Sara Paretsky - Killing Orders

I shook my head. “Wrong. I have a lot of respect for people. I respected Agnes and Phyllis for example. I don’t know why Agnes chose lesbian relations. But she loved Phyllis Lording, and Phyllis loved her, and they lived very happily together. If five percent of married couples brought each other that much satisfaction the divorce rate wouldn’t be what it is… Phyllis is an interesting woman. She’s a substantial scholar; if you read her book Sappho Underground you might get some understanding of what she and Agnes were all about in their life together.”

“How can you sit there and talk about this-perversion and dare compare it with the sacrament of marriage?”

I rubbed my face. The fire was making me a little lightheaded and sleepy. “We’re never going to agree about this. Maybe we should just agree not to discuss it anymore. For some reason, it brings you solace to be furious at Agnes’s way of living, and it brings you further pleasure to blame it on me. I guess I don’t really care that much-if you want to be that blind about your daughter’s character and personality and how she made her choices, that’s your problem. Your views don’t affect the truth. And they only make one person miserable: you. Maybe Barbara some. Perhaps Dr. Paciorek. But you’re the main sufferer.”

“Why did you bring her to the funeral?”

I sighed. “Not to piss you off, believe it or not. Phyllis loved Agnes. She needed to see her funeral. She needed that ritual

Why am I talking? You’re not listening to what I’m saying, anyway. You just want to fuel your rage. But I didn’t come all the way out here in a snowstorm just to talk about Phyllis Lording, although I enjoyed that. I need to ask you about your stock transactions. Specifically, how you came to buy two thousand shares of Ajax last month.”

“Ajax? What are you talking about?”

“The Ajax Insurance Company. You bought two thousand shares on December second. Why?”

Her face had turned pale; the skin looked papery in the firelight. It seemed to me a cardiac surgeon would talk to his wife about the strain her wild mood changes put on her heart. But they say you notice least about the ones you’re closest to.

Her iron control came through for her. “I don’t expect you to understand what it’s like to have a lot of money. I don’t know what two thousand shares of Ajax are worth-”

“Almost a hundred twenty thousand at today’s prices,” I put in helpfully.

“Yes. Well, that’s a fraction of the fortune my father left in my care. It’s very possible my accountants thought it was a good year-end investment. For transactions that small they wouldn’t bother to consult me.”

I smiled appreciatively. “I can understand that. What about Corpus Christi? You’re an influential Catholic. What can you tell me about them?”

“Please leave now, Victoria. I’m tired and it’s time for my dinner.”

“Are you a member, Catherine?”

“Don’t call me Catherine. Mrs. Paciorek is appropriate.”

“And I would prefer you to call me Miss Warshawski Are you a member of Corpus Christi, Mrs. Paciorek?”

“I never heard of it.”

There didn’t seem to be anything left to discuss at that point. I started to leave, then thought of something else and stopped in the doorway. “What about the Wood-Sage corporation? Know anything about it?”

Maybe it was just the firelight, but her eyes seemed to glitter strangely. “Leave!” she hissed.

Barbara was waiting for me at the end of the hallway where it angled off toward the back of the house. “Your car’s in the garage, Vic.”

I smiled at her gratefully. How could she have grown up so sane and cheerful with such a mother? “How much do I owe you? Twenty-five?”

She shook her head. “Nothing. I-I’m sorry Mother’s so rude to you.”

“So you’re making up for it by towing my car?” I took out my billfold. “You don’t have to do that, Barbara. What your mother says to me doesn’t affect how I feel about you.” I pushed the money into her hand.

She smiled with embarrassment. “It was only twenty.”

I took the extra five back.

“Do you mind if I ask you something? Were you and Agnes, like Mother keeps saying-” she broke off, blushing furiously.

“Were your sister and I lovers? No. And while I love many women dearly, I’ve never had women lovers. It makes your mother happier, though, to think that Agnes couldn’t make her own decisions.”

“I see. I hope you’re not angry, that you don’t mind

“Nope. Don’t worry about it. Phone me sometime if you want to talk about your sister. She was a good lady. Or give Phyllis Lording a call. She’d appreciate it very much.”

IT WAS SO late when I got home that I didn’t check with my answering service until the next morning. They told me then that Roger had called several times, and Murray Ryerson had also left a message. I tried Murray first.

“I think I found your friend Walter. A man calling himself Wallace Smith was treated last Thursday at St Vincent’s for a broken jaw. He paid cash for the visit, which astounded the staff because he was there overnight and the bill came to more than a thousand dollars. Still, you know what they say-the best medical care today costs no more than the cheapest nuclear submarine.”

“His address a fake?”

“I’m afraid so. Turned out to be a vacant lot in New Town. But we got a good description from the night nurse in the emergency room. Big surly guy with black curly hair, bald in front. No beard. I gave it to my gofer at the police. He said it sounded like Walter Novick. He’s a stevedore and usually uses a knife. Might explain why he didn’t do so well with acid.”

I didn’t say anything and Murray added penitently, “Sorry. Not funny, I guess. Anyway, he’s a free lance, but he’s done a lot of work for Annunzio Pasquale.”

I felt an unaccustomed surge of fear. Annunzio Pasquale. Local mob figure. Murder, torture, you name it: yours for the asking. What could I possibly have done to arouse the interest of such a man?

“You there, Vic?”

“Yes. For a few more hours, anyway. Send irises to my funeral; I’ve never cared much for lilies.”

“Sure, kid. You be careful who you open doors to. Look both ways before you cross Halsted… Maybe I’ll run a little story on this-might make the mean streets a bit safer for you.,’

“Thanks, Murray,” I said mechanically, and hung up. Pasquale. It had to be the forgeries. Had to be. If you wanted to create money and push it into circulation, who’s the first person you’d hire? A Mafia man. Ditto for securities.

I don’t frighten easily. But I’m not the Avenger-I can’t take on organized crime with my own bare hands. If Pasquale really was involved with the forgeries I’d graciously concede the round. Except for one thing. My life had been threatened gratuitously. Not just my life-my eyesight, my livelihood. If I gave in to that, I’d never have a moment’s peace with myself again.

I frowned at a stack of newspapers on the coffee table. There might be a way. If I could talk to Pasquale. Explain where our interests diverged. Explain that the matter of the securities would blow up in his face and just to leave that alone. I’d turn the other cheek if he would withdraw his protection from Novick.

I wondered how I could best get this message to the don. An ad in the Herald-Star would do the trick, but might bring the law down on me hard and heavy, too. Hatfield would love to be able to hold me on an obstructing federal justice charge.

I called a woman I know in the D.A.’s office. “Maggie- V. I. Warshawski. I need a favor.”