Monsters Got Blamed for Murder, So I Relived the Victim's Last Hour novel · Chapter 30 of 32

Chapter 30: The Count

By eight on Friday morning the line outside the Joliet cold house ran a quarter mile along the river.

Honore Street's women were handing out coffee from steel urns.

I had asked the Table to bring more hands than anyone thought we needed, and six hundred people had come.

The Rangers' captains held the gate.

The sixth captain carried a folding chair to an old woman at the front and set it down for her himself.

The Garfield Park set kept the press behind a rope at the road without being asked.

I had made it a condition that families would go in before cameras.

The Jefferson Street bar regulars stood in a row along the fence in their coats, each with a thermos and nothing to say.

Inside, the Bureau's furnaces had been turned off at midnight by court order.

The hall was held at thirty-four degrees, cold enough to hold the dead and warm enough for the living to stand beside them.

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