Full Tilt

26

Utica, New York

Lori Koller, an assistant at Essential Office Supply, set her fresh cup of orange tea on her desk and looked at her calendar.

Day by day. She sighed.

Ever since her husband, Luke, had died ten months ago, she’d struggled to carry on with their two little girls, the way he would’ve wanted. He was devoted to his family.

She glanced out the window of her building on Genesee Street.

Luke had been a construction worker. He was killed after falling ten stories at the site of a new apartment complex. But Lori hadn’t received much in the way of compensation, because the investigation found that Luke routinely unhitched his safety harness. It complicated everything. Luke’s life insurance policy was small. They had been planning to increase their coverage before he died.

After the funeral costs and the loss of Luke’s income, debts started piling up. Friends helped by holding a small memorial banquet but in grappling with her grief, caring for the girls, who cried for their daddy, Lori had had a rough time. She got counseling for her and her daughters, sold their SUV, their van, Luke’s tools, his boat and trailer, got a smaller car and paid down some bills.

Things were not easy and the hurting never went away, but day by day they were getting better, Lori thought, sipping her tea. She had gotten busy updating the monthly reports when her phone rang.

“Hey, it’s me. Did you see today’s OD?”

Her younger brother, Dylan, was a city bus driver, and, judging from the background noise, he was calling from the yard. Why would he ask if she’d read today’s Observer-Dispatch?

“No. Why?”

“Go online now and look for the story about Rampart.”

“I’m kinda busy.”

“You have to do it, right now.”

“Dylan.”

“Right now, it’ll only take a moment. I’ll stay on the line to be sure you find it.”

“All right.” Her keyboard clicked. “You are such a pain.” She went online to the newspaper’s website, found the story and started reading.

“Did you find it?” Her brother was anxious.

“Shh!”

Lori read fast, and her attention shifted from the text to the images, particularly the photo of Carl Nelson.

“See the picture of the guy they’re looking for?”

“Oh, my God!”

“It’s him! That’s the guy who bought your van.”

“But he said he was from Cleveland and I don’t think that’s his name. I’d have to check the sales papers.”

“Lori. I was there with you. That’s him! You have to call the police line and tell them.”

“I don’t know, Dylan, this is all scary. It’s all too much.”

“You have to, Lori. Do it right now!”

After Dylan hung up, she looked at the article. At the bottom was the toll-free number of the police tip line. Lori took a few breaths then reread the story. What happened in Rampart was such a horrible thing. Then it occurred to her that she wouldn’t want police to think she was somehow involved. Okay, okay, she’d do what any good citizen should do. Before she realized it, she’d dialed the number.

As the line rang in her ear she stared at the article and the photos, the search for human remains, then into the eyes of the man who had bought her family van.