"Your son was a little boy when this was going on?"
"Yes. And I would sit at this very table and, I must say, rant and rave about this deplorable situation; and my wide-eyed son would sit and take it all in, impressionable lad that he was. I would tell my son that this Looney gangster, by publishing his scandal sheet, was disgracing one of America's most honorable institutions: the press. That he was making a laughingstock of one of our greatest freedoms: freedom of the press."
"And that's when Jimmy caught the newspaper bug?"
"I suspect so. That, and the lurid stories that even our respectable papers were printing, because those things were indeed going on- bootlegging, wide-open gambling houses, houses of ill repute, riots in which innocent bystanders were slain, gangland slayings, all of it. It captured his imagination."
"That seems normal enough."
"Then, when he was older, I introduced him to Paul Traynor, a police reporter with the Democrat."
"When was this?"
"His high school days. Paul liked Jimmy; endured the boy's questions, let him accompany him to trials.
took him home and he and Jimmy would talk for hours. I admit to feeling jealous of Paul, a bit. But I saw nothing unhealthy about it. though Jimmy's fascination with gangsters- he often brought home Chicago papers, and kept a scrapbook of bloody clippings- disturbed me greatly. And Looney's gang had by this time been replaced by another, equally vicious bunch, some of whom are still around."
"What about Paul Traynor? Is he still around?"
"Oh yes. I can arrange for you to talk with him. if you like."
"That might be helpful. Did your son live here with you while he was going to college?"
"Yes. He attended Augustana. which is just over in Rock Island. I thought I had him convinced to switch to Palmer, when he left."
"Rather unceremoniously, I take it."
"I'm afraid so. My initial bitterness over his going came from Jimmy's manipulation of me. You see, for several years- since his last years in high school, in fact- we had quarreled on the subject of his future. But that last week he had changed his mind, he said. I know now he was only pretending to agree with me, to avoid conflict, to be able to slip away quietly. And, in fact, I had given him several hundred dollars, for his Palmer tuition. He was very convincing. Mary Ann is not the only person in this family with acting ability, it would seem."
"I see. What were his personal habits, those last few years he lived here?"
"He was out nights, often. We quarreled about that, as well, for what good it did. All the Sen Sen in the world could not disguise the fact that he had often been drinking, which he knew was anathema to me."
"So for a while after he left. then, you felt, 'good riddance.'"
"That's harsh, Nate. But I suppose it does sum up the way I felt, yes. But that was well over a year ago. I had thought surely he'd get in touch with us by now- perhaps not me, but his sister, as close as they were…"
"She hasn't heard from him."
"Nor have I, and I am concerned. Now I am concerned."
"Well, I'm going to do my best to track him down. But it's a big country, and a young guy like him could be most anywhere and up to most anything."
"I understand that. But I do appreciate your efforts, Nate, and I appreciate Mary Ann's concern for her brother's welfare."
"I need to talk to some people. Besides Traynor, was anyone else close to Jimmy?"
"There was a fellow named Hoffmann at the radio station, a boy in his early twenties who was an announcer and did a bit of sportscasting. But he's not with WOC any longer- he moved on with no forwarding address. He broke in our new boy before he left, however, and perhaps it would be worth talking to him- the new boy. I mean."
"Would he have known Jimmy?"
"No. Dutch has only been with us a few months. But he and Hoffmann were socially active, and Jimmy may have come up in conversation. He's worth talking to."
"Anyone else?"
"I can't think of anyone. Jimmy's high school and college chums have graduated and scattered to the four corners of the earth, for all I know. And outside of journalism, he wasn't very active and had few friends. Mary Ann was probably his best friend in that period, and I'm sure you've questioned her thoroughly about those days."
"Yeah. Well, the two names you've given me are a start. This sportscaster, when could I meet him?"
"Tomorrow morning. I'll put it in motion. And I'll arrange an appointment with Traynor in the late morning or early afternoon."
"Good."
"Let me show you where you'll be sleeping, then. It's Jimmy's room, upstairs."
The house was as modern inside as out: pale plaster walls and wood floors, wood beam ceilings, a minimum of wall decoration. Only Beame's study, a large book-lined room with several comfortable-looking leather chairs and a matching couch, looked lived in. This I glimpsed as we walked down a hallway and around to the stairs. I took my overnight bag up with me.
It was a corner room, not terribly large, with a double bed and little else; there were some shelves on two of the walls., but they were empty. Any traces of Jimmy's presence were missing from the room; this must have registered on my face, because John Beame picked up on it.
"I'm not one for maintaining shrines. Nate." he said, with his sad smile. "I'm sure Mary Ann will be unhappy with me. for removing the model planes and pirate ships and the antique crossbow and the rest of Jimmy's paraphernalia."
"Well, the way he took a powder, who can blame you for tossing the junk out."
I'd used the word "junk" to test the old boy, and he passed: he flinched as I said it.
"I didn't throw his things out, Nate," he said. "They're crated away in the basement. Except those damn scrapbooks of his. Those I burned"
He touched his face, for a moment, with a gray-gloved hand; he wasn't as strong as he liked to think. Then he excused himself, saying he'd let me get settled and come back later, and I stripped down to my drawers and got into bed. I looked over toward the window, where the moonlight was coming in. though I couldn't see the moon itself.
I thought about Mary Ann, in a room nearby: next door maybe. Part of me wanted to go looking for her: part of me wanted her to come looking for me.
And part of me didn't want anything to do with her. not tonight, anyway. Not here. Not in her brother's room. His bed. That would've bothered me, though for the life of me I didn't know why.
Thunder woke me.
I sat up in bed; rain was at the windows, rattling them, pelting them. I checked my wristwatch on the small table by the bed: just after three. I tried to go back to sleep, but the insistent tattoo of rain, and the ground-shaking thundercracks. worked against me. I got up and went to a window and looked out. That nasty sky we'd driven here under had finally kept its promise, and I was glad I was inside and not driving across Illinois in a Chevy. Then, while I was still there at the window, the sky burst open, showering hailstones; it was like a dozen Dizzy Deans were up there hurling baseballs at the house. It made an incredible racket.
"Nathan?"
I looked back and Mary Ann, still in the baby-blue robe, arms folded to herself protectively, was rushing across the room to me. She hugged me. She was trembling.
"Just a hailstorm, baby," I said.
"Please. Get away from the window."
Down on the lawn, the hailstones were gathering. Christ if they weren't the size of baseballs. One of them careened off the window, and I took Mary Ann's advice.