Warshawski 01 - Indemnity Only (23 page)

As I drove off, I could see him moving down the street in my rearview mirror, a jaunty figure despite the close air.

It was only eight when I got back to Lotty’s. She was having toast and coffee in the kitchen. Jill, her oval face alive and expressive, was talking animatedly, a half-drunk glass of milk in front of her. Her innocent good spirits made me feel old and decadent. I made a face at myself.

“Good morning, ladies. It’s a stinker outside.”

“Good morning, Vic,” said Lotty, her face amused. “What a pity you had to work all night.”

I gave her a playful punch on the shoulder. Jill
asked, “Were you really working all night?” in a serious, worried voice.

“No, and Lotty knows it. I spent the night at a friend’s place after doing a little work. You have a pleasant evening? How were the enchiladas?”

“Oh, they were great!” Jill said enthusiastically. “Did you know that Carol has been cooking since she was seven?” She giggled. “I don’t know how to do one useful thing, like ironing or even making scrambled eggs. Carol says I’d better marry someone with lots of money.”

“Oh, just marry someone who likes to cook and iron,” I said.

“Well, maybe you can practice on some scrambled eggs tonight,” Lotty suggested. “Are you going to be here tonight?” she asked me.

“Can you make it an early dinner? I’ve got a seven thirty meeting down at the University of Chicago—someone who may be able to help me find Anita.”

“How about it, Jill?” Lotty asked.

Jill made a face. “I think I’ll plan on marrying someone rich.” Lotty and I laughed. “How about peanut butter sandwiches?” she suggested. “I already know how to make those.”

“I’ll make you a fritata, Lotty,” I promised, “if you and Jill will pick up some spinach and onions on your way home.”

Lotty made a face. “Vic is a good cook, but a messy one,” she told Jill. “She’ll make a simple dinner for four in half an hour, but you and I will spend the night cleaning the kitchen.”

“Lotty!” I expostulated. “From a fritata? I promise you—” I thought a minute, then laughed. “No promises. I don’t want to be late for my meeting. Jill, you can clean up.”

Jill looked at me uncertainly: Was I angry because she didn’t want to make dinner? “Look,” I said, “you don’t have to be perfect: Lotty and I will like you even if you have temper tantrums, don’t make your bed, and refuse to cook dinner. Okay?”

“Certainly,” Lotty agreed, amused. “I’ve been Vic’s friend these last fifteen years, and I’ve yet to see her make a bed.”

Jill smiled at that. “Are you going detecting today?”

“Yes, up to the North Side. Looking for a needle in a haystack. I’d like to have lunch with you, but I don’t know what my timetable is going to be like. I’ll call down to the clinic around noon, though.”

I went into the guest room and changed into shorts, T-shirt, and running shoes. Jill came in as I was halfway through my warm-up stretches. My muscles had tightened up in response to their abuse, and I was having to go more slowly and carefully than normal. When Jill came in, I was sweating a little, not from exertion, but from the residual pain. She stood watching me for a minute. “Mind if I get dressed while you’re in here?” she asked finally.

“No,” I grunted. “Unless—you’d feel more—comfortable—alone.” I pulled myself upright. “You thought about calling your mother?”

She made a face. “Lotty had the same idea. I’ve decided
to be a runaway and stay down here.” She put on her jeans and one of her man-sized shirts. “I like it here.”

“It’s just the novelty. You’ll get lonesome for your private beach after a while.” I gave her a quick hug. “But I invite you to stay at Lotty’s for as long as you like.”

She laughed at that. “Okay, I’ll call my mom.”

“Atta girl. ‘Bye, Lotty,” I called, and started out the door. Sheffield Avenue is about a mile from the lake. I figured if I ran over to the lake, eight blocks down to Diversey and back again, that would give me close to four miles. I went slowly, partly to ease my muscles and partly because of the stifling weather. I usually run seven-and-a-half-minute miles, but I tried to pace it at about nine minutes this morning. I was sweating freely by the time I got to Diversey, and my legs felt wobbly. I cut the pace going north, but I was so tired I wasn’t paying too much attention to the traffic around me. As I left the lake path, a squad car pulled out in front of me. Sergeant McGonnigal was sitting in the passenger seat.

“Good morning, Miss Warshawski.”

“Morning, Sergeant,” I said, trying to breathe evenly.

“Lieutenant Mallory asked me to find you,” he said, getting out of the car. “He got a call yesterday from the Winnetka police. Seems you fast-talked your way past them to get into the Thayer house.”

“Oh, yeah?” I said. “Nice to see so much
cooperation between the suburban and the city forces.” I did a few toe touches to keep my leg muscles from stiffening.

“They’re concerned about the Thayer girl. They think she should be home with her mother.”

“That’s thoughtful of them. They can call her at Dr. Herschel’s and suggest that to her. Is that why you tracked me down?”

“Not entirely. The Winnetka police finally turned up a witness to the shooter’s car, though not to the shooting.” He paused.

“Oh, yeah? Enough of an ID to make an arrest?”

“Unfortunately the witness is only five years old. He’s scared silly and his parents have roped him around with lawyers and guards. Seems he’d been playing in the ditch alongside Sheridan Road, which was a no-no, but his folks were asleep, so he sneaked out. That’s apparently why he went—because it’s off limits. He was playing some crazy game, you know how kids are, thought he was stalking Darth Vader or something, when he saw the car. Big, black car, he says, sitting outside the Thayer house. He decided to stalk it when he saw a guy in the passenger seat who scared the daylights out of him.”

McGonnigal stopped again to make sure I was following. He emphasized his next words carefully. “He finally said—after hours of talk, and many promises to the parents that we wouldn’t subpoena him or publish the news—that what scared him about the guy was that Zorro had got him. Why Zorro? It seems this guy had some kind of mark on his face. That’s all he
knows: He saw it, panicked, and ran for his life. Doesn’t know if the guy saw him or not.”

“Sounds like a good lead,” I commented politely. “All you have to do is find a big black car and a man with a mark on his face, and ask him if he knows Zorro.”

McGonnigal looked sharply at me. “We police are not total idiots, Miss Warshawski. It’s not something we can take to court, because of promising the parents and the lawyers. Anyway, the testimony isn’t very good. But Zorro—you know, Zorro’s mark is a big Z, and the lieutenant and I wondered if you knew anyone with a big Z on his face?”

I felt my face twitch. Earl’s gofer, Tony, had had such a scar. I shook my head. “Should I?”

“Not too many guys with that kind of mark. We thought it might be Tony Bronsky. He got cut like that by a guy named Zav who objected to Tony taking away his girl friend seven-eight years ago. He hangs around Earl Smeissen these days.”

“Oh?” I said. “Earl and I aren’t exactly social friends, Sergeant—I don’t know all his companions.”

“Well, the lieutenant thought you’d like to know about it. He said he knew you’d sure hate for anything to happen to the little Thayer girl while you were looking after her.” He got back into his car.

“The lieutenant has a fine sense of drama,” I called after him. “He’s been watching too many
Kojak
reruns late at night. Tell him that from me.”

McGonnigal drove off and I walked the rest of the way home. I’d completely lost interest in exercise.
Lotty and Jill had already left. I took a long, hot shower, easing my leg muscles and thinking over McGonnigal’s message. It didn’t surprise me that Earl was involved in John Thayer’s death. I wondered if Jill really was in any danger, though. And if she was, was she worse off with Lotty and me? I toweled dry and weighed myself. I was down two pounds, surprising with all the starch I’d been eating lately.

I went into the kitchen to squeeze some orange juice. There was one way in which Jill was worse off with me, I realized. If Earl decided I needed to be blown away completely, she’d make a perfect hostage for him. I suddenly felt very cold.

Nothing I was doing was getting me anyplace—unless Thayer’s execution could be called a destination. I couldn’t tie McGraw to Masters or Thayer. I didn’t have a clue about Anita. The one person who might supply me with anything was McGraw, and he wouldn’t. Why the hell had he come to me in the first place?

On impulse I looked up the Knifegrinders’ number in the white pages and dialed. The receptionist transferred me to Mildred. I didn’t identify myself but asked for McGraw. He was in a meeting and couldn’t be disturbed.

“It’s important,” I said. “Tell him it concerns Earl Smeissen and John Thayer.”

Mildred put me on hold. I studied my fingernails. They needed filing. At last the phone clicked and McGraw’s husky voice came on the line.

“Yes? What is it?” he asked.

“This is V. I. Warshawski. Did you finger Thayer for Earl?”

“What the hell are you talking about? I told you to stay out of my business.”

“You dragged me in in the first place, McGraw. You made it my business. Now I want to know, did you finger Thayer for Earl?”

He was quiet.

“One of Earl’s men shot Thayer. You brought Thayer’s name into this to begin with. You’ve hedged about why. Did you want to be sure he got dragged into the case from the beginning? You were afraid the police might jump on Anita, and you wanted to make sure his name got in the pot? Then what—he threatened to squeal, and you asked Earl to kill him just in case?”

“Warshawski, I got a tape running. You make any more accusations like this and I could see you in court.”

“Don’t try it, McGraw: They might subpoena the rest of your tapes.”

He slammed the phone down. I didn’t feel any better.

I dressed in a hurry, but checked the Smith & Wesson carefully before putting it in my shoulder holster. My continuing hope was that Earl thought he’d rendered me negligible, and that he’d continue thinking so until I’d unraveled enough truth to make it too late for any other action he might take. But I
took no chances, leaving the apartment from the rear and circling the block to come to my car. The coast was still clear.

I decided to abandon Loop bars and go to the Knifegrinders’ neighborhood. I could return to the Loop tomorrow if necessary. On my way north I stopped at the clinic. Although it was early in the day, the waiting room was already full. I again walked past the baleful glares from those who had been sitting for an hour.

“I need to talk to Lotty,” I said abruptly to Carol. She took one look at my face and got Lotty out of the examining room. I quickly explained to her what had happened. “I don’t want to get Jill upset,” I said, “but I don’t want to feel like we’re sitting on a land mine here.”

Lotty nodded. “Yes, but what’s to stop them from taking her out of the Thayer house?” she asked. “If they decide she would be a good hostage, I’m afraid they could get her wherever she was. It is not your peace of mind, but Jill’s we need to think of. And I think she’s better down here for another couple of days. Until her father’s funeral, anyway; she called the in other—the funeral won’t be until Friday.”

“Yes, but, Lotty, I’m running against the clock here. I’ve got to keep going, I can’t sit guarding Jill.”

“No.” She frowned, then her face cleared. “Carol’s brother. Big, bruising, good-natured guy. He’s an architecture student at Circle—maybe he can come and watch out for thugs.” She called to Carol, who listened eagerly to the problem, threw up her hands at
the thought of Jill in danger, but agreed that Paul would be glad to come and help. “He looks mean and stupid,” she said. “A perfect disguise, since he is really friendly and brilliant.”

I had to be satisfied with that, but I wasn’t happy: I’d have liked to ship Jill up to Wisconsin until everything was over.

I went on north and drove around the Knifegrinder territory, staking out my route for the day. There weren’t nearly as many bars here as there were in the Loop. I picked a twenty-block square and decided to keep the car. This morning, no matter what sort of ill will it raised in the bars, I was not going to drink. I
cannot face
beer before noon. Or even Scotch.

I started at the west end of my territory, along the Howard el tracks. The first place, Clara’s, looked so down-at-the-heels, I wasn’t sure I wanted to go into it. Surely someone as fastidious as Masters looked would not go to a dump like that. On the other hand, maybe that’s the kind of place he’d want—something that no one would associate with him. I braced my shoulders and pushed into the gloom out of the sticky air.

By noon I’d drawn nine blanks and was beginning to think I’d come up with a truly rotten idea, one that was wasting a lot of valuable time as well. I would finish my present stint, but not go back for a second crack at the Loop. I called the clinic. Carol’s brother was in residence, enchanted by Jill and helping entertain some seven toddlers. I told Lotty I was going to stay where I was and to give my apologies to Jill.

By now the humid, polluted heat was stifling. I felt
as though I were being pushed to the earth by it every time I walked back outside. The smell of stale beer in the bars began to nauseate me. Everyplace I went into had a few pathetic souls riveted to their stools, sipping down one drink after another, even though it was only morning. I was meeting with the same variety of hostility, indifference, and cooperation that I’d found downtown, and the same lack of recognition of my photos.

After calling Lotty, I decided to get lunch. I wasn’t far from Sheridan Road; I walked over and found a decent-looking steak house at the end of the block. I opted against lunch in a bar, and walked in thankfully out of the heat. The High Corral, as the place called itself, was small, clean, and full of good food smells, a welcome contrast to sour beer. About two thirds of the tables were filled. A plump, middle-aged woman came up with a menu and a cheerful smile and led me to a corner table. I began to feel better.