the sheriff’s excitement kept me out there longer than I hoped. I think I know who your brother was visiting in New Solway, but it doesn’t bring me any closer to how he ended in that pond.”
“Dr. Vishnikov called this morning,” Harriet said. “Your funeral director delivered Marc’s body to his-his place. But he wanted to warn me before he started what it would cost, and that I might find out, I don’t know, things I wouldn’t want to know. He terrified me, but, then, what could be more terrible than Marc’s death?” Her voice was raggedy, the voice of someone who’d had to talk to too many people about too many difficult things lately.
“Dr. Vishnikov is just being cautious. I’ll call him, tell him if he feels like being responsible to the client, do it through me, not you. And to get started-we’ve already lost a week on this. I can think of a lot of things one wouldn’t want to know about a beloved family member, but, frankly, I can’t picture your brother doing any of them- you know, running a prostitution ring or dealing drugs, that kind of activity doesn’t fit with the man whose house I saw yesterday morning.”
Harriet gave a shaky laugh. “Thank you, I needed to hear someone say that. All day I’ve been thinking, my God, am I going to find out Marc was a drug addict?”
The woman waiting for the phone made a loud remark about how inconsiderate some people are. I smiled and nodded.
“Can you call Amy for me?” I said to Harriet. “I want to compare notes with her and I’ve got to surrender this phone. See if she can come to my office tomorrow morning.”
“She’s meeting me at the hotel tonight,” Harriet said. “Why don’t you join us?”
“If the police aren’t holding me.” I gave her Mr. Contreras’s number in
case she couldn’t reach me on my cell phone. “And just in case the law thinks I’m such a scintillating conversationalist that they want to listen in, keep your phone comments on the short and simple side.”
The waiting woman grabbed the phone from me when I’d hung up. She snapped, “Short and simple? That’s what you think is short and simple?” The woman dragged out her conversation as long as she could, but I waited, since I still needed to talk to Vishnikov and to my neighbor, and I didn’t want to scour the streets for another pay ph?. When she finished, the woman gave a triumphant nod with the comment that now I knew what it felt like.
I blew her a kiss and dialed Vishnikov’s home number. “Jeesh, Bryant, good thing you only deal with the dead: your bedside manner gets the living totally weirded out. You really think Whitby looks like a user?”
“I just don’t want the family refusing to pay the bill if I find out what they don’t want to know.”
“Well, talk to me about it next time. I will guarantee the bill,” I said grandly.
“In that case, we’ll use the new spectrometer, Warshawski. Time on it’s five hundred bucks an hour, but you’ll be happy with the results.”
He hung up, pleased with himself. I hoped he was joking. Or that the Whitbys could pay his bill.
I phoned Lotty next, but only got her answering machine. Where was everyone on Saturday afternoon? I needed a human voice right now. I left a message saying I was fine, just bruised a bit in body and mind, and I’d try her again over the weekend.
Finally, I put two more quarters into the phone and called my neighbor. Mr. Contreras was predictably upset and voluble. He, too, had heard the news, and not only had my name been on it as someone Sheriff Rick Salvi was eager to talk to-but deputies had come around the apartment twice already today, and where was I and what was I doing?
I fed quarters into the phone until my supply dried up, giving hire the details of last night’s excursion-except, of course, my escape with Benjamin. Mr. Contreras vigorously approved of my jumping out the bathroom window to get away from the sheriff, but wanted to know why I hadn’t come home then.
“I was beat: I checked into a motel out there.” I said. “I only woke up a little bit ago.”
“So you didn’t actually see the A-rab, huh, doll? What was that girl, that Catherine Bayard doing out there in the middle of the night? She mixed up with that terrorist, do you think?”
“Hard to picture,” I said lightly. “Probably has some boyfriend in the area she doesn’t want her folks to know about. I just put in my last quarter. Can you meet me at your back door in ten minutes? My clothes are a wreck and I want to change before I do anything else. Just in case DuPage has the place staked out, and just in case they haven’t posted anyone in back.”
The warning beeps sounded. We were disconnected before Mr. Contreras could finish his response. Waving a cheery farewell to the woman who’d wrestled me for the phone, I headed into the dank afternoon.
I switched on my cell phone-Earth to VI. once more-and climbed back into the Jaguar. When the engine turned over, I found myself thinking that Luke could file off the serial number and repaint the car blue instead of red. I knew I had to return it, but driving the coolest car on the road brought me more cheer than Father Lou’s horse liniment.
I drove up Western, past a new mega-mall that had driven away two little grocers, a small appliance rental and repair shop and Zoe’s Homemade Pies and Cakes. Ah, progress. I crossed Racine, the street where I live, and parked a block to the east.
I walked in a square, south and west, away from the car, so I could saunter up Racine looking for any unusual vehicles or loiterers. The overcast afternoon was bleeding into a gray dusk, cloaking my face from any watchers.
If I were a Clancy or Ludlum superhero, I’d have memorized all the license plates on the two-block stretch, and been able to tell you which ones hadn’t been here when I left early yesterday morning. Since it’s all I can do to remember my own plate number, I concentrated instead on vans that could hold listening devices, and cars where people were sitting with the motors running. One of these was a Chicago squad car across the street from my own building. Not too subtle.
After walking another block north, I turned east again and cut down
through the alley behind my building. No squad cars were warming the night air behind my building. A woman I recognized was emptying her garbage, but no one else was in the alley.
Mr. Contreras was waiting for me inside the back gate, along with the dogs. The three greeted me with a heartwarming ecstasy. While we were still outside, I explained the possibility that the building might be under electronic surveillance. “I don’t think that it is-I don’t think my being in the house an Arab speaker fled from warrants huge attention-but I can’t be sure. So-don’t say anything to me you wouldn’t want Clara to hear.”
In the dark, I could sense rather than see the old man’s embarrassment: Clara was his beloved wife, dead now for many years. I hastily changed the subject, explaining that I had borrowed a car and needed to drop it some place close to its owner. “I’m going upstairs to change, then I want to drive out to New Solway and collect the Mustang. Want to come along?”
He was delighted to take even a small part in my adventure. I left him in his own kitchen and went up to my apartment.
My living room overlooks Racine, so I moved through it in darkness, trying to remember where I’d left things like the piano bench. I only banged my shin once. Since no one seemed to be watching the back, I did turn on lights in my bedroom and kitchen, first making sure the blinds were pulled and the door leading from the back to the front of the hall was shut. After my night in Larchmont Hall, the apartment seemed tiny, but I was glad of my small space. It was like a cloak, protecting me.
I was ravenous, and badly wanted real food. In the last twenty-four hours, I’d had a smoothie, a plate of eggs and some toast and tea in the rectory kitchen. I put water on for pasta. In the freezer, I actually found part of a roast chicken. I stuck it in the microwave while I changed.
My shoulder muscles did not like it when I tried to fasten my bra, but I gritted my teeth and did up the hooks: it felt important not to be exposed, even beneath a sweater, when I finally got around to the law. I put some of Father Lou’s embrocation on a bath brush so I could reach behind my head to rub it into my sore zone. It had an odd smell, not unpleasant, but conjuring up stables or locker rooms. Remembering Father Lou’s advice to tape the area, I dug an Ace bandage out of the medicine chest. I managed to wrap it tightly enough to hold the sore muscle in place. With clean jeans and walking shoes, I felt strong enough to get by for a while. My running shoes were badly nicked from scaling Larchmont. I’d have to stretch the budget to cover a new pair.
I still had some decent-looking lettuce, a bag of carrots and fresh green beans in my refrigerator. I put these together into a salad, which I ate with the chicken and pasta, sitting down at the kitchen table. Too often I eat either in the car or walking around the apartment while I get ready to run out the door.
I wanted to keep things slow right now, not rush at whatever lay ahead. When I finished eating, I washed the
