Her eyes crinkled with unexpected laughter. “I might still do that. Especially if I find out you’re lying to me this time around. What happened to the old boy?”
I shook my head. “You know as much as I do. He fell into the Sanitary Canal, but he was dead before he went in. I was over at Mrs. Polter’s trying to find a photo, but some guy came by this morning, said he was my man’s son, and took his union card and all his stuff that might have had a picture on it.”
“Said he was his son?” she repeated. “You think he wasn’t?”
“I don’t think. All I do is ask questions. I didn’t know anyone here in Chicago had an address for the son, and even if they did, he got here mighty fast. Still, maybe he had a nightmare warning him his father was dead and flew into town on the chance. You didn’t see the guy, did you? Mrs. Polter couldn’t give me a description.”
“I’m not open that early, hon. But if I hear anything I’ll let you know. Could be my old man saw something. He’s had a stroke, but he likes to sit outside in the evenings and mornings, watch the street, same as he has for seventy years now.”
I gave her my card and two dollars for the beers and the pretzels. As I headed for the door Tessie spoke again.
“You just somehow don’t look like the kind of girl who would let a drunk old uncle drag around in circles. Something about the way you hold yourself, honey. I figure you’re telling the truth when you say you’re a detective.”
That sounded like enough of a compliment to take some of the drag out of my step. I sketched a wave and went back into the heat.
It was getting to be time to go back to the plant and try to intercept some of the machinists on their way home, but my heart didn’t leap at the idea. Two beers on an empty stomach after a day in the sun made me long for any alternative to physical action. Like a nap. Anyway, how effective could I be in my current shape? If someone looked at me cross-eyed I’d fall over. My wits weren’t nimble enough to phrase questions that would be irresistible to answer.
I coaxed the Cressida into third and headed north on Halsted. At this hour it was faster to stay away from the expressways. Even Halsted was dense; I kept having to shift up and down at the lights. Tomorrow I’d return the Cressida and rent a car that worked right.
What I needed was a different approach to Diamond Head. I’d been butting my own head against a rock-hard wall there. I needed someone who might open the doors for me. I do a lot of work for industrial outfits in Chicago. It was possible that a grateful former client sat on the Diamond Head board. It was even possible that the owners, whoever they were, overlapped with some other company I’d worked for. Mr. Contreras kept saying Diamond Head had new owners; all I had to do was locate them. And that was something my trusty lawyer could do for me. He had a computer and access to the Lexus system—I didn’t.
I got off Halsted at Jackson, where the remnants of Chicago’s Greek community he. I’d only turned there because Jackson was the direct route to my office, but the smell coming from the restaurants on the corners was too much for me. It was almost five, anyway, too late to ask Freeman Carter to start a search. I settled down with taramasalata and a plate of grilled squid and put the heat and frustrations of the day behind me.
Chapter 18 - Legal Enterprise
I had a hard time getting through to Freeman’s office the next morning. The first three times I dialed I counted twenty rings before hanging up. What on earth had happened to their phone system? The call should have gone to a message center. The fourth time I rang someone picked up the phone without knowing where Freeman was. His reluctance to take a message made me decide to go down in person.
I hadn’t been inside Crawford, Mead’s offices since they’d moved to their new crib near Wacker, but the walnut paneling, the russet Ferraghan hanging to the right of the entrance, and the two outsize Tang urns were all the same as they’d been on South La Salle. Why move at all if you were just going to replicate your old surroundings at treble the cost?
Leah Caudwell had been the firm’s receptionist since before Dick joined the firm. She had always liked me, and had seen me as an aggrieved party when Dick and I split up. Without exactly encouraging her to believe it, I’d never directly contradicted the idea; the wear and tear on Dick were my substitute for alimony.
I walked over to the reception counter with a cheery greeting on my lips, but found myself looking at a strange young woman easily thirty years Leah’s junior. She was pencil thin, wearing a green knit sheath and a lavish amount of lipstick.
“Leah sick today?” I asked.
The young woman shook her head. “She quit when we moved last November. Can I help you?”
I felt unreasonably hurt that Leah had left without notifying me. With a little brusqueness I gave the young woman my name and told her I’d come to see Freeman.