triceps.
I smiled. “I’m sure you know as well as I do that Mr. McGraw conducts some of his business on his own. He arranged to see me privately.”
“Mr. McGraw may sometimes take up with whores,” she said, her face red, her eyes on her desktop, “but this is the first time he’s ever asked one up to his office.”
I restrained an impulse to brain her with her desk lamp. “Good-looking lady like you in his front office, he doesn’t need outside talent… Now will you please inform Mr. McGraw that I’m here?”
Her shapeless face shook under the thick pancake. “Mr. McGraw is in conference and can’t be disturbed.” Her voice trembled. I felt like a creep-I couldn’t find a girl or a murderer, but I sure knew how to rough up middle-aged secretaries.
McGraw’s office was soundproofed, but noise of the conference came into the antechamber. Quite a conference. I was about to announce my intention of sitting and waiting when one sentence rose above the din and penetrated the rosewood door.
“Goddamnit, you set my son up!”
How many people could possibly have sons who might have been set up in the last forty-eight hours and be connected with the Knifegrinders? Maybe more than one, but the odds were against it. With the sausage curls protesting loudly, I opened the door into the inner office.
Not as large as Masters’s, but by no means shabby, it overlooked Lake Michigan and a nice little private beach. At the moment it was none too peaceful. Two men had been sitting at a round table in the corner, but one was on his feet yelling to make his point. Even with his face distorted by anger I didn’t have any trouble recognizing the original of the picture in the Fort Dearborn Trust’s annual report. And rising to his feet and yelling back as I entered was surely my client. Short, squat without being fat, and wearing a shiny gray suit.
They both stopped cold as they saw me.
“What the hell are you doing in here!” my client roared. “Mildred?”
Sausage curls waddled in, her eyes gleaming. “I told her you wouldn’t want to see her, but no, she has to come barging in like she’s-”
“Mr. McGraw, I am V. I. Warshawski.” I pitched my voice to penetrate the din. “And you may not want to see me, but I look like an angel compared to a couple of homicide dicks who’re going to be after you pretty soon… Hi, Mr. Thayer,” I added, holding out a hand. “I’m sorry about your son-I’m the person who found the body.”
“It’s all right, Mildred,” McGraw said weakly. “I know this lady and I do want to talk to her.” Mildred gave me a furious look, then turned and stalked out, shutting the door with what seemed unnecessary violence.
“Mr. Thayer, what makes you think Mr. McGraw set your son up?” I asked conversationally, seating myself in a leather armchair in a corner.
The banker had recovered himself. The anger had smoothed out of his face, leaving it dignified and blank. “McGraw’s daughter was going out with my son,” he said, smiling a little. “When I learned my boy was dead, had been shot, I just stepped in to see if McGraw knew anything about it. I don’t think he set Peter up.”
McGraw was too angry to play along with Thayer. “The hell you say,” he yelled, his husky voice rising. “Ever since Annie started hanging around with that whey-faced, North Shore pipsqueak, you’ve been coming around here, calling her names, calling me names. Now the kid is dead, you’re trying to smear her! Well, by God you won’t get away with it!”
“All right!” Thayer snapped. “If that’s the way you want to play ball, that’s how we’ll play it. Your daughter-I saw the kind of girl she was the first time I set eyes on her. Peter never had a chance-innocent young kid, high ideals, giving up everything his mother and I had planned for him for the sake of a girl who’d hop into bed with-”
“Watch what names you call my daughter,” McGraw growled.
“I practically begged McGraw here to leash his daughter,” Thayer continued. “I might as well have saved my pride. This type of person doesn’t respond to any human feeling. He and his daughter had earmarked Peter for some kind of setup because he came from a wealthy family. Then, when they couldn’t get any money out of him, they killed him.”
McGraw was turning purple. “Have you shared this theory with the police, Mr. Thayer?” I asked.
“If you have, Thayer, I’ll have your ass in court for slander,” McGraw put in.
“Don’t threaten me, McGraw,” Thayer growled. John Wayne impersonation.
“Have you shared this theory with the police, Mr. Thayer?” I repeated.
He flushed slightly under his careful tan. “No, I didn’t want it blurted all over the newspapers-I didn’t want any of my neighbors to see what the boy was up to.”
I nodded. “But you’re really convinced that Mr. McGraw here-and/or his daughter-set up Peter and had him shot.”
“Yes, I am, damnit!”
“And have you any evidence to support this allegation?” I asked.
“No, he doesn’t, goddamnit!” McGraw yelled. “No one could support such a goddamn asshole statement! Anita was in love with that North Shore snot. I told her that it was a colossal mistake. Get involved with the bosses and you get your ass burned. And now look what’s happened.”
It seemed to me that the bosses had been the ones to get burned in this case, but I didn’t think it would do any good to mention it.
“Did you give Mr. McGraw one of your business cards when you were here before?” I asked Thayer.
“I don’t know,” he said impatiently. “I probably gave one to his secretary when I arrived. Anyway, what business is it of yours?”
I smiled. “I’m a private investigator, Mr. Thayer, and I’m investigating a private matter for Mr. McGraw here. He showed me one of your business cards the other night, and I wondered where he got it.”
McGraw shifted uncomfortably. Thayer stared at him with a look of disbelief. “You showed her one of my cards? Why the hell did you do that? For that matter, why were you talking to a private investigator at all?”
“I had my reasons.” McGraw looked embarrassed, but he also looked mean.
“I bet you did,” Thayer said heavily. He turned to me. “What are you doing for McGraw?”
I shook my head. “My clients pay for privacy.”
“What kinds of things do you investigate?” Thayer asked. “Divorces?”
“Most people think of divorce when they meet a private detective. Frankly divorce is pretty slimy. I do a lot of industrial cases… You know Edward Purcell, the man who used to be chairman of Transicon? ”
Thayer nodded. “I know of him anyway.”
“I did that investigation. He hired me because his board was pressuring him to find out where the disposable assets were going. Unfortunately he didn’t cover his tracks well enough before he hired me.” Purcell’s subsequent suicide and the reorganization of a badly damaged Transicon had been a ten-day wonder in Chicago.
Thayer leaned over me. “In that case, what are you doing for McGraw?” He lacked McGraw’s raw menace, but he, too, was a powerful man, used to intimidating others. The force of his personality was directed at me and I sat up straight to resist it.
“What business is it of yours, Mr. Thayer?”
He gave me the frown that got obedience from his junior trust officers. “If he gave you my card, it’s my business.”
“It didn’t have anything to do with you, Mr. Thayer.”
“That’s right, Thayer,” McGraw growled. “Now get your ass out of my office.”
Thayer turned back to McGraw and I relaxed slightly. “You’re not trying to smear me with any of your dirty business, are you, McGraw?”
“Watch it, Thayer. My name and my operation have been cleared in every court in this country. In Congress too. Don’t give me that crap.”
“Yeah, Congress cleared you. Lucky, wasn’t it, the way Derek Bernstein died right before the Senate hearings began.”
McGraw walked right up to the banker. “You SOB. You get out of here now or I’ll get some people to throw you out in a way that’ll pop your high-and-mighty executive dignity for you.”
“I’m not afraid of your thugs, McGraw; don’t threaten me.”
“Oh, come on,” I snapped. “Both of you are tough as all get out, and you’re both frightening me to pieces. So
