April's text in black pen:

12/4 More people are sick today. A LOT more. DCD consultants are all over TV + radio telling everyone all the standard stuff. Avoid crowds, don't panic, if you're sick stay home, don't go to the hospital unless you really have to. The mayor made a statement too. Nobody seems to know what this sickness is, but it moves fast. A lot of people have already died of it.

The quarantine on Manhattan is clamping down even tighter. There are National Guard barricades on all the bridges and at the mouth of tunnels. I walked to the approach of the Williamsburg Bridge, and Delancey Street was completely blocked off at Forsyth. They've got big Department of Corrections buses parked across the lanes. I saw one person got through and start running up the bike path. The National Guardsmen actually pointed guns at him but their officer told them to stand down. He said there was another barricade in the middle of the river.

I found a cop and told him what happened to Bill. He took a report but said everything was overwhelmed with the epidemic. I said, "Well, somemone must be investigating murders, right?" He looked me right in the eye and said, " Not right now. If I were you I'd go home, write down everything you remember, and get back to us when this settles." I couldn't believe what I was hearing. "My husband was murdered!' I said. " Lady,' he said. "I'm very sorry for your loss. Nine hundred people died of this disease just in Manhattan yesterday. Every spare uniform is guarding the hospitals to stop them from being overrun. I wish I could help you more, but that's the way it is. Now go home."

So I did. I mean. I wenrt to Eva's. I wish I could go home. I've been up since then thinking about Bill, trying to do what the cop said. Write down everything you remember. So here goes...