“He had to be: he was killed the other day—Monday.”
Her head started moving back and forth and she looked ill. “I’m sorry,” I said. “That was thoughtless, to spring it on you like that.” I put an arm around her shoulders. I didn’t say anything more. But I bet Thayer had helped Masters and McGraw cash in on the drafts. Maybe some of the other Knifegrinders were involved, but they wouldn’t share a kitty like that with the whole executive board. Besides, that was the kind of secret that everyone would know if that many people knew. Masters and McGraw, maybe a doctor, to put a bona fide report in the files. Thayer sets up an account for them. Doesn’t know what it is, doesn’t ask any questions. But they give him a present every year, maybe, and when he threatens to push the investigation into his son’s death, they stick in the knife: he’s been involved, and he can be prosecuted. It looked good to me. I wondered if Paul and Jill would find anything in Thayer’s study. Or if Lucy would let either of them into the house. Meanwhile there was Anita to think of.
We sat quietly for a while. Anita was off in her own thoughts, sorting out our conversation. Presently she said, “It makes it better, telling someone else about it. Not quite so horrible.”
I grunted agreement. She looked down at her absurd outfit. “Me, dressed up like this! If Peter could see me, he’d—” The sentence trailed off into a sniff. “I’d like to leave here, stop doing the Jody Hill thing. Do you think I can go back to Chicago?”
I considered this. “Where were you planning to go?”
She thought for a few minutes. “That’s a problem, I guess. I can’t involve Ruth and Mary any more.”
“You’re right. Not just because of Ruth and Mary, but also because I was followed to the UWU meeting last night, so chances are Earl will keep an eye on some of the members for a while. And you know you can’t go home until this whole business is cleared up.”
“Okay,” she agreed. “It’s just—it’s so hard—it was smart in a way, coming up here, but I’m always looking over my shoulder, you know, and I can’t talk to anyone about what’s really going on in my mind. They’re always teasing me about boyfriends, like that nice Dr. Dan, the one I spilled coffee on this morning, and I can’t tell them about Peter, so they think I’m unfriendly.”
“I could probably get you back to Chicago,” I said slowly. “But you’d have to hole up for a few days—until I get matters straightened out…. We could publish an account of the insurance scheme, but that would get your dad in trouble without necessarily getting Masters. And I want him implicated in a way he can’t slide out of before I let everything else out. Do you understand?” She nodded. “Okay, in that case, I can see that you get put up in a Chicago hotel. I think I can fix it so that no one will know you are there. You wouldn’t be able to go out. But someone trustworthy would stop by every now and then to talk to you so you won’t go completely stir crazy. That sound all right?”
She made a face. “I guess I don’t have any choice, do I? At least I’d be back in Chicago, closer to the things I know…. Thanks,” she added belatedly. “I didn’t mean to sound so grudging—I really appreciate everything you’re doing for me.”
“Don’t worry about your party manners right now; I’m not doing it for the thanks, anyway.”
We walked slowly back to the Datsun together. Little insects hummed and jumped in the grass and birds kept up an unending medley. A woman with two young children had come into the park. The children were rooting industriously in the dirt. The woman was reading a book, looking up at them every five minutes. They had a picnic basket propped under a tree. As we walked by, the woman called, “Matt! Eve! How about a snack?” The children came running up. I felt a small stirring of envy. On a beautiful summer day it might be nice to be having a picnic with my children instead of hiding a fugitive from the police and the mob.
“Is there anything you want to collect in Hartford?” I asked.
She shook her head. “I should stop at Ronna’s and tell them I’m leaving.”
I parked in front of the restaurant and she went in while I used the phone on the corner to call the Herald-Star. It was almost ten and Ryerson was at his desk.
“Murray, I’ve got the story of a lifetime for you if you can keep a key witness on ice for a few days.”
“Where are you?” he asked. “You sound like you’re calling from the North Pole. Who’s the witness? The McGraw girl?”
“Murray, your mind works like a steel trap. I want a promise and I need some help.”
“I’ve already helped you,” he protested. “Lots. First by giving you those photos, and then by not running a story that you were dead so I could collect your document from your lawyer.”