Sara Paretsky - V.I. Warshawski 07 (54 page)

By
then it was almost six. I braced myself and called Luke Edwards to tell him
about the Impala. He was furious. The fact that his baby was at the police labs
and would be featured as an exhibit in a murder trial only enraged him further.
He threatened to take a jackhammer to the Trans Am just so I’d know how he
felt. I was on the phone with him for almost an hour. We weren’t exactly
friends again by the time I hung up, but at least he finally agreed to let me pick
up the Trans Am.

“Although
a less generous man would keep it as a hostage, Warshawski,” came his parting
shot.

I
also gave Freeman Carter a call. I wasn’t sure I wanted him representing me in
the trials and suits that lay ahead. Freeman was at home, but he’d heard a
pretty complete version of events from some of his old associates. He brought
up the representation issue before I did.

“I
was too close to that situation, Vic. I let my own anger over what Yarborough
was doing to the firm cloud my mind, and I took it out on you—which is
inexcusable between a lawyer and a client. But the real problem is a potential
conflict of interest. You need someone speaking for you who is unimpeachable,
because Yarborough may be firing some pretty big rockets. I’ll come up with a
few names. And I’ll see that the bills don’t get out of hand. And after that—I
don’t know—you can take your time to decide whether you want me to work for you
in the future or not.”

“Thanks,
Freeman,” I said quietly. We left matters at that for the present.

I was
moving restlessly around my living room, wanting to talk to Lotty, not wanting
another painful conversation, when Mr. Contreras showed up unexpectedly. He’d
gone to the corner for a pizza, the kind we both like, thick with vegetables
and topped with anchovies. And he’d picked up a bottle of the Ruffino I often
serve him.

“I
know I should’ve called, make sure you wasn’t planning on—on doing anything
else for dinner, but I could see you didn’t have much food left. And we had a
pretty good adventure. I thought we ought to celebrate.”

Carol
Alvarado showed up unexpectedly when we were close to the bottom of the bottle.
She was taking the graveyard shift tonight, filling in for someone else, she
explained, and was just stopping for a minute on her way to the hospital. She’d
read the brief story in this morning’s Herald-Star, but wanted to talk to me
specifically about Mrs. Frizell.

She
turned down an offer of wine. “Not when I’m going on duty. You remember I told
you I thought I might have the answer for Mrs. Frizell?”

So
much had happened in the last few days, I’d forgotten our conversation at the
hospital. I hadn’t thought much of her secretive optimism then, but I made
polite noises.

“It
was her meds. I talked it over with Nelle McDowell, the charge nurse, and she
agreed: too much Valium can have that effect on an old woman—make her restless
and at the same time appear senile. And when it’s combined with Demerol it’s
almost a recipe for senility. So we stopped the drugs for seventy-two hours and
today she’s definitely better—not totally over it, but able to answer simple
questions, focus on who’s talking to her, things like that. Only, she keeps
asking about her dog Bruce. I don’t know what we’re going to do about that.”

“Neither
do I,” I said. “But it’s wonderful news. Now, if only I can get the Picheas out
of her life, she can move back home one of these days.”

“She’s
still going to be in a nursing home, or having to convalesce some place,” Carol
warned. “It’s way too early to talk about bringing her home… Do you think you
could come see her? Nelle says you have a good effect on her.”

I
made a face. “Maybe. I’m not very fit right now—I’ve had a couple of rough days
in the detection mines.”

Carol
asked for details on last night’s heroics. When I finished she only said,
“Gosh, Vic. Too bad they didn’t bring you to County instead of Mt. Sinai. I
could have patched you up—it would have been just like old times.”

I
shook my head. “Maybe you leaving the clinic was good for me as well as you.
It’s time I stopped turning to you and Lotty every time I scrape my knee.”

Carol
shook her head. “You and Lotty don’t understand. Leaning on people who love you
isn’t a sin. It really isn’t, Vic.”

“Try
telling her,” Mr. Contreras jeered. “I been breaking my head on that brick wall
long enough.”

I
punched him lightly on the nose before seeing Carol to the door.

The
next morning Mr. Contreras helped me prepare a wicker basket. We lined its
bottom with plastic and put a couple of towels inside. The puppies, almost
three weeks old, had their eyes open. With their soft, rich fur they looked
adorable. We picked the two smallest and put them in the basket. Peppy watched
us intently, but didn’t protest. By now she spent some time away from her brood
each day. Their little nails were scratching her stomach and the joys of
maternity were starting to wear off.

At
County Hospital, Nelle McDowell greeted me with genuine pleasure. “Mrs.
Frizell’s making real progress. She’ll never win a Miss Congeniality prize, but
it’s wonderful to see someone come back from the edge the way she has. Come and
take a look yourself.”

She
eyed the wicker basket thoughtfully. One little nose was pushing through a
crack. “You know, Ms. Warshaw-ski, I think you may be violating hospital
policy. But I’m too busy this morning to have seen you come in. You go on down
the hall and talk to the lady.”

The
change in Mrs. Frizell was remarkable. The sunken cheeks, which had made her
look like a corpse, had filled out, but more impressive was the fact that her
eyes were open and focused.

“Who
are you? Some damned do-gooder?”

I
laughed. “Yeah. I’m your damned do-gooding neighbor, Vic Warshawski. Your dog
Bruce got my dog, Peppy, pregnant.”

“Oh.
I remember you now, coming around to complain about Bruce. He’s a good dog, he
doesn’t roam the neighborhood, no matter what you people say. You can’t prove
to me he sired your bitch’s litter.”

I put
the basket on the bed and opened it. Two black-and-gold fur balls tumbled out.
Mrs. Frizell’s face softened slightly. She picked up the puppies and let them
lick her. I sat down next to her and put a hand on her arm. “Mrs. Frizell… I
don’t think anyone has told you, but Bruce is dead. While you were unconscious,
someone took all your dogs and put them to sleep. Marjorie Hellstrom and I
tried to save them, but we couldn’t.”

When
she didn’t say anything I went on, “These are two of Bruce’s offspring. They’ll
be able to leave their mother about the time you’re ready to come back home.
They’re yours if you want them.”

She
was scowling in the fierce way people do when they’re trying not to cry. “Bruce
was one dog in a million. One dog in a million, young lady. You don’t just
replace a dog like that.”

One
of the puppies bit her finger. She admonished it sternly, but with an
undercurrent of affection. It cocked its head on one side and grinned at her.

“You
might have just a little bit of his look, sir. Maybe just a little.”

I
left the puppies with her for half an hour and told her I’d be back with them
again the next day.

“Don’t
think I’ve made up my mind about this; I haven’t. I may sue you for negligence,
letting my dogs die. Just keep that in mind, young lady.”

“Yes,
ma’am. I will.”

When
I got home I told Mr. Contreras I was pretty sure she would take two of the dogs,
but that he’d better get hustling to find homes for the other six. Before he
could start trying to argue me into keeping one of them, I diverted him with a
plan for Vinnie. As soon as he’d grasped the details, the old man was
enthusiastic.

That
night he waylaid Vinnie as the banker came in from work, then buzzed my
apartment twice to let me know he was ready.

I
came down the stairs two at a time. Vinnie’s round brown face tightened in
dislike when he saw me. He tried to brush his way past me, but I grabbed his
arm and hung on.

“Vinnie,
Mr. Contreras and I have a deal for you. For you and Todd and Chrissie. So why
don’t we go down there and talk and try to put all this ugliness behind us.”

He
didn’t want to do it, but I murmured words about the police and the feds and
the investigation that was revving up into U.S. Met’s role in unloading Diamond
Head’s excess junk.

He
frowned pettishly. “I could sue you for slander. But we might as well go down
to the Picheas. He’s my lawyer and can tell you where to get off.”

“Splendid.”

If
anything, Todd and Chrissie were even less happy to see me than Vinnie had
been. I let them squawk for a few minutes, but Mr. Contreras didn’t approve of
some of Todd’s language and told him so. Todd’s jaw dropped— perhaps no one had
ever chewed him out at such length before.

I
took advantage of the momentary quiet. “I have a deal for you three
high-flyers. Call it a plea bargain. Todd, I want you and Chrissie to resign
your guardianship of Mrs. Frizell. She’s fully alert now, her hip is starting
to mend, and she’ll be able to come home and manage on her own, with only a
little help, in another month. She doesn’t need you. And I don’t think you can
do her any good. So if you resign your guardianship, and if you buy back her
three Diamond Head bonds—at face value—I will promise not to say a word to the
U.S. attorney about your role in marketing those bonds around the neighborhood.
Of course, if you start pushing them again the deal is off.”

They
all started to speak again, in a chorus that included the fact that I should
mind my own business, and anyway, they hadn’t been doing anything illegal.

“Maybe.
Maybe. But you walked a mighty fine line, promising people that junk was just
as good an investment as a federally insured CD. You could be disbarred, Todd,
for taking part in something like that. U.S. Met might want to promote you,
Vinnie, for your efforts, but they’d probably ditch you when the publicity
heated up.”

The
trouble was, none of them could admit they had done anything wrong. They had
talked themselves into the idea that anything that got the results they wanted
was by definition legal. I had to hammer repeatedly on the same key to get
their attention: I had enough connections to the Chicago media to blow this
story sky-high. And when that happened, their bosses would see them as
sacrificial lambs.

“Remember
Ollie North? You may think he was a hero, but his bosses didn’t have any
compunction throwing him to the wolves when the spotlight shone their way. And
you guys don’t have Marine uniforms to strut around in. You’ll be on the
streets chasing the same jobs fifty thousand other kids are, and those mortgage
payments come right on the fifth of the month.”

They
agreed, in the end to my terms, but stubbornly insisted they had never crossed
the bounds of propriety, let alone the law. The five of us—Mr. Contreras didn’t
want to be left out—would meet at the Bank of Lake View at four Monday
afternoon. Todd and Chrissie would bring an order from the probate judge
showing the termination of their guardianship agreement. And they would have a
cashier’s check for thirty thousand, to buy back the Diamond Head bonds.

In
exchange, I promised not to mention their role in peddling junk when the
federal investigators started asking about U.S. Met. Mr. Contreras and I went
home exhausted. We drank a bottle of Veuve Cliquot to celebrate.

The
next morning I wondered if our jubilee had been premature. The doorbell rang at
nine, just as I was trying to see how much of a workout my stomach could take.
The voice at the other end of the squawk box announced itself as Dick
Yarborough.

He
came up the stairs with Teri, who was ready for a photo layout in a navy Eli
Wacs trouser suit, her smooth peach skin perfectly made-up. Dick had on the
suburban executive’s weekend costume, a Polo shirt, baggy cotton trousers, and
a sports jacket.

“Vic—it
is all right if I call you that, isn’t it? I feel as though I know you.” Teri
stretched out a hand in a gesture of intimacy while Dick lingered in the
background.

“Yeah,
I feel as though I know you too.” I ignored her hand. “You two want something
special? Or am I a stop-off point on a goodwill tour of the poor?”

Dick
winced, but Teri gave a faint saintly smile. She sank onto the piano bench and
opened her eyes wide at me.

“This
is a really hard visit for me to make. Let’s face it: you and Dick were married
once, and I know there must still be some feeling between you.”

“But
I’d put on a lead shield before getting close enough to examine it,” I said.

“They
say that hate is the other side of love,” she announced with the air of someone
presenting the law of gravity to first-graders. “But I know—Dick’s told me—
that you lost your own father, so I think you can understand my feelings.”

“Peter’s
dead?” I was astounded. “It wasn’t in the morning paper.”

Dick
made an impatient gesture. “No, Peter’s not dead. Teri’s having trouble getting
to the point. She and Peter are very close and she’s afraid she may lose him to
a long jail sentence if she can’t persuade you to drop charges.”