Sara Paretsky - Indemnity Only

On impulse I looked up the Knifegrinders’ number in the white pages and dialed. The receptionist transferred me to Mildred. I didn’t identify myself but asked for McGraw. He was in a meeting and couldn’t be disturbed.

“It’s important,” I said. “Tell him it concerns Earl Smeissen and John Thayer.”

Mildred put me on hold. I studied my fingernails. They needed filing. At last the phone clicked and McGraw’s husky voice came on the line.

“Yes? What is it?” he asked.

“This is V. I. Warshawski. Did you finger Thayer for Earl?”

“What the hell are you talking about? I told you to stay out of my business.”

“You dragged me in in the first place, McGraw. You made it my business. Now I want to know, did you finger Thayer for Earl?”

He was quiet.

“One of Earl’s men shot Thayer. You brought Thayer’s name into this to begin with. You’ve hedged about why. Did you want to be sure he got dragged into the case from the beginning? You were afraid the police might jump on Anita, and you wanted to make sure his name got in the pot? Then what-he threatened to squeal, and you asked Earl to kill him just in case?”

“Warshawski, I got a tape running. You make any more accusations like this and I could see you in court.”

“Don’t try it, McGraw: They might subpoena the rest of your tapes.”

He slammed the phone down. I didn’t feel any better.

I dressed in a hurry, but checked the Smith & Wesson carefully before putting it in my shoulder holster. My continuing hope was that Earl thought he’d rendered me negligible, and that he’d continue thinking so until I’d unraveled enough truth to make it too late for any other action he might take. But I took no chances, leaving the apartment from the rear and circling the block to come to my car. The coast was still clear.

I decided to abandon Loop bars and go to the Knifegrinders’ neighborhood. I could return to the Loop tomorrow if necessary. On my way north I stopped at the clinic. Although it was early in the day, the waiting room was already full. I again walked past the baleful glares from those who had been sitting for an hour.

“I need to talk to Lotty,” I said abruptly to Carol. She took one look at my face and got Lotty out of the examining room. I quickly explained to her what had happened. “I don’t want to get Jill upset,” I said, “but I don’t want to feel like we’re sitting on a land mine here.”

Lotty nodded. “Yes, but what’s to stop them from taking her out of the Thayer house?” she asked. “If they decide she would be a good hostage, I’m afraid they could get her wherever she was. It is not your peace of mind, but Jill’s we need to think of. And I think she’s better down here for another couple of days. Until her father’s funeral, anyway; she called the in other-the funeral won’t be until Friday.”

“Yes, but, Lotty, I’m running against the clock here. I’ve got to keep going, I can’t sit guarding Jill.”

“No.” She frowned, then her face cleared. “Carol’s brother. Big, bruising, good-natured guy. He’s an architecture student at Circle-maybe he can come and watch out for thugs.” She called to Carol, who listened eagerly to the problem, threw up her hands at the thought of Jill in danger, but agreed that Paul would be glad to come and help. “He looks mean and stupid,” she said. “A perfect disguise, since he is really friendly and brilliant.”

I had to be satisfied with that, but I wasn’t happy: I’d have liked to ship Jill up to Wisconsin until everything was over.

I went on north and drove around the Knifegrinder territory, staking out my route for the day. There weren’t nearly as many bars here as there were in the Loop. I picked a twenty-block square and decided to keep the car. This morning, no matter what sort of ill will it raised in the bars, I was not going to drink. I cannot face beer before noon. Or even Scotch.

I started at the west end of my territory, along the Howard el tracks. The first place, Clara’s, looked so down-at-the-heels, I wasn’t sure I wanted to go into it. Surely someone as fastidious as Masters looked would not go to a dump like that. On the other hand, maybe that’s the kind of place he’d want-something that no one would associate with him. I braced my shoulders and pushed into the gloom out of the sticky air.

By noon I’d drawn nine blanks and was beginning to think I’d come up with a truly rotten idea, one that was wasting a lot of valuable time as well. I would finish my present stint, but not go back for a second crack at the Loop. I called the clinic. Carol’s brother was in residence, enchanted by Jill and helping entertain some seven toddlers. I told Lotty I was going to stay where I was and to give my apologies to Jill.

By now the humid, polluted heat was stifling. I felt as though I were being pushed to the earth by it every time I walked back outside. The smell of stale beer in the bars began to nauseate me. Everyplace I went into had a few pathetic souls riveted to their stools, sipping down one drink after another, even though it was only morning. I was meeting with the same variety of hostility, indifference, and cooperation that I’d found downtown, and the same lack of recognition of my photos.

After calling Lotty, I decided to get lunch. I wasn’t far from Sheridan Road; I walked over and found a decent-looking steak house at the end of the block. I opted against lunch in a bar, and walked in thankfully out of the heat. The High Corral, as the place called itself, was small, clean, and full of good food smells, a welcome contrast to sour beer. About two thirds of the tables were filled. A plump, middle-aged woman came up with a menu and a cheerful smile and led me to a corner table. I began to feel better.

I ordered a small butt steak, an undressed salad, and a tall gin fizz and took my time over the food when it arrived. No one would ever write it up for Chicago magazine, but it was a simple, well-prepared meal and mellowed my spirits considerably. I ordered coffee, and lingered over that, too. At 1:45 I realized I was procrastinating. “ ‘When duty beckons, “Lo thou must,” Youth replies to Age, “I can,” ‘ “ I muttered encouragingly to myself. I put two dollars on the table and carried my bill over to the cash register. The plump hostess bustled up from the back of the restaurant to take my money.

“Very pleasant lunch,” I said.

“I’m glad you enjoyed it. Are you new to this neighborhood?”

I shook my head. “I was just passing by and your sign looked inviting.” On impulse I pulled out my folder, now grimy and wilted around the edges. “I wonder if these two men have ever come in here together.”

She picked up the pictures and looked at them. “Oh, yes.”

I couldn’t believe it. “Are you sure?”

“I couldn’t be mistaken. Not unless it’s something I’d have to go to court for.” Her friendly face clouded a bit. “If it’s a legal matter you’re talking about-” She shoved the pictures back at me.

“Not at all,” I said hastily. “Or at least, not one that you’ll have to be involved in.” I couldn’t think of a plausible story on the spur of the moment.

“If anyone sends me a summons, I never saw either of them,” she reiterated.

“But off the record, just for my ears, how long have they been coming here?” I said, in what I hoped was a sincere, persuasive voice.

“What’s the problem?” She was still suspicious.

“Paternity suit,” I said promptly, the first thing that came into my mind. It sounded ridiculous, even to me, but she relaxed.

“Well, that doesn’t sound too dreadful. I guess it’s been about five years. This is my husband’s restaurant, and We’ve been working it together for eighteen years now. I remember most of my regular customers.”