I started singing a snatch from Mozart’s “Ch’io mi scordi di te,” but my rib cage protested and I had to settle for a Bartok concerto on WFMT.
“If you mean, am I threatening to find out the truth, the answer is yes; if that means turning up a lot of sordid junk along the way, tough.”
“Just a minute, Ted,” Jack said, waving an arm at the older man. “I know how to deal with her.” He nodded at me. “Come on, name your price,” he said, pulling out his checkbook. My fingers itched to bring out the Smith & Wesson and pistol-whip him.
“Grow up, Thorndale,” I snapped. “There are things in this life that money can’t buy. Regardless of what you, or your mother-in-law, or the mayor of Winnetka says, I am investigating this murder—these murders.” I laughed a little, mirthlessly. “Two days ago, John Thayer tried to give me $5,000 to buy me out of this case. You guys up here on the North Shore live in some kind of dream world. You think you can buy a cover-up for anything that goes wrong in your lives, just like you hire the garbagemen to take away your filth, or Lucy here to clean it up and carry it outside for you. It doesn’t work that way. John Thayer is dead. He couldn’t pay enough to get whatever filth he was involved in away from him, nor away from his son. Now whatever it was that caused their deaths isn’t private anymore. It doesn’t belong to you. Anyone who wants it can find out about it. I intend to.”
Mrs. Thayer was moaning softly. Jack looked uncomfortable. With an effort to save his dignity he said, “Naturally, if you choose to poke around in something that’s none of your business we can’t stop you. It’s just that we think matters are better off left to the police.” “Yeah, well, they’re not batting a thousand right now,” I said. “They thought they had a guy behind bars for the crime, but while he was eating his prison breakfast this morning John Thayer got killed.” Susan turned to Jill. “This is all your fault! You brought this person up here. Now we’ve been insulted and embarrassed—I’ve never been more ashamed in my life. Daddy’s been killed and all you can think about is bringing in some outsider to call us names.” Mulgrave turned back to Mrs. Thayer, and Jack and Susan both started talking to him at once.
While this was going on, I walked over to Jill and knelt down to look her in the face. She was looking as though she might collapse or go into shock. “Look, I think you need to get away from all this. Is there any friend or relative you can visit until the worst of the fuss is over?” She thought for a minute, then shook her head. “Not really. I’ve got lots of friends, you know, but I don’t think any of their mothers would like having me around right now.” She gave a wobbly smile. “The scandal, you know, like Jack said. I wish Anita were here.” I hesitated a minute. “Would you like to come back to Chicago with me? My apartment’s been torn up, and I’m staying with a friend, but she’ll be glad to have you, too, for a few days.” Lotty would never mind another stray. I needed Jill where I could ask her some questions, and I wanted her away from her family. She was tough and could fight back, but she didn’t need to do that kind of fighting on top of the shock of her father’s death. Her face lightened. “Do you really mean that?” I nodded. “Why don’t you run upstairs now and pack an overnight bag while everyone is still arguing here.” When she had left the room, I explained what I was doing to Mrs. Thayer. This, predictably, started a fresh uproar from the family. Finally, though, Mulgrave said, “It’s important that Margaret—Mrs. Thayer—be kept absolutely quiet. If Jill really is worrying her, perhaps it would be better if she did leave for a few days. I can make some inquiries about this person, and if she’s not reliable, we can always bring Jill back home.” Mrs. Thayer gave a martyred smile. “Thank you, Ted. If you say it’s all right, I’m sure it will be. As long as you live in a safe neighborhood, Miss—”
“Warshawski,” I said dryly. “Well, no one’s been machine-gunned there this week.” Mulgrave and Jack decided I ought to give them some references to call. I saw that as a face-saving effort and gave them the name of one of my old law professors. He would be startled but supportive if he got an inquiry into my character. When Jill came back, she’d brushed her hair and washed her face. She went over to her mother, who was still sitting on the couch. “I’m sorry, Mother,” she muttered. “I didn’t mean to be rude to you.” Mrs. Thayer smiled wanly. “It’s all right, dear. I don’t expect you to understand how I feel.” She looked at me. “Take good care of her for me.” “Sure,” I answered.
“I don’t want any trouble,” Jack warned me. “I’ll keep that in mind, Mr. Thorndale.” I picked up Jill’s suitcase and she followed me out the door. She stopped in the doorway to look at her family. “Well, good-bye,” she said. They all looked at her but no one said anything. When we got to the front door, I explained to the sergeant that Miss Thayer was coming home with me for a few days to get a little rest and attention; had the police taken all the statements they needed from her? After some talk with his lieutenant over the walkie-talkie, he agreed that she could leave, as long as I gave him my address. I gave it to him and we walked down the drive. Jill didn’t say anything on the way over to the Edens. She looked straight ahead and didn’t pay much attention to the countryside. As we joined the stop-and-go traffic on the southbound Kennedy, though, she turned to look at me. “Do you think I was wrong, leaving my mother like that?”
I braked to let a fifty-ton semi merge in front of me. “Well, Jill, it seemed to me that everyone there was trying to play on your guilt feelings. Now you’re feeling guilty, so maybe they got what they wanted out of you.” She digested that for a few minutes. “Is that a scandal, the way my father was killed?” “People are probably talking about it, and that will make Jack and Susan very uncomfortable. The real question, though, is why he was killed—and even the answer to that question doesn’t have to be a scandal to you.” I threaded my way around a Herald-Star delivery van. “Thing is, you have to have your own sense of what’s right built inside you. If your father ran afoul of the type of people who do machine-gun–style executions, it may be because they tried to violate his sense of what’s right. No scandal to that. And even if he happened to be involved in some kind of shady activity, it doesn’t have to affect you unless you want it to.” I changed lanes. “I don’t believe in the visitation of the sins of the fathers, and I don’t believe in people brooding over vengeance for twenty years.”
Jill turned a puzzled face toward me. “Oh, it can happen. It’s just that you’ve got to want to make it happen. Like your mother—unhappy woman—right?” Jill nodded. “And probably unhappy because of things that happened thirty years ago. That’s her choice. You’ve got the same choice. Suppose your father did something criminal and we find that out? It’s going to be rough, but it only has to be a scandal and make your life miserable if you let it. Lots of things in this life happen to you no matter what you do, or through no fault of your own—like your father and brother getting killed. But how you make those events part of your life is under your control. You can get bitter, although I don’t think you have that kind of character, or you can learn and grow from it.” I realized that I’d passed the Addison exit and turned onto the Belmont off-ramp. “Sorry—that answer turned into a sermon, and I got so carried away I missed my exit. Does it help any?”
Jill nodded and was quiet again as I drove north along Pulaski and then turned east on Addison. “It’s lonely now, with Peter gone,” she said finally. “He was the only one in the family who—who cared about me.” “Yeah, it’s going to be rough, sweetie,” I said gently, and squeezed her hand. “Thank you for coming up, Miss Warshawski,” she whispered. I had to lean over to hear her. “My friends call me Vic,” I said.
~~~~
I whistled a bit between my teeth—the opening bars to the third act of Simon Boccanegra—and tried to decide what to do. I wondered what was missing and thought it most likely to be a piece of paper of some kind. It might be evidence of fraud or a picture, but I didn’t think it would be an actual object. It didn’t seem too likely that it was still in the apartment. Young Thayer might have given it to Anita. If she had it, she was in worse danger than she seemed to be already. I scratched my head. It looked as though Smeissen’s boys had covered all the possibilities—sofa cushions ripped, papers and books dumped on the floor. I decided to believe that they had gone through everything page by page—only if my search didn’t turn up anything would I take that job on.
The Cubs had pulled it out in the eighth inning. Good old Jerry Martin had hit a double; Ontiveros had singled, and wonderful Dave Kingman had gotten all three of them home with his thirty-second homer of the season. And all this with two out. I knew how the Cubs were feeling tonight, and sang a little Figaro on the way home to show it.
“Yes, of course I’m scared,” I said calmly. “Only a fool would look at a mess like this and not be. It’s just that it doesn’t panic me—it makes me careful, being scared does, but it doesn’t override my judgment.
There is one relationship which I enjoyed following as a "semi-romance" situation... Ralph was an employee of an involved company. V.I. started asking questions as was her habit. She wanted information, but Ralph wanted more and soon asked her for a date. Vic knew what this could lead to, but she also wanted to get as much information from him as possible. But on one of those times they met, V.I.'s face had been smashed in so badly that Ralph could barely stand to look at her. Vic had decided that trying makeup to hide it would probably make it worse--Ralph could not think of anything but the face he was sitting across from. That was an early night... Later, Ralph was there when an actual attack started. He froze, was hit by a shot... His final words were something like, "It is quite clear you don't need me, for anything, so... they decided to end any relationship that could have continued... I'm sorry, it struck me funny. Why? It was a man who had torn her face apart--and it was another man who couldn't stand to see the work of that man... And yet, he wanted a woman who would "need" him... Kinda puts violence/relationships into perspective, doesn't it?
V. I. Warshawski is one of my favorite female characters... Highly recommend you at least read this 30th anniversary book... It is set years ago, but still reflects, sadly, even more of what is happening in today's world... Either the corporations become corrupt or the unions do... And...always...violence. How can we know where Truth can be found?
But poor Anita— Still, I owed it to her to get her down to her father before the police got to him. It was only four blocks from the hospital to the Ritz. The night was clear and warm and caressing. I needed a mother just now, and mother night felt like a good companion, folding dark arms around me.
As far as I am aware, President Biden is the only recent president that became very involved in union activities, including strikes...
