Since I didn’t know anything about construction practices I could scarcely talk about their equipment. My brain raced in search of an idea. “I do financial investigations,” I said, putting it together as I spoke. “My client thinks Alma’s way overleveraged, that they’ve taken on projects they can’t handle just so they can claim they’re eating at the same table with the big boys. He’s worried about his investment. I wanted to look at their equipment to see if they own it or lease it.”
It wounded woefully thin to me, but at least Collins didn’t seem to find it bizarre. “You can’t go on the site looking for that kind of thing. I’ve got several thousand men out there. Everything they’re doing is carefully coordinated. I just can’t allow unauthorized civilians out there.”
I was going to argue my case, but he frowned in thought. “Chuck,” he said abruptly to the ruddy white man, “call down there and ask about their trucks. Give the lady the report.” To me he added, “That’s the best I can do for you and it’s more than I should.”
“I appreciate it,” I said with what sincerity I could muster. It actually didn’t satisfy me at all—I wanted to see Alma at work, see if anything strange jumped out at me just by looking at them. But I had no choice. The Dan Ryan construction zone was not a location I could infiltrate.
Collins returned to his office and Chuck got on the phone again. After ten or fifteen minutes of shouted conversation with a variety of people, he beckoned me to his table.
“I thought they were in sector fifty-nine but they’d been moved to a hunnert and twenty-one. I don’t think you have to worry about them paying for their trucks—all the stuff they have on site belongs to Wunsch and Grasso.”
When I looked at him blankly he repeated the information in a louder voice. I pulled myself together, gave him my sweetest smile, and thanked him as best I could.
23
Stonewalled
By the time I got back to the Loop it was too late to use any of the Daley Center reference rooms. I parked illegally in front of the Pulteney so I could check my messages. When I got into the elevator it took a few minutes for me to realize it wasn’t moving, so lost in thought was I. As I climbed the four flights I kept turning it over in my mind.
How strange was it really for Luis to be using Wunsch and Grasso machinery? It had hit me like a bolt at the trailer, but it might not mean that much. Luis and his partner knew Ernie and Ron, that was clear from their close confab at Boots’s party. If Alma Mejicana was struggling to find a toehold in the Chicago construction business, they might well lease equipment from a bigger firm.
“Mind your own business, Vic,” I chanted out loud as I unlocked my office. “If Roz is hiding dirt from her girlhood, it’s not your affair.”
I turned on the lights and checked in with my answering service. Robin had called, as had Darrough Graham, wanting to know where in hell his report was. I called Graham first, since he was a promptly paying customer, told him I’d been away for a few days and that I’d get the job done tomorrow. He wasn’t happy but we’ve been working together a long time—he wasn’t going to break up over this. Still, I could not continue ignoring my good clients.
While I waited for the receptionist to hunt down Robin—he’d asked to be interrupted for my call—I pulled a pad of newsprint out from behind my filing cabinet. Using a thick Magic Marker, I drew up a list, with time lines, of all my current assignments. Still propping the receiver under my ear, I took the sheet and taped it to the wall facing my desk.
“That’s your work,” I lectured myself sternly. “Do not do anything else until all those tasks are accomplished.”
“Vic?” Robin’s voice cut into my lecture. “Are you there?”
“Oh, hi, Robin. Just thinking aloud. When you work by yourself you can’t tell the difference between speech and thought.”
“Oh. I wonder if isolation is too big a price for working alone.” We chatted for a few minutes, about that, and about whether I’d like some company for dinner. When I agreed he switched to business.
“Your report came in today—your two reports. I went over them with my boss—we decided we want you to do some more checking. I’m not questioning your assessment of the old man’s character, but somebody got that night watchman out of the way. It was clearly someone who knew his habits, so it had to be either a resident or a person in the Seligman operation.”
“Or an outside party who was watching him,” I put in.
“Yeah, I suppose. The trouble is, the only person who really benefits from the fire is the old man—or his children if he dies. Before we pay the claim I want to make sure Seligman didn’t send the guy money for the track. Can you give us another week?”
I looked at my time lines. If I did Graham’s project tomorrow morning, I could stretch the rest of my work around the Ajax job and still get it all done by the end of Friday—as long as I didn’t take any more time to worry about Roz, about why my call to Velma had prompted her to sic Ralph MacDonald on me, and all the rest of it.
“You still there, Vic?”