The two mothers looked at each other again. Some wordless communication passed, because they nodded, and Salanter spoke.
“The Vina Fields Carmilla club will go on without you from now on. Arielle, you and Nia will not see each other or text each other for two weeks.”
The two girls started shrieking in protest, promising endless good behavior; Salanter raised her voice. “There’s plenty of work for you to do, either for the foundation or the campaign—that will be your community service. Grandpapa’s lawyer will come tonight to prepare you for your conversation with the police, which will be happening tomorrow morning, if we can arrange it.”
Dr. Durango turned to me. “We’ve spoken very frankly in front of you, Ms. Warshawski. I want to know whether we can rely on your discretion.”
“Oh, yes, I’m discreet as all get out,” I said impatiently. “But I don’t think you’re taking this very seriously. A man was murdered last night, stabbed through the heart in a way that looked like a movie-style vampire slaying. How did he happen to be where your daughters were prancing around? Did you know him?”
Julia flushed. “Of course we care that someone was killed. As to whether we knew him—what was his name?”
“Miles Wuchnik,” I said, my voice tight. “Maybe you are the good guys in Illinois politics, but this focus on damage control when a man was killed, it doesn’t sit well with me.”
“I don’t think you understand,” Salanter said. “My father is under constant attack, as is Dr. Durango. What our daughters did was ill advised, but we don’t have the luxury of dealing with them privately: their behavior isn’t just public property, it will be taken up as part of a relentless media attack machine. So I won’t apologize for focusing on damage control.”
I responded mechanically to her words: my attention was caught by Arielle, whose eyes had widened at hearing Wuchnik’s name.
“Did you know him?” I demanded.
“Of course not!” she cried.
“You spoke to him on the phone?” I persisted.
“My daughter says she didn’t know him. It’s extremely offensive of you to imply that she was lying,” Julia Salanter said.
“Maybe he was a genie,” Nia said.
She and Arielle giggled at each other, but stopped instantly when they saw their mothers’ angry faces. “I just meant, maybe he appeared out of smoke or a bottle or something.”
“Not funny,” Sophy Durango said.
I looked at Arielle. “You didn’t care enough about the body you stumbled on to watch the news? Miles Wuchnik has been at the center of every news outlet all day long, whether on TV or online.”
“I don’t watch the stupid news. I hate it; there’s always some hate story about Grandpapa or Aunt Sophy. And, anyway, I was trying to protect Grandpapa.”
Julia blinked in bewilderment. “Why would boycotting the news help Chaim?”
Arielle bit her lips, keeping a wary eye on me. She had some connection to Wuchnik, I was sure of it.
“It troubles me that Wuchnik was stabbed in a way that echoes the ritual the girls were involved in,” I said slowly. “It’s as if the murderer knew what the Carmilla club was up to and wanted to make a public statement about it. How could that have happened, Arielle?”
“Who knew you were going to the cemetery yesterday?” Sophy Durango asked.
“Me and Arielle,” Nia answered her mother. “Jessie, Nolan. We didn’t tell Tyler because she wasn’t initiated.”
“What about Kira and Beata?” I asked.
Nia and Arielle shook their heads.
“I thought they were initiated,” I persisted.
“They are. But they’re not our real friends.”
“Right. They’re immigrant kids, their moms scrub toilets for a living. Hard to be real friends.”
“That’s unfair,” Salanter said. “Arielle knows better than most girls what immigrants go through.”
“Ms. Salanter, lots of girls have parents or grandparents who came here in poverty. Most of us, including me, have parents and grandparents who never had the mix of luck and drive that gave your father the ability to swaddle his grandchildren in luxury.”
“Don’t attack my daughter for my father’s success!” Salanter snapped. “We get it hammered into us constantly on GEN as it is.”
“If anything, I envy her, and the GEN commentators probably do as well. But his success does put a wall between her and a woman who cleans hotel rooms on the night shift.”
Durango changed the subject. “You’re an investigator. Could you find out who leaked the news to Kendrick?”
I shook my head. “These girls text everyone. They may have sworn a vow of silence, but they were videoing each other with their phones last night; someone put it on Facebook, or sent it to her friends in a text. Anyone with an axe to grind about the election could have picked it up and sent it to Kendrick. Anything else?” I turned to leave.