping out Vee. Apparently the detective was not in a happy mood. Vee ke
pt her own gaze steady.

  “Just waiting for you,” I said. “Hang on while I disarm the alarm.” I unlocked the massive front door, then quickly punched in the key code, and the others filed in. I shut the door behind them and said, “Conference room?”

  “Yeah, fine,” Hrivnak said, and marched off in the right direction. She’d been here before. Too often.

  We all trooped into the room and found seats, James taking the farthest one. Once again, he had no active role in the proceedings, yet here he was. Hrivnak was going to think we were joined at the hip.

  “Can we get this over with?” the detective demanded. “I’d like to get home sometime today.”

  “Fine. Detective Hrivnak, do you know Veronica Blakeney? She’s Tyrone’s wife.”

  “No, I don’t, although I know of her.” The detective studied Vee, and I wondered if she was trying to picture her and Tyrone together. I had to admit it was an odd pairing.

  Vee didn’t flinch at the scrutiny. “I go by Vee, detective. As you may already know, I’m a vice president at Dillingham Harrington, and I invited Nell over to my office for a meeting this afternoon.”

  “And you need me here why?” Detective Hrivnak demanded, glaring at me. Definitely in a bad mood.

  Since Vee hadn’t volunteered any information, I decided to go ahead and explain what I had seen when we came out of the building, up through the point when James had swooped in and saved us. Well, I didn’t put it exactly that way. James did not interrupt. I wrapped up by saying, “I asked Vee if the man was Raheem Hill, and she said yes. After that we decided we needed to talk this over with you.”