I ordered an Armagnac and wandered around the room with it, admiring the paintings. Most were of plants, but there were several startling Expressionists by Lasar Segall. When I finished my tour, Salanter was still on the phone.
I moved to an empty table and took Leydon’s Hermès bag out of my briefcase. Her wallet was in it, with her driver’s license and her Link card and about forty dollars in cash. No credit cards, perhaps a wise precaution, although hurricane-like shopping sprees had never been part of her bipolar illness. Dr. Knaub had stuffed in the handful of papers he’d found floating behind the pulpit, the news stories that Leydon followed obsessively—one on an E. coli outbreak in Germany, one on a woman who’d been killed in a hit-and-run accident, three on the nuclear reactors in Fukushima, and two on diets that help improve brain function. Leydon had written heavily on all of them, mostly about the huntress and the catafalque.
Dr. Knaub had found some pills the evidence techs had overlooked. He’d also discovered the key to Sewall’s BMW under the altar, but he hadn’t found Leydon’s personal keys. Perhaps she lived in a group home, where some manager buzzed you in. I checked the address on Leydon’s driver’s license. It was on Sheridan Road, near the Loyola University campus. I pulled out my iPad and found the building, a high-rise that seemed to be a mix of condos and rentals.
I was clicking on a link to the building’s Realtor when my cell phone rang. A blocked number, which made me think of Leydon, but it was a man’s voice on the phone, speaking so softly I could barely hear him.
“There was a person in the church with your friend this afternoon.”
“Who is this?” I demanded.
“I’m sorry, I cannot be involved in American police matters. And I saw nothing, only I heard the shouting. A man and a woman, with the woman saying most of the words. The emotion was too intense for an outsider to follow; also, the English was too fast for us, so we left the church. That is all I can tell you.”
Behind him I heard a woman’s voice, sharply telling him the plane was closed, all cell phones had to be shut down. The connection went dead. I stared at the bottles on the bar, so fixedly that the bartender thought I wanted another drink. I shook my head.
Leydon had been arguing with a man. Maybe she’d just been shouting at a man. Perhaps a lover, perhaps even her brother, although I didn’t think so. I could imagine Sewall being angry enough to fling Leydon over the balcony, but he wanted his car keys, and if he’d found her earlier and fought with her, he’d have extracted his Beemer keys then.
Chaim Salanter appeared next to me, apologizing for keeping me waiting. A billionaire’s apologies! Exciting, worth waiting for!
“I understand from my assistant that you were involved in a tragic event this afternoon,” he said. “I wouldn’t have insisted on our meeting going ahead, but I have to leave for Brazil in the morning and I needed to talk to you before I left.”
He took my elbow and ushered me to his table. Salanter was a small man: the top of his bald head just came to my ears. His voice was soft, but both voice and movements were authoritative. As soon as we sat, a waiter had menus in front of us. Salanter didn’t look at it, just nodded at the waiter, who nodded back. Bring me my usual? Put rat poison in my guest’s food?
Although the day had been hot and sticky, I found myself craving heavy food. A steak, mashed potatoes, broccoli with cheese sauce.
“I like to see women eat heartily,” Salanter surprised me by saying. “Too many women starve themselves these days. Even my daughter thinks she needs to diet. If age didn’t force me to take the low cholesterol special, I would join you with pleasure.”
His face was brown and lined, like a leather book that had cracked with time. What remained of his hair was white, but his eyebrows had stayed black; they formed a startling smear across his forehead, as if someone had drawn across the book jacket with a fat Magic Marker. The heavy brows made it hard to pay attention to how he was saying what he said. Maybe he dyed them to keep people off balance.
“I was at the Malina Foundation this afternoon,” I said. “My cousin runs one of your book groups, the one your granddaughter is part of. Arielle was showing the flag, coming to the group even though most of the parents had pulled their kids, and she, my cousin, and another girl were attacked by the mob.”
“Yes, that was disturbing. I spoke to my daughter, and to the police. Perhaps that discussion can wait until we’re on our own.”