We had a quick run downtown. Now that the office workers were gone for the day I found a place big enough for the Impala only a few doors from the Pulteney.
I wondered if the people who’d ransacked my place last night had gone tearing through my office as well, but the door was intact. Amateurs. Despite what Rawlings said, these were people who didn’t know me. If they were really looking for something they thought only I had, they would have tried my office too.
My desktop Xerox sprang smartly into life. By enlarging the photo and increasing its contrast I was able in a few minutes to get enough of the inscription back to see what Eddie Mohr had been up to. The South Side retiree, as the paper labeled him, was accepting an award from a blurry name that I thought was probably Hector Beauregard. Hector, the blurry secretary of Chicago Settlement, was thrilled at the contribution Eddie had made to his favorite charity.
Mr. Contreras, following along with a horny finger as I deciphered, whistled under his breath. “I never figured Eddie for the charity type. Knights of Columbus, maybe, but not some downtown outfit, which I guess Chicago Settlement is.”
I sat on the end of my desk, hard. “It’s not just a downtown charity, it’s a pet of my good old ex-husband, Dick Yarborough. Max Loewenthal’s son, Michael, played at a benefit for them two weeks ago and I saw Dick there, leading the charge at a feeding frenzy. This is not just curious, it’s downright creepy. I think I need to talk to Mr. Mohr. Can you bring me along? Make the introductions?”
Mr. Contreras removed his glasses again and rubbed the bridge of his nose. “Why do you want to talk to him? You don’t think he’s doing something, well, underhanded with this Chicago Settlement outfit, do you? They wouldn’t put it in the papers if there was something fishy to it.”
“I don’t know what I think. That’s why I want to talk to him. It’s just too—too much of a coincidence. Mitch carries his picture around along with a story about Diamond Head. My old husband Dick is really pimping Chicago Settlement. Meanwhile Dick’s father-in-law has a brother who owns Diamond Head. Eddie and Dick and Jason Felitti all know each other. I’ve got to find out why Mitch thought that was valuable.”
“I don’t like it, doll.”
“I don’t like it either.” I spread my hands in appeal. “But it’s all I’ve got, so it’s what I have to use.”
“It makes me feel, I don’t know, like a sneak. A scab.” My mouth twisted in unhappiness. “Detective work is like that; it isn’t usually glamor and excitement. It’s often drudgery, and sometimes it feels like betrayal. I won’t ask you to come along if it really makes you feel like a scab. But I’m going to have to talk to Eddie Mohr, whether you’re there or not.”
“Oh, I’ll come if you’re set on it,” he said slowly. “I can see I kind of don’t have a choice.”
Chapter 33 - An Old Husband Surfaces
Rawlings called shortly after I got home. “Just wanted to hear your sweet voice, Ms. W. Make sure you hadn’t fallen under a semi or something. I tried reaching you yesterday, but didn’t put out an APB—figured if you were dead your corpse would keep another day.”
“I went out of town,” I said, annoyed to find myself offering an explanation. “It’s been almost three days since anyone tried to kill me. Life is getting dull: I kind of like the squad cars, though. I never thought the sight of a blue-and-white would cheer me so much.”
“I figure a classy dame like you expects presents, Ms. W., and since I can’t afford diamonds I gotta offer you what I have. How about dinner tomorrow?”
I laughed a little. “How about Wednesday? I’m going to be working late tomorrow.”
He was busy Wednesday. We settled on Friday, at Costa del Sol, a Mexican place on Belmont just west of the yuppie fringe. “If your work tomorrow involves taking on armed punks and you’re not telling me about it, I’m going to be just a little peeved,” he added.
I felt an unexpected spurt of anger, but tried to speak temperately. “I appreciate the squad cars and the concern, Sergeant, but I’m not turning my life over to you. If that’s the exchange, I’d rather take my chances on the street.” Temperateness and I apparently don’t mix too well.
“Is that how it looks to you, Vic?” He sounded surprised. “I’m a cop. And however much I like you, I don’t want civilians in the line of fire—it makes police work ten times harder. I also get cold chills when I think about someone climbing a ladder to your window and breaking in as cool as ice.”
“It gives me cold chills, too, but I’m taking care of the situation. Anyway, I’m a civilian—I don’t like cops telling me how to do my job. Besides, for a week you guys wouldn’t believe there was a line of fire out there. Now I’ve proved it to you, you want me to pack up and go home. Maybe cops and Pis shouldn’t get so friendly together.” I regretted the last sentence as soon as it left my mouth.