Sara Paretsky - Hardball

“Of course,” Dornick said. “I’ll tell Derek Hatfield he should give Brian a full briefing on what the Bureau knows. And I’ll go to my office and get my team organized. Warshawski, you want to come with me?”

I started to get up, surprised at the invitation, then realized Dornick was talking to my uncle. As soon as Brian heard the Warshawski name, he realized who my uncle was and crossed the room to his side.

“I’m sorry, Pete. With all this crisis, I didn’t recognize you. I’m sorry as hell about Petra. I can’t believe her work with the campaign had anything to do with her disappearance. But George will find her, I’m sure, whatever she was doing. Is Rachel here? Do you need anything? A place to stay? Anything at all?”

“That’s right,” Harvey Krumas put in. “Come on out to the house, Pete. Jolenta will be glad to have you to look after. We all feel helpless, and she needs to be doing something.”

“Helpless? Not you, Harve.” My uncle gave a bitter smile. “Besides, I want to be where I can get to the FBI or-or anyone-fast. I’m fine at the Drake.”

“The Roscoe Street apartment, then,” Brian urged. “I can go out to Barrington Hills with Dad. Why should you run up a hotel bill?”

“No, you need to stay in the city, where you’re accessible,” Strangwell told Brian. “Now that you’re back here, we can schedule some events and some press. This is a good opportunity to build support with women, showing how sensitive you are to their needs… violence against women, that kind of thing. Art and Melanie are standing by with some ideas on how to craft-”

“Les, you are a fucking machine! I don’t want you to craft a statement on how to talk about a missing kid. I want a rundown on what we’re doing to find her. And Pete, I want to make sure you and Rachel are getting all the support you need. You’re sure you don’t want the apartment?”

“Thanks, Brian, let’s leave it lie. Vic, you can ride up to the Drake with me.”

That was an announcement, a command, that the meeting was over. Harvey Krumas and George Dornick lingered to talk to Strangwell, but Brian left the office with Peter and me.

“You’re Petra’s cousin? Aren’t you the person I talked to last night? Am I right that she was in your office yesterday and that’s the last place she was seen?”

“Vic doesn’t know anything about Petra,” Peter growled. “She thinks Petra was in her office, but she can’t prove it.”

“It was her bracelet I found outside my back door,” I said to the candidate.

“A million kids wear those rubber bracelets,” Peter said.

“And Rachel identified her from the video footage. I went to Petra’s apartment today. Someone broke down her back door. She had something somebody wants or knew something. Ever since Strangwell moved her onto his personal team, she’s behaved oddly. What did he have her doing, Mr. Krumas?”

“You don’t need to know that,” my uncle said quickly. “It won’t help find her.”

“Petra got into something over her head. Her laptop is missing, so we can’t check the websites she visited. But either she got in with a dangerous crowd on her own or something she was doing for the campaign got her in trouble. Does she have a drug habit I didn’t recognize?”

“No, damn you to hell!”

“Gambling?”

“Get your mind out of the gutter you live in. My girls were brought up to live decent lives. I don’t tolerate the crap that Tony let you get away with. If Petra was kidnapped, it’s because you introduced her to those fucking Anacondas!”

My uncle’s roar brought people out of their cubicles to stare at us. They did a double take at the sight of Brian and began moving their thumbs madly over their handhelds. A small crowd gathered fast, some staffers demanding autographs, others just cheering their boy.

“I’d better say a few words,” Brian muttered to us.

To his team, he flashed his Bobbyesque smile, holding up a hand to acknowledge the applause like a modest major leaguer acknowledging a home run. He gave a quick thank-you to the group for their hard work, a mention of Petra’s disappearance and how worried he knew they all were, an assurance that if a sparrow fell, Brian Krumas would rescue it.

“That’s it, guys. These are a couple of people who are going to help us find Petra.” He ushered Peter and me into a nearby conference room. “I’ll talk to the FBI, of course, but-Vic, is it?-better fill me in on what you know.”

“I think she ran out the back door of my building,” I said. “I’m hoping she ran clean away from the two people she was with, but I can’t imagine where she’s gone. I need to talk to her college roommate-”

“No, you don’t!” Peter screamed. “You need to stay the fuck away from this-far, far away from this-and let George handle it.”

“Peter, we’re all upset, but-”

“You’re not just useless, you’re dangerous!” my uncle shouted. “George knows more than any detective I’ve ever heard of, private or public, including the FBI. He’ll find Petra without letting it get messy. If you look for her, chances are she’ll burn to death in front of your eyes.”

I turned very cold, but I said levelly, “Petra was looking for something the last few weeks. She organized an outing to your old place in Back of the Yards. She was on Houston Street ten days ago when someone forced an evacuation from my old home. She went to the Freedom Center three days after Sister Frances died. What was Petra looking for? Something for you, Mr. Krumas? Or was it for you, Peter? Is that why she was claiming an interest in the Warshawski past?”

My uncle shook his head like a cornered bull. “My girl wants to look at her family roots, and you want it to be some filthy story involving the Anacondas or whatever mud you wallow in.”

I thought of Petra’s fixation with the Nellie Fox baseball. I dumped the red sweatshirt and Scarlett O’Hara hat on the conference room table and pulled the ball from my case.

“Why did Petra want this so badly, Peter?”

Peter and Brian both bent over my hand, looking at the ball with the same puzzlement, and then my uncle’s face turned the color of putty. Sweat covered his face so fast it was as if he had sunk in a pool of water.

“What is it?” Brian asked.

“It’s nothing. It’s an old baseball,” Peter muttered. But he was clutching a chair back for support.

I began to worry about his heart, but when I said I’d get water and call Rachel he brushed my hand away with a violent gesture. “Leave Rachel out of this.”

“My apartment was ransacked two nights before Petra disappeared. Is this what they were looking for?”

“How should I know?” my uncle said. His voice had lost its belligerence. “You’re the one who’s so friendly with the blacks in this city, not me.”

“The people in my apartment weren’t black. Someone saw them.” Of course my witness said he couldn’t make out their race, but my patience was wearing thin. “Did Petra mention the ball in one of her daily chats home? Did you tell her to come back to my place to get it?”

“Nellie Fox. She knew I was a Nellie Fox fan, so she-”

“Peter, who are you protecting? Petra had never heard of Fox. When I mentioned his name, she thought the Sox had put a woman at second. Why won’t you tell me what the story is with this ball?”

“There is no story. There’s nothing to know about it.”

I rolled the ball in my hand while my uncle watched uneasily. The door opened, and Strangwell and Dornick came in with Harvey Krumas, who looked in surprise at my uncle and me. Once again, though, it was Strangwell who spoke first.

“Brian, the kids said you’d popped in here. We’ve got Global Entertainment in the situation room. Gina’s here to do your makeup.”