“No. She talked to the state’s attorney and they said they’d open a file. I guess they have something to put in it now.”
She gave the smile of a triumphant martyr. I forced myself to speak calmly to her. After a few minutes she reluctantly agreed to sit back down and tell me what she knew. If she was telling the truth—a big if—it wasn’t much. She didn’t know whom Nancy had seen at the state’s attorney’s office, but she thought it could have been Hugh McInerney; he was the person they dealt with on other issues. Under further probing she admitted that McInerney had taken statements from them eighteen months ago about their problems with Steve Dresberg, a local Mob figure involved in garbage disposal.
I vaguely remembered the trial over Dresberg’s PCB incinerator and his alleged sweetheart deal with the Sanitary District but didn’t realize she and Nancy had been involved. When I demanded to know what role the two had played, she scowled but said she and Nancy had testified to receiving death threats for their opposition to the incinerator.
“Obviously Dresberg knew who to pay off at the Sanitary District. It didn’t matter what we said. I guess he figured SCRAP was too puny to listen to so he didn’t have to make good his threats.”
“And you didn’t tell the cops that.” I rubbed my hands tiredly across my face. “Caroline, you need to call McGonnigal and make an amended statement. You need to get them looking at people you know threatened Nancy in the past. I’m going to phone the sergeant myself as soon as I get home to tell him about this conversation. And if you’re thinking of lying to him a second time, think again—he’s known me professionally for years. He may not like me, but he knows he can believe what I tell him.”
She looked at me furiously. “I’m not five years old anymore. I don’t have to do what you say.”
I went to the door. “Just do me a favor, Caroline—the next time you’re in trouble, dial 911 like the rest of the citizenry. Or talk to a shrink. Don’t come hounding me.”
12
Common Sense
I dragged my feet back to the Chevy, feeling as though I were a hundred years old. I was disgusted with Caroline, with myself for being stupid enough to get caught in her net once again, with Gabriella for ever befriending Louisa Djiak. If my mother had known what Louisa’s damned baby would get me into … I could hear Gabriella’s golden voice in response to the same plaint twenty-two years ago. “Of her I expect nothing but trouble, cara. But of you I expect rationality. Not because you are older, but because it is your nature.”
I made a bitter face at the memory and started the car. Sometimes the burden of being rational and responsible while everyone around me was howling was more than I liked. Even so, instead of washing my hands of Caroline’s problems and heading north toward home, I found myself driving west. Toward Nancy’s childhood house on Muskegon.
But it wasn’t to help out Caroline that I was making the trek. I didn’t care that I’d told Nancy to talk to someone at Jurshak’s office, or even that we’d shared the old school towel. I was hoping to assuage my own feeling of guilt for not having been there when Nancy called me.
Of course she might have been phoning to condole about the Lady Tigers—our successors had been eliminated in the state quarterfinals. But I didn’t think so. Despite my bravura performance with Caroline, I sort of thought she was right: Nancy had learned something about the recycling plant that she needed my help to deal with.
I didn’t have any trouble finding Nancy’s mother’s place, which didn’t exactly cheer me up. I thought I’d left the South Side behind, but it seemed my unconscious had perfect recall of every house I used to spend time in down here.
Three cars were crowded into the short driveway. The curb in front was filled, too, and I had to go some way down the street before I found a parking space. I fiddled with my car keys for a moment before starting up the walk—perhaps I should postpone my visit until her mourning callers had gone. But even if it was my nature to be rational, patience isn’t my leading virtue. I stuck the keys into my skirt pocket and headed up the walk.
The door was opened by a strange young woman of thirty or so, wearing jeans and a sweatshirt. She looked at me questioningly without saying anything. When a minute had stretched by without her speaking, I finally gave her my name.
“I’m an old friend of Nancy’s. I’d like to talk to Mrs. Cleghorn for a few minutes if she’s up to seeing me.”
“I’ll go ask,” she muttered.