Sara Paretsky - Indemnity Only

“I was beginning to wonder about you, Vic,” he said. “The news about Smeissen’s arrest just came in, and my gofer at the police station says Bronsky and an Ajax executive are both in the police ward at Cook County.”

“Yeah.” I was bone tired. “Things are mostly over. Anita can come out of hiding. I’d like to pick her up and take her down to see her dad. That’s something that’s got to be done sooner or later, and it might as well be now.” Masters was sure to squeal on McGraw as soon as he started talking, and I wanted to see him before Mallory did.

“Tell you what,” Murray said. “I’ll meet you in the lobby at the Ritz, and you can tell me about it on the way down. Then I can get a few heartrending shots of the crusty old union guy being reunited with his daughter.”

“Bad idea, Murray. I’ll meet you in the lobby and fill you in on the broad outline. If Anita wants you to come along, you can, but don’t bet on it. Don’t worry about your story, though: you’ll still scoop the town.”

I hung up and walked out of the hospital. I was going to have to talk to Bobby myself. I’d gone with Lotty and Ralph when the ambulance came, and Mallory had been too busy to do more than shout, “I need to talk to you!” at me as I went out the door. I didn’t feel like doing it tonight. Jill was going to be okay, that was one good thing. But poor Anita-Still, I owed it to her to get her down to her father before the police got to him.

It was only four blocks from the hospital to the Ritz. The night was clear and warm and caressing. I needed a mother just now, and mother night felt like a good companion, folding dark arms around me.

The lobby of the Ritz, plush and discreet, hovered twelve stories above the street. The rich atmosphere jarred on my mood. I didn’t fit in too well with it, either. In the mirrored walls of the elevator riding up, I’d seen myself disheveled, with blood on my jacket and jeans, my hair uncombed. As I waited for Murray, I half expected the house detective. Murray and he arrived at the same time.

“Excuse me, madam,” he said urbanely, “I wonder if you’d mind coming with me.”

Murray laughed. “Sorry, Vic, but you earned that.” He turned to the house detective. “I’m Murray Ryerson, with the Star. This is V. I. Warshawski, a private investigator. We’ve come to pick up a guest of yours, and then we’ll be gone.”

The detective frowned over Murray’s press card, then nodded. “Very well, sir. Madam, I wonder if you would mind waiting near the desk.”

“Not at all,” I said politely. “I understand that most of your guests never see any more blood than is contained by the average steak tartare… Actually, maybe I could wash up while Mr. Ryerson waits for Miss McGraw?”

The detective ushered me happily to a private washroom in the manager’s office. I scrubbed off the worst of the mess and washed my face. I found a brush in the cabinet over the sink and got my hair shaped up. On the whole I looked a lot better. Maybe not material for the Ritz, but not someone to be thrown out on sight.

Anita was waiting with Murray in the lobby when I got back. She looked at me doubtfully. “Murray says I’m out of danger?”

“Yes. Smeissen, Masters, and Smeissen’s gunman have been arrested. Do you want to talk to your dad before he’s arrested, too?” Murray’s mouth dropped open. I put a hand on his arm to keep him from talking.

Anita thought for a minute. “Yes,” she finally said. “I’ve been thinking it over today. You’re right-the longer I put it off the worse it will be.”

“I’m coming along,” Murray announced.

“No,” Anita said. “No, I’m not showing all that to the newspapers. Vic will give you the story later. But I’m not having reporters hanging around for this.”

“You got it, Murray,” I said. “Catch up with me later on tonight. I’ll be-I don’t know. I’ll be at my bar downtown.”

Anita and I started for the elevator. “Where’s that?” he demanded, catching up with us.

“The Golden Glow on Federal and Adams.”

I called a cab to take us back to my car. A zealous officer, possibly one who’d been left guarding the lobby, had put a parking ticket on the windshield. Twenty dollars for blocking a fire hydrant. They serve and protect.

I was so tired I didn’t think I could drive and talk at the same time. I realized that this was the same day that I’d made the three-hundred-mile round trip to Hartford, and that I hadn’t slept the night before. It was all catching up with me now.

Anita was preoccupied with her private worries. After giving me directions on how to get to her father’s Elmwood Park house, she sat quietly, staring out the window. I liked her, I felt a lot of empathy with her, but I was too drained to reach out and give her anything at the moment.

We were on the Eisenhower Expressway, the road that runs from the Loop to the western suburbs, and had gone about five miles before Anita spoke. “What happened to Masters?”

“He showed up with his hired help to try to blow me and Ralph Devereux away. They had Jill Thayer with them-they were using her as a hostage. I managed to jump the gunman and break his arm, and disable Masters. Jill is all right.”

“Is she? She’s such a good kid. I’d hate like hell for anything to happen to her. Have you met her at all?”

“Yes, she spent a few days with me. She’s a great kid, you’re right.”

“She’s a lot like Peter. The mother is very self-centered, into clothes and the body beautiful, and the sister is incredible, you’d think someone made her up for a book. But Jill and Peter both are-are…” She groped for words. “… Self-assured, but completely turned out on the world. Everything always is-was-so interesting to Peter-what makes it work, how to solve the problem. Every person was someone he might want to be best friends with. Jill’s a lot the same.”

“I think she’s falling in love with a Puerto Rican boy. That should keep things stirred up in Winnetka.”

Anita gave a little chuckle. “For sure. That’ll be worse than me-I was a labor leader’s daughter, but at least I wasn’t black or Spanish.” She was quiet for a while. Then she said, “You know, this week has changed my life. Or made it seem upside-down. My whole life was directed to the union. I was going to go to law school and be a union lawyer. Now-it doesn’t seem worth a lifetime. But there’s a big empty hole. I don’t know what to put there instead. And with Peter gone-I lost the union and Peter all at the same time. I was so busy last week being terrified that I didn’t notice it. Now I do.”

“Oh, yes. That’s going to take a while. All mourning takes a long time, and you can’t rush it along. My dad’s been dead ten years now, and every now and then, something comes up that lets me know that the mourning is still going on, and another piece of it is in place. The hard part doesn’t last so long. While it is going on, though, don’t fight it-the more you poke away the grief and anger, the longer it takes to sort it out.”

She wanted to know more about my dad and our life together. The rest of the way out I spent telling her about Tony. Funny that he should have the same name as that stupid gunman of Earl’s. My father, my Tony, had been a bit of a dreamer, an idealist, a man who had never shot another human being in all his years on the force-warning shots in the air, but no one killed because of Tony Warshawski. Mallory couldn’t believe it-I remember that, as Tony was dying. They were talking one evening, Bobby came over a lot at night those days, and Bobby asked him how many people he’d killed in his years on the force. Tony replied he’d never even wounded a man.

After a few minutes of silence, I thought of a small point that had been bothering me. “What’s with this fake-name business? When your father first came to me he called you Anita Hill. Up in Wisconsin you were Jody Hill. I can see he gave you a false name in a not-too-bright effort to keep you out of things-but why’d you both use Hill?”