Sara Paretsky - Burn Marks

Terry Finchley was finishing a report, banging on a typewriter almost as ancient as my own, Mary Louise Neely, a uniformed officer who worked with the unit, was sitting on the edge of his desk talking while he typed. The typewriter was so noisy, they didn’t hear me come in.

Most of the desks were empty. The shift changes at four, so roll call and assignments had long been disposed of. Five is a slow time in the crime world. The cops take it easy then, too, getting dinner or waiting for witnesses to come home from work or whatever else you do when you have a little breather on the job.

The door to Bobby’s office was shut. I hoped that meant he’d gone home. I went over to Finchley’s cubicle, interrupting Officer Neely as she was describing the interior of an XJS she’d chased down last night. I didn’t know if it was the black leather seats or the three kilos of coke she’d found underneath them that impressed her more. Usually ramrod stiff, she was gesturing and laughing, a tinge of color in her pale face.

“Hi, guys,” I said. “Sorry to butt in.”

Finchley stopped his one-handed banging on the machine. “Hi, Vic. You looking for Mickey? He’s not in right now.”

Officer Neely retreated behind her colorless facade. Murmuring something about “putting it in writing,” she marched stiffly off to the desks in front.

“Only partly-to see if he’d turned up anything on my aunt. She’s been missing four days now, you know, I found something at my place this afternoon and stopped by to see if you might have dropped it.”

“I didn’t know your aunt was missing. The lieutenant must have given Mickey the assignment on the side.” Finchley gestured hospitably to the metal chair by his desk. “Take a pew. Want some coffee?”

I shuddered. “My stomach isn’t strong enough for the stuff you guys drink.” I sat down. “I never saw Officer Neely look so human. I kind of wish I hadn’t interrupted.”

The police woman was sitting at a typewriter clattering away with flawless precision, her back straight enough to satisfy a West Point inspection.

“She’s the first female in the unit,” Finchley explained. “You know how that goes, Ms. W. Maybe she’s afraid you see her acting natural, you’ll squeal to the lieutenant.”

“Me?” I was outraged.

Finchley grinned. “Okay, maybe she’s afraid if she acts friendly around you, the lieutenant will think you’ve corrupted her. You like that better?”

“Much,” I said emphatically. I pulled the bracelet from my pocket and showed it to Finchley.

“I found it under my couch,” I explained. “You and Montgomery are the only men who’ve been sitting there lately. I wondered if you’d dropped it.”

Finchley looked at it briefly. “Ain’t mine. That’s pimp jewelry-I hate that kind of stuff. And give Monty his due, it’s not exactly his style, either.” He scanned my face. “I’ll ask him for you if you like.”

I hesitated. I hated to admit I couldn’t stomach facing the arson lieutenant. On the other hand, how many difficult confrontations did I need to prove I wasn’t a chicken? I accepted ruefully.

Finchley was sliding the chain through his fingers. “You know, this really looks more like-” He bit himself off. “I’ll ask around.”

“Can you just do it with a description? The other person it might have belonged to is the dead girl-the young woman whose family you helped me locate last week. I want to take it down to show her mother in the morning.”

“Conscientious little thing, aren’t you? You ever think of hiring someone to do some of your legwork for you?”

“Every day.” I gestured toward Officer Neely’s stiff back. “Maybe I should talk to her. The pay isn’t that great but it’d make a change from typing reports on cokeheads.”

“Hey, if you don’t have to type reports, start with me,” Finchley protested. He made a careful note of the number of amethysts in the chain and handed it back to me. “I’ll ask Monty and-and give you a call tomorrow if I can.”

His phone started ringing. “Take it easy, Vic.”

“Thanks, Terry. Can I use a phone before I leave?”

He picked up his own receiver and gestured to the desk behind him. I went around the divider and called my answering service.

Lucy Mott had phoned from my lawyer’s office with in formation on Farmworks, Inc.; she hadn’t left details with the answering service. Lotty had called. So had Robin.

I tried my lawyer first. Lucy Mott was gone for the day but Freeman Carter was still there, in conference with a client. The man answering the phone offered to take a message, but when I explained I was at police headquarters and couldn’t ask for a callback, he went to get Carter.

Freeman thought I’d been arrested, of course, and wasn’t too thrilled to learn I was just borrowing a phone. “It’s that kind of tactic that burns your name around town, V.I.,” he grumbled. “But since you’ve taken me out of my meeting I’ll show you how much better my manners are than yours and dig the stuff out now instead of making you wait.”

“I know you’ve got better manners than me, Freeman- that’s why I always stand quiet and serious at your side when I have to go before a judge.”

He left me dangling for five minutes or so. A few more detectives wandered in, people I didn’t know who stopped to talk to Finchley and eye me curiously. Just as Freeman got back on the line Sergeant McGonnigal walked in. When he saw me his eyebrows shot up in surprise. He didn’t wave or detour to see me but kept on his way to Mallory’s door, where he knocked and stuck his head inside. I turned my attention to Freeman.

Farmworks, Inc. was an amazing company-it existed without officers. The only name associated with it on the Lexis system was the registered agent, August Cray, at a Loop address. Freeman hung up on my thanks. I sat with the receiver in my hand until the police operator came on asking if I needed assistance. I hung up abstractedly.

I knew that name. I’d heard it fairly recently. I just couldn’t place it. It was too late to go traipsing over to the LaSalle Street address Freeman had given me. Anyway, I was too tired tonight to undertake many more errands and I kind of wanted to go see Roz. I’d get over to the north Loop in the morning. When I saw Cray I’d probably remember why I knew his name.

“Can I help you find something, Vic? That’s my desk you’re burrowing in.”

McGonnigal’s voice at my elbow made me jump. He was trying for a light note but his voice held a brittle undercurrent.

I held up a hand. “Pax, Sergeant. I wasn’t delving into your deepest secrets. I came by on a errand and Detective Finchley told me I could use this phone… Can’t we go back to being friends, or at least nonenemies, whatever it was we used to be?”

He ignored the bulk of my comment and asked what kind of errand I had. I rolled my eyes in disgust but pulled the bracelet out of my pocket and went through my saga.

McGonnigal picked it up, then flung it to the desk, “We can go back to being friends or at least nonenemies when you stop playing little games, Warshawski. Now get lost, I’ve got work to do,”

I stood up slowly and looked at him stonily. “I’m not playing games, McGonnigal, but you sure are. You little boys give me a call if you ever decide to let me in on the rules.”

Officer Neely had stopped typing to watch us. “You get tired of the Boy Scouts, come see me,” I said as I passed her. “Maybe we can work something out.”

She flushed to the roots of her fine sandy hair and resumed typing at a furious rate.

Running into a Campaign