Sara Paretsky - V.I. Warshawski 08 (37 page)

“He
doesn’t have a work force, at least only an assistant and a lobbyist ...

” A
lobbyist. Maybe all that cash went to bribe elected officials to ... to do what
on behalf of the homeless?

Lotty
urged me to my feet. My vertigo returned; I held a chair to steady myself. Of
course, Jasper also had to pay the people who built Home Free projects—they
could be off-book employees too. Especially if they didn’t speak English and
didn’t have any way of questioning what was going on. As Max escorted me down
the hall, past Ming pots and Tang statues, I asked him what language might sound
like a bastardized form of Spanish or Italian.

“Sardinian,”
he suggested. “Or Romanian.”

Romanian,
of course. Workers from the old Warsaw Pact countries were flooding American
construction sites. I should have known it was Romanian.

“You
don’t happen to speak it, do you?” I asked him.

“A
smattering. My father’s mother came from the town of Satu-Mare, and I used to
speak it with her as a boy. Why?”

I
explained what I’d seen at the Home Free work site. “I’d like to go when I
could be sure Anton wasn’t going to descend on me, to see if the guys would
talk about what they’re doing. I don’t understand why the site should be so
secret, but Jasper Heccomb has certainly done his best to keep me from looking
at his work in progress.”

Lotty,
standing behind us, gave me a smart poke between the shoulder blades.

“Vic,
get into bed. I’m willing to believe you didn’t choose to get knocked on the
head, but a wise person would turn the whole situation over to Conrad at this
point.”

“If I
can find him,” I murmured, allowing her to lead me to the bed.

She
helped me undress, putting my clothes into a marquetry wardrobe. “Do you want
to save this jacket? The left sleeve is badly torn.”

I
studied the rent fabric mournfully. I must have ripped it when I fell across
the rocks at the construction site. The jacket had been one of my favorites,
with little stainless steel rods and eyelets instead of buttons.

Maybe
the clever tailor who used to make Gabriella’s clothes in exchange for his
daughter’s piano lessons could put it back together. He was almost seventy now,
but he sometimes sewed for me when I hungered for a special outfit.

Before
climbing into bed I used the mirror set in the wardrobe to examine my own
rents. The diamond panes refracted my bruises, making them seem larger than
they were. I squirmed around sideways but couldn’t see the lump on my head. The
spot was still tender, but felt only plum-sized now. I buttoned one of Max’s
pajama shirts around my taped ribs and climbed into bed.

“It’s
hardly noticeable,” Lotty assured me, pulling a sheet up to my chin. “I don’t
think you’ll even have a black eye from it—they didn’t hit you hard enough.
It’s six o’clock. I’ll wake you at ten, just to be safe, but I think you’re
fine.”

At
ten-thirty she made me walk on my stiff legs down to the kitchen for more apple
juice and a little toast and jam. Conrad had phoned at eight. He’d taken his
nieces to a movie, which is why no one could find him earlier.

“He
wanted to drive up here, but I didn’t see the point, since you need to rest and
there’s nothing he can do for you. I told him you’d call when I woke you.”

I
used the kitchen phone. Conrad answered on the first ring. His concern
alleviated by Lotty, he was more worried about what I was sitting on than my
health.

“The
doc tells me you gonna live this time, Ms. W., but she isn’t saying for how
long. What did they want so bad they tossed the joint? Level with me: this
isn’t a game anymore, if it ever was one.”

When
I didn’t speak Conrad said, “Come on, Ms. W. You busted into Jasper Heccomb’s
place last night. What did you walk away with that he’d want bad enough to pull
a dangerous trick like this one?”

“I
told you I saw a drawerful of cash, but I didn’t take any. Did you go look?”

“We
couldn’t—dude never called us. What else did you see?”

“Nothing.
Honestly. Unless I’m blocking it out—but I don’t have amnesia, except for the
part of my life between when I was jumped and when I woke up in the hospital.”
I probably never would remember coming to and walking up the stairs to my own
place, Lotty had warned me.

“Well,
who else you been burgling lately?”

“No
... oh.” Like a turning kaleidoscope the memory of Fabian’s letter from Senator
Gantner dropped into my mind. I’d left it on my bedside table. Neely had
commented at the time that they must have been looking for paper—they’d pulled
all my books and papers in the living room. But the bedroom had been left tidy.

They’d
gone in, spotted it, and fled.

“What
are you remembering?” Conrad demanded. “Do you do so much B & E that
individual episodes slip your mind?”

I
told him about the letter. “I mentioned it to Alec Gantner when I was out at
the plant yesterday afternoon. He’s got a pet security force out at Gant-Ag.

They
probably do whatever he asks, even knocking out strangers in their own
stairwells.”

Conrad
howled. “Why did you go through Messenger’s files in the first place?

Don’t
you see we’re in an impossible spot now? What if Gantner did come looking for
it? What can I—what can the Finch do? Go to Clive Landseer and say, excuse me,
we’d like a warrant to search the Gant-Ag premises, also Alec Gantner’s home,
because a private eye stole a letter from the home of one of our leading
citizens, and she thinks it’s possible Gant-Ag’s security guards jumped her to
retrieve it?”

My
head started to throb again. “I don’t expect you to do anything. When have I
ever asked you to help me out of a mess?”

“Never,
girl. And that’s what pisses me off. If you’d talk to me before you got into a
mess, we might be able to work out a way to get what you want to know without
going through forced entry, theft, and then grievous bodily harm.”

The
painted flowers on the sink backsplash began to bend and nod in a breeze only
they could feel. “If I talked to you ahead of time you’d try to talk me out of
it. And then I wouldn’t know.”

“What?
You wouldn’t know what?”

“That
there was a connection between Gantner and Fabian, for one thing. Or that
Jasper keeps all that cash lying around. I may solve Deirdre’s murder while you
guys are still trying to finger her poor runaway daughter.”

“Vic,
listen. If I solved Deirdre’s murder by getting evidence without a properly
issued and executed warrant, the guy would go scot-free. The evidence wouldn’t
be admissible. Didn’t you ever study the fucking bill of rights in law school?”

My
face got hot. It shouldn’t be happening this way—a cop lecturing me on illegal
search and seizure. I was a progressive.

“You
still there?”

“Struck
dumb. All I can say is—you’re right. So I can’t argue with you, even if my head
were up to it, which it isn’t. I’m going back to bed. You have a good time in
church tomorrow.”

“Believe
me, babe, I’ll be saying a prayer for you, asking the angels to persuade you
not to hug your cards so close to your chest. It makes it hard for anyone else
to get in a game with you.”

Bus
to Romania

A
little after five-thirty Lotty’s fingers on my wrist wrenched me out of sleep,
interrupting a dream I’m prone to in times of stress: I’m trying to reach my
mother behind the maze of equipment in which her final illness wrapped her, but
the tubes keep sprouting and spreading like plant roots, knitting a plastic
thicket that keeps her from me.

“Sorry,Liebchen
. I have to go into Chicago—there’s an emergency at the hospital. But since
you’re awake let’s take a quick look at you.” She prodded me, lifted my
eyelids, and listened to my heart. “You’ll do. I’ll check on your CAT scan with
the radiologist, but—as long as you don’t take on any hooligans—you should be
able to get up today. Remember to drink plenty of fluids, and no alcohol:
that’s most important.”

A few
minutes later I heard Max’s Buick pull out of the drive. I got up and fumbled
my stiff arms into the dressing gown Max had laid out for me. In the guest
bathroom down the hall I stood under a hot shower, slowly moving my arms until
I could raise them above my head, then massaging the taut muscles in my neck.
After fifteen minutes of home-brewed hydrotherapy I went back to the guest room
and went through a longer stretching routine. It’s hard to make yourself do
exercises when you’re sore, but you heal much faster if you get the blood
flowing vigorously.

When
I got down to the kitchen I found Max drinking coffee over theNew York Times .
He had driven Lotty into the city—she didn’t have her own car with her and he’d
seen Lotty at the wheel too many times to lend her his own.

“You
look well this morning, Victoria. A happy recovery. Coffee?”

I
drank a cup in scalding drafts while Max toasted a bagel for me. Max offered me
part of the paper, but I wasn’t interested in New York or Yugoslavian news this
morning and the Times has lousy sports coverage. After watching him read for a
few minutes I asked when he was going back for Lotty.

“I’m
not. We drove by her apartment for her car. Was there something you needed?”

“My
own car. I have some errands to run.”

Max
put the paper back down. “You must not drive, Victoria. Not after the beating
you took yesterday. Why not see if Conrad will take you where you need to go?”

“I
can’t rouse him this early in the morning—especially not when he’s staying with
his mother.” And especially not after last night’s conversation.

“And
this is something that can’t wait?”

Fiddling
with a glass of orange juice, I told him I wanted to go back to the
construction site, now, while it was early enough that no one would be there.

“If I
wait until tomorrow, or even this afternoon when Conrad might drive me, I run
the risk of finding Anton or Charpentier.”

The
light on his glasses hid his eyes from me, keeping his thoughts secret.

“You
know Lotty would absolutely forbid such an excursion.”

“I
know: that’s what keeps our relationship so strained all the time. Maybe after
this case I’ll resign and go into real estate or teach Italian.”

“And
somehow be the only Italian instructor embroiled on the wrong side of P-2 or
the Banco Ambrosiano. ... If you feel an urgent need to go to this construction
site I’ll drive you there.”

“Which
Lotty would also absolutely forbid. I can’t put you in danger, not when she’s
finally forgiven me for doing it to her.”

“Not
out of concern for my personal safety, I’m happy to hear.” Max’s snort of
laughter interrupted my blushing disclaimer. “If it’s likely to be dangerous,
you mustn’t go. If it’s not, I’ll drive you.”

I bit
on my thumbnail. If Anton or Charpentier was there it could be quite ugly, and
I was in no shape to take them on. But my bet was we would avoid them.

I
finally asked Max if he could scout the site from the alley while I waited on
Montrose. If anyone was there he’d pick me up and we’d come back to Evanston.

“I
don’t suppose they’ll shoot at a strange car just for passing by their work
zone,” he agreed.

Leaving
a message for Lotty, in case she finished earlier than she expected, he
solicitously took my elbow and helped me into the front seat of the Buick.

“Lake
Shore Drive?”

“Edens—the
Cicero exit will decant us almost on top of the construction site.” The
interior of his car was as immaculate as his house; I saw some crumbs on my
T-shirt and tossed them out the window.

I
leaned back in the seat. Max didn’t speak for several minutes, but as we turned
onto Dempster, the road that led to the expressway, he asked if I was carrying
my gun.

“Yes.
I found it in the stairwell when we went to my apartment yesterday.

Does
that trouble you?”

He
made a face. “I don’t like the world of guns, but if your hoodlum is going to
shoot at you again I suppose it’s good for you to have one. You know how to use
it correctly, I’m sure.”

“Oh,
yes. My dad saw too many shooting injuries from kids getting hold of guns. He
started taking me to the range with him when I was ten. My mother hated it—he
wanted her to learn, also, but she wouldn’t acknowledge that he even carried a
weapon.”

Those
Saturday mornings come back to me whenever I go to the range, Gabriella’s back
rigid with anger as she settled some child at the piano for a lesson. “If you
would work on your breathing as you do on those ghastly toys we could make a
singer out of you, Victoria—a creator of life, not of death,” she said when I returned
in guilty triumph from hitting a bull’s-eye.

We
moved fast through the empty streets. In the city someone is always about doing
something, but in the suburbs people must sleep later: for long stretches of
westbound Dempster we were the only car around. It wasn’t even seven-fifteen
when we exited the expressway and turned onto Elston. When we reached Montrose
I showed Max the entrance to the alley that ran down behind the construction
site.