Bledsoe’s home phone wasn’t listed in any of the Chicago or suburban directories. On an off chance I tried the Pole Star Line, but of course no one was there on Sunday.
I called Bobby Mallory to find out if anything had happened in the Henry Kelvin murder. “I got the keys back and went down there. The place was pretty grim. You guys make an arrest yet?”
“You on their payroll or something, Vicki? That family’s bugging us day in and day out. We don’t solve crimes faster for that kind of hassling.”
Depends on who’s doing the hassling, I thought. But I kept that comment to myself-I wanted information more than I wanted to hear Bobby scream at me. So I made a sympathetic clucking in my throat.
“I read about that hit-and-run case in Kosciuszko Park. You know, that guy Mattingly used to play with Boom Boom on the Black Hawks. I hope the Hawks have got a good employee benefits plan-the team doesn’t seem to be holding up too well.”
“You know I don’t like you calling up and chatting about crime with me, Vicki. And I hope you wouldn’t do it just to get my goat. So it must be you’ve got some special interest in the case. What is it?”
“No, not that,” I said hastily. “But I know his wife. She’s a fragile woman-just a child, really, and I don’t think this shock’ll be too good for her. Her first baby is due any second.”
“Yeah, she had it this morning. Between you and me, she’s well rid of that specimen. He was a petty grafter, had his hand stuck in everybody’s pocket. He owed gambling money, too. If he’d been a starter they’d of had him fixing games.”
“You figure one of his creditors got tired of waiting and ran him over?”
“I don’t figure anything for your consumption. If I’ve told you once, I’ve told you a hundred times, quit fooling around with crime. You’ll only get hurt. Leave that-”
“-to the police. They’re paid to handle it.” I finished with him in chorus. “Make it more like a million times, Bobby. Thanks. Give my love to Eileen,” I added as he hung up on me.
Next I tried Murray Ryerson. He wasn’t at the
“V. I. who?” he grumbled. “It’s only eleven in the morning.”
“Wake up, sunshine. I want to talk to you.”
“Vic, if you knew how long I’ve waited to hear those words from you. My mother keeps telling me, ‘No, she’s just using you, Murray. She just wants to worm crime information out of you.’ But deep down, I keep believing, in my secret heart, that one day my warmest passions will be reciprocated.”
“Murray, your warmest passion, next to beer, is for a hot story. I guess I reciprocate that. Why don’t you come up and watch the poor old Cubbies take on the winningest team in baseball and I’ll give you an exclusive on the wreck of the
“What do you know about that?” he asked sharply.
“I was there. I was an eyewitness. I watched the whole thing happen. I may even have seen the man-or woman-who planted the depth charges.”
“My God, Vic, I don’t believe it. I don’t believe you’re calling me out of the blue like this. Who was it? Where did you see them? Was it up at the locks? Is this on the level?”
“Certainly,” I said virtuously. “Have we got a date?”
“Let me get Mike Silchuck up there with his camera to get a shot of you. Now, let’s start at the beginning. Why were you on the
“Are you going to come to the game with me or not?”
“Oh, all right. But it’s no joy for me to watch Atlanta massacre our faithful boys in blue.”
He agreed to meet me at the bleachers at twelve forty-five. Right before he hung up he said, “What do you want from me, Vic? Why the elaborate setup?”
“See you at the game, Murray.” I laughed and hung up.
Before leaving the park I tried Phillips again. Jeannine answered.
“Hello, Mrs. Phillips. This is V. I. Warshawski. I’m a business associate of your husband’s. May I speak to him, please?”
He wasn’t in. She didn’t know when he would be in. I thought she was lying. Under her hauteur she sounded scared. I tried probing a little but couldn’t get a handle on it. Finally I asked her what time he’d gone out. She hung up on me.
20 Unloading
The Braves did clobber the Cubs. Only Keith Moreland, hitting around.345, did anything we could enjoy, knocking a ball into the hands of an eager kid around nine sitting in front of me. However, the day was sunny, if chilly, the crowd enthusiastic, and Murray and I enjoyed a few hot dogs. I let him drink the beer-I don’t like the stuff.
Mike Silchuck had taken my picture a few dozen times in front of the ticket counter. Unfortunately all my scars were in places I didn’t feel like flashing in the middle of Addison, so they had to be content with a look of noble courage. Murray asked me questions briskly during the first three innings, then spent the fourth phoning his exclusive into the
In the top half of the sixth, while the Braves scored five runs, I asked Murray about Mattingly.
“He’s a small-time hood, Vic. What do you want to know about him?”
“Who killed him?”
Like Mallory, he assumed immediately that Mattingly or his wife/mother/brothers were my clients. I gave him the same story I’d told Bobby.
“Besides, even though Boom Boom hated him, he felt sorry for poor little Elsie. I know he used to slip her a few bucks to stretch the housekeeping money, which I guess Mattingly doled out with a grudging fist, since he needed it for his gambling debts.”
“Why did she stay with him?” Murray asked irritably.
“Oh, Murray, grow up. Why does anyone stay with anyone? She was a child, a baby. She couldn’t have been eighteen when he married her, and everyone she knows is in Oklahoma… Well, let’s not get into the psychology of marriage. Just tell me if there are any leads into his death.”
He shook his head. “He was out of town for three or four days. Elsie doesn’t know where he went or how he got there, and the police haven’t dug up anyone who can help. They’ll question the hockey team, of course, but as far as I can tell most of the guys felt the same way your cousin did.”
So the connection with Bledsoe was still secret. Or the connection with his airplane, at any rate. “Was he wearing size twelve Arroyo hiking boots by any chance?”
Murray looked at me strangely. “The footprint left in Boom Boom’s apartment? I don’t know-but I’ll find out.”
I turned my attention to the rest of the game. My hero, Bill Buckner, struck out. Such is life. I kind of knew the feeling.
After the game Murray wandered home with me for something more substantial than hot dogs. I scrounged around in my bare larder and came up with tuna, frozen fettucine, and olives. We drank a bottle of Barolo and put crime behind us for a few hours, while I found out how much exercise my dislocated shoulder was up to.
Murray and I have been competitors on the crime scene, friends, and occasional lovers for several years. Somehow, though, the relationship never seems to develop. Maybe our rivalry over crime investigation gets in the way.
Around midnight the
I asked Murray this as he pulled his T-shirt over the thick auburn curls on his chest.
“If they didn’t know where to find me, the
