Another beat passed. I pictured old Cukura Kundze, rheumy eyes eager behind the untrendy lenses. Deep down, I knew the victim in the box was Laszlo Tot.
Suddenly, I felt drained. I looked at my watch. Five fifty. I’d been at the morgue for almost eight hours. And
“I can sort the trauma tomorrow,” I said. “After I deal with Jurmain.”
“That would be good.”
Corcoran blushed.
I knew what was coming.
“Walczak won’t pay you.”
“No worries,” I said. “This one’s pro bono.”
Snow was falling when I left the CCME, covering the dark muck frozen in the gutters along Harrison Street. Driving west on the Eisenhower, I let my thoughts wander.
Where had Laszlo Tot gone his last hours on earth? What had he done? Had he invited death by some act of stupidity? Of carelessness? Of greed? What was the day of the baseball game he missed? Friday night, Saturday, Sunday? Where had he intended to sleep?
Again, I saw old Cukura Kundze. If I could stop the pain barreling her way, I would. If I could magically morph 287JUL05 into someone else’s sweetheart’s dead grandson, I would do that, too.
I could do neither. Instead, I would search for answers. For justice. For Cukura Kundze. For Mr. Tot. For Lassie. Every person deserves to be accounted for. Old Horton, again.
Edward Allen Jurmain. What sleaze had filled the old man’s ear with tales of my incompetence? My corruption? Why?
My grip tightened on the wheel.
How would I persuade Jurmain to share what he knew of his mysterious informant? Should I phone? Drive up to Winnetka? Could I manage to wangle my way into Jurmain’s presence?
I thought about Pete and his melon-breasted, twenty-something fiancee, Summer. Were their wedding plans still on track? Did I give a rat’s ass?
Katy. I knew my daughter wasn’t enjoying her job at the Mecklenburg County Public Defenders Office. Had she quit? If so, to do what?
Ryan. I wondered if his flight had gone smoothly. If I missed him. I was heading home to Charlotte on Sunday. Would I want him to come for a visit? Would things ever be as they once were? Could they?
My head hurt. It had been a long day.
I pictured Vecamamma, busy at her ancient Tappan range. Today she was cooking lamb with carrots and cabbage. I wondered if she’d gone ahead and baked the cookies herself.
I smiled, happy someone was making me dinner. I didn’t know who the other diners would be, or how numerous, but I was glad I wasn’t returning to an empty house.
Yessiree. Family was just what I needed. Artery-clogging potatoes and gravy, bread and butter, rhubarb pie and ice cream. Throw-away conversation. Freedom from worries about Pete, Ryan, Katy, Jurmain. Distance from former husbands, old lovers, restless daughters, and back-stabbing tipsters.
Most importantly, distance from violent death.
9
ARRIVING AT THE HOUSE, I DID TWENTY MINUTES OF YOGA, THEN took a very hot bath.
While immersed in bubbles up to my chin, I pondered a plan for Cukura Kundze and Mr. Tot. I decided to call only after I’d finished with the bones and determined positively that 287JUL05 was Lassie. Hopefully, at that point I’d also be able to explain what had killed him.
I also considered my strategy for dealing with Jurmain. After some thought I settled on a home visit. I’d go directly from the CCME. Suppertime. I might take the old coot by surprise. What the hell? All he could do was have the butler throw me out.
The water was lukewarm when the doorbell started bonging.
Emerging from the tub, I pulled on jeans and a long red sweater. No blow-dryer. No makeup. Ain’t family grand?
Between the stretching and the soaking, the knot in my stomach had eased and the headache had yielded.
Or maybe it was the aspirin. Whatever. I was feeling relaxed and rejuvenated. No corpses tonight. No accusations of professional misconduct. No double-edged teasing from Ryan.
Happily, this evening’s gathering would be small. Perhaps that, too, was contributing to my newfound serenity.
Andrejs and Brigita were coming, though their parents would be absent for reasons of health. According to Vecamamma, Emilija’s hemorrhoids had gained a quick fifteen pounds overnight. Gordie’s ailment remained undisclosed.
Regina and Terry were committed to Thursday-night bingo at St. Ignatius. Ted was on duty at his night job. Bea had a paper due. Allie had a class. I’d not been looped in on other excuses.
Uncle Juris and Aunt Klara would, of course, be present. She was bringing pineapple Cool Whip Jell-O salad.
While tubbing, I’d also weighed the pros and cons of phoning Ryan. The cons won. Ryan was home now. My number was on his speed dial.
Muffled chimes continued, announcing the arrival of diners. I recognized voices by cadence and volume.
Following the fourth bong, Aunt Klara’s alto bellowed up through the floorboards.
All present or accounted for. Time to socialize.
I was on the top step when, surprisingly, the bell sounded again. I heard the door open, then Gordie’s voice.
“
“
“Couldn’t miss your roast lamb,” Gordie replied.
Vecamamma said something I didn’t catch. Gordie answered. Laughter was followed by a second male voice.
“
No.
“
“
“
Sighing theatrically, I trudged downstairs. Ryan and Gordie were coming up the
