Sara Paretsky - Indemnity Only

Eileen is a fanatical housekeeper. If she didn’t love to watch people eat, you’d never see a dirty dish in their house. “I’ve been working,” I said with what dignity I could muster, “and I can’t afford a housekeeper. ”

Mallory looked around in disgust. “You know, if Tony had turned you over his knee more often instead of spoiling you rotten, you’d be a happy housewife now, instead of playing at detective and making it harder for us to get our job done.”

“But I’m a happy detective, Bobby, and I made a lousy housewife.” That was true. My brief foray into marriage eight years ago had ended in an acrimonious divorce after fourteen months: some men can only admire independent women at a distance.

“Being a detective is not a job for a girl like you, Vicki-it’s not fun and games. I’ve told you this a million times. Now you’ve got yourself messed up in a murder. They were going to send Althans out to talk to you, but I pulled my rank to get the assignment. That still means you’ve got to talk. I want to know what you were doing messing around with the Thayer boy.”

“Thayer boy?” I echoed.

“Grow up, Vicki,” Mallory advised. “We got a pretty good description of you from that doped-out specimen on the second floor you talked to on your way into the building. Drucker, who took the squeal, thought it might be your voice when he heard the description… And you left your thumbprint on the kitchen table.”

“I always said crime didn’t pay, Bobby. You guys want some coffee or eggs or anything?”

“We already ate, clown. Working people can’t stay in bed like sleeping beauty.”

It was only 8:10, I noticed, looking at the wooden clock next to the back door. No wonder my head felt so woolly. I methodically sliced cheese, green peppers, and onions, put them on the pumpernickel, and put the open-faced sandwich under the broiler. I kept my back to Bobby and the sergeant while I waited for the cheese to melt, then transferred the whole thing to a plate and poured myself a cup of coffee. From his breathing I could tell Bobby’s temper was mounting. His face was red by the time I put my food on the table and straddled a chair opposite him.

“I know very little about the Thayer boy, Bobby,” I apologized. “I know he used to be a student at the University of Chicago, and that he’s dead now. And I knew he’s dead because I read it in the Sun-Times.”

“Don’t be cute with me, Vicki; you know he’s dead because you found the body.”

I swallowed a mouthful of toasted cheese and green pepper. “Well, I assumed after reading the Sun-Times story that the boy was Thayer, but I certainly didn’t know that when I saw the body. To me, he seemed to be just another corpse. Snuffed out in the springtime of life,” I added piously.

“Spare me his funeral oration and tell me what brought you down there,” Mallory demanded.

“You know me, Bobby-I have an instinct for crime. Where evil flourishes, there I will be, on my self-appointed mission to stamp it out.”

Mallory turned redder. McGonnigal coughed diffidently and changed the subject before his boss hemorrhaged. “Do you have a client of some kind, Miss Warshawski?” he asked.

Of course I’d seen this one coming, but I still wasn’t sure what I wanted to do. However, she who hesitates is lost in the detective biz, so I opted for partial disclosure.

“I was hired to get Peter Thayer to agree to go to business school.” Mallory choked. “I’m not lying, Bobby,” I said earnestly “I went down there to meet the kid. And the door to his apartment was open, so I-”

“When you got there or after you’d picked the lock?” Mallory interrupted.

“So I went in,” I continued. “Anyway, I guess I failed in my assignment, since I don’t think Peter Thayer will ever go to business school. I’m not sure I still have a client.”

“Who hired you, Vicki?” Mallory was talking more quietly now. “John Thayer?”

“Now why would John Thayer want to hire me, Bobby?”

“You tell me that, Vicki. Maybe he wanted some dirt to use as a lever to pry the kid off those potheads down there.”

I swallowed the rest of my coffee and looked at Mallory squarely. “A guy came to me night before last and told me he was John Thayer. He wanted me to find his son’s girl friend, Anita. Anita Hill.”

“There’s no Anita Hill in that setup,” McGonnigal volunteered. “There’s an Anita McGraw. It looks like he was sharing a room with a girl, but the whole setup is so unisex you can’t tell who was with who.”

“Whom,” I said absently. McGonnigal looked blank. “You can’t tell who was with whom, Sergeant,” I explained. Mallory made explosive noises. “Anyway,” I added hastily, “I was beginning to suspect that the guy had sent me on a wild-goose chase when I found there was no Anita Hill at the university. Later I was sure of it.”

“Why?” Mallory demanded.

“I got a copy of Thayer’s picture from the Fort Dearborn Bank and Trust. He wasn’t my client.”

“Vicki,” Mallory said, “I think you’re a pain in the butt. I think Tony would turn in his grave if he knew what you were doing. But you’re not a fool. Don’t tell me you didn’t ask for any identification.”

“He gave me his card and his home phone and a retainer. I figured I could get back to him.”

“Let me see the card,” Mallory demanded. Suspicious bastard.

“It’s his card,” I said.

“Could I please see it anyway.” Tone of father barely restraining himself with recalcitrant child.

“It won’t tell you anything it didn’t tell me, Bobby.”

“I don’t believe he gave you a card,” Mallory said. “You knew the guy and you’re covering for him.

I shrugged and went to the bedroom and got the card out of my top drawer. I wiped it clean of prints with a scarf and brought it back to Mallory. The Fort Dearborn logo was in the lower left-hand corner. “John L. Thayer, Executive Vice-President, Trust” was in the middle, with his phone number. On the bottom I had scribbled the alleged home number.

Mallory grunted with satisfaction and put it in a plastic bag. I didn’t tell him the only prints on it at this point were mine. Why spoil one of his few pleasures?

Mallory leaned forward. “What are you going to do next?”

“Well, I don’t know. I got paid some money to find a girl and I feel like I ought to find her.”

“You going to ask for a revelation, Vicki?” Mallory said with heavy humor. “Or do you have something to go on?”

“I might talk to some people.”

“Vicki, if you know anything that you’re not telling me in connection with this murder-”

“You’ll be the first to know, Bobby,” I promised. That wasn’t exactly a lie, because I didn’t know for sure that Ajax was involved in the murder-but we all have our own ideas on what’s connected to what.

“Vicki, we’re on the case. You don’t have to prove anything to me about how cute or clever you are. But do me a favor-do a favor for Tony-let Sergeant McGormigal and me find the murderer.”

I stared limpidly at Bobby. He leaned forward earnestly. “Vicki, what did you notice about the body?”

“He’d been shot, Bobby. I didn’t do a postmortem. ”

“Vicki, for two cents I’d kick you in your cute little behind. You’ve made a career out of something which no nice girl would touch, but you’re no dummy. I know when you-got yourself into that apartment-and we’ll overlook just how you got in there right now-you didn’t scream or throw up, the way any decent girl would. You looked the place over. And if something didn’t strike you straight off about that corpus, you deserve to go out and get your head blown off.”