Sara Paretsky - V.I. Warshawski 08 (12 page)

“So
how do you come up with funding for your buildings?”

“I
should have added fund-raising—it’s obviously the main job of any
not-for-profit.”

“And
most of your funds come from ... ?”

“Guilty
businessmen—and women—who avert their eyes from the derelicts they pass at the
station every night on their way home to Lake Forest or Olympia Fields. Why do
you want to know?”

He
looked at his wrist in an ostentatious show of how tight his time was. I
couldn’t be sure from across the desk, but it looked like heavy gold—maybe
Rolex or Patek.

“Just
curious. You usually build new units, don’t you? But you do some rehabbing?”

He
smiled, but not quite as warmly. “Maybe being a detective gets in your blood
the same way that organizing does—you can’t stop asking questions that aren’t
any of your business.”

“Maybe
so.” I smiled, too, to show an amiable disposition. “How do you decide whether
to do a rehab job or start from scratch?”

“We
factor in costs, availability of site, quality of building scheduled for rehab,
all those things.”

“And
put the job out to bid?”

Jasper
leaned forward across his desk. “Vic. What is it you really came here for? I
don’t have a lot of time this morning.”

“I
really came here to see what kind of work you were doing.”

He
leaned back in his chair again. “Good work. Thorough.”

I
laughed. “Could I look at one of your rehab jobs?”

Jasper
raised his eyebrows. “You sound like a potential investor, Vic, but you don’t
look like one.”

“Don’t
go by appearances. If I only went by your watch I’d say you couldn’t possibly
be head of a shoestring advocacy group.”

He
glanced again at his wrist. “Oh, that. It was a legacy and I had a moment of
self-pity, wishing I’d gone into medicine or investment banking, like so many
of my old friends. We have a couple of projects that we could let you look at.

Talk
to Tish here—she’ll schedule an appointment with the managers for you.”

“Under
construction?”

“There’s
nothing much in the works. And now, Vic, you’ll have to let me go.

We’ll
get together some time for a drink, catch up on the old days.”

I
wanted to ask him what he owed Century Bank, to let them pressure him into
giving Lamia the rehab project. I wanted to ask him how he handled bids, since
Lamia had been awarded the job so suddenly. But either of those questions would
have exposed the group and I didn’t have a good reason, except my annoyance
with Phoebe, for doing that. I allowed him to shepherd me to the front office.

“Gary
didn’t seem very happy,” I said as he turned to his own office. “He’s not an
investor who got stiffed, is he?”

Jasper’s
smile played around his mouth. “No, indeed. One of our contractors, and a born
worrier. If you’re trying to smell out our investments you should go downtown
to look at our 990 filing: it’s there in the State of Illinois building, just
as it should be. Good to see you after all these years.”

Tish
smirked as she took my phone number, pleased to see Jasper put me down.

She
said she’d call me when they had a site I could look at. Somehow I didn’t
believe I’d ever hear from her again.

On my
way back to my car I stopped to look in the window of the novelty shop.

I
decided that if I could choose any item in the store window for my very own, it
would have to be the lamp whose base was in the shape of a baby, and whose
shade read “Oh, Mama,” over and over in different shades of crimson.

Return
of the Hostess

It
was close to five when I got to my office. I’d divided the afternoon between
the State of Illinois building and the city-county building, looking up
records.

Since
I was in Helmut Jahn’s glass cupcake anyway I’d looked up Home Free’s 990
filing with the state. They did work on a bigger scope than I would have
believed, judging by their tiny office, but since most of it was in contracting
and downstate lobbying I guess that wasn’t too surprising.

Grants
and private donations had given them almost ten million in revenue last year.
About a third had gone directly to construction, another third to maintenance
of existing programs, and the rest to administrative overhead, maintenance of
an office in Springfield, and establishment of a trust fund. It all looked very
solid. At least Lamia didn’t need to worry about their bills being paid. Still,
Home Free must be doing gold-plated work on their job sites.

I was
curious to see some of them.

Their
accounts were audited by Strong and Ardmore, a biggish CPA firm in town. And
both Alec Gantner and Donald Blakely served as directors. Again no surprise.

I
took the information back to my office along with the data I’d gathered on
other jobs and started entering it all into appropriate categories on my
machine. So absorbed was I in my work that when Deirdre Messenger spoke close
to my shoulder I jumped and swore; I hadn’t even heard the door open.

“So
you’re here, Vic. I wondered when you were going to show up. I’ve gotten tired
of the coffee shop down the street.”

I
stared doggedly at the screen, waiting for my pulse to come back to my body.
“We have an appointment, Deirdre?”

“I
talked to you on Monday about trying to do some work with the woman who’s
living in your cellar. I thought we had a date for tonight. Or do I have the
wrong day?” Her jocularity seemed more forced than usual.

“I
didn’t think we’d set a time. Anyway, after Wednesday night all bets are off.”

She
planted herself in one of my guest chairs. It had been so long since I’d
allowed anyone into the office that it was black with soot from the el. “You
can eat my food, but I can’t visit your office?”

I
turned to look at her squarely. “Let’s not pretend Wednesday night didn’t
happen, Deirdre.”

“What’s
that supposed to mean?” Her tone was belligerent, but her eyes shifted away
from mine.

“I
saw you and Fabian and Emily together. You did not strike me as someone with
the strengths to take on a troubled family.” When she didn’t say anything I
added, “You do remember my coming back for my coat after the party, don’t you?”

“I
remember you coming to my bedroom and getting Emily so upset that she yelled at
her father and me. I didn’t appreciate it much and neither did Fabian.”

“We
weren’t in the same room, if that’s what you recall. I don’t pretend to know
what goes on between you and your husband—who goads whom into doing what—do you
drink because he’s intolerable? Is he intolerable because you drink? Does he
often hit you? Is your daughter the sacrifice you offer up to his anger? But I
won’t pretend I didn’t see you jettison Emily all evening long.”

The
veins around her nose glowed red. “You’re right about one thing, Vic: you don’t
know what goes on between Fabian and me. If you’d ever been married—”

“I
was,” I interrupted.

“Oh,
that’s right—you and Dick Yarborough. But you couldn’t stick around to make it
work out. Marriage entails sacrifices, you know.”

I
tried to keep my jaw from falling open. “You been studying Rush Limbaugh in
your spare time? I never thought marriage meant sacrificing my humanity.”

“Not
everyone has such inflated ideas about their value as you do, Vic. I thought it
was worth my while to give up my own career to help Fabian in his.

But
that doesn’t mean I can’t make an effective contribution as a volunteer. You
know, I don’t just work at Arcadia House. I do a lot for Home Free too. I’ve
taken courses in social work. This woman might talk to me where she wouldn’t
talk to you, especially since I have children and have some common bond with
her. Most people find me empathic.”

I
pressed my hands against my face, trying to pull my splintering emotions back
together. Everything Deirdre said about herself seemed totally different from
the character she’d exhibited two nights before. I couldn’t believe she wasn’t
aware of it, that below the surface of her prattling about her children she must
have had an image of her daughter struggling with the little boys, and of
herself remote from them. It’s a commonplace joke that mental health
professionals have the most ruinous home lives, but I couldn’t imagine Deirdre
being effective with someone as needy as Tamar Hawkings.

“All
you women who went on to have careers are the same,” Deirdre exploded into my
silence. “You don’t think those of us who stayed home and put our children and
husbands first are worth anything.”

I let
my hands fall to my sides, too exhausted to hold them up any longer.

“Oh,
Deirdre, do you even hear what you’re saying?” I began, then broke off.

“Maybe
you’re right. Maybe you can talk to this woman in a way I can’t. If her story
can be believed, she left her husband because he beat her up and was
threatening her older daughter. You’d have some common ground there.”

As
soon as the words were out I regretted them. Deirdre flinched and seemed to
shrink inside her coat. Her face became a mask. Stripped both of jocularity and
belligerence she seemed to have no personality at all. Against my will I felt a
stir of pity for her.

“Why
did you come up here, Deirdre? What did you hope I could do?”

Her
face remained stolid. I had done the unpardonable—not only spoken the taboo
words about her husband, but done so with disdain. As too often happens when
I’m nervous or ashamed I started talking too much. I explained how I’d taken
Tamar Hawkings’s children to the hospital Tuesday night only to have her run
away Wednesday morning.

“And
the cops say she’s probably come back here—that a beat officer saw someone
who’s likely to be Hawkings disappear in here with the kids. But it would be a
job to find them—she seems to have some escape hatch I can’t discover. So
unless you have enough people to mount a thorough search party, I’d give it up
for today. She’d be gone before anyone laid eyes on her.”

Deirdre
nodded when I finished my speech. “Believe me, Vic, I know more about homeless
women than you give me credit for. And whatever she does she’s going to be
trying to find a safe berth for the children.”

“I
went to see Jasper Heccomb this morning. You and Donald didn’t—”

“Why
did you go see him? I thought you were going to leave that to me.”

I
ground my teeth. “You’re assuming we’ve had conversations and agreements that
never took place. Anyway, since you do so much work for them, you must know
that they don’t do any direct placement of people, so they never were a good
place to go to. I’ve tried Marilyn at Arcadia House and Lotty called Fiona’s
Place. We’ve come up empty.”

“Jasper
knows me. He’ll do things for me that he wouldn’t do for you. It really upsets
me that you’d go behind my back this way.”

She
spoke loudly, as she had the other night when she was trying to stand up to her
husband. I was starting to get angry myself when I noticed that she was
gripping her hands together so tightly that the knuckles showed white.

“Okay,”
I said lightly. “Be my guest. Use your powers to get Jasper to find a place for
Tamar Hawkings to live.”

Her
face took on a secretive, almost triumphant look. I wondered if she and Jasper
had been lovers all those years ago—or even recently. When she shed her angry,
pinched look she was still beautiful.

While
I stared at her speculatively she suddenly bounced to her feet and draped her
coat across the chair back. “I’m going to scout around for Tamar.

I’ll
be back in a few minutes.”

“I’m
not staying much longer. And because of my electronics I need to keep the
office door locked.” The only reason it had been open for Deirdre to barge in
was my vague thought that Tamar Hawkings might seek me out again.

“I
won’t take long.” Before I could protest further she had sped out to the hall.

I was
still fulminating over her audacity when she poked her head around the door.
“If anyone comes looking for me, tell them I’ll be back in a few minutes.”

At
that I dashed after her. “Just one sweet minute, Deirdre. Did you set up a
meeting in my office? Without consulting me?”

In
the unlighted hall I couldn’t make out her expression, but I could see the
silhouette of her body. She looked the way she had Wednesday night at dinner,
her head thrust cobra-style back on her neck.

“Don’t
get on your high horse, Vic. I didn’t set up a meeting in your precious
hideaway. Merely, I let ... people ... know where I’d be.”

I
sucked in air in an angry whistle. In other words, she’d had a fight with
Fabian and had come down here as a mark of bravado. I’m going to Vic’s office
to prove what a heroine I really am, try and stop me, or words to that effect.
All that garbage about what she knew about Tamar Hawkings and Jasper Heccomb
had been just that: garbage. I turned on my heel and slammed my office door
shut behind me.