The four lawmen were knocked off balance, but the federal agent recovered first and began intoning the fact that he was not here as part of a canine complaint unit. Before he could finish his first paragraph, a pair of guys from the second floor leaned over the stairwell and hollered down at the resident to shut up and get a life-they had an ongoing feud with her because she’d sicced the law on their late-night parties several times.
“Those dogs are well trained, they never bother anyone,” they yelled. The Chicago cops were now uncomfortable. When neighbors start to gather, simple situations turn complex in a hurry. The cops shushed the Fed and hustled our party up the stairs, sped along by the pair on the second floor who were singing “God Bless America” loudly enough to bring out the young Korean family from the facing apartment. As I undid the dead bolts on my door, I could hear their four-year-old ask, “Is it a parade?”
It didn’t take the law long to hunt through my apartment for the obvious: you can’t hide a body in four rooms without it coming to light pretty fast. Mitch and Peppy helped: every time someone opened a cupboard or looked under something, they were on his heels. I kept the dogs on short leashes, made sure they never actually touched one of the men, but a hundred-twenty-pound half Lab can make even a federal agent turn a few hairs. Mitch was also pulling on my sore shoulder hard enough to make me wince, but I pretended not to feel it.
During the search, Mr. Contreras kept up a running commentary on
men who hid behind badges as an excuse for doing work no decent person would undertake: “Let me tell you, I saw plenty of that in Europe in ‘forty-four, never thought I’d watch it in my own country. I risked my life on the beaches at Anzio, I know what real fire feels like coming at you out of real artillery, I saw my buddies cut up in pieces around me. If I’d known I was doing that so you could break into any house in America because you felt like it, they couldn’t a got me on that landing boat.”
That did sting the Fed: no manly man likes to be reminded that searching a woman’s apartment for a runaway youth isn’t as dangerous as facing real fire. He kept breaking off his search to try to rebut Mr. Contreras, but the beat cops told the Fed they were under orders to get me to Thirtyfifth and Michigan pronto, and to finish up.
Thirtyfifth and Michigan is the new Chicago police headquarters; I couldn’t begin to guess what they wanted with me there. Whoever had set up the meeting was getting impatient: he-or she-kept calling the Chicago cops to move them along, and they kept complaining that the federal agent was taking his sweet time. When the Fed said he wanted to go through my papers, the Chicago cops dug in all four feet: they had orders to bring me in within the half hour.
“I don’t require her or your presence to examine the documents,” the Fed said in his flat voice.
“I’m not leaving you alone in my apartment,” I said firmly. “You could plant evidence. You could steal something.”
When he started to proclaim his essential honesty, I said brightly, “I know: Mr. Contreras and the dogs can stay with you. Make sure you get a detailed description of any document J. Edgar takes, Mr. Contreras. And for heaven’s sake, don’t let him walk off with the utility bills unless he promises to pay them-1 can’t afford to have my electricity turned off.”
The thought of an evening alone with the dogs and my neighbor made the Fed decide my papers probably weren’t worth going through. Perhaps the array of mail and books in the living and dining rooms also daunted him. At any event, he left my “place of residence” with the other lawmen. I locked up and followed them downstairs with the dogs.
At the front door, Mr. Contreras told me gruffly to keep my chin up; if I wasn’t home by midnight he’d get Freeman to find me. I went out with
the four lawmen, including the deputy from DuPage, who hadn’t spoken since we’d gone inside. He went off to his own car without so much as a good-bye to his partners in crime prevention. At least the U.S. agent thanked the city cops for their “intergovernmental cooperation.”
As I learned in the squad car, the DuPage deputy was sulking because the Chicago cops had overridden his orders. The two men thought this was such a good joke they shared it through the grill with me, but they wouldn’t-or couldn’t-tell me why we were going to Chicago police headquarters.
“You’ll find out soon enough when you get there, ma’am,” the driver said. At least they were calling me “ma’am” instead of “girlie,” and I wasn’t in handcuffs.