CHAPTER 108 Sampson
Sampson
One week later …
I HAVEN’T WORN MY dress uniform in two years. Not since the last funeral I attended, somewhere in New Jersey. I didn’t know the officer, just knew that he’d been killed in the line of duty. So a lot of us showed up from all over, like we always do.
Today is different.
Today I’m in Arlington National Cemetery, and this place carries a lot of weight. White headstones everywhere, as far as the eye can see. I feel like I’m surrounded by duty and sacrifice. Whenever I’m here, I get a strong feeling of survivor’s guilt.
Today that feeling is stronger than ever.
Today we’re burying Anna Rizzo.
Willow is at my side, wearing a black dress that Jannie Cross found for her.
Rizzo’s flag-draped coffin is suspended over the open hole in the ground. The chaplain has given his remarks and recited that psalm, the one about walking through the valley of the shadow of death and fearing no evil.
Amen.
Off to the side, a line of seven soldiers in dress uniform point their rifles and fire off seven shots in unison.
Then seven more.
Then seven more.
A bugler blows taps—a call I’ve heard way too many times in my life, in too many places.
The uniformed pallbearers lift the flag from the coffin, pull it tight, then fold it into a progressive series of triangles, smaller and smaller, thicker and thicker, until only a section of the blue field and white stars is showing.
The officer in charge takes the folded flag and carries it in a slow march to the front row, where Marina, Tina, and Juan are sitting, dressed in their Sunday best. The sergeant hands the flag to Marina, then kneels in front of her and says a few sentences in Spanish.
Marina nods, dabbing her eyes with a tissue.
She lifts the flag from her lap and cradles it against her chest.
The officer places a white-gloved hand on Tina’s shoulder, then Juan’s. He says a few words to each of them. Then he stands up, snaps to attention, and salutes.
Willow pulls away from me and goes over to Juan and Tina.
She hugs them both. I give them a moment, then follow.
All the mourners are standing now—cops, friends, FBI agents.
Ned Mahoney and Dennis Chan are in the back row next to a group of techs from Rizzo’s ATF office.
Marina is speaking in Spanish to a relative.
Willow walks over to place a single flower on the casket, then hangs her head.
I stoop down and gather Tina and Juan in my arms. I press their heads against my shoulders so they can’t see my face. Nobody wants to see a guy my size crying.
My throat is burning, and it takes me a few seconds to find my voice.
“Your mother was a hero,” I whisper. “I know you’ll always love her. I know you’ll always be proud of her, and I know that you’ll never, ever forget her.”
Neither will I.
Rest in peace, Anna.