When we got inside, I told Jill to take a hot bath. I was going to prepare some breakfast, and I would have to ask her a few questions, but then she was to sleep. “I can tell by your eyes that you haven’t been doing that for a while,” I said.
Jill agreed shyly. I helped her unpack her small suitcase in the room I’d been sleeping in; I could sleep on the daybed in the living room. I got out one of Lotty’s enormous white bath sheets and showed her the bathroom.
I realized that I was quite hungry; it was ten and I hadn’t eaten the toast Lotty had thrust at me. I foraged in the refrigerator: no juice-Lotty never drank anything out of cans. I found a drawer full of oranges and squeezed a small pitcher of juice, and then took some of Lotty’s thick light Viennese bread and turned it into French toast, whistling under my breath. I realized I felt good, despite Thayer’s death and all the unexplained dangling pieces to the case. Some instinct told me that things were finally starting to happen.
When Jill emerged pink and sleepy from the bath, I set her to eating, holding my questions and telling her a little bit about myself in answer to her inquiries. She wanted to know if I always caught the killer.
“This is the first time I’ve ever really dealt directly with a killer,” I answered. “But generally, yes, I do get to the root of the problems I’m asked to look into.”
“Are you scared?” Jill asked. “I mean, you’ve been beaten up and your apartment got torn up, and they-they shot Daddy and Pete.”
“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.
“Now, I want you to tell me everything you can remember about whom your father talked to in the last few days, and what they said. We’ll go sit on the bed, and you’ll drink some hot milk with brandy as Lotty ordered, so that when I’m done you’ll go to sleep.”
She followed me into the bedroom and got into bed, obediently sipping at the milk. I had put in brown sugar and nutmeg and laced it heavily. She made a face but continued sipping it while we talked.
“When I came out on Saturday, you said your father at first didn’t believe this Mackenzie they’ve arrested killed your brother, but the neighbors talked him out of it. What neighbors?”
“Well, a lot of people came by, and they all more or less said the same thing. Do you want all their names?”
“If you can remember them and remember what they said.”
We went through a list of about a dozen people, which included Yardley Masters and his wife, the only name I recognized. I got some long histories of relations among the families, and Jill contorted her face in the effort of trying to remember exactly what they’d all said.
“You said they ‘all more or less said the same thing,’ “ I repeated after a while. “Was anyone more emphatic about it than the others?”
She nodded at that. “Mr. Masters. Daddy kept raving that he was sure that Anita’s father had done it, and Mr. Masters said something like, ‘Look, John, you don’t want to keep going around saying things like that. A lot of things could come out that you don’t want to hear.’ Then Daddy got mad and started yelling, ‘What do you mean? Are you threatening me?’ And Mr. Masters said, ‘No, of course not, John. We’re friends. Just giving you some advise,’ or something like that.”
“I see,” I said. Very illuminating. “Was that all?”
“Yes, but it was after Mr. and Mrs. Masters left that Daddy said he guessed he was wrong, which made me glad at the time, because of course Anita wouldn’t try to kill Peter. But then he started saying terrible things about Peter.”
“Yeah, let’s not talk about that now. I want you to calm down so you can sleep. Did anything happen yesterday?”
“Well, he got into a fight with someone on the phone, but I don’t know who, or what it was about. I think it was some deal going on at the bank, because he said, ‘I won’t be a party to it’-that’s all I heard. He’d been so-strange.” She gulped and swallowed some more milk. “At the funeral, you know, I sort of was staying out of his way. And when I heard him start yelling on the phone, I just went outside. Susan was after me anyway to put on a dress and sit in the living room entertaining all these gruesome people who came over after the funeral, so I just sort of left and went down to the beach.”
I laughed a little. “Good for you. This fight on the telephone-did your father get a call or make a call?”
“I’m pretty sure he made it. At least, I don’t remember hearing the phone ring.”
“Okay, all that’s a help. Now try to put it out of your mind. You finish your milk while I brush your hair, and then you sleep.”
She was really very tired; between the hairbrushing and the brandy she relaxed and lay down. “Stay with me,” she asked drowsily. I pulled the shades behind the burlap curtains and sat down beside Jill, holding her hand. Something about her pierced my heart, made me long for the child I’d never had, and I watched her carefully until she was in a deep sleep.
While I waited for Carol, I made some phone calls, first to Ralph. I had to wait a few minutes while a secretary hunted him down on the floor, but he was as cheerful as ever when he came on the line. “How’s it going, Sherlock?” he asked breezily.
“Pretty well,” I answered.
“You’re not calling me to cancel dinner tonight, are you?”
“No, no,” I assured him. “I’d just like you to do something that you can find out more easily than I can.”
“What’s that?”
“Just find out if your boss has had any calls from a guy named Andrew McGraw. And do it without letting him know you’re asking.”
“Are you still flogging that dead horse?” he asked, a little exasperated.
“I haven’t written anyone off, Ralph, not even you.”
“But the police made an arrest.”
“Well, in that case, your boss is innocent. Just look on it as a favor to a lady who’s had a rough week.”
“All right,” he agreed, not too happily. “But I wish you could believe the police know as much about catching murderers as you do.”
I laughed. “You’re not the only one By the way, did you know young Peter’s father was killed this morning?”
“What!” he exclaimed. “How did that happen?”
“Well, he was shot. Too bad Donald Mackenzie is already in jail, but there must be some dope dealers on the North Shore to take the blame for this one.”
“You think Peter’s death is connected to this?”
“Well, it staggers the imagination if two members of the same family are killed within a week of each other and those events are only randomly associated.”
“All right, all right,” Ralph said. “you’ve made your point-no need to be sarcastic… I’ll ask Yardley’s secretary.”
“Thanks, Ralph, see you tonight.”
The claim draft, Masters’s remarks to Thayer, which might or might not have been vague threats. It didn’t add up to much, but it was worth pursuing. The other piece to the puzzle was McGraw and the fact that McGraw knew Smeissen. Now, if I could connect McGraw and Masters, or Masters and Smeissen… I should have asked Ralph to check on Earl, too. Well, I could do that tonight. Say McGraw and Masters were doing an unspecified something together. If they were smart, they wouldn’t leave names when they called each other. Even McGraw’s enchanting secretary might give him away to the police if the evidence was hot enough. But they might get together, meet for a drink. I might make a trip to bars in the Loop and near Knifegrinder headquarters to see if the two had ever been seen together. Or Thayer with McGraw, for that matter. I needed some photographs, and I had an idea where to find them.