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Authors: Greg F. Gifune
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overcast day, the kind that threatened rainstorms but rarely delivered much besides the occasional mist or insipid, icy trickle. The drive from Maine to Massachusetts had been tedious and uneventful, and by the time heâd reached the city of Fall River, his initial thought was that it hadnât changed much in the last twenty years. Joel hadnât been back in all that time, but the city looked much the same as it had when heâd last seen it.
Originally an outpost of the Plymouth Colony, Fall River had rather modest beginnings, but by the nineteenth century it had become the largest textile-producing city in the nation. The death of that industry had ravaged the city, but Fall River had always survived and found alternate ways to thrive and survive. A city of nearly 90,000 people located along the shore of Mount Hope Bay, at the mouth of the Taunton River, it was not only famous for its textile history, but also for Lizzie Borden, for Portuguese culture (due to the large Portuguese population), and for being the home of the USS Massachusetts and a large assembly of World War II naval vessels, an area known as Battleship Cove.
Although the city had its share of ups and downs over the years, in the 1980s there was a considerable amount of new development and revitalization, including the infusion of a vibrant mix of cultures from around the world. But in 2010, Fall River had also been ranked one of the most dangerous cities in the United States, largely because of a heroin epidemic with ties to the shipping ports in nearby New Bedford. Still, as Joel negotiated the streets and made his way to the address Katelyn Burrows had given him, the city appeared to be on the rise and to have rebounded in most neighborhoods, as the higher crime still seemed to be mostly limited to certain specific areas.
It was still early in the day, late morning, when Joelâs directions led him to an enclave of single-family town houses. Complete with identical, small front yards, the neighborhood had less of a city feel and more closely resembled the kind of development one might find in a smaller town.
Following the circular layout of streets, he soon located the correct unit and pulled over, parking on the street so as not to block the driveway. He turned the car off, then studied the property a moment.
The units looked reasonably new and had a suburban, middle-class look. A small SUV and a compact car he recognized as the same one Katelyn had driven to Maine were parked in the driveway. Both were well cared for, as were the front lawn, manicured shrubs and chipped stone path leading to the front door.
Joel gathered the case containing his laptop and notebooks from the passenger seat, then stepped out of the car. He hadnât quite reached the front door when it opened and a lanky man in his twenties emerged. Joel assumed this was Katelynâs husband, as he sported a buzz cut and was dressed in an inexpensive suit, tie and black wingtips. He looked exactly like the accountant she said he was. Waiting for Joel to get closer, the man lingered on the front steps awkwardly before he extended his hand and asked, âMr. Walker?â
âYesâcall me Joelâitâs Joel.â
âAdam Burrows. Nice to meet you, sir.â
âPleasure,â Joel said, taking his hand. There hadnât been any snowfall beyond southern Maine, but it was just as bitterly cold here, and Joel couldnât help but wonder why, once their handshake had concluded, they were still on the steps and not already inside. âEverything all right?â Joel finally asked.
âYes, my apologies,â Burrows said, apparently as formal and stiff as his wife but far less comfortable with verbal interaction. âI just wanted to thank you for doing this. It means the world to Katelyn, and to me too. When you called and told her youâd agreed to check things out, she was so happy, IâwellâI want you to know how much
Originally an outpost of the Plymouth Colony, Fall River had rather modest beginnings, but by the nineteenth century it had become the largest textile-producing city in the nation. The death of that industry had ravaged the city, but Fall River had always survived and found alternate ways to thrive and survive. A city of nearly 90,000 people located along the shore of Mount Hope Bay, at the mouth of the Taunton River, it was not only famous for its textile history, but also for Lizzie Borden, for Portuguese culture (due to the large Portuguese population), and for being the home of the USS Massachusetts and a large assembly of World War II naval vessels, an area known as Battleship Cove.
Although the city had its share of ups and downs over the years, in the 1980s there was a considerable amount of new development and revitalization, including the infusion of a vibrant mix of cultures from around the world. But in 2010, Fall River had also been ranked one of the most dangerous cities in the United States, largely because of a heroin epidemic with ties to the shipping ports in nearby New Bedford. Still, as Joel negotiated the streets and made his way to the address Katelyn Burrows had given him, the city appeared to be on the rise and to have rebounded in most neighborhoods, as the higher crime still seemed to be mostly limited to certain specific areas.
It was still early in the day, late morning, when Joelâs directions led him to an enclave of single-family town houses. Complete with identical, small front yards, the neighborhood had less of a city feel and more closely resembled the kind of development one might find in a smaller town.
Following the circular layout of streets, he soon located the correct unit and pulled over, parking on the street so as not to block the driveway. He turned the car off, then studied the property a moment.
The units looked reasonably new and had a suburban, middle-class look. A small SUV and a compact car he recognized as the same one Katelyn had driven to Maine were parked in the driveway. Both were well cared for, as were the front lawn, manicured shrubs and chipped stone path leading to the front door.
Joel gathered the case containing his laptop and notebooks from the passenger seat, then stepped out of the car. He hadnât quite reached the front door when it opened and a lanky man in his twenties emerged. Joel assumed this was Katelynâs husband, as he sported a buzz cut and was dressed in an inexpensive suit, tie and black wingtips. He looked exactly like the accountant she said he was. Waiting for Joel to get closer, the man lingered on the front steps awkwardly before he extended his hand and asked, âMr. Walker?â
âYesâcall me Joelâitâs Joel.â
âAdam Burrows. Nice to meet you, sir.â
âPleasure,â Joel said, taking his hand. There hadnât been any snowfall beyond southern Maine, but it was just as bitterly cold here, and Joel couldnât help but wonder why, once their handshake had concluded, they were still on the steps and not already inside. âEverything all right?â Joel finally asked.
âYes, my apologies,â Burrows said, apparently as formal and stiff as his wife but far less comfortable with verbal interaction. âI just wanted to thank you for doing this. It means the world to Katelyn, and to me too. When you called and told her youâd agreed to check things out, she was so happy, IâwellâI want you to know how much
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