Sara Paretsky - V.I. Warshawski 07 (36 page)

He
sat on the end of the bed. “We finished up here around seven. I saw you had a
set of spare keys; I was going to borrow them so I could lock up behind me.
Then your old boy downstairs intercepted me on my way out. He cross-examined me
pretty hard, and when he made up his mind I wasn’t a punk he gave me his
version of the facts. We decided I should come back in. I slept on the couch.
Wasn’t too uncomfortable, really. Besides, I already got four or five hours
before the Finch woke me up. You can thank me later for picking up the papers
and washing your dishes.”

I
curled my legs up under me on the bed. “I’ll put an extra five in your pay
envelope. I take it your boys didn’t find much of anything?”

He
pulled a wry face. “Whoever came in was wearing gloves and size ten
Reeboks—they found a print in the dust by the window. Maybe there’s something
to be said for bad housekeeping.”

I
gave a tight smile. “I don’t need the commentary, Sergeant. What about the
neighbors? They must have seen someone on a ladder.”

He
shook his head. “Whoever did it took a risk, but not too big a one. You left
here when? Ten last night? So, after ten and before four. This is a quiet block.
Anyway, that side isn’t very visible from the street—there’re trees that screen
you from the north, and the fake front shields you if someone’s walking right
by. What were they looking for, Vic?”

“I
wish I knew,” I said slowly. “I haven’t got a clue. I’ve been looking for some
papers—Mitch Kruger had them at the boardinghouse he lived in. But Mrs. Poker
says his son turned up the next day and took them. Anyone who’s talked to her
knows I don’t have them.”

Of
course, I’d also been looking for papers at Mrs. Frizell’s, and Todd and
Chrissie didn’t know whether I’d found them or not. It would be easy for them
to know I was gone—but would they have had the enterprise to break in?

“Any
ideas about the ladder?” I asked.

“New,
probably. Its safety feet left a good impression and they still had the little
grooves on them—hadn’t been used enough to wear them out.” He finished his
coffee and put the cup on the floor. “I’m asking a squad car to drive by here
every now and then. Just to make sure your visitors don’t come back.”

“Thanks.”
I hesitated, trying to pick my words. “I appreciate that—I really do. And you
staying the night—I was dead to the world. But, well, I didn’t ask for a
bodyguard, and I don’t think I need one. The day comes I can’t look after
myself, I’m retiring to Michigan.”

Light
glinted on his gold front tooth. “That’s probably why I like you, Ms. W.
Because you’re so ornery. I just love to watch you get on other people’s
nerves.”

“You
didn’t seem to be liking it too much over at Lotty’s last week.”

“I
said other people’s, Warshawski, not my own.”

I
couldn’t help laughing. “That your hobby?”

“Yeah,
but I haven’t had too much chance to practice it lately.”

I put
my own coffee cup on the bedside table and stretched an arm out to him. My
muscles suddenly didn’t feel as heavy as they had ten minutes ago.

“Thought
you’d never ask, Ms. W.” He leaned across the bed and slid strong fingers under
my sweatshirt. “I’ve been wanting to do this for three years.”

“I
never figured you for a shy guy, Sergeant.” I traced the long line of a scar
across his torso up his back. “You don’t have a wife or girlfriend or someone I
should know about, do you? I thought you were seeing a lot of Tessa Reynolds.”

Tessa
was a sculptor we both knew.

Conrad
made a face. “It’s been a while. She needed a shoulder to lean on after
Malcolm’s death and mine was handy. I don’t know—maybe a cop isn’t classy
enough for a lady artist. How about you? What’s with you and that newspaper boy
I see you with every now and then?”

“Murray
Ryerson? He and I barely speak these days. Nope. There’re a couple of guys I
see—but no one special.”

“Okay,
Ms. W. Sounds okay to me.”

We
moved closer and kissed. We didn’t talk about much of anything for a while. I
reached out an arm and fumbled in my nightstand for my diaphragm. Afterward I
dozed off in Rawlings’s arms. My dreams must still have been haunting me,
because I suddenly blurted out, “You’re not the Buddha, you know.”

“Yeah,
Ms. W. Someone already told me that.”

His
hand stroking my hair was the last thing I remembered for a while. When I woke
up again it was close to two. Rawlings had left, but he’d propped a note by the
coffeepot explaining that he’d gone to work. “I gave your spare keys back to
the old man, so don’t be afraid I’ll come breaking in again uninvited. I’ve got
a squad car coming around every so often looking for that Subaru you mentioned.
Don’t go facing down any gangs without calling me first. P.S.: How about dinner
tomorrow?”

I
found myself whistling Mozart under my breath as I got dressed. The Scarlett
O’Hara syndrome. Rhett comes and spends the night and suddenly you’re singing
and happy again. I pulled a face at myself in the mirror, but the thought
didn’t dampen my spirits the way maybe it should have. Of course, on principle
a private investigator should discourage close entanglements with the cops. On
the other hand, where would I be if my mother hadn’t climbed in bed with a
police sergeant? If it was good enough for her, it ought to do for me.

I
continued with “Mi tradi quell’alma ingrata” as I cleaned the Smith &
Wesson. The melody is so buoyant that the aria often comes to me at happy
moments, despite its despairing words. Later, though, as I scrubbed the oil
from my fingers, I wondered who the ungrateful wretch might be. Certainly not
Conrad Rawlings or Mr. Contre-ras. But that left a wide-open field including
Jason Felitti, Milt Chamfers, and my good old ex-husband, Dick. Unlike Mozart’s
heroine I didn’t feel too much pity for the crew at Diamond Head, but some
spark of sentimentality made me hope Dick wasn’t up to his eyeballs in their
muck.

By
the time the gun was clean and I was dressed, it was after four. I called
Larry, the guy who puts my apartment back together when it’s been ransacked,
and explained my problem. He wouldn’t be able to make it over until next
Wednesday, but he referred me to an emergency glazier who agreed to take care
of the window in the morning.

After
debating the matter I decided to call an alarm company to wire my doors and
windows. I got their machine with instructions to call back Monday morning. I
hate living in the middle of a fortress. It’s bad enough to seal the place up
every night—although an alarm system might let me cut back on the hardware—but
I just couldn’t afford to have people climbing in through the windows after me.

I
spent the rest of the afternoon nailing boards across the broken window and
installing crude braces on the others. After that I felt restless, and to my
dismay, forlorn. Solitude usually brings me a sense of peace, but right now I
felt under siege. I didn’t think I could stand to spend a night in here with
the boarded-over windows.

I
could call Conrad, but it would be a mistake to start a relationship in a state
of dependency. After a few minutes’ hesitation I tracked Lotty down at Max’s.

“I
think I’ve found the people who attacked you,” I greeted her abruptly. “Or they
found me.”

“Oh?”
Her tone was cautious.

I
explained what had happened last night, stressing that I’d given Finchley and
Rawlings everything I knew about Mitch Kruger and Diamond Head. “But I don’t
think they’re taking it very seriously. They think being chased into the San
was my just deserts for breaking into the plant.”

I
took a deep breath. “Lotty, I know you’ve been upset with me because you were
attacked in my stead. I don’t blame you. But… I just can’t be by myself
tonight. There’s been too much—there are too many people trying…” To my dismay
I found tears were choking me; I couldn’t go on.

“Vic,
don’t!” I flinched from the sharpness in her voice. “I just can’t help you
right now. I’m sorry. I’m truly sorry you had a rough night last night. I wish
I could help you put your pieces back together—but I’m in too many pieces
myself to be able to help you.”

“I…
Lotty…” but she had handed the phone back to Max.

When
he came on the line he was unexpectedly gentle, even apologizing for his
harshness the night Lotty had been attacked. “You each expect the other to be
invincible; when you aren’t you both suffer,” he added. “Lotty… well, she’s not
in good shape right now. She’s not angry with you, but she needs to feel angry
to keep herself in a semblance of functioning. Can you understand that? Give
her some distance, some time?”

“I
guess I have to,” I said bitterly.

When
we’d hung up I stood in the middle of the room with my hands pressed against my
head, trying to keep the boiling inside from spilling out through my temples. I
could not stay in this apartment one more minute, that much was certain.
Randomly stuffing clothes into an overnight bag, along with an extra clip, I
headed downstairs.

I’d
take the el out to O’Hare and get on the first plane I came to with a spare
seat.

I
thought about sneaking past Mr. Contreras’s place on the way out, but decided
that would really be unfair to the old man. I needn’t have worried about it: he
had the door open before I reached the bottom of the stairs.

He
surveyed me with his hands on his hips. “So you went and got yourself pushed
into the San, huh? After letting me think you was just going off to lay low for
a few days. I can’t take too many more nights like last one, and that’s a fact.
Don’t think I’m gonna apologize for getting that Sergeant Rawlings to go back
into your place, because I’m not. If you can’t share your plans with anyone,
least I can do is get the cops to look after you.”

“Thank
you. I appreciate your care. Although I slept until noon without knowing there
was a cop on my couch, I’m sure the subliminal knowledge was what enabled me to
rest.”

He
grunted in exasperation. “Oh, don’t go using your tony vocabulary on me. I know
you only do it when you’re pissed, but you got no call to be. I’m the one
suddenly finding out at five in the morning you almost got yourself killed.
Again.”

“Don’t!”
I cried more sharply than I’d meant. “I just can’t take any harassment right
now.”

He
started to expostulate—that I’d have to learn to take it until I could pay
attention to how he felt, left alone to worry—but my distress must have been
writ large in my face. After a minute he broke off and asked me what the
problem was.

I
tried to summon a smile. “Rough night last night and too many people on my ass
right now.”

“It’d
be easier for me not to be one of those people if I knew what you was up to.”

I
closed my eyes a minute, as if that could make the world disappear. But the
sooner I started my tale, the sooner I could get it over. “I broke into Diamond
Head. To do that I had to take a flying leap through a window a good ten feet
off the ground. Then I hung around on a spool of copper dangling from a crane, crawled
down the gantry supports so I wouldn’t be crushed into the wall, and dove into
the San to avoid being run over by a car. I know you’re a hell of a guy—you’re
certainly wonderful to me—but if I’d told you my plans you would have insisted
on coming along. And you’re just not up to the action. I’m sorry, but you’re
not.”

His
eyes flooded unexpectedly. He turned his head so I couldn’t watch him dashing
the tears away. Great. Now everyone I knew was crying in unison. Including me.

“Ah,
you don’t understand, doll. I care about you—ah, what the heck, you know I love
you. I know I got Ruthie and my grandsons, but they ain’t part of my everyday
life like you are.” He spoke with his head turned from me; I had to strain to
catch the words.

“I
grew up in a different time than you. I know you like to look after yourself,
but it hurts me to know I can’t take care of you, go along jumping through
windows with you. Twenty years ago—oh, what’s the use of complaining, though.
It’ll happen to you someday, too, and you’ll know what I mean. Least, it will
if you don’t let someone knock you off first.”

I
shepherded him gently into the living room and sat him on the mustard-covered
armchair. I knelt next to him, keeping a hand on his shoulder. Peppy, sensing
his distress, briefly left her nurslings to come sniff at his knees. He stroked
her absently. After a few quiet minutes he smiled with a heart-wrenching
gallantry.

“So,
you was swinging from the gantry, huh? Wish I could’ve seen it. Who was there?
What made you do it?”

I gave
him a thumbnail sketch of my evening. “Why would they be shipping so much
copper out? Finchley says ‘normal business,’ but I can’t figure it; they’re not
running a graveyard shift. And what they ought to be unloading are beautiful
little motors, not big spools of copper.”

“Yeah,
they should. They don’t use that much copper, anyway. Sounds like someone’s
warehousing it there. You know, that big old upper shelf where they cornered
you, they haven’t used that for manufacturing since the war— the Second World
War, I mean—when they was running three shifts trying to keep up. Anyone who
knew the plant would know that upper deck would be available for storage. You
know, if they was stealing something and wanting to keep it quiet for a while.”