When he’d disappeared into the gloom again, she eyed me narrowly. “You come here to shoot me?”
“If I’d wanted to do that I’d have pulled my gun when you were waving that damned fire extinguisher at me— the cops would have bought self-defense then.”
“I didn’t know it was you,” she said indignantly. “I heard someone at my door. I got a right to defend myself, too, same as you, and in this neighborhood you can’t be too careful. Then you come barreling at me like a mad bull, what do you expect? The mayor and a welcoming party?”
I grinned at her last comment, but continued my attack. “Did Chamfers call you Saturday? Tell you I was dead?”
“I don’t know anyone named Chamfers,” she shouted. “Get that through, your head.”
I slammed the television with the palm of my hand. “Don’t give me that shit, Mrs. Polter. I know you called him; they told me Friday night at the plant.”
“I don’t know anyone named that,” she repeated stubbornly. “And don’t you go banging on that TV. I spent a lot of money on it. You break it you buy me a new one, if I have to take you to court for it.”
“Well, you called someone. Who was it?” Light suddenly dawned. “No, don’t tell me—you phoned Mitch Kruger’s son. He gave you a phone number when he came by for Mitch’s stuff and asked you to tell him as soon as anyone came round asking about his dad. You must have warned him I’d been here and he made it real clear that he wanted to know right away if I came back.”
Her jaw dropped. “How did you know? He said no one was to know he’d been here.”
“You told me. Remember? Last Tuesday when I came by looking for Mitch’s papers?”
“Oh.” It was hard to read her expression in the dim light, but I thought she looked chagrined. “I promised I wouldn’t say anything. I forgot…”
I squatted on the dusty floor under the lamp so that we could see each other’s faces more clearly. “The guy who came by, told you he was Mitch’s son—he about my height? Clean-shaven, short brown hair brushed straight back from his forehead?”
She eyed me warily. “Could be. But that could be a whole lot of guys.”
I agreed. It’s hard to think of something about a corporate manager’s appearance that makes him really stand out in a crowd. “Tell you what, Mrs. Polter. I’d be willing to bet a good sum, say a hundred bucks, that the person who said he was Mitch’s son is really Milt Chamfers, the plant manager over at Diamond Head. You know—the engine factory over at Thirty-first by the canal. Would you be willing to drive over with me in the morning and take a look at him? Prove me right or wrong?”
Her black button eyes gleamed greedily for a minute, but as she thought it over the glint died away. “Say you’re right. Not diat I’m believing you, but just say you are. Why’d he do it?”
I took a deep breath and picked my words carefully. “You didn’t know Mitch Kruger, Mrs. Polter, but I’m sure you’ve met lots of guys like him over the years. Always looking for an easy buck, never willing to work to get ahead.”
“Yeah, I’ve met me a few like that,” she said grudgingly.
“He thought he was on to something at Diamond Head. Don’t ask me what, because I don’t know. All I can say is, he hung out over there, hinted to folks that he was on to a scam, and died. Chamfers probably thought Mitch really had some proof about something illegal. So as soon as his body was discovered, Chamfers came over here pretending to be Mitch’s son so he could go through his papers.”
It didn’t seem likely that Mitch would have come on any written proof of a theft ring involving the copper. Although who knows—maybe he went pawing through dumpsters looking for documents that might give him blackmail material. It sounded like more work than I could picture him doing, but I’d only met the guy a few times.
“So say I did phone him Friday.” Mrs. Polter interrupted my thoughts. “Not that I did—just supposing. What of it?”
“I’ve been trying to talk to the boy about Mitch Kruger for two weeks and he won’t see me. I went over to the plant Friday night, hoping to find some way of making him talk to me. He had seven people lying in wait for me.
We fought, but they were too much for me, and as I said, when they tried to run me over I dove into the canal.“
I didn’t think I had to tell Mrs. Polter about the copper spools. After all, if she started blackmailing Chamfers about the theft ring hers might be the next body to go floating down to Stickney.
“Seven guys against you, huh? You have your gun with you?”