McGraw walked right up to the banker. “You SOB. You get out of here now or I’ll get some people to throw you out in a way that’ll pop your high-and-mighty executive dignity for you.”
“I’m not afraid of your thugs, McGraw; don’t threaten me.”
“Oh, come on,” I snapped. “Both of you are tough as all get out, and you’re both frightening me to pieces. So can you cut out this little-boy stuff? Why do you care so much about it, Mr. Thayer? Mr. McGraw here may have tossed a business card of yours around—but he hasn’t tried to smear your name with his dirty business—if he’s got dirty business. You got something on your conscience that’s making you so upset? Or do you just have to prove you’re the toughest guy in any crowd you’re in?”
“Watch what you say to me, young lady. I’ve got a lot of powerful friends in this city, and they can—”
“That’s what I mean,” I interrupted. “Your powerful friends can take away my license. No doubt. But why do you care?”
He was silent for a minute. Finally he said, “Just be careful what you get into with McGraw here. The courts may have cleared him, but he’s into a lot of ugly business.”
“All right; I’ll be careful.”
He gave me a sour look and left.
McGraw looked at me approvingly. “ You handled him just right, Warshawski.”
I ignored that. “Why did you give me a fake name the other night, McGraw? And why did you give your daughter a different phony one?”
“How’d you find me, anyway?”
“Once I saw the McGraw name, it began stirring in the back of my mind. I remembered you from the night you were shot—it came back to me when Lieutenant Mallory mentioned the Knifegrinders. Why’d you come to me to begin with? You think my dad might help you out the way he did back then?”
“What are you talking about?”
“Oh, can it, McGraw. I was there. You may not remember me—but I remember you. You came in absolutely covered with blood and my dad fixed up your shoulder and got you out of the building. Did you think he’d help you out of whatever trouble you’re in this time, until you found out he was dead? Then what—you found my name in the Yellow Pages and thought maybe I was Tony’s son? Now, why did you use Thayer’s name?”
The fight died down in him a bit. “I wasn’t sure you’d do a job for me if you knew who I was.”
“But why Thayer? Why drag in the senior guy in Chicago’s biggest bank? Why not just call yourself Joe Blow?”
“I don’t know. It was just an impulse, I guess.”
“Impulse? You’re not that dumb. He could sue you for slander or something, dragging his name in like that.”
“Then why the hell did you let him know I’d done it? You’re on my payroll.”
“No, I’m not. You’ve hired me to do some independent professional work, but I’m not on your payroll. Which brings us to the original question: what’d you hire me for, anyway?”
“To find my daughter.”
“Then why did you give her a false name? How could I possibly look for her? No. I think you hired me to find the body.”
“Now, look here, Warshawski—”
“You look, McGraw. It’s so obvious you knew the kid was dead. When did you find out? Or did you shoot him yourself?”
His eyes disappeared in his heavy face and he pushed close to me. “Don’t talk smart with me, Warshawski.”
My heart beat faster but I didn’t back away. “When did you find the body?”
He stared at me another minute, then half-smiled. “You’re no softie. I don’t object to a lady with guts…. I was worried about Anita. She usually calls me on Monday evening, and when she didn’t, I thought I should go down and check up on her. You know what a dangerous neighborhood that is.”
“You know, Mr. McGraw, it continues to astonish me the number of people who think the University of Chicago is in an unsafe neighborhood. Why parents ever send their children to school there at all amazes me. Now let’s have a little more honesty. You knew Anita had disappeared when you came to see me, or you would never have given me her picture. You are worried about her, and you want her found. Do you think she killed the boy?”
That got an explosive reaction. “No, I don’t, goddamnit. If you must know, she came home from work Tuesday night and found his dead body. She called me in a panic, and then she disappeared.”
“Did she accuse you of killing him?”
“Why should she do that?” He was bellicose but uncomfortable.
“I can think of lots of reasons. You hated young Thayer, thought your daughter was selling out to the bosses. So in a mistaken fit of paternal anxiety, you killed the kid, thinking it would restore your daughter to you. Instead—”