“We’re not trying to make you take a fall,” Palgrave said. “She’s an accident victim and you were on the scene.”
“Come on, Detective,” I said. “I happened on the scene after someone left her lying in the road. I didn’t put her there, didn’t hit her, didn’t do anything but wreck my car swerving to miss her.”
“In that case a look at your car will get us out of your hair,” Palgrave said. “We’ll tow it to the police lab and get back to you about when you can pick it up. Where is it now?”
“It wasn’t drivable. It’s where the accident took place—you can look up the address on the report when you get back to the station.”
That made Lemour start to boil over, but Palgrave calmed him down once more. When they finally left I felt limp. Who could the woman be to merit this much aggravation? But I couldn’t worry about that until I dealt with my car. If the cops were determined to find a perpetrator, I wanted the Trans Am to have a clean bill of health before it got into police hands.
I called the mechanic I go to when I have no other choice. Luke Edwards is one of the few guys out there who still knows what a carburetor does, but he’s so depressing I try to avoid him. He came to the phone now with his usual drooping tones. He identifies so totally with machines that it’s hard for him to talk to people, but our relations have been particularly strained since a car of his I borrowed got totaled by a semi. Before I could finish explaining what I needed, Luke cut me off, saying he didn’t want to hear my tale of woe, he’d known since I trashed the Impala that I couldn’t be trusted behind the wheel.
“I spent three months getting every bearing on that engine purring in unison. I’m not surprised you wrecked your Trans Am. You don’t know how to look after a car.”
“Luke, forget that for a minute. I want a private lab to inspect my car and certify that it didn’t hit a person. I’m not asking you to work on it today, just to tell me the name of a good private lab.”
“Everyone thinks they come first, Warshawski. You gotta wait in line along with all the working stiffs.”
I tried not to scream. “Luke, I need a civilian lab before the police get to my car. I ran into a fire hydrant swerving to miss an accident victim, and some cop is taking the lazy way out instead of running an investigation. I want to have a lab report to wave in his face in case he doesn’t do the rest of his homework.”
“Police after you, huh? About time someone called you on your reckless driving. Just kidding you. Calm down and I’ll help you out. Cheviot is the lab you want, out in Hoffman Estates. They’re pricey but they got a rock–solid rap in court. I and my friends have used ’em a couple of times—I can call for you and set it up if you want. Tell me where your baby is and I’ll send Freddie out with the truck, get him to take the Trans Am out to Cheviot. He sees a cop, should he run over him?”
Luke being funny is harder to take than his depression. I pretended to laugh and hung up. Mr. Contreras, watching with bright anxious eyes, told me I’d done the right thing but wanted me to do more.
I didn’t think there was much else I could do except call Mary Louise. She was trying to dress one of Emily’s young brothers, who was protesting loudly. When she realized what I was saying she let the kid go and gave me her full attention.
“I don’t know anyone named Lemour, but I’ll ask Terry,” she promised. “I read that report last night before I signed it, and it made crystal clear the fact that we had not hit that poor creature. There shouldn’t be a problem. I’ll certainly tell them that when they come around here. I have to get Nathan to day camp, but I’ll call Terry as soon as I get back.”
Mary Louise could make that phone call more easily than I. Terry Finchley, her commanding officer her last four years on the force, was a rising star in the violent crimes unit. When Mary Louise resigned, she was careful to do it in a way that left him on her side.
I’d actually met Mary Louise on cases where Terry Finchley and I had crossed paths. I’d always liked him, but since the end of Conrad’s and my affair he’s been rather stiff with me. He and Conrad are pretty close; even though it was Conrad who broke things off, Terry thinks I treated his friend shabbily. Still, he’s too honest a person to extend his stiffness to Mary Louise simply because she works for me.
“You gonna call the lieutenant and make a complaint?” Mr. Contreras asked, meaning my father’s old friend Bobby Mallory.
“I don’t think so.” Bobby was much more likely to chew me out for interfering with a police investigation than he was to phone the Rogers Park station and complain about Lemour. He would probably say, If I wanted to play cops and robbers, I’d have to be ready to take the heat that comes with it.
4 Searching for Wheels