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As I drove up I-95 to Philadelphia, I pondered Marzetti’s reaction Maybe, like Brad, he had stu he wasn’t supposed to find Odd that Marzetti, like Cooper, had left so quickly and so soon after discovering the proble the account have so to do with it? Perhaps someone—Cooper?—had warned him not to tell anyone about the account Cooper could have found a way to hack into the system and create the account And, ain, Cooper cut bait and ran, takingsome of it behind to implicate Brad

An interesting theory, but that’s all it was I needed hard proof

It took me less than two hours to reach Cooper’s place, a dilapidated row house in a shabby North Philly neighborhood One of several identical iterations squeezed together The building looked tired, as if the only reason it stood was the support from its twin brothers to either side

I parked in an alley littered with old syringes, spent condolass As I climbed the stoop, I had to wonder: What’s a for in a shithole like this?

I rang the bell While waiting, I had ti Darrell Cooper Duvall had said this was a forwarding address Maybe he was just having his et a post office box?

I knocked and waited soet one far frohborhood The door opened a crack

A pale-faced woman with shar-pei wrinkles stuck her snout under the chain The odor of cigarettes and BO drifted out “Whatcha selling?” she asked

“Nothing,” I said “I’ for Darrell Cooper”

“Really? Well, ain’t he the popular one?”

“Does he live here?”

“Depends on what you call ‘living’ He keeps his shit here and stops in from time to time”

“When did he move in?”

“Couple weeks ago” Right around the tiht Darrell Cooper

“And someone else has come to see him?”