Sara Paretsky - Burn Marks

When the door opened a thin middle-aged woman faced me holding a baby. The child’s soft cheeks were still wet with tears. She turned her head away when she saw me watching her and buried her chubby hands in the thin woman’s tight bun. Something about the immovable tidiness of the woman’s hair and the severe ironing of her dress made me think she was responsible for the Pine-Sol in the lobby.

Zerlina stood behind her, overshadowing her both in girth and in the rich blackness of her skin. I presumed the other woman was Maisie and that she held Katterina.

“How did you find me?” Zerlina demanded.

“The morgue gave me the address of the person who took Cerise’s body. It was just a guess that you’d be here, but you’d talked about Otis and about Katterina’s other grandmother, so I thought you might all be together.”

All the light was behind them. I had to squint to see their faces, but I thought it would be better if I waited to be invited in. No one seemed in a hurry to do so.

“You can’t come around hounding people in the privacy of their homes,” Maisie growled, jiggling the baby to let her know the anger wasn’t for her.

I rubbed my face tiredly. “Someone burned down a big hotel two weeks ago. No one died but a lot of people were hurt, including Mrs. Ramsay. She’s the only person I know who might be able to give me some help in finding out who did it.”

“I’m not the only person you know, little white girl, as you’re well aware,” Zerlina said. “Ask that precious aunt of yours.”

“The last time I talked to Elena I told her about Cerise. That scared her so much she ran away from home. She’s been hiding on the streets ever since. I figure you’re made of sterner stuff.”

Her strong face set into stubborn lines. “You figure what you want to. Between the two of you, that aunt of yours and you got my daughter dead. I don’t have nothing more to say to you.”

Before Maisie could slam the door in my face I pulled out a card and gave it to Zerlina. “If you change your mind, you can call me at that number. Someone takes messages twenty-four hours a day.”

Before she’d bolted the first lock the radio started again. The insistent beat of the rap music followed me down the stairs and into the night.

Asleep in a Basement Room

I spent the night at Robin’s. He was a sweet and thoughtful lover, but he couldn’t wipe the decay of north Lawndale from my mind. Falling into a fitful sleep around one, I was jerked awaked by a dream in which I was walking up Christiana while a car trailed me. I woke up just before it ran over me.

I fumbled around on the night table for my watch. Squinting in the dark, I could just make out the hands: four-ten. I lay down again and tried to go back to sleep. In a strange bed, though, with the memory of a bad dream lingering, I couldn’t relax. Finally, a little after five, I gave it up and tiptoed into the bathroom with my clothes.

In the kitchen I found a spiral notebook next to the phone. I tore out a page and scribbled a note to Robin, explaining why I was taking off, and slipped out quietly.

At five-thirty the city was barely coming to life. Lights burned in a number of apartment windows-this was a neighborhood of hard workers who started the day early- but I was alone on the road until I hit a main artery.

When I got to my own place I felt tired enough to go back to bed. This time I managed to sleep until eight. When I got up again I felt groggy and disoriented. I pulled on a sweatshirt and a pair of underpants and sat in the kitchen reading the paper and drinking coffee until past nine when Furey called.

“I thought you were going to phone me last night, Vic.”

I didn’t like the angry impatience in his tone. “I thought so, too, Michael, but it slipped my mind. If I’d had anything to report, I might have remembered, but the woman wouldn’t even let me in the front door.”

“Why don’t you give me her name and I’ll give it a try?” He dropped the anger for indulgent coaxing.

“Why don’t you give it a rest, Furey? Elena isn’t doing anyone any harm out there. You must have a godzillian murders and rapes and stuff to keep you happy. She’ll turn up in due course, drunk and repentant, and in the meantime I don’t think she needs all this city money lavished on her.”

“The only reason we’re doing it is because Uncle Bobby wanted to save you the embarrassment of bailing her out of women’s court,” he said stiffly. “If I had any say in the matter, I wouldn’t be wasting time looking for her.”

“Then I’ll call Bobby and tell him I don’t care.” I caught sight of the clock and suddenly remembered my time lines. Damn it all. I should have been at Daley Center twenty minutes ago to get a jump on Darrough Graham’s project.

“Sorry, Michael-I’ve got to run.”

“Wait, Vic,” he said urgently. “Don’t tell the lieutenant. He’d take a stripe off my butt if he knew I’d been complaining to you.”

“Okay,” I agreed, irritated, “but in that case, stop riding me. The second I see her or hear from her I’ll let you know. Good-bye.”

I slammed down the receiver and ran into my bedroom. As I was zipping my jeans the phone rang again. I let it go at first, thinking it was probably Furey, then gave in to the pressure of the bell.

“I want Victoria Warshawski.” The accented voice belonged to the man I’d spoken to yesterday at Alma Mejicana.

He pronounced it “Warchassy.” After saying it correctly I asked who wanted her.

“This is Luis Schmidt, Warchassy. A little bird told me you been prying into my work crew down at the Ryan. I’m calling to tell you to mind your own business.”

“I think you have the wrong number.” I took the phone from my ear while I pulled a yellow cotton sweater over my head. “There’s no one here named Warchassy.”

“This ain’t Victoria Warchassy? The private dick?” he demanded angrily.

“I’m a private investigator, but my last name is ‘Warshawski.’” I kept my tone affable.

“That’s what I been saying, bitch. I’m talking to you. If you know what’s good for you, keep your damned nose out of other people’s business.”

“Oh, Looey, Looey, you just said the magic word. I purely hate it when strange men call me a bitch. You just bought yourself a whole lot of interest in what Alma Mejicana is doing down at the Ryan.”

“I’m warning you, Warchassy, to butt out of what don’t concern you. Or you could be very, very sorry.” The phone slammed in my ear.

I tied my running shoes and took the stairs two at a time. Behind Mr. Contreras’s door I could hear Peppy whining. She recognized my step and wanted to come with me. It wasn’t fair to make her hang out with Mr. Contreras all day-he couldn’t run her properly. But I just couldn’t stop for her.

I felt close to screaming at the pressure of all the demands on me. The dog. Furey. Elena herself. Graham. My other clients. And now my bravado to Luis Schmidt. Well, damn him anyway for calling up with stupid threats.

If only I could get a few bucks ahead of the game, I’d take some time off, just get clean out of this town for six months. I ground my teeth at the futility of the idea and savagely jerked the Chevy into gear.

By three o’clock I had finished an exhaustive search into the life and loves of Graham’s prospective marketing vice president. In the report I included the fact that the guy had a steady girlfriend along with his wife and infant son-not that Graham would care. It would make me run ten miles in the opposite direction, but Graham didn’t think what happened below the belt had any bearing on job performance.