time worrying about other people’s business, I couldn’t even keep track of my own. The vision of myself as a grotesque busybody returned. The outcome might not have been different if I’d remembered to call yesterday, but at least I’d feel like a professional instead of a fool.
14
Caught in the Act
I returned Furey’s and Robin Bessinger’s phone calls, more for something to do to stop my self-flagellation than from any real enthusiasm to talk to either. Furey wanted to apologize for his comments to me at the department yesterday and arrange a final trip to the Sox, who like the Cubs had long since faded into the sunset.
“I didn’t mean to criticize you,” he added. “It’s hard for us born-and-bred chauvinists to reform.”
“That’s okay,” I assured him with what goodwill I could muster. “I wasn’t at my best, anyway-Lieutenant Montgomery was jumping on my ass for the wrong reasons and it didn’t leave me feeling very friendly.”
After we’d talked a little about the meeting, and he’d given me some tips on the best way to handle Monty, he inquired about Elena.
I’d forgotten asking him to do a search for her. More dementia. More repellent busybodiedness. “Oh, nuts. I’m sorry-I should have told you-she showed up Sunday night safe and sound. With a truly hideous protegee.”
“Sounds bad,” he said with ready sympathy. “What was the protegee? Someone from the Indiana Arms?”
“Daughter.” I gave him a thumbnail sketch of Cerise. “Now she’s vanished into the woodwork, pregnant, addicted and all.”
“Want to give me her name and description? I could ask the boys to keep an eye out for her.”
“Ugh.” The last thing I wanted was for someone to drop Cerise on my doorstep again. On the other hand, for the sake of the fetus she was working on, someone ought to try to get her into a drug program. Why not the cops? I gave Michael the details.
“I don’t think this week is a good time for me to set a play date-I’ve been letting too many things slide and it’s starting to get me down. I’ll call next Monday or Tuesday, okay?”
“Yeah, Vic. Fine.” He hung up.
Furey was fundamentally good-natured. Caring enough to look out for a pregnant junkie he’d never seen. Eileen Mallory was right-he was good father material. I just wasn’t looking for a father. At least not for my unborn children.
I called Robin next. The lab they used had reported on the samples from the Indiana Arms. They’d confirmed his initial hunch on the accelerant-it had been paraffin.
I tried to force my mind to care about what he was saying. “Is it hard to buy?”
“It’s common,” he responded. “Easy to get hold of, even in large quantities, so I don’t think we can trace the user by looking for a purchaser. What’s interesting was the timing device they used to set the thing off. A hot plate had been plugged into it in the night man’s quarters.”
“So maybe the watchman had something to do with it.” Hard to think he didn’t if a timer was wired to his own appliance.
“The owner says he had only a night man at the desk, that he didn’t think the building warranted a watchman. We haven’t been able to locate the guy, though… Vic, you’ve done a lot of work for Ajax in the past. Successful work. I wondered-I talked to my boss-could we hire you on this one?”
“To do what?” I asked cautiously. “I don’t know a thing about arson-I couldn’t tell an accelerant from a match.”
He didn’t respond directly. “Even though the building was underinsured, we’re reserving over a million dollars. People were injured, and that means liability claims on top of the property loss. The police may not care, but it’d be worth it to us to invest several thousand in a professional investigation if we could save the big money. We’d like you to try to find the arsonist.”
I watched the windowpanes vibrate at the continuous stream of rush-hour L’s running just underneath. A little dirt shook loose, but not as much as whirled up to add to the glass’s gray opacity. It wasn’t a scene to bolster my low sense of competence.
“My fan club at Ajax doesn’t exactly include a unanimous chorus of senior staff. Does your boss have the authority to hire me without a lot of other people getting involved in the approval process?”
“Oh, yeah. That’s easy. We budget for outside investigators-they don’t have to be approved on a case-by-case basis.” He paused. “Could I interest you in dinner tonight? Try to help you make up your mind?”
I could picture his head tilted birdlike to one side as he watched to see if the worm would pop out of the ground. The image made me feel like smiling for the first time since finding my laundry on the floor this morning. “Dinner would be great.”
He suggested Calliope, a lively place on north Lincoln that served Greek-style seafood. They didn’t take reservations, but people could dance in the adjoining cabaret while waiting for their tables.
After hanging up I shut my office for the day. Another couple of inquiries had come in that I ought to deal with, but I didn’t have the emotional energy for work this afternoon.
By the time I walked back to the north end of the Loop for my car and picked my way through the rush-hour traffic home, I just had time for a long bath before dressing for dinner. I lay in the tub a good forty-five minutes, letting my mind float to nowhere, letting the water wash away the sharpest edge of self-doubt.
When I finally got out and started dressing, the late-summer twilight was turning the evening air a grayish- purple. I watched Mr. Contreras working in the backyard. The tomato season was ending but he was cultivating a few pumpkins with tender care. He liked to do Halloween in style for the local kids. In the dim light I could just make out Peppy lying on the grass, her nose on her forepaws, gloomily waiting for activity that might include her.
I went down the back way to bid him and the dog good night. The old man was on his dignity, miffed at my shortness with him this morning, but the dog was ecstatic. I had to work hard to keep her from transferring leaf loam or manure or whatever Mr. Contreras was piling on the pumpkins to my black silk trousers.
He refused to be mollified by my light remarks. I felt myself on the verge of apologizing and bit back the words in annoyance-there was no reason for him to know every detail of my life. If I wanted to keep a few small segments private, I shouldn’t have to say I was sorry. I gave him a cool farewell and slid through the back gate so that the dog couldn’t follow. Her frustrated whimpering accompanied me down the alley.
I walked the short mile to the restaurant. Stepping around a wide hole in the concrete I slipped on a discarded hot dog. Just one more of the joys of city life. I dusted my trouser knees. The fabric was bruised slightly but not torn. Not enough damage to justify a move to Streamwood.
Robin was waiting for me outside the restaurant door, looking elegant in gray flannel slacks and a navy blazer. He had come early to sign up for a table and the manager was just calling his name when we walked in. Perfect. If you’re born lucky, you don’t have to be good. Robin ordered a beer while I had a rum and tonic and some of the cod roe mousse the Calliope was famous for.
“How did you become a detective?” he asked after we’d given our dinner orders.
“I used to be with the public defender.” I spread some of the mousse on a piece of toast. “Trial division. It’s hideous work-you often get briefed on your client only five minutes before the trial begins. You always have more cases than time to work them effectively. And sometimes you’re pleading heart and soul for goons you hope will never see the light of day again.”
“So why didn’t you just go into private practice?” He scooped up some of the mousse. “This is good,” he mumbled, his mouth full. “I never tried it before.”
It was good-just salty enough to go down well with beer or rum. I ate some more and finished my drink before answering.
“I’d spent five years in the PD’s office-I didn’t want to have to start again at the beginning in a private practice. Anyway, I’d solved a case for a friend and realize it was work I could do well and get genuine satisfaction from. Plus, I can be my own boss.” I should have given that as my first reason-it continues to be the most important with me. Maybe from being an only child, used to getting my own way? Or just my mother’s fierce independence seeping
