on a Wednesday, and a late autumn breeze swept in off the Schuylkill River as Detective Mike Coletti strode through the Fairgrounds Cemetery. As he passed between centuries-old crypts, Coletti thought of his young partner, Charlie Mann, whose crack marksmanship had saved Coletti from the serial killer who was now buried there. In some ways, Coletti wished that Mann had allowed him to die in the showdown with the killer. That way, Coletti wouldn’t be wrestling with a loss no one could understand, or walking toward a grave he didn’t want to see. But Coletti knew, deep down, that the grief he felt was just another in a long line of enemies that he’d spent his life fighting—enemies that in many ways were extensions of himself. In his youth, Coletti had struggled against his desire to cross the line between cops and criminals on South Philly’s mob-controlled streets. In the department, he’d struggled against authority, and in doing so, he’d crippled his career. In private, he’d struggled against the demons of pride, rebellion, and apathy.
