An officer's car was parked across the street when Zelda called to let me know folks were starting to show up. I got my clipboard with blank paper for people to sign, and headed over.
I suddenly realized, as people stood around chatting--like 30 people--that I didn't know what I was going to say, and I was kind of in charge.
But it went fine. I explained the block list; I introduced the officer. The break in on our street had been solved--Nick had identified the guys, the fingerprints matched, they confessed. Well, one confessed. The other was at large. But still. They know what's going on. But they're not responsible for it all, unfortunately (wouldn't that be lucky).
We now have a detective assigned to our neighborhood.
And yes to more patrols.
Reiterated calling the police. Don't watch and leave a nice note for folks. Call 911. Don't be scrupulous. Don't worry about it. That's their job.
I left with more work to do--new block lists to make, information to process. But I stood in my kitchen with Jake as we made pesto pasta, the back door open and Daisy playing on the swingset in the dusk, and I said, "We are so lucky to live here."
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