V.I. Warshawski: Hard Time Part 19

I made sure the woman from the agency was clear enough on her work to leave her alone for a while and took Tessa into her studio to talk. She frowned when I finished.

"I don't like being so vulnerable here."

"Me either," I said with feeling. "If it's any comfort, I don't think my marauders would bother you."

"I want to get a better lock system installed. One that's more secure than those padlocks you have out front. And I think you ought to pay for it, since it's due to you that the place was vandalized."

I expelled a loud breath. "You're going to choose it and I'm going to fund it?

No, thanks. You chose a numberpad system that seemed relatively easy to bypa.s.s."

She frowned again. "How did they do that?"

I shrugged. "The pad itself hadn't been tampered with, so my best guess is with UVsensitive ink. They spray the pad, then after you go in, they s.h.i.+ne an ultraviolet light on the pad. The keys you've touched are clean, see. Then they just have to try those numbers in different combinations until they get the right sequence. If that's the case we could reset the combination-but we'd have to remember to touch every number on the pad each time we went in. A magnetic card lock would be less vulnerable-but you have to remember to carry the card with you all the time. Anyone can break a padlock, but you have to stand there with equipment, which makes you more vulnerable to a pa.s.sing squad car. Or to Elton. He's keeping an eye on the joint for us."

"Oh, for G.o.d's sake, Vic! An alcoholic street dweller!"

"He's not usually fallingdown drunk," I said with dignity. "And his drinking doesn't stop him from using his eyes. Anyway, I'll ask Mary Louise to look into it. If she has time."

My voice trailed away into doubt. Mary Louise seemed more than just too busy to work for me right now. She seemed scared.

Tessa was too absorbed by her own needs to notice my hesitation. "Daddy thinks I should-we should-get a system like Honeywell's, that notifies a central computer of an unauthorized breakin."

"Your daddy could well be right. But the guys who came in here wouldn't have triggered anyone's alarm system."

We thrashed it around inconclusively, until the woman from the agency came to get more direction.

I tried the Baladines a couple of times during the afternoon, but only got Rosario, the maid, who said, Robbie not home, Robbie away, Missus away. The third time I called I asked for one of the precocious swimming daughters. I remembered they had names like street signs, but it took me a while to come up with Madison and Utah. The intersection where bad deals are done.

I didn't introduce myself in case there was a parental warning out on me.

Madison had seemed alarmingly forthcoming in her remarks when I was out there two weeks ago. She didn't disappoint me today.

"Robbie isn't home. He ran away, and Mommy's out looking for him. Daddy is furious, he says when he finds Robbie he'll make sure he toughens up, we've been soft on him too long."

"He ran away? Do you know where he'd go?" I hoped there was a sympathetic grandmother or aunt someplace who might stand up for Robbie.

That's why Eleanor had taken off, Madison explained, to go to her mother's in case Robbie was hiding there. "We're going to France on Sat.u.r.day, and Robbie better be back before then. We're renting a castle with a swimming pool so me and Utah and Rhiannon can practice. Do you know we're having a swimming meet here on Labor Day? If Rhiannon beats me in the backstroke, I am going to be so sick. Robbie would never beat me, he's too fat, he can't do anything with his body. Like last summer when he fell over his feet playing football at our cousin's. He got his feet tangled up in his shoelaces. He looked so funny, me and my cousin Gail laughed our heads off. Robbie was up all night crying. That's something only weak girlie girls do."

"Yes, I remember," I said. "You didn't even cry when a fire truck ran over your cat. Or did you cry because the nice s.h.i.+ny engine had a smear on it?"

"Huh? Fluffy didn't get hit by a fire truck. That was Mom; she ran over her with the car. Robbie cried. He cried when she killed a bird. I didn't."

"You're going to be a credit to Dr. Mengele one of these days."

"Who?" she screeched.

"Mengele." I spelled the name. "Tell BB and Eleanor he has an opening for a bright young kid."

I tried not to slam the phone in her ear: it wasn't her fault her parents were bringing her up to have the sensitivity of a warthog. I wished I could take some time off to look for Robbie, but I had more to do here than I could figure out.

Such as what to do about Veronica Fa.s.sler's call from Coolis. In the morning I'd take another trip out there, but for right now I could try to get the doctor who'd operated on Nicola Aguinaldo at Beth Israel.

Before calling the hospital I looked inside my phone to see if the folks who broke in had planted a bug in it. When I didn't find anything unusual in the mess of wires, I went out behind the warehouse to inspect the phone junction box. There I found that the wires had been stripped and clipped to a secondary set of cables, presumably leading to a listening station. I tapped on them thoughtfully. Probably best that I left them in place. It wasn't a sophisticated system, but if I dismantled it, Baladine would get something less primitive, harder to find, and harder to circ.u.mvent.

Back inside, I let Andras Schiff play Bach on my office CD. I don't know if those old spy movies are right, that radios block listening devices, but the Goldberg Variations might at a minimum educate the thugs-who knows? I sat next to the speaker with my cell phone and called the hospital. The woman from the agency stared at me curiously, then turned a huffy shoulder: she thought I was trying to keep her from listening to me.

Max Loewenthal's secretary, Cynthia Dowling, came on the line with her usual efficient friendliness.

"I can't remember the ER surgeon's name," I said. "I should, since it's Polish, but all I remember is that it had a hundred zees and cees in it."

"Dr. Szymczyk," she supplied.

When I explained what I wanted, she put me on hold and tracked down the report.

Of course Dr. Szymczyk hadn't done an autopsy, but he had dictated information while he was working on Aguinaldo. He had described necrotic skin on the abdomen but hadn't mentioned any serious burn wounds. He had noted a couple of raw spots above the b.r.e.a.s.t.s that didn't seem connected to the blow that killed her.

Raw spots. Those could conceivably have been caused by a stun gun, so maybe Veronica Fa.s.sler hadn't been spinning a complete lie. I would bring fifty dollars for her with me to the prison in the morning.

I worked desultorily with the woman from the agency, but it was hard for me to focus on files. For some people, putting papers in order is a wonderfully soothing act, but I could make so little sense of the world around me that I couldn't make sense of my scattered papers either.

Late in the afternoon, as I was trying to remember what year and what file records about Humboldt Chemical belonged to, my office buzzer rang. I stiffened and had my gun in hand when I went to the front door. I was astounded to see Abigail Trant, her honeycolored hair and softly tinted face as perfect as when I'd met her two weeks ago. Her Mercedes Gelaendewagen was doubleparked on the street outside. When I invited her in, she asked if I'd talk to her in her vehicle instead. I wondered briefly if she had been dragooned into acting as a decoy but followed her to her trucklet.

"Do you know that Robbie Baladine has disappeared? If you know where he is, can you send him home?"

I blinked in surprise but a.s.sured her I hadn't heard from him for several days.

"Did Eleanor or BB send you to talk to me?"

She looked straight ahead, ignoring an angrily honking line of cars behind her.

"I came on my own initiative, and I am hoping you will honor my speaking confidentially to you. We are flying to France with the Baladines on Sat.u.r.day, along with the Poilevys, so Eleanor discussed Robbie's disappearance with me in a frank way, as it is affecting their travel plans. They both feel that you have encouraged Robbie to be disobedient. I don't know if that is the reason, but BB has been talking furiously about wanting to put you out of business or thoroughly discredit you in some way. Knowing something about his methods, I didn't want to call you-he might well be monitoring your phone calls. I think I told you when we met that he doesn't like to feel anyone is getting the upper hand with him: for some reason he thinks you are taunting him or undermining him in some way."

I gave a snort of mirthless laughter. "He's been making it almost impossible for me to run my business."

A car shot around her from behind, giving her the finger and a loud epithet. She paid no attention.

"I had suggested to Teddy that Global try to make use of your agency, that it would be a good thing to support local talent. But he said you refused to take the a.s.signment."

My jaw dropped so suddenly that my ears popped. "You were behind that? Mrs.

Trant-that was extremely gracious of you. The trouble is, the a.s.signment as it came to me from Alex Fisher was to frame someone, a man named Lucian Frenada who was drowned over the weekend. I couldn't take it on."

She sighed. "That's so typical of Alex. I wish Teddy didn't rely on her advice so much-I think she often leads him astray."

What a good wife, letting herself believe her husband was the innocent victim of bad advisers. But I wasn't going to ride her: she had gone out on a long limb for me with no reason for doing so. I asked her what made her put in a word for me with her husband.

She looked at me for the first time. "Do you know that the only money I've ever worked for was exercising horses for people when I was a teenager? I love my life and I love my husband, but I've often wondered what I would do if he-and my own family-lost everything. Would I be able to cut my own path, the way you have? Helping you out is like-like-"

"A sacrifice to the G.o.ds to keep them from putting you to the test?" I suggested when she fumbled for words.

She flashed a radiant smile. "That's it exactly. What a beautiful way of phrasing it! But in the meantime, if you hear from Robbie, send him home. Even if he's not always happy there, his parents really have his best interests at heart. And I don't think you can win against BB. He's too big, and he has too many powerful friends."

I couldn't argue with that. I hesitated over my words before speaking again, then said, "Mrs. Trant, you've gone out of your way to help me. So I don't like putting you on the spot. But have you noticed whether any of-well, the men you see socially, BB or Poilevy for instance-would you notice if one of them had lost a medallion from a Ferragamo shoe?"

"What a strange question. I suppose that means you must have found one? Where, I wonder? Are you allowed to tell me?"

"In the street near where Nicola Aguinaldo-the Baladines' old nanny-died."

She smiled again but without the radiance. "It's not the kind of thing I notice, I'm afraid. Now-I'd better take off. It's an hour on the Ike this time of day, and we're entertaining some studio execs. I'll certainly pay special attention to everyone's feet tonight. Don't forget about Robbie, will you? He should be at home."

That seemed to be my exit line. I thanked her for her warning. And for trying to help my little agency. Maybe that was why Baladine hadn't murdered me, I thought as I went back into my office. Maybe Teddy had told him that Abigail would be upset if they killed me. She knew about the shoe, though. I was willing to bet my meager pension plan on it.

29.

Help Me, Father, for I Know Not What I'm Doing At fivethirty I sent the woman from the agency home. I didn't want to pay overtime on a job that would take at least sixteen or twenty more hours to finish. And I wanted her to leave while enough commuters were filling the sidewalks that no one would shoot at her, thinking it was me.

Tessa was still working in her studio. She put down her mallet and chisel after I'd been standing in her line of sight for six minutes. Artistic geniuses can't break their concentration, I know. I told her I was worrying about her safety while Baladine was gunning for me.

"I'm going to take my computer home. It's the only thing I need from my office for the immediate present. And then I'll get word out that I'm not operating out of here. We could install a small video camera at the entrance concealed in one of your metal pieces; that would provide a record of anyone who broke in. For an extra five hundred or so we could even get little monitors so we could watch the entrance. And we could install a fivedigit number pad with a breaker that froze it if someone tried more than three times in ten minutes to open it. With those you should be pretty safe."

She wiped her face with a used towel, leaving a film of glittery dust on her cheeks. "Oh, d.a.m.n you for being so n.o.ble, Vic. I was all set to chew your a.s.s into tiny pieces. Now what am I supposed to do?"

"If you'd chew up BB Baladine it would be more helpful. I know everyone thinks I'm in this mess because I'm too impulsive, but honestly, all I did was stop to help a woman in the road."

"That means something to you, I suppose. Get me a video camera installed tomorrow, and a new number pad, and leave your d.a.m.ned computer here. By the way, my daddy is insisting that someone from his staff meet me when I leave here at night."

"Ah, that would be your mother's next candidate for the father of her grandchildren?"

She grinned. "She's hoping. His name's Jason Goodrich-sounds solid enough, doesn't it? He's one of those software whizzes who gurgle in code coming out of the womb."

"More to the point is whether the boy knows how to disarm a man holding an automatic. But if you're happy, I'm happy."

I went back to my office to call Mary Louise. When I asked her if she would have time to take care of the office security, she hemmed and muttered something about her midterms.

"Pete's sake, Mary Louise. This isn't asking you to go into the Georgia mud for a month. It would be a big help if you could take care of the setup. I don't want to discuss what I want on the phone, but I can come over tonight or tomorrow morning and explain it."

"No!" she snapped. "You're not to come anywhere near this place."

"What on earth is going on?" I was hurt more than baffled. "What have I done to you?"

"I-you-Vic, I can't do any more work for you. You take too many risks."

"You made it through ten years in the department, but I take so many risks you can't even go to the Unblinking Eye for me?" I slammed the phone down so hard my palm smarted.

Was I really more dangerous to work for than the Chicago police? I fumed, pacing the room. If she could go down dark alleys after drug dealers, why couldn't she at least go to the camera store and arrange for a video monitor for me? And all she'd say was she wasn't going to put the children at risk. As if I were asking her to use them as human s.h.i.+elds.

I came to a halt by my desk. Of course. Someone had threatened the children.

That was what had happened. My hand hovered over the phone, then I thought better of it. If BB was monitoring my calls, then he'd a.s.sume Mary Louise had squealed. Then he might really go after the children. I felt trapped, and horribly alone. I sat with my head in my hands, trying not to cry.

"Vic! What's wrong?" Tessa was leaning over me, her face lively with concern.

I rubbed a hand through my hair. "Nothing. I'm feeling sorry for myself, which is a disastrous indulgence for a detective. You taking off?"

"My appointed knight has arrived. It's time for me to go, or have my mother show up with the FBI."

She gestured toward the door and a man came in. He was tall and dark, almost as dark as Tessa herself, with finedrawn features and the easy manner you get growing up with a lot of money. I could see why Mrs. Reynolds thought he looked like good husband material.

"Don't sit here brooding alone," Tessa said. "We'll take you down to the Glow or some other place where you can be with friends."

I pushed myself upright. The soreness in my legs was fading, that was one thing to be thankful for-a tribute to my daily workouts, or maybe just my DNA.

"It's not such a good idea right now for you to hang out with me." I tried not to seem melodramatic, and sounded pompous instead. "Anyway, I'm going to see a priest, so I'll be in good hands."

"A priest?" Tessa echoed. "Vic! Oh, you're pulling my leg. Well, don't stay alone here too late, hear?"

I followed her to the door and watched her and her escort leave. He was driving a navy BMW sedan, an easy car to keep an eye on if you were tailing. Just as well I'd turned down a ride.

I watched the street through the small pane of wirefilled gla.s.s for five minutes or so. Who knew if I was under surveillance or not? I walked down to the corner, leaving the Rustmobile in the lot.

Elton was hawking Streetwise near the L stop. I stopped to buy a few; his redstreaked blue eyes looked at me with lively curiosity. "I see some dudes hanging around today," he whispered with hoa.r.s.e importance.

"Streetwise, miss, Streetwise, sir-read about the mayor and the homeless on Lower Wacker-they was driving some kind of latemodel tan car, maybe a Honda. Fact of the matter they're driving down Leavitt now. Coming up behind you. Streetwise, sir, thank you, sir."

I scuttled up the L stairs, frantically fis.h.i.+ng in my wallet for singles to stuff into the ticket machine. Below me the tan Honda stopped. I grabbed a ticket and ran up to the platform, shoving my way through a knot of commuters who swore at me for my rudeness. A southbound train was getting ready to leave.

I stuck a hand into the shutting panels, earning another yell-this time from the trainman-and watched the platform with a sick franticness until the doors hissed shut and we were under way.

I rode the train all the way into the Loop, where I got out and walked slowly around Marshall Field's, admiring the beachwear in the State Street windows and the garden furniture at the north end of the store. The setting sun made a mirror of the gla.s.s; I watched the people behind me. No one seemed to be paying me any special attention.

I climbed back up the L stairs and picked up the Blue Line outbound: I'd had a tiny inspiration while I was indulging in misery in my office. It took me to the California stop, in the heart of Humboldt Park. I walked the six blocks to St.

Remigio's.

St. Remigio's was a Victorian brick monster, dating to the turn of the last century when Humboldt Park had a large Italian population. Whoever Remigio had been, his miraculous powers hadn't extended to protecting the building: the great arched windows in the sanctuary were boarded over, and the old wooden doors were fastened with ma.s.sive chains.

Despite the lateness of the hour, small boys were racing after a soccer ball in the heavily fenced schoolyard. A stocky man with spa.r.s.e white hair punctuated their screams with shouted directions in Spanish. After a minute or two he saw me at the locked gate and came over, asking in Spanish what I wanted.

"Ando buscando a el Padre."I stumbled through the phrase in my schoolgirl Spanish.

He waved an arm toward the back of the church and said something so fast that I couldn't follow it. Before I could ask for a repet.i.tion, two little boys ran over to tug at his arm and demand-as far as I could tell-a ruling on some dispute. I was immediately forgotten in the more important business of the moment.