“I didn’t see them when I was there on Tuesday. Maybe he did take them to a bank.” Another point to check with the lawyer Simonds.
“They were probably the most valuable things in the place, barring that antique chest in the dining room. Why don’t you try to locate them?” She put her hand on my arm. “I know it sounds crazy about the letters. But it’s true. In fact I’ll show you the one your cousin wrote me while we were away, if that’s what it will take to convince you.” She rummaged in her large handbag and unzipped a side compartment. She pulled out a letter, still in its typed envelope, addressed to her at the Royal York Hotel in Toronto. Paige unfolded the letter. I recognized my cousin’s tiny, careful handwriting at once. It began, “Beautiful Paige.” I didn’t think I should read the rest.
“I see,” I said. “I’m sorry.”
The honey-colored eyes looked at me reproachfully and with a hint of coldness. “I’m sorry, too. Sorry that you couldn’t trust what I said to you.”
I didn’t say anything. I didn’t doubt Boom Boom had sent the letter—his handwriting was unmistakable—but why was she carrying it around in her handbag ready to show to anyone?
“I hope you’re not jealous of me for being Boom Boom’s lover.”
I grinned. “I hope not too, Paige.” Of course, that might explain my suspicions. Maybe to Paige at any rate.
We took off shortly after that, Paige to an unknown destination and I for home. What a thoroughly dispiriting day. Kelvin dead, the encounter with Mrs. Kelvin, and an unsatisfactory meeting with Paige. Maybe I was just a tiny bit jealous. If you were going to fall in love, Cousin, did it have to be with someone that perfect?
I couldn’t figure out where Boom Boom would have kept his most private papers. He didn’t have a safe deposit box. Simonds, his attorney, didn’t have any secret documents. Myron Fackley, his agent, didn’t have any. I didn’t. If Paige was right about the stock certificates, where were they? Whom had Boom Boom trusted besides me? Perhaps his old teammates. I’d call Fackley tomorrow and see if he could put me in touch with Pierre Bouchard, the guy Boom Boom was closest to.
I took myself out to dinner at the Gypsy, a pleasant, quiet restaurant farther south on Clark. After the frustrating day I’d had I was due some peace and quiet. Over calf’s liver with mustard sauce and a half bottle of Barolo I made a list of things to do. Find out something about Paige Carrington’s background. Get Pierre Bouchard’s phone number from Fackley. And get back down to the Port of Chicago. If Henry Kelvin’s death and Boom Boom’s were connected, the link lay in something my cousin had learned down there.
This was one of the rare occasions when I wished I had a partner, someone who could dig into Paige’s background while I disguised myself as a load of wheat and infiltrated Eudora Grain.
I paid the bill and headed for home and a free phone. Relatively free. Murray Ryerson, crime reporter for the Herald-Star, had left for the night. They took a message from me at the city desk. I also left my name and number on Fackley’s phone machine. There was nothing more I could do tonight, so I went to bed. A life of nonstop thrills.
8
Learning the Business
I tried Murray again in the morning after my run. I was getting up too early these days—the star reporter hadn’t arrived for work yet. I left another message and got dressed: navy linen slacks, a white shirt, and a navy Chanel jacket. A crimson scarf and low-heeled navy loafers completed the ensemble. Tough but elegant, the image I wanted to get across at Eudora Grain. I tossed an outsize shirt and my running shoes into the back seat to wear at the elevator—I wasn’t going to ruin any good clothes down there.
Margolis was waiting for me. As the men came off shift for their morning break I talked to them informally in the yard. Most were pretty cooperative: seeing a detective, even a lady detective, relieved the monotony of the day. None of them had seen anything of my cousin’s death, however. One of them suggested that I talk to the men on the Lucella. Another said I ought to speak to Phillips.
“He hanging around here? I don’t remember that,” a short fellow with enormous forearms said.
“Yup. He was here. He come through with Warshawski and told Dubcek here to put on his earmuffs.”
They debated the matter and finally agreed that the speaker was right. “He stuck pretty close to Warshawski. Don’t know how he missed him out there on the wharf. Guess he was in with Margolis.”