Deadlock

#Level 5    

  Death of a hockey player
  More than a thousand people attended Boom Boom's funeral. Many of
them were supporters
of the Black Hawks ice
  hockey team. Boom Boom, one of ice hockey's biggest stars, was a
player with the Black
Hawks until he shattered
  his left ankle three years earlier. For a long time he refused to
believe that he wasn't going to
skate again. But in the
  end he accepted medical opinion and got a job with the Eudora Grain
Company. It was
Clayton Phillips, Eudora's
  vice-president, who found Boom Boom's body floating close to the
wharf last Tuesday.
  Boom Boom's father and mine were brothers, and we'd grown up together
in South Chicago,
closer than many
  brothers and sisters. His real name was Bernard, but his childhood
friends had called him
Boom Boom and the
  name followed him from childhood into his days with the Black Hawks
and beyond. He loved
the name and everyone
  used it.
  I was out of town when Boom Boom died, and by the time the police
managed to contact me,
the funeral had
  already been arranged by our Polish relations. Boom Boom had made me
his executor, but I
knew he wouldn't care
  how he was buried so I didn't argue with the arrangements.
  After the funeral, Lieutenant Bobby Mallory fought through the crowd
to me, wearing his
police uniform. My father
  had worked for the Chicago police and he and Bobby had been good
friends.
  'I was sorry about Boom Boom, Vic. I know how much you
  

  
  two cared about each other.'
  'Thanks, Bobby.' A cool April wind made me feel cold in my wool suit.
I wished I'd worn a
coat. 'Are you going to the
  party? May I ride with you?'
  Bobby agreed, and helped me into the back seat of his police
  car.
  'Bobby, I couldn't get any information from the Eudora Grain Company
when I phoned. How
did Boom Boom die?'
  Bobby frowned. 'I know you think you're tough, Vic, but do you really
need to know the
details?'
  'I just want to know what happened to my cousin. He was young,
strong; it's hard to imagine
him falling into the
  water like that.'
  Bobby's expression softened. 'You're not thinking he drowned himself,
are you?'
  I moved my hands uncertainly. 'He left an urgent message for me on my
telephone answering
machine. I wondered if
  he was feeling desperate about something.'
  'I suppose you'll go on asking questions until you get an answer.'
Bobby paused. 'A ship was
tied up at the wharf
  and Boom Boom went under as she pulled away. His body was badly
chewed up. It was a wet
day, and that's an old
  wooden wharf - very slippery in the rain. I think he slipped and fell
in. I don't think he
jumped.'
  We stopped in front of Aunt Helen's tidy brick house. The next two
hours were difficult for
me. The small house filled
  with cigarette smoke, with the smell of Polish cooking, with the
noise of children. Some of my
relations told me it
  was a pity I didn't have a family to keep me busy. Others told me I
should go and help in the
kitchen.
  2
  Boom Boom's grandmother, aged eighty two, fat and dressed in shiny
black, caught my arm.
She told me that
  Boom Boom had been in trouble at Eudora Grain. 'People are saying he
stole some papers
from his boss,' she said.
  My eyes burned. 'It's not true! Boom Boom never stole anything in his
life, even when he was
poor.'
  Grandma stared at me with watery blue eyes. 'Well, that's what people
are saying,' she
repeated. 'They're saying he
  threw himself under the ship so that he wouldn't be arrested.'
  I shook my head and pushed my way to the front door. I went out into
the cold spring air.
While I looked doubtfully
  along the street, wondering whether I could find a cab, a young woman
joined me. She was
small, with dark hair
  falling straight just below her ears, and gold coloured eyes. She
wore a fashionable grey silk
suit, and I thought I'd
  seen her somewhere before.
  'You're Boom Boom's cousin, aren't you?' she asked with a quick
smile. 'I'm Paige Carrington.'
  'I thought I recognized you. I've seen you dance a few times.'
Carrington was a dancer with the
Windy City Ballet.
  She gave the triangular smile audiences loved. 'I'd been seeing a lot
of your cousin the last few
months. I think we
  were in love. I wanted to meet you. Boom Boom talked about you all
the time. He loved you
very much.'
  'Yes. I hadn't seen him for some months . . . Are you driving back to
the city? Can I beg a
ride?'
  'Of course.'
  I followed Paige Carrington down the street. She drove a silver Audi
5000. Either the Windy
City Ballet paid
  extraordinarily well, or she came from a wealthy family.
  She didn't say much on the drive back to town. I was quiet
  3
  
 too, thinking about my cousin. I wished I'd seen more of him
 during the past few months.
 Paige dropped me at my office. 'You're Boom Boom's
 executor, aren't you?' she asked.
 I nodded.
 'I'd like to go to his place and get some things I left there. I
 don't have a key.'
 'Sure. I was planning to go there tomorrow afternoon to look
 at his papers. Want to meet me there at two?'
 'Thanks. You're sweet . . . Do you mind if I call you Vic?
 Boom Boom talked about you so much that I feel I already
 know you. And you must call me Paige.'
 My meeting with Boom Boom's lawyer was short, and I drove
 my Mercury Lynx over to Boom Boom's apartment soon after
 twelve o'clock. The Black Hawks had paid Boom Boom a lot of
 money to play hockey, and he'd paid over a quarter of a million
 for an apartment in a big glass building on Lake Shore Drive
 with a fantastic view of Lake Michigan.
 I opened the door of the apartment and went through the hall
 into the living room, my feet soundless on the thick carpet. I
 looked at the view through the big window, and then realized
 that I could hear something moving. I wasn't alone in the
 apartment. I looked around the room for a weapon and picked
 up a heavy gold trophy from a magazine table. I moved
 cautiously down the hall to the other rooms. The door of Boom
 Boom's study was open.
 Her back to me, Paige Carrington sat at Boom Boom's desk,
 looking through some papers. I felt both silly and angry.
 Quietly, I returned to the living room and put the trophy back
 4
 on the magazine table. Then I went back to the study.
 'Early, aren't you? How did you get in?'
 Paige jumped in the chair and her face flooded with red. 'Oh!
 I wasn't expecting you until two.'
 'I thought you didn't have a key.'
 'Please don't get angry, Vic. I have to be at the theatre at two,
 so I persuaded the watchman to come up and let me in. I wanted
 

  to find some letters I wrote to Boom Boom. They're terribly, terribly
personal and I don't want
anyone to see them.'
  'Find anything?' I asked.
  'I've only been through two drawers, and there are six others with
papers in them.'
  I sat on the desk. 'I have to examine everything, so why don't you
leave it to me? I promise
you that if I see any
  personal letters I won't read them - I'll put them in an envelope for
you.'
  She nodded. 'I brought a suitcase with me. I'll pack up the clothes
I left here and leave.'
  She went into the bedroom and I looked around the study. Every wall
was covered with
hockey photographs. In the
  middle of one wall, looking odd among the hockey players, was a photo
of me, taken years
ago when I was at the
  University of Chicago.
  I turned back to the desk. There were some sports magazines on it,
and a newspaper called
Grain News, filled with
  information about the grain business, and interesting, I suppose, if
grain was important to you.
  'Is that something special?' Paige came back into the room with her
suitcase.
  I hesitated. 'I've been wondering if Boom Boom jumped under the ship
deliberately; but if he
was reading a
  newspaper about grain, then maybe he had become really involved and
happy with his job at
Eudora Grain.'
  'I think Boom Boom was happier after he met me.'
  'If that's true, then I'm pleased.'
  Her eyes widened. 'If that's true? Explain what you mean!'
  'When I last saw Boom Boom in January, he was still depressed about
his ankle. If your
friendship helped him, then
  6
  I'm glad . . . Did he tell you why he wanted to talk to me?'
  She stared. 'Was he trying to contact you?'
  'He left an urgent message for me on my answering machine but he
didn't say what it was
about. I wondered if he
  wanted my professional help because of trouble at Eudora Grain.'
  She shook her head. 'I don't know. I had dinner with him the day
before he died, and he didn't
talk about you or about
  any trouble at Eudora Grain. Look, I must get back to the theatre
now. I'm sorry if I upset you
earlier.'
  I stayed in Boom Boom's apartment all day, going through his papers.
I was hoping to find a
letter that said: 'Dear
  Vic, I've been accused of stealing some papers. Please help.' I've
been a private detective for
six years, and I expect
  to find secrets in people's desks. But I found no secrets, and no
letter to me. I didn't find
Paige's letters, either. On
  my way out of the building, I stopped to talk to the watchman. I
explained who I was, and
asked him not to let
  anyone into the apartment unless I was there.
  On the way home, I was still wondering about the message Boom Boom
left on my answering
machine. Finally, I
  said to myself, 'You're a detective, Vic. If you really want to be
sure about Boom Boom, try
investigating what
  happened.'
  
  2 On the waterfront
  My North Side apartment is the large, inexpensive top floor of a grey
stone building on
Halsted. The next morning, I
  woke up around six to another cold, cloudy day. I put on my running
shoes and did eight
kilometres around Belmont
  Harbour and back. I had breakfast, picked up the Lynx from the front
of my building, and
drove to the Port of
  Chicago, which covers ten kilometres of the shore of the Calumet
River. I got lost trying to
find my way past some
  steel factories and a Ford warehouse, and it was nine thirty before
I found Eudora Grain's
regional of fice
  It was a modern building with wide windows looking out on to the
river. A dirty old ship was
tied up to the wharf by
  heavy cables, and a railway ran from the wharf into a huge warehouse
to the right of the office
building.
  Clayton Phillips, Eudora's vice-president, came to meet me. He was in
his early forties, with
pale brown hair and
  pale brown eyes, wearing a grey silk summer suit. I disliked him
immediately, perhaps
because he didn't offer me
  any sympathy for my cousin's death.
  'Maybe you could show me exactly where my cousin went in,' I said.
  A cold wind whistled around the river, and grain dust blew up at us.
We walked to the end of
the wharf.
  'Your cousin was probably standing here. It was a wet day. We had to
stop loading every few
hours and wait for the
  rain to
  8
  stop. The wooden wharf is old, and it gets slippery when it's wet.
Boom Boom probably
slipped and fell in. He did
  have that bad leg.'
  'This isn't the ship that was here the day my cousin died, is it?'
  'No, of course not,' Phillips said. 'The Lucella Wieser was supposed
to be here, but she had an
accident; so the
  Bertha Krupnik came up instead of the Lucella.'
  'Where's the Bertha now?'
  Phillips shook his head. 'She belongs to the Grafalk Steamship Line.
You could ask there.'
  'Where is their office? I'd like to ask if anyone on the Bertha saw
Boom Boom go in.'
  'I don't think anyone's going to be able to tell you anything. If
anyone had seen your cousin go
in, they'd have said
  something at the time.'
  'I have a licence.' I fished my private investigator's licence out of
my wallet. 'I've asked a lot of
people a lot of
  questions with this.'
  Phillips's wooden expression didn't change, but his face turned red.
'I'll go over with you and
introduce you to the
  right person.'
  I followed Phillips down the wharf and around the back of the office,
to where his green Alfa
sat shining next to a
  rusty truck. He started the car and turned on to 130th Street. I
noticed his hands gripping the
steering wheel tightly.
  'Why do you feel you have to come with me?' I asked.
  He didn't say anything for a few minutes. Finally, he said in his
deep, tight voice, 'Who asked
you to come down to
  the Port?'
  9
  
  'No one. Boom Boom was my cousin and I want to find out about his
death.'
  We drove through the entrance to the main Port. The Port of Chicago
offices looked modern
and efficient. The
  Grafalk Steamship Line offices were half way along the wharf and
Phillips was clearly a
frequent visitor. He led me
  through the front office, greeting several people by name. Suddenly,
we heard a terrible crash.
I felt the floor shake,
  and then there was the sound of glass breaking and metal screaming.
People began
  running outside.
  At the north end of the wharf, a ship had crashed into the side of
the wharf. A tall crane at the
edge of the wharf
  turned and slowly fell. In a minute two police cars arrived, and the
crowd in front of me
moved back to let them
  through. I jumped to one side to avoid an ambulance, and then
followed it quickly and came
close to the accident.
  The crane and a couple of trucks had been waiting on the wharf, and
all three were chewed up
by the ship which had
  broken off large pieces of the concrete wharf. The driver of the
crane was trapped in a heap of
metal, and the police
  ran to help. An ugly sight. I turned away and found a man looking at
me with bright blue eyes.
  'What happened?' I asked.
  He shook his head. 'Someone made a mistake, and went full ahead
instead of turning the ship.
That ship weighs
  around ten thousand tonnes, and that's the result.'
  A tall man with a sun burned face and white hair pushed past me.
'Excuse me. Out of the way,
please.'
  'Who's that?' I asked the man with blue eyes.
  'That's Niels Grafalk. He owns that heap of metal.'
  10
  Niels Grafalk, the man I wanted to see. I didn't think this was the
time to ask him about the
Bertha Krupnik.
  'Is this ship the Bertha Krupnik?'
  'No,' my new friend answered. 'Are you interested in the Bertha?'
  I hesitated. Looking at the excited crowd around me, I felt that
Phillips was right: if anyone
had seen Boom Boom's
  accident, they would have been talking about it.
  'Look, it's time for lunch,' my friend said. 'Let me take you to
lunch at the private club for
owners and officers here.'
  I agreed, and as we walked away from the accident, I saw Phillips
moving hesitantly through
the crowd towards the
  damaged wharf.
  The waiter brought our drinks.
  'I'm Mike Sheridan, chief engineer on the Lucella Wieser.'
  'And I'm V.I. Warshawski, a private investigator.'
  'Are you related to Boom Boom Warshawski?'
  'I'm his cousin . . . The Lucella was across from the Bertha when
Boom Boom fell under the
ship last week, wasn't
  it?'
  Sheridan nodded.
  'I've been trying to find someone who might have seen my cousin die.'
  Sheridan drank from his glass. 'Boom Boom was coming over to talk to
John Bemis, the
Lucella's captain, that
  afternoon. We were supposed to take on grain from the Eudora wharf
but someone put water
in our holds and we
  had to dry them out. Your cousin said he knew something about the
accident to our ship. He
sounded serious, and
  of course Bemis wanted to talk to him. You don't know what was on
Boom Boom's mind?'
  11
  
  I shook my head. 'That's my problem. I hadn't seen Boom Boom for two
or three months
before he died. I was
  worried that he might have - well, he was terribly depressed about
his
ankle. I'd like to know if
anyone on the Bertha
  or the Lucella saw him fall.'
  Sheridan shook his head. 'It's true we were tied up near, but the
Bertha lay between us and the
wharf. I don't think
  anyone on the Lucella could have seen anything.'
  The waiter came back to our table. 'Mr Grafalk would like to invite
you and the lady to join
him and Mr Phillips at his
  table.'
  Sheridan and I looked at each other in surprise. We followed the
waiter to a table in a corner of
the room. Grafalk
  stood up and shook hands. He wore an expensive soft jacket and a
white shirt, and looked like
a man born with
  money, a man used to controlling things around him.
  'Phillips here told me you were asking some questions. Maybe you can
tell me why you're
interested in Grafalk
  Steamship.'
  I told Grafalk why I wanted to talk to the men on the Bertha.
  'At the moment, the Bertha is going around the Great Lakes,' Grafalk
told me. 'She'll stop at
Pittsburgh, then Detroit,
  then on to Thunder Bay. She won't be back in Chicago for two weeks.'
  I thanked Grafalk, but his eyes had turned away from me, to a short
man in a grey business
suit who had walked up
  to the table.
  'Hello, Martin.'
  'Hello, Niels . . . Hi, Sheridan. Niels trying to get you to help
with his damaged ship?'
  'Hi, Martin,' Sheridan said. 'This is V.I. Warshawski, Boom
  12
  Boom's cousin - down here asking us all a few questions about his
death.'
  Martin Bledsoe was introduced to me as the owner of the Pole Star
Line, which included the
ship the Lucella
  Wieser. Bledsoe sat down and joined us for lunch.
  'Sorry about your ship, Niels. What happened?'
  'She ran into the wharf. We'll be investigating, of course.'
  I asked Grafalk about his company. It was the oldest and the biggest
on the Great Lakes,
started in 1838. Grafalk
  became quite enthusiastic, telling me about some of the great ships.
  'Mr Grafalk's a fantastic sailor,' Phillips said. 'He still sails his
grandfather's old yacht.'
  'What about the Pole Star Line?' I asked Bledsoe. 'Is that an old
family company?'
  'No. I started it myself, eight years ago,' Bledsoe said. 'Before
that, I used to work for Niels.'
  'I felt deserted when you decided to compete with me,' Grafalk said
lightly. 'By the way, I
heard about the trouble on
  the Lucella.'
  'The damage was minor, but we don't know who put the water in the
holds,' Bledsoe said. 'At
least the ship itself
  wasn't damaged.'
  'You do have two smaller ships, don't you?' Grafalk smiled at me. 'We
have sixty three other
ships to take the place
  of my damaged ship. My engineer made a mistake; it was an accident,
not something
deliberate.'
  'I did wonder if this was part of your programme to get rid of your
smaller ships,' Bledsoe said.
  Grafalk dropped his fork. 'We're satisfied with the engineer's
explanation,' he said. 'I do hope
you won't have any further
  13
  
  accidents, Martin.'
  'I hope so, too,' Bledsoe said politely, picking up his wine glass.
  Grafalk turned to me again. 'Martin went to a tough school. That's
where he learned to be so
self-controlled. Being
  from a wealthy family, I had an easier time.'
  I heard glass shatter. I turned to stare at Bledsoe. He had crushed
his wine glass in his hand
and blood was pouring
  on to the tablecloth. As I jumped to my feet to send for a doctor, I
saw Grafalk watching
Bledsoe with a strange
  expression on his face, and I wondered why the two men disliked each
other so much.
  
  15
  
  Watchman, tell us of the night
  Martin Bledsoe went to hospital, Niels Grafalk and Clayton Phillips
went back to their of
fices, and Mike Sheridan
  drove me across the Port to the Lucella.
  'Why did Grafalk's remark about Bledsoe's school upset him so much?'
I asked bluntly.
  'I think Martin left school when he was sixteen. Maybe he doesn't
like being reminded of that.'
  'That's not really a reason to shatter a wine glass in your hand. Why
do they dislike each other
so much?'
  'Oh, that's easy to explain. Grafalk Steamship Line is the only thing
Niels cares about. If you
work for him, he thinks
  you should stay forever. I know: I started work at Grafalk. He was
furious when I left. John
Bemis, too - the captain of
  the Lucella. But Niels found it impossible to accept Martin's
departure, maybe because Martin
is such a clever
  businessman: he knows how to make a profit.'
  The Lucella was bigger than any of the ships I'd seen that day. Three
hundred metres long, her
red paint smooth,
  she was huge. I followed Sheridan up a steel ladder attached to her
side.
  We met Captain Bemis on the bridge. Through the glass windows on
every side we saw the
deck below us. Men in
  yellow jackets were washing out the holds. Captain Bemis was a short
man with serious eyes
and a calm manner.
  'Someone deliberately put water in the holds of the Lucella,' Bemis
began. 'Young
Warshawski wanted to talk to us
  about it.
  16
  I told him we thought the criminal was an angry seaman we'd got rid
of a few days ago, but
Boom Boom said there
  was more to it than that. I waited on the bridge until five on
Tuesday, hoping to talk to him.
Then we got news that
  he'd died.'
  'Did anyone here see him fall?' I asked.
  Captain Bemis shook his head. 'I'm sorry, but we didn't even realize
there had been an
accident; none of our men
  was on deck when the ambulance came.'
  I felt disappointed. It seemed so - so unfair that Boom Boom had slid
out of life without one
person to see him do it. I
  tried to concentrate on Captain Bemis and the accident to his ship,
but it didn't seem important
to me. I felt stupid,
  rushing around the wharf, playing detective, just to avoid admitting
that my cousin was dead.
  I asked Mike Sheridan to drive me back to the Eudora Grain Company.
I picked up the Lynx
and drove home. The
  next morning I drove to Boom Boom's apartment. I stood again at the
huge window and
looked at the lake. The water
  was green, and in the distance a ship moved towards the other side of
the lake. I stared for a
long time before going
  to the study.
  A horrific sight met me. The papers I had left in eight neat piles
were thrown around the room.
Drawers were opened.
  Pictures pulled from the walls. Worst of all, a body lay crumpled on
the other side of the desk.
The man was dead. I
  guessed his neck had been broken - I couldn't see any wounds. I
lifted the head gently: it was
the watchman I had
  spoken to the night before, when I was leaving the building. I ran to
Boom Boom's bathroom.
  I drank a glass of water from the tap and my stomach felt calmer. I
used the phone in the
bedroom to call the police.
  In the
  17
  
 bedroom, too, drawers stood open, with clothes thrown on the
 floor. Someone had been looking for something. But what?
 The police said that it was an ordinary burglary. I argued
 that nothing valuable had been taken, but they insisted that was
 because the watchman's death had frightened the burglar. I felt
 I had sent the old man to his death, by asking him not to let
 anyone into Boom Boom's apartment. It was true that I didn't
 

  expect anyone to break into the apartment, but it had happened and I
felt responsible.
  At last the police finished with me and took the body away. I took a
last look round. What had
my cousin hidden in
  his apartment? My mind jumped to Paige Carrington. Love letters? How
well had she known
Boom Boom, really? I
  needed to talk to her again.
  I drove to the Windy City Ballet, stopping on the way for a sandwich
and a Coke. The Ballet
was an old building, but
  inside it had been modernized. Some dancers were practicing on the
stage, but Paige wasn't
there. I went
  backstage, and no one stopped me. I waited, and a few minutes later,
Paige came down the hall
from the shower, a
  white towel wrapped round her head.
  'Vic! What are you doing here?'
  'Hi, Paige. I came to talk to you. When you're dressed I'll take you
out for a coffee.'
  Her gold coloured eyes widened. 'I'm not sure I have time.'
  'Then I'll talk to you here.'
  She shrugged. 'I'll only be a few minutes.'
  The few minutes stretched into forty. At last she appeared in a gold
silk shirt and a white skirt.
She wore a gold and
  diamond necklace and her make-up was perfect.
  'Sorry to keep you waiting,' she said.
  We went out into the cold spring air and ordered coffee at a little
coffee shop around the
corner.
  'What were you looking for in my cousin's apartment?'
  'My letters, Vic. I told you that.'
  'How did you meet Boom Boom?'
  'At a Christmas party. Someone interested in buying shares
  19
  
  in the Black Hawks invited some of the players.' Her voice was cold.
'What are you thinking? I
don't like these
  questions.'
  'The watchman at Boom Boom's building was killed last night when
someone broke into
Boom Boom's apartment.'
  'The night watchman? Henry? Oh, I'm so sorry. Was anything stolen?'
  'Nothing was taken, but they tore the place apart. I can't imagine
what they were looking for.'
  She shook her head, her eyes troubled. 'I can't, either.' She put her
hand on my arm. 'I know it
sounds crazy about
  the letters, but it's true.'
  We left after that, and I took myself home. I needed some peace and
quiet after all that had
happened that day. Over
  dinner I thought about things I needed to do next. Find out about
Paige Carrington's
background. Talk to Boom
  Boom's best friend, a star player with the Black Hawks called Pierre
Bouchard. And get back
to the Port of Chicago.
  4 Learning the business

  The next day, after my early morning run, I got dressed in dark blue
trousers, a white shirt, and
a dark blue jacket.
  Tough, but attractive. Then I drove down to the Port.
  At Eudora Grain, I talked to the men as they came off the wharf for
their mid-morning break.
None of them had seen
  my cousin's death. They told me that Phillips and Boom Boom had had
a terrible argument
that morning about some
  papers, though no one had actually heard what they said.
  I thanked them for their time, and went back to the office manager.
I told her that I wanted to
go through the personal
  papers in my cousin's office.
  'Mr Phillips is out of the of fice but Janet, Mr Warshawski's
secretary, will help you.'
  Janet was a quiet woman aged about fifty, wearing a simple dress and
no make-up. She took
me to Boom Boom's
  office, a small, tidy room with maps of the Lakes covering the walls.
  'Can you tell me about Boom Boom's work?' I asked.
  'Mr Phillips was training him,' Janet said. 'The idea was that he
would be able to take over one
of the regional offices
  in another year or so - probably Buffalo.'
  'Did Mr Phillips like that idea?'
  'It's hard to tell how Mr Phillips feels about anything. I think he
was glad your cousin would
be leaving soon. Your
  cousin was an impatient person and he wanted to do everything faster
than Mr Phillips.' She
hesitated. 'Mr Phillips
  seemed worried
  21
  
  that if Mr Warshawski got too involved with the shipping contracts,
then he might take some
of the customers with
  him, when he moved to Buffalo.'
  'So did they argue about the contracts? Or the customers?'
  'Well, I'll tell you something. You see, Mr Phillips doesn't like
anyone touching the contract
files.' She looked over
  her shoulder, in case Phillips was standing there listening. 'It's
silly, because we all have to use
those files all day
  long. But he insists that if we take them out of his secretary's
office, we have to write a note.
Mr Warshawski refused
  to do that because he thought it was stupid.' She smiled, an amused
smile. 'The week before he
died, he took
  several months of contracts home with him.'
  'What did he do with them?'
  She shrugged. 'I don't know. But he did go and see Mr Phillips with
one or two files.'
  'Could I look at the files my cousin took home with him?'
  She hesitated. 'Why?'
  I looked at her kind face. She had been fond of Boom Boom. 'I'm not
satisfied with the story
of my cousin's death.
  He was a hockey player, in spite of his bad ankle. It would take more
than a slippery wharf to
get him into the lake.
  I'm wondering if someone pushed him in.'
  She looked shocked. 'Why would someone push a nice young man like Mr
Warshawski to his
death?'
  I didn't know, I told her, but it was possible those files might give
me a clue. I explained to her
that I was a private
  investigator, and she promised to get me the files while Mr
Phillips's secretary was at lunch.
  I sat at Boom Boom's desk and looked at his desk diary. His
  22
  appointments were uninteresting, but he had drawn a circle round some
of the dates. At the
front of the diary there
  was a calendar of 1981 and 1982. Boom Boom had drawn circles round
twenty three days in
1981, and three in
  1982.1 put the diary in my bag and looked through the rest of the of
fice. But I found nothing
personal. Janet
  appeared with the files, packed in a large envelope.
  'Please return them as soon as you can,' she said anxiously.
  Interstate 94 back to the city was clear at that time of day, and I
got back to my of fice around
one thirty. I phoned
  Murray Ryerson, crime reporter for the Herald-Star, and an old friend
of mine.
  'What do you want, Vic? Got anything for me on the murder at your
cousin's apartment?'
  'Nothing on that yet. But I want some background on Paige Carrington,
a dancer with the
Windy City Ballet. She
  was friendly with Boom Boom before he died. She was looking for some
love letters at his
apartment the other day,
  and then the watchman was killed while someone was searching the
place.'
  'Vic, whenever you want information like this, it's the beginning of
some big story. Is this
murder connected with
  Boom Boom's death?'
  'I don't think so. But someone searched his apartment, and I'd like
to know more about Paige.'
  'OK, Vic. I'll call you in two or three days.'
  I opened Janet's envelope and pulled out the files. There were three:
June, July and August,
showing Eudora Grain's
  shipments of grain during those months. Each computer report gave
details of date and place
of departure, names of
  carriers, weight of grain, cost, and date and place of arrival. Some
showed more
  23
  
  than one carrier. For example, I found Thunder Bay to St Catharines
on 15 June via Grafalk
Steamship Line,
  cancelled, via Pole Star Line, cancelled, and finally via a third
carrier at a different price.
  I looked at Boom Boom's diary, and pulled out the contracts that
matched the dates in June,
July and August which
  had circles drawn around them. Thirteen shipments on those dates had
gone to Grafalk. Pole
Star had lost seven
  shipments to Grafalk, but had got two shipments in August.
  I tried phoning Pole Star Line, but no one answered. It was too late
to do anything else tonight,
so I called a friend,
  and we went out to dinner and then to watch a film.
  5 Grounded
  The next day I called Bobby Mallory and asked him about the murder at
Boom Boom's
apartment.
  'We did find a footprint on the papers. A size twelve Arroyo boot.'
Bobby paused. 'You're not
getting involved in this,
  are you?'
  'I am involved it happened in my cousin's apartment.'
  'Don't fool around with me, Vic,' Bobby said. He didn't like me to
get involved in police work,
especially murder
  cases.
  'Trouble just follows me, Bobby.'
  I photocopied the Eudora Grain shipping contracts, and packed the
files back in the envelope. I
drove to the Port and
  dropped the parcel with Janet. As I left the of fice, I met Phillips.
  'What are you doing here?' he demanded.
  'Signing up for a water ballet class. How about you?'
  His face reddened. 'Still asking questions about your cousin? You're
wasting your time. I hope
you find that out
  soon.'
  'I'm moving as fast as I can. Water ballet can only help.'
  He stared at me angrily and walked over to his green Alfa. I drove
along the Calumet River to
the Lucella and asked
  for the captain, John Bemis. The ship was enormous, held down by
steel cables eight
centimetres thick. I looked
  down at the still water. No one was on the wharf, no one knew I was
here. I began to see how
Boom Boom could
  have fallen in unnoticed. I climbed the steel ladder to the deck,
where twenty people moved
busily around, guiding
  the grain into the huge holds.
  25
  
  Clouds of grain dust rose above the deck.
  No one noticed me at first, but at last someone took me to the
bridge. Martin Bledsoe was
standing with Captain
  Bemis, looking down towards the deck.
  'Hello, Miss Warshawski.' They turned towards me.
  Bledsoe's hand was wrapped in bandages, and I asked how it was. He
told me that it was
beginning to feel better.
  'I have a couple of questions for you, Mr Bledsoe, if you have the
time.'
  I pulled the photocopies of the shipping contracts from my bag and
put them on a table. 'These
are Eudora Grain's
  shipping contracts,' I began. 'I was hoping you'd explain them to
me.'
  'Well, there's no great secret to them. Look at this one. Three
million bushels of grain in
Peoria, to be moved to
  Buffalo. First of all, we offered to carry the grain for four dollars
twenty nine cents a tonne.
That was before we had
  the Lucella - we can go well under our old prices now because these
big ships are so much
cheaper to run. Now, in
  our business, contracts are made and cancelled routinely. Look at
this. Grafalk came in to offer
four dollars thirty
  cents a tonne, but with a promise to get the grain to Buffalo a day
earlier.'
  'So these records are quite ordinary?'
  Bledsoe's grey eyes were intelligent. 'What made you think something
might be wrong with
them?'
  'Boom Boom was particularly interested in these files just before he
died. I wondered if the
fact that these Pole Star
  contracts ended up with Grafalk was important.'
  Bledsoe looked at the contracts again. 'No. Either they promised
earlier delivery, or they
offered lower prices.'
  26
   
  'My other question is about some twenty third of April is one.'
  Bledsoe and Bemis looked at each other. 'That's the date we found
water in the Lucella's
holds.'
  'No further accidents are going to happen on this ship,' Captain
Bemis said.
  Bledsoe nodded. 'I think I'll come with you this time, John. I want
to see the Lucella unloaded
at St Catharines.'
  I picked up my papers. I was getting tired of all the work which
didn't lead anywhere. Bledsoe
walked down to the
  deck with me.
  'We've finished loading for the day. I feel I owe you an apology, for
cutting my hand at lunch
yesterday. Can I
  persuade you to eat dinner with me? There's a good French restaurant
about twenty minutes
from here.'
  I agreed, and we had an enjoyable meal together. Bledsoe told me
amusing shipping stories,
and I told him about
  my childhood on Chicago's South Side.
  It was ten thirty when Bledsoe took me back to the Lucella to pick up
my car. 'Thanks for
introducing me to a great
  new restaurant, Martin. Next time I'll take you to an Italian place
on the West Side.'
  'Thanks, Vic. I'd like to do that. I'll call you when I get back from
St Catharines.'
  I drove the Lynx on to 130th Street. The night was clear but the air
was cold and I kept the car
windows up. I drove
  along Interstate 94 and back on to the Dan Ryan. I was near the
University of Chicago exit
when I heard a tearing in
  the engine. I slammed on the brakes. The car didn't slow. I pushed
again. Still nothing. The
brakes had failed. I
  turned the steering wheel
  dates this spring. The
  27
  
  to move towards the exit. It turned loosely in my hands. No steering.
No brakes.
  In the mirror I saw the lights of a truck close behind me. Another
truck drove beside me on the
right. My car was
  moving to the right, and I couldn't stop it. My hands trembled and I
felt sick. I put my hand on
the horn and kept it
  there. The truck to my right pulled out of my way.
  The Lynx was going thirty, slowing down, area the truck behind me was
going at least
seventy. I couldn't stop. I
  couldn't do anything.
  At the last second, the truck behind me moved to the left. I heard a
horrible shattering of glass
and metal on metal.
  A car shot into the lane in front of me and turned over. Metal on
metal. Glass shattering on the
street. A violent
  crash. A pool of warm wetness on my arm. Light and noise shattered
inside my head. And then
quiet.
  My head ached. I forced my eyes open, but the light stabbed them. I
shut them again.
  'You're all right now,' a woman's voice said.
  'What happened?' My voice was thin and tired.
  'You're in Billings Hospital. I want you to sleep now.'
  When I woke up again, I was alone. The pain in my head was still
there. My left arm was
attached to the ceiling by a
  pulley. I stared at it dreamily. What had I done to my arm? I
remembered. My car. The brakes
failing.
  A nurse came into the room. 'Oh, you're awake now. That's good. We'll
take your temperature.'
  'I don't want my temperature taken. I want to see the police.'
  She smiled brightly. 'Just put this under your tongue.'
  28
       ..    
  
  I began to feel angry. 'Will you kindly get someone to call the
police for me?'
  'Now calm down. The doctor will be here soon, and she'll tell us if
you can start talking to
people.'
  I shut my eyes. My body was still weak. I went back to sleep.
  When I woke for the third time, my mind was clear. I sat up in bed,
slowly and painfully. I
wanted to go home, and
  use the phone. Carefully, I took my arm out of the pulley. My
shoulder moved, and the pain
was so strong that tears
  ran down my cheeks. I shut my eyes and rested for ten minutes. Then
I got out of bed, trying
not to move my
  shoulder. At that moment, the doctor came in.
  'Glad to see you're feeling better, Miss Warshawski,' she said dryly.
  'I thought I'd go home now, since the nurse won't call the police.'
  'You must stay here another day or two. You must keep your shoulder
still, so that the tear on
the muscles is
  rested,' the doctor said firmly. 'You hit your head against the door
as your car turned over. It's
badly cut, and you
  were unconscious for six hours. You mustn't take risks with your
health.'
  I sat on the bed. 'But I've got so many people to talk to.'
  'I'll bring a phone in and you can make your calls.'
  Tears filled my eyes. My head was aching. I lay back on the bed and
let the doctor reattach my
arm to the pulley. I
  hated to obey the doctor, but I was glad to be lying down.
  The doctor brought a phone to me, and I phoned the Port. But the
Lucella had already sailed.
    
  6 Drinks with Grafalk
  The next day I had a stream of visitors. Lieutenant Bobby Mallory, my
old friend from the
Chicago police, came
  carrying a plant from his wife - to talk to me about the accident. He
told me that the truck that
came up behind me
  had hit a car when it moved left to avoid me. The driver of the car
was killed and his two
passengers were seriously
  injured.
  'They weren't wearing seat belts,' Bobby told me. 'It might have
helped. Yours certainly saved
your life. We've
  arrested the truck driver - not a scratch on him, of course.'
  'Did you inspect my car?'
  He looked at me curiously. 'Someone had emptied all the brake fluid.
And cut through the
steering cable . . . Now
  who would do a thing like that? Where had you parked your car?'
  I told him. He shook his head. 'A lot of vandals down in the Port.
You're lucky you got out of
this alive. Why can't you
  stay home and get a husband and some kids?'
  Someone brought in an enormous armful of spring flowers. They were
from Paige Carrington.
Murray Ryerson, crime
  reporter, came himself. Murray is a big guy with thick reddish hair
and a loud voice.
  'Vic! Tell me about your accident.'
  'Is this a visit or an interview?' I asked crossly. Murray and I have
been friends for several
years, but our relationship
  never develops because we are always competing in our work.
  31
  
  'How about an interview as payment for the story on Paige
Carrington?'
  I brightened up considerably. 'What did you find out?'
  'As Carrington has one older sister. Mother lives in Park Forest
South. Her family doesn't have
a lot of money, but
  she lives in an apartment on Astor Place. She may have a rich friend
helping her out. There
was some talk about her
  and Boom Boom the month before he died. But the other hockey players
thought she was
running after him - he
  wasn't so interested.'
  I felt a stab of pleasure at that. Perhaps I was jealous of Boom
Boom's love for the perfect
Paige.
  'You talk now.' Murray's eyes were bright with interest.
  I told him everything I knew about the accident.
  'Vandals? I don't believe it. You got someone mad and they cut your
steering cable. Someone
at the Port. Someone
  connected with Boom Boom. I'm going to follow you around, Vic. I want
to see this
happening before it happens.'
  'Murray, you get out of here before I ask the nurse to throw you
out.'
  He laughed. 'Get well soon, Vic. I'd miss you if you didn't . . .'
  I drank some water and slept for a while. When I woke up, a young man
was sitting in the
visitor's chair watching me
  with an expression of concern on his smooth, round face. It was Boom
Boom's friend, Pierre
Bouchard.
  'Pierre! How nice to see you.'
  He smiled. 'I've just seen the story of your accident in the paper.
I'm so sorry, Vic. First Boom
Boom, and now this.'
  I smiled. 'My shoulder will get better.'
  'I've come with a message from Boom Boom.' Pierre paused.
  32
   
  'I've been playing hockey in Quebec for two weeks, and when I got
back last night there was a
letter from him! He
  mailed it the day before he died.' He pulled a letter from the pocket
of his jacket and passed it
to me.
  Pierre,
  I thought I saw Howard the other day in a very odd place. I tried
calling him, but his wife said
he was in Quebec with
  you. Give me a ring when you get back and let me know.
  Boom Boom
  'Who's Howard? Howard Mattingly?'
  Pierre nodded. Mattingly was another ice hockey player with the Black
Hawks, though not on
the first team. Boom
  Boom never liked him - he couldn't even play hockey.
  The letter seemed unconnected with the problems I was trying to
solve. But it had been
important to Boom Boom.
  He had written the letter on the twenty sixth. When had he seen
Mattingly? The Lucella's
holds had been filled with
  water on the twenty third. Could Mattingly have been involved in
that?
  On Monday, the doctor allowed me to leave the hospital and I went
back to my apartment. I
got out a bottle of Black
  Label whisky and sat down in the living room with the telephone. I
was going to talk to
everyone who might have
  damaged my car and tried to kill me. My anger had disappeared as my
shoulder had got better,
but I was
  determined to discover the truth about my accident.
  Pole Star Line told me the Lucella had delivered her grain in Buffalo
and was on the way to
Erie. The ship wouldn't
  be back
  33
  
  in Chicago until June. I phoned Eudora Grain and got Phillips's
  address from Janet.
  My insurance company had provided me with another car, a
  Chevette, and I drove up to Lake Bluff. The town is a tiny
  pocket of wealth, and the houses were huge, with beautiful
  gardens. The weak spring sun shone on trees which were just
  showing their first pale green leaves.
  The Phillipses lived in a house on the shore of Lake
  Michigan, with a three-car garage. A woman in her early forties  
answered the door. She
was wearing a 
  simple dress which  
  probably cost 250 dollars. Her make-up was perfect, and
  diamonds hung from her ears.
  'Good afternoon, Mrs Phillips. I'm Ellen Edwards with Tri-
  State Research. We're interviewing wives of important
  businessmen and I wanted to talk to you. Do you have a few
  minutes?'
  'Is this going to appear in a newspaper?'
  'Oh no. We're talking to five hundred women, and no names
  will be used.'
  She agreed, and I asked her a few questions. They had lived
  in Lake Bluff for five years. Before that they lived in Park Forest
  South which was much closer to the Port. Lake Bluff was a
  wonderful place to live. They could sail on the lake and play
  tennis at the Maritime Club.
  'Let's take a normal day and go through it - say last
  Thursday. What time did you get up?'
  I heard all the details of her life. The hours at the tennis club,
  the shops. At last she gave me the information I'd come for:
  Clayton hadn't got home that night until after nine o'clock.
  'Well, thank you for your time, Mrs Phillips. We'll mail you
   34
  a copy of the report when we complete it.'
  As I said goodbye, I asked who owned the enormous house down the
road.
  'That's the Grafalks. They're terribly wealthy.'
  'Do you spend much time with them?'
  'Oh well, Clayton sails with Niels sometimes. And they recommended
our names to the
Maritime Club. But Claire's
  not very friendly.'
  We said goodbye and I drove down the road. I stopped the car outside
the Grafalks' house. It
was an enormous, red
  brick house, with a huge garden. Suddenly, a dark blue Ferrari came
round the bend, turned in
at the gates, and
  stopped. Niels Grafalk came up to my car before I had time to
disappear.
  'What are you doing in front of my house, lady detective?'
  'Looking at the view.' I started the car, but he put his hand through
the window and grabbed
my arm. A stab of pain
  went through my shoulder.
  'I want to know why you were spying on my house.'
  'I wasn't spying, Mr Grafalk. If I were, I wouldn't stop outside your
front door like this. I'd hide
myself and you'd never
  know I was here.'
  The anger in his eyes died down and he laughed. 'What are you doing
here, then?'
  'Passing through. Someone told me you lived here and I wanted to have
a look. It's quite a
place.'
  He looked amused. 'How about a drink?'
  We went up to the house. The garden was green with spring and spring
flowers provided
bursts of colour at the
  corners of the house.
  35
  
  l
  'My father built the place back in the nineteen twenties. My wife
likes it, so I've never changed
it.'
  We went in through a side door and then to the back of the house,
overlooking the lake. The
garden went down to a
  sandy beach.
  'Don't you keep your boat here?'
  Grafalk laughed. 'The water is too shallow here. I keep my yacht at
the harbour in Lake Bluff.'
  I sat down and Grafalk brought me a glass of sherry. I tasted it. It
was as smooth as liquid
gold.
  'If you weren't spying on me, you must have been spying on Clayton.
What did you find out?
We carry a lot of grain
  for Eudora. I'd like to know if something is wrong with the company.'
  I drank some more sherry. 'I don't know about any problems at Eudora
Grain. My main
concern is that someone
  tried to kill me last Thursday night.'
  'Kill you?' Grafalk's blue eyes widened.
  'Someone cut my steering cable when I was parked at the Port, and I
was in a serious accident
on the Dan Ryan.'
  'And you think Clayton might have done it?'
  'Well, it's just possible. But why should he? Any more than you, or
Martin Bledsoe or Mark
Sheridan?'
  'You're sure the damage was done at the Port? Could it have been
vandals?' Grafalk got up for
more drinks.
  'I don't think so. Vandals would damage the tyres or break the
windows, not cut the steering
cable.'
  Grafalk poured me some more sherry. 'How much do you know about
Martin Bledsoe?'
  I stiffened. 'I've met him a few times. Why?'
  36
  'He didn't tell you anything about his background at dinner on
Thursday?'
  I put the expensive glass down. 'Now who's doing the spying, Mr
Grafalk?'
  He laughed. 'The Port is a small place and news about ship owners
travels fast. I knew about
your accident, too, but
  I didn't know someone had deliberately damaged your car.'
  
  'Tell me about Bledsoe's background.'
  'It's buried deep. I've never told anyone about it, but if someone
tried to kill you, then you
should know.'
  I didn't say anything. Outside, the house threw a long shadow on the
beach.
  'Martin grew up in Cleveland. He never knew his father and when he
was fifteen he ran away
and started sailing the
  Great Lakes. When he was eighteen he began working in our Buffalo
office. He was involved
with money, and he
  stole some of it. I wanted to give him another chance, but my father
refused, and Martin spent
two years in
  Cantonville prison. My father died before he came out, and Martin
came back to work for me.'
  'You must think something is seriously wrong to tell me this.'
  Grafalk shook his head. 'If there is something wrong at Eudora Grain,
it must involve money. I
do sometimes wonder
  where Clayton Phillips gets his money. But I'm afraid I must ask you
to leave now, Miss
Warshawski. We're
  expecting visitors and I have things to do before they arrive.'
  He showed me to the front door and watched until I went through the
gates and drove off. As I
left the wealth of Lake
  Bluff, I felt confused. Grafalk's sherry and Grafalk's story had
clearly been provided for a
reason. But what?
  7 Stowaway
   
  The next morning I phoned Janet at Eudora Grain and asked her to find
out how much Phillips
earned. Then I phoned
  Pole Star Line and found out that the Lucella would be in Thunder Bay
- Canada's
westernmost port on Lake
  Superior - on Thursday and Friday. I wanted to find out if Grafalk's
story about Bledsoe was
true, and whether the
  captain or the chief engineer had damaged my car. I wanted to talk to
those guys now. So I
booked a flight from
  Chicago to Toronto and then on to Thunder Bay that afternoon. I
packed jeans and a shirt, and
my Smith and
  Wesson gun, in a small bag and put my wallet in my jeans pocket.
  After an hour in Toronto's bright modern airport, I boarded the small
plane to Thunder Bay.
We arrived at ten p.m.
  We were a thousand kilometres north of Chicago and it was still
winter. I took a cab to the
Holiday Inn and slept late
  after the long flight. My shoulder felt much better in the morning
and I ate a good breakfast. I
bought a local
  newspaper which listed the ships in port. The Lucella was at Wharf
67, the Manitoba Grain
Company.
  I took a cab to Wharf 67. The Lucella's red paint shone in the late
morning sun. Above her
floated a cloud of white
  smoke. Grain dust. The Lucella was loading. I climbed the steel
ladder to the main deck. I
stopped to look at the
  men working on the deck and then I climbed up to the bridge. Only
Mike Sheridan, the chief
engineer, was there. He
  looked up in surprise when I
  39
  
 
  came in, recognizing me at once.
  'Miss Warshawski! Is Captain Bemis expecting you?'
  'I don't think so. Is he around? And what about Martin Bledsoe?'
  'They're in Thunder Bay this morning. They won't be back until late
afternoon. Not until just
before we sail, I'm afraid.'
  'You're sailing today? Your office said you'd be here tomorrow.'
  'No. We got here a day early, and we'll finish loading around four
and sail at five, to St
Catharines, at the other side
  of the lakes.'
  I rubbed my forehead. 'Do you stop anywhere on the way where I could
get off?'
  'We stop at the locks at Sault Ste Marie.' Sheridan was getting
annoyed. 'If you're thinking of
sailing with us, you'll
  have to ask the captain.' He returned to his papers and I left the
bridge.
  I went back to the Holiday Inn, repacked my little bag, and had some
lunch. I loaded my gun
and pushed it in my
  belt. At three thirty I went back to Wharf 67 and once more climbed
the ladder to the Lucella's
main deck.
  The grain was loaded and the men were covering the holes in the deck
with steel lids. As I
watched, I felt the ship
  begin to shake. The engines had been turned on. I turned to look at
the wharf and I thought I
saw someone
  swimming away from the side of the ship. I stared at the water, and
finally I saw a figure rise
from the water twenty
  metres away, close to the shore.
  When I turned back, Bledsoe was just coming on board. He went towards
the bridge without
seeing me. I was just
  going to follow, when I thought I would hide until the ship left the
shore.
  40
  I moved behind a pile of huge oil drums and sat down on a metal box.
After about forty five
minutes, the Lucella
  slowly pulled away from the wharf. I waited until we were a good
kilometre or two from land,
and then I made my way
  to the bridge. I checked my gun, my heart beating fast.
  Captain Bemis was at the wheel, but he turned when I came in. 'Ah;
Miss Warshawski. The
chief engineer said
  you'd appear.' He was serious, but not angry.
  'You're a stowaway, Vic.' Bledsoe gave the shadow of a smile. 'We
could lock you in the holds
until we get to Sault
  Ste Marie.'
  I sat down at the round table. Perhaps these two men were killers,
but now that I was here my
anxiety disappeared;
  I felt calm.
  The captain gave the wheel to another officer and he and Bledsoe
joined me at the table.
  'I'm trying to find out if someone on this ship tried to kill me,' I
said.
  For ten seconds there was no sound in the small room but the distant
noise of the engines.
  'Explain that, Miss Warshawski.'
  'Gladly. Last Thursday night Martin took me out for dinner. I left my
car at the Port. While we
were gone someone
  cut the steering cables and emptied the brake fluid. When my car
crashed on the Dan Ryan I
escaped with minor
  injuries. An innocent driver was killed, though.'
  'My God!' Bledsoe exclaimed. I watched him carefully. He tried to say
something else, but no
words came out. His
  surprise looked real, but . . .
  The captain looked at me through narrowed eyes. 'Could I
  41
  
  talk to the Chicago police about this?'
  'Of course.'
  At last, Bledsoe found his voice. 'Why do you think someone on the
Lucella might be
involved?'
  'Only a few people knew I was at the Port. Only a few knew my car.' 
  'There are a lot of vandals down at the Port,' the captain said.
  'I see a lot of vandals in my work, and vandals don't have the tools
to do that kind of damage .
. . Captain, I'm sure
  that Boom Boom was killed. And a watchman was killed in his
apartment. The killer is
connected with this ship or
  with Eudora Grain. You've got a big machine shop here. I'm sure
you've got cutting torchesÄ'
  'No!' Bemis exploded. 'Mike Sheridan isn't involved in this. We've
been sailing together for
twenty years.'
  'Anyway,' Bledsoe said, 'there's no reason for Mike - or for any of
us
- to want to kill you.'
  I rubbed my forehead tiredly. 'If I knew what my cousin had found
out, then I'd know who the
killer was. I thought it
  was connected with those contracts, Martin, but you told me they were
perfectly normal.
Perhaps it had something
  to do with the water in your holds?'
  'But we all need this ship. Why would we damage it?' 
  I looked at Bledsoe. 'Someone might be threatening to tell
  your secret, Martin.'  
  Bledsoe's face turned white. 'How dare you!'
  'Do you have secrets in your past?'
  Bledsoe banged the table. 'If I had a secret, who told it to you?'
  42
  Grafalk had told me the truth, Bledsoe's anger told me that. 'I'm
only guessing,' I said. 'I just
wondered why you
  smashed a wine glass because Grafalk talked about where you went to
school.'
  'I see.' Bledsoe gave a short laugh.
  'Did you tell Sheridan to damage my car while we were at dinner?'
  Bledsoe pushed back his chair. 'Ask him yourself!' He left the
bridge, banging the door behind
him.
  Bemis looked at me coldly. 'I won't allow you to disturb my ship.'
  My head ached. 'Very well,' I said tightly. 'I won't disturb your
ship. I would like to talk to the
chief engineer, however.'
  Bemis nodded. 'You may question the chief at dinner.'
  I went down to the main deck and breathed the afternoon air
thankfully. We were well away
from the shore and it
  was quite cold. I collected my bag from behind the oil drums, and
pulled out my coat. I walked
down the deck and
  found a little bench. I sat down and looked at the sun shining on the
green black water.
  I reached inside my bag for the Smith and Wesson as Bledsoe came up
beside me. He looked
surprised when he
  saw the gun. 'Put that away. I came out here to talk to you.' He sat
down beside me. 'Did
Grafalk tell you about my
  crime?'
  'Yes.'
  He nodded to himself. 'I thought so. No one else knows about it, or
cares. I was eighteen years
old when I stole that
  money. And for twenty years Grafalk never talked about it. But when
I left to start my own
company, Niels started
  telling me I was still a criminal. But he never told anyone else
about it. So
  43
  
  why did he tell you now?'
  It was a good question. 'I was talking to Grafalk about Clayton
Phillips. What do you know
about Phillips?'
  'Not much. His main job is to act as the controller. He should leave
the sales to his salesmen
but he wanes to be
  involved in all the shipping contracts, and since he doesn't know all
the details, he gets left
with expensive contracts
  occasionally. I noticed that when I was with Niels, and I see it now
with my own business.'
  It didn't sound criminal, just stupid. 'Can Phillips be cheating
Eudora? You told me those
shipping contracts were
  perfectly normal.'
  Bledsoe looked at me seriously. 'If you want to be sure, you'll have
to look at the invoices. The
contracts themselves
  appear fine, but you want to see what Phillips actually paid.'
  I rubbed my shoulder which was beginning to hurt.
  'Are you getting off in Sault Ste Marie?' Bledsoe asked. 'I'll fly
you down to Chicago - my
plane is there and I'm
  planning to get back to the office this week.'
  We got up and went down the long deck. The sun had gone  and the sky
was turning dark. The
first stars were
  coming out. L
  In the city one doesn't see too many stars.  
   
  8 Deadlock
  At dinner I talked to Sheridan about my accident. The chief
  engineer agreed that he had cutting torches in the engine room.
  'But we don't keep tools under lock and key.'
    e'Were you in the engine room that night?' I asked.
  He looked me straight in the eye. 'Yes, I was. And my first
  engineer was with me.'
  'Not out of each other's sight all evening?'
  'Not long enough to damage a car.'
  Around ten thirty, they brought a narrow bed and some
  blankets into the dining room for me. I climbed under the
  blankets in my jeans and shirt, put the Smith and Wesson beside
  me, and went to sleep almost immediately. The cooks woke me
   before six as they started preparing breakfast.
  After breakfast I packed my little bag for a quick departure:
  Bledsoe told me we'd have about two minutes to climb over the
  side of the Lucella on to the shore before they opened the lock
  gates and she went on to Lake Huron. I put my wallet into my
  jeans pocket and put the Smith and Wesson into the bag. Then
  I put the bag on the deck and went up to the bridge to watch the
  Lucella slide into the lock.
   There were four locks closing the seven metre drop between
   Lake Superior and Lake Huron. Only one lock, the Poe Lock,
   was big enough for the three hundred metre ships. We were the
  I second ship into the Poe.
   Canada's Sault Ste Marie lay on our left, the huge Algoma
  45


  steel factory on the shore. After forty minutes, Captain Bemis was
told by radio to move into
the lock. Slowly we
  moved forward and the enormous wood and steel gates shut behind us.
I went with Bledsoe
down to the deck.
  It takes about fifteen minutes for the lock to empty its seven
million plus litres of water into
Lake Huron. A few
  tourists were watching the ships in the locks from the American side.
I watched a man with
bright red hair pick up a
  pair of binoculars and look at our ship through them. I walked across
the deck to pick up my
bag. I was almost there
  when I was thrown to the ground, the air knocked out of me. I thought
at first that someone
had hit me. But when I
  tried to stand up, I realized the deck was shaking underneath me.
  The head cook was standing at the edge of the ship, trying to hold on
to the steel cables. I
watched in horror as she
  was thrown backwards and fell over the side of the ship. I didn't
understand why we were
rising again when there
  was no water to push us up. I felt horribly sick. Bledsoe was
standing near me, his face grey.
  Sheets of water rushed up between the sides of the ship and the lock.
Thirty metres above us
the water rushed,
  before falling on to the deck, knocking me over again. I wanted to
shut my eyes, to shut out
the disaster, but I
  couldn't stop staring. A great cry sounded above the noise of the
water. The wood tore and the
ship broke in two.
  We fell again into the lock, falling down into the forward gates. Wet
grain poured out of the
holds, covering everyone
  with gold mud. The deck moved sharply down and I held on to the steel
cables so that I wasn't
thrown into the
  centre. The broken ship lay still.
  46
  
  The air was quiet following the explosion. My legs were
  shaking. I rubbed the aching muscles of my shoulder. Bledsoe
  still stood next to me, his eyes glassy, his face grey. I wanted to
  say something to him, but no words came. An explosion.
  Someone blew up a sixty thousand tonne ship. I saw Captain
  Bemis come down from the bridge.
  'Martin. Our ship. What happened?'
  'Someone blew up your ship, captain.' The words came from
  far away. Bemis was looking at me strangely: I realized I had
  spoken the words.
  Bemis shook his head. 'No. Not my ship.'
  I started to argue, but I felt too tired. I suddenly remembered
  the figure swimming away from the ship at Thunder Bay. That
  was the person who had planted the explosives. I opened my
  mouth to tell them, then swallowed the words. No one would
  be able to accept such news at the moment.
  'Martin needs some help,' I said. 'Get him to sit down.'
  I needed to get away from the crowd on the deck. There was
  some important information in my mind, somewhere hidden. If
  I could get away, stay awake . . . I started towards the bridge, to
  look for my bag. On my way I passed the chief engineer. He was
  covered with mud and oil. His eyes stared at me in horror.
  'How are things belong?' I asked.
  'Several men dead. Water everywhere. It was a bomb, you
  know. It must have been set off by radio signal. But why?'  3
  I shook my head, helplessly, but I suddenly remembered the
  man with bright red hair and a pair of binoculars. Howard
  Mattingly, the hockey player Boom Boom had seen in an
  unusual place, had red hair.
  I forgot the ache in my shoulder. I needed to find Mattingly.
   48
  Before he got away. I turned away from Sheridan and looked for my
bag. I didn't want to
follow Mattingly without the
  Smith and Wesson. The bag was gone. Two shirts, a jacket, a pair of
jeans, and a
three-hundred dollar Smith and
  Wesson were all lying hidden in fifty thousand tonnes of grain.
  It wasn't difficult to get off the Lucella. The emergency team were
arriving, followed by a
television news team. I
  pushed my way through an enormous crowd of people enjoying the
disaster. But Mattingly
was not there. I went
  across the street to a little coffee shop and drank a cup of hot
chocolate. I'd had a shock and I
needed a hot drink
  and sugar. Slowly I began to feel better. Mattingly was probably on
his way back to Chicago
by car, unless he had a
  private plane waiting for him at Sault Ste Marie's little airport.
  I took a cab to the airport. The daily flight for Chicago left in two
hours and I booked a seat on
it. Sault Ste Marie is
  even smaller than Thunder Bay. A few private planes, Cessnas and the
like, stood at the edge
of the field, and I went
  over to them. A man was lying on his back under a tiny plane.
  'Does Martin Bledsoe keep his plane here?'
  The man looked up at me. 'It was here. His pilot flew it out about
twenty minutes ago. Some
guy came along, said
  Bledsoe wanted Cappy to fly him to Chicago.'
  I was too tired to feel anything - surprise, shock, anger. 'Guy have
bright red hair?'
  'He had red hair all right. Cappy was expecting the guy. Bledsoe
phoned last night and told
him.'
  I went back to the airport building and boarded the plane for
Chicago. I thought I would sleep
on the flight, but my
  mind was too busy. Why would Bledsoe put a bomb on his own ship?
  49
  
  That grey face was real. Perhaps Mattingly had used too much
explosive. Why had Bledsoe
offered to give me a ride
  on his plane, if Mattingly was going to use it? I didn't understand
and I felt bitter. I liked
Bledsoe, and last night I had
  believed him. Had I misjudged his character completely?
  
 Dance for a dead hockey player

  When I got home, I slept for ten hours. The phone woke me: it was
Janet, from Eudora Grain.
She had found out
  Phillips's salary: ninety two thousand dollars. That was a lot of
money for me or for Janet. But
for Phillips ? That
  huge house, the Alfa, expensive schools for the children, expensive
dresses for his wife, the
Maritime Club . . . He
  needed more than ninety two thousand
 
  I sat up in bed, still feeling tired. I phoned Pierre Bouchard and
asked him if he had seen
Mattingly.
  'That man! I avoid him if I can.'
  'Did you go to a Christmas party, where Boom Boom met Paige
Carrington?' I asked.
'Someone interested in the
  Black Hawks gave the party. Do you know who it was?'
  'Oh yes. That party was given by a man called Niels Grafalk.'
  'I see,' I said weakly. 'Thanks very much, Pierre. Let me know if you
hear from Mattingly.'
  So Grafalk had given the party where Boom Boom met Paige. T wondered
who had taken her
to the party.
  I got up and drove over to Boom Boom's apartment. I collected his
important papers for the
lawyer, picked up the
  gold trophy from the living room and some of the photos from the wall
of the study. I looked
at the photo of myself, at
  the University of Chicago, and took it off the wall. I would get
someone to clean the
apartment, and then it could be
  sold.

  51
  
  I put the things into the trunk of the Chevette and drove to the
Port. Late Saturday afternoon
was a strange time to
  visit the Port of Chicago. No one was working and the huge ships lay
sleeping in the water. I
rang the bell at Eudora
  Grain but no one came. From my back pocket I pulled my burglar's
picklocks, and a few
minutes later I was in
  Phillips's office.
  I went through all the files in his office, looking for invoices to
compare with the shipping
contracts. But I couldn't find
  them. Not one. I went through all the files in the other offices.
There wasn't an invoice in the
place.
  I went home and cooked some spaghetti and tomatoes for supper. I
phoned Phillips's house but
he wasn't in.
  'This is V.I. Warshawski,' I told Mrs Phillips. 'Tell him that the
president of Eudora Grain will
want to know where all
  the missing invoices are.'
  I had a bath and dressed for an evening at the theatre. Then I drove
to the Windy City Ballet. It
was already ten
  thirty, and I had missed most of the programme. I made sure that
Paige was, indeed, dancing
tonight, then I went
  into the tiny theatre and watched the last dance. It was complicated,
exciting. Afterwards, I
went backstage and
  waited for Paige in the hall. This time I waited fifty minutes before
she finally appeared.
  'Hello, Paige.'
  She looked surprised. 'Hello, Vic. What questions have you come to
ask me tonight?'
  'I'd like to know who took you to the party where you met Boom Boom.'
  'What?'
  'Remember Niels Grafalk's Christmas party where you met
  52
  Boom Boom? Or have you forgotten that with the rest of the dead
past?'
  Her eyes burned suddenly dark and her face turned red. Without a
word, she lifted her hand to
hit me in the face. I
  caught her wrist and gently pushed her hand to her side.
  'Who took you to the party?' I asked again.
  She moved angrily down the hall. 'None of your business. Now will you
leave the theatre and
don't ever come back.'
  Sunday morning. I went out to buy the Herald-Star and read it over
breakfast. I was half way
through my second cup
  of coffee when I saw the name Mattingly: Mattingly's body had been
found last night in
Kosciuszko Park. He had
  been hit by a car and carried to the park to die.
  I called Bobby Mallory and asked him about Mattingly.
  'You know I don't like you talking about crime with me, Vic. Why are
you interested in
Mattingly?'
  'He played for the Black Hawks, that's all.'
  'Well, he was no good. He owed money to everyone he knew. For once,
you leave this case to
the police.'
  I knew I should tell Bobby what I knew about Mattingly, but I wanted
to talk to Bledsoe first
and find out why
  Mattingly had flown home in his plane.
  I phoned Murray Ryerson at home. 'I'll give you an interview on the
Lucella disaster,' I told
him.
  'What do you know about that?' he asked sharply.
  'I was there. I watched the whole thing happen. I may even have seen
the person who planted
the bomb.'
  'I don't believe you're calling me about this! What do you want from
me, Vic?'
  53
  
  I asked Murray about Mattingly.
  'A small-time criminal. No good. Avoided prison. Desperate for money.
Out of town before
his death.'
  'What shoes was he wearing?'
  There was silence. 'You're thinking of the footprint in Boom Boom's
apartment,' Murray said
at last. 'I don't know, but
  I'll find out.'
  There was nothing more I could do until tomorrow. I went outside and
got Boom Boom's
papers and pictures from
  the trunk and took them up to my apartment. As I unlocked the door,
I dropped everything.
The trophy and pictures
  fell with crash. The glass over the pictures shattered and I got a
box for the pieces of glass. As
I took the broken
  glass from the photo of me, two pieces of paper slid out from behind
the picture.
  One piece of paper was an invoice from the Grafalk Steamship Line to
the Eudora Grain
Company, showing load by
  ship, date of departure and arrival. The second piece 0 paper,
written in Boom Boom's tiny
handwriting, listed six
  dates when Pole Star had lost contracts to Grafalk.
  I poured myself a drink. Boom Boom had called me about hi i
information and had put the
papers behind my picture
  t l prevent anyone else from finding them. A stab of pain hit m l
chest. I missed Boom Boom
terribly. I wanted to cry,
  but n tears would come.
  I wondered if it was time to let the police question everyone The
answer to everything lay in
Boom Boom's papers. I'd
  give myself twenty four more hours, then turn it over to Bobby.
  54
  
  10 Unloading
  The next morning I phoned Phillips again. Mrs Phillips said her
husband wasn't in and she
didn't know when he
  would be. She sounded afraid.
  I sat at my kitchen table and went through the copies of the shipping
contracts from Eudora
Grain until I found one
  that matched the invoice I had from Boom Boom. It was for three
million bushels of grain
going from Chicago to
  Buffalo on 24 July 1981. The price in the contract with Grafalk was
thirty three cents per
bushel. The invoice from
  Grafalk had charged thirty five cents. Two cents a bushel on three
million bushels. Came to
sixty thousand dollars.
  Boom Boom's list of six dates when Pole Star lost contracts to
Grafalk was even more
surprising. On the contracts I
  had got from Janet, Grafalk was listed as offering the lowest price.
But Boom Boom's list
showed Pole Star's offer as
  the lowest.
  It was time to get some explanations from these guys. I wished I had
the Smith and Wesson,
lying at the bottom of
  the Poe Lock. I put all the papers back into the bag and drove to
Eudora Grain. Phillips wasn't
there. Not at home
  and not at the office. I went to Grafalk's office. He wasn't there
either.
  I walked over to Pole Star. The office manager was busy with phone
calls from newspapers
about the Lucella's
  accident. She told me Martin was down at Plymouth Iron and Steel, on
the Gertrude Ruttan,
another sixteen
  kilometres around the lake to the east.
  56
  The streets there were dirty and poor, reminding me of South Chicago
where I grew up. I
found Bledsoe on the wharf,
  watching the ship unloading coal on to the great hills of coal on the
wharf. It was three days
since I'd seen him, and
  he looked thinner. It was shockingly noticeable - he must have lost
four kilos.
  'Marlin,' I said. 'Good to see you.'
  He smiled. 'Vic! How did you find me? Do you want to watch from the
ship?' He went to his
car and got another hard
  hat from the trunk for me. We went up on to the deck and watched the
coal coming up from
the holds. Bledsoe was
  clearly uneasy, and couldn't stand still. He caught me watching him.
  'I'm constantly worried about all my ships now,' he said. 'It will be
ten months before they can
get the Lucella out of
  the Poe Lock.'
  'Can you save the ship?'
  'Oh yes, I think so. Sheridan's been all over it with the guys who
built her. They'll take her out
in pieces, back to
  Toledo, and then put her together again. She should be sailing again
in eighteen months.'
  'Who pays to repair the lock?'
  'I don't know, but I wasn't responsible for that bomb.'
  Suddenly we heard a loud whistle and the noise of the machinery
stopped.
  - 'What's wrong?' Bledsoe called. 'Why have you stopped?'
  Shouts came from inside the hold.
  I started down the ladder into the hold and Bledsoe followed. Six or
seven men were down
there, looking at
  something in the coal. I pushed past them.
  57
  
  Clayton Phillips was staring up at me. His body was covered with
coal. The pale brown eyes
were open. There was
  blood on his face and a large hole in the left side of his head.
  'It's Phillips,' Bledsoe said, his voice tight.
  'Yes. We'll have to call the police. You and I have a few questions
to discuss, Martin.' I turned
to the group of men.
  'Don't touch anything. We'll get the police over here.'
  58
  Bledsoe followed me up the ladder to the deck and off the ship. We
used the Plymouth offices
to call the police, and
  then went outside again.
  'Come on, Martin. Explain things to me.'
  He looked at me angrily. 'You owe me an explanation. You're the
clever detective. You're
always around when
  disasters hit Pole Star.'
  'Why did Mattingly fly back to Chicago on your plane?'
  'Who's Mattingly?'
  'You don't know Mattingly? Then who did you send back to Chicago on
your plane?'
  'I didn't. Cappy says I phoned from Thunder Bay and told him to fly
someone back to
Chicago. But I didn't. You
  clearly know who this guy is, so you tell me about it.'
  I looked at the blue green water. 'Howard Mattingly played ice hockey
for the Chicago Black
Hawks. He was killed
  on Saturday morning, but on Friday he was up at the Poe Lock. He was
the guy who flew in
your plane back to
  Chicago. And he was the one who exploded the bomb on the Lucella - I
watched him do it.'
  Bledsoe grabbed my arm in anger. 'Why haven't you told the police
I've been talking for two
days and you - you've
  been hiding this information.'
  I pulled my arm away and spoke coldly. 'I only realized later. I
didn't recognize Mattingly
immediately. And then I
  found he had gone back to Chicago on your plane and that upset me. I
wanted to talk to you
about it first, before I
  told the police. And now I'd like to know where you were yesterday
morning, when Phillips
went missing.'
  His eyes were dark pools of anger in his face. 'How dare
  59
  
 you!' he shouted.
 'Martin: listen to me. The police are going to ask that
 question, and you'll have to answer.'
 'I was at the Poe Lock until late yesterday. I only came back
 to Chicago about ten last night.'
 'Where was the Gertrude Ruttan?'
 'She came into the Port on Saturday afternoon and has been
 tied up here all weekend.'
 'I want to know why you let so many contracts go to Grafalk
 when you offered a lower price. Why?'
 He shook his head impatiently. 'I didn't kill your cousin,
 Warshawski. If anyone did, it was Grafalk. Why don't you find
 out how he blew up my ship and forget these contracts?'
 'Martin, it seems that you and Grafalk were helping each
 other on those contracts. Mattingly flew back to Chicago in
 your plane and Phillips's body was found on your ship. If I had
 all that information, I wouldn't look further - if I was a cop.'
 'All right. It's true,' he shouted. 'I did let Niels have some of
 my orders. Are you going to put me in prison for it?'
 I didn't say anything.
 After a pause, he continued more calmly. 'I was trying to
 borrow money to buy the Lucella. Niels was getting desperate
 for orders. He couldn't get enough, because of those small ships
 of his. He told me he would tell the Fort Dearborn Trust about
 my time in prison if I didn't give him some of my orders.'
 'Could that really have hurt you?'
 He gave a bitter smile. 'I didn't want to find out. I was trying
 to borrow fifty million dollars. I couldn't see any bank giving
 me anything if they knew I'd been in prison for two years for
 stealing.'
 60
 'I see. And then what?'
 'Oh, as soon as the Lucella was mine I told Niels to tell
 anyone he wanted. I was making money with the Lucella and no
 one would care about my past. Niels was furious.'
 'It's a big jump from getting a few shipping orders to blowing
 up your ship.'
 He insisted that no one else cared enough. We talked about
 it for half an hour or more, but he wouldn't change his mind. I
 told him finally that I'd investigate Niels too.
 

  11 A house of mourning
  I woke up early the next morning. I ran slowly over to Belmont
Harbour and back. I only did
three kilometres instead
  of my normal eight, but the ache returned to my left shoulder. I took
a long shower and rubbed
some oil into the
  painful muscles.
  I was on the road by nine o'clock. My first stop was the Title Of
fice at City Hall, where
owners of all the buildings in
  Chicago are listed. A clerk showed me a heavy book which listed the
owners of buildings in
Astor Street. Paige's
  apartment was owned by the Fort Dearborn Trust. Number 1123785-G.
  Curiouser and curiouser. I went out to find a phone. I'd been to Law
School with a woman
who worked for the Fort
  Dearborn Trust. I thought I'd call her and remind her that we were
friends.
  The information was confidential, she told me. She would be thrown
out of the bank if she told
me. I finally
  persuaded her that the Herald-Star would get the information for me,
if she didn't.
  'You haven't changed a bit, Vic. I remember how you always persuaded
people to do things for
you at school.'
  I laughed, and she agreed to call me at home that night with the name
of the person behind the
number.
  I then called Murray. 'You've given us a story for the front page
tomorrow,' he said.
  'What are you Balking about?'
  'Thee Arroyo walking boot. Mattingly was wearing them
  62
  when he died, and we're sure they match the footprint the police
found in Boom Boom's place.
Got any ocher news?'
  'No. I was hoping that you might have something for me. Talk to you
later.'
  I drove through the traffic to the Kennedy Expressway. The weather
had finally warmed up a
little. Under a clear blue
  sky, trees along the expressway put out green leaves cowards the sun.
Off the Kennedy to the
Edens, past the
  painfully eddy houses of the Northwest Side where people spent their
salaries with anxious
care, through the
  wealthier suburbs of Lincolnwood and Stokie, on to the Tri-State
Expressway and the
northern areas of the very
  rich.
  I drove past the Phillips's house and parked the Chevette on the
road. Phillips's green Alfa was
parked in front of the
  house, next to a red Monte Carlo. And a silver Audi 5000. The sight
of the Audi stopped my
heart for a moment.
  An older woman answered the door. 'Are you one of Jeannine's friends?
She's sitting through
here. It's awfully nice of
  you to visit.' Her eyes reminded me of her daughter, but her dress
looked inexpensive.
  Jeannine was sitting in the pale blue living room at the back. Her
face was carefully made up
and it was difficult to
  see how she felt about her husband's death. Across the room, feet on
the chair under her, see
Paige Carringeon.
  She put down her teacup with a crash on a glass coffee cable at her
left arm.
  'Vic! I won't allow it! Are you following me everywhere?'
  'I thought I recognized your Audi out there,' I remarked.
  'No, you must go away. I'm not answering any questions now,' Jeannine
said. 'My - my
husband died yesterday.'
  Paige turned to her. 'Has she been after you, too?'
  63
  
  'Yes. She was out here last week asking me a lot of questions about
my life as a businessman's
wife. What was
  she talking to you about?'
  'My private life.' Paige's gold coloured eyes watched me.
  'I didn't follow you here, Paige. I came to see Mrs Phillips. Though
I'm curious about who's
paying for your apartment.
  Astor Place - that's got to cost more than eight hundred a month in
rent.'
  Paige's face turned white under her make-up. 'You must be joking,
Vic. If you bother me any
further, I'll call the
  police.'
  'I'm not bothering you at all. As I said, I came here to see Mrs
Phillips. I'm afraid I'm a
detective, Mrs Phillips, and
  last week I was trying to find out if your husband attempted to
murder me two weeks ago.'
  Her tightly closed mouth dropped open with surprise.
  'Your husband had a lot of money beyond his salary. I'd like to talk
to you privately about it.
Unless you want your
  mother and Ms Carrington to hear.'
  Tears began to run through the make-up on her cheeks. 'He promised me
no one would ever
know.'
  'What are you talking about?' her mother asked. 'Clayton had a very
good salary at Eudora
Grain.'
  'That's OK, Mother. I'd better talk to this woman.' She turned to
Paige and said with sudden
bitterness, 'I suppose
  you know all about it.'
  Paige gave her triangular smile. 'I know quite a bit of it. Talk to
Vic, Jeannine. If you don't,
she'll only come in
  uninvited and search the house for your bank books.' She moved over
to Jeannine's chair and
kissed the air by her
  cheek. 'I'll see you at the funeral tomorrow afternoon - unless you
want me to come
  64
  again before then.'
  'No, that's all right, dear,' Jeannine's mother said. 'We'll manage.'
She left the room behind
Paige.
  I looked after them puzzled. Those last words sounded too friendly.
'How do you know Paige?'
I asked.
  Jeannine turned her tearful face to me. 'How do I know her? She's my
sister.'
  'Your sister!' I sat down. 'Did you take her to the party where she
met Boom Boom
Warshawski?'
  She looked surprised. 'What party was that?'
  'Niels Grafalk had a party at Christmas. My cousin Boom Boom went
along with some other
hockey players. I want
  to know who took Paige.'
  Jeannine swallowed a strange smile. 'That party. No, we didn't go. If
you want to know who
Paige went with, though,
  you ask her.'
  I looked at her narrowly. She knew, but she wouldn't tell. 'Tell me
about the invoices,
Jeannine. I called about them
  Saturday night. What did your husband do when he got my message?'
  She began to cry again, but in the end she told me that when Clayton
got the message he made
a phone call. He
  left the house a few minutes later, at about one thirty Sunday
morning. That was the last time
she ever saw him.
  'Now tell me about the invoices. He would write down one price in the
Eudora Grain books,
but send an invoice at a
  higher price. Is that right?'
  'You don't understand!' She stared at me with angry eyes. 'I hated
Park Forest South! I wanted
to live in a wealthy
  part of Chicago, with a bigger house and better neighbours.'
  65

    
  'So your husband's salary wasn't enough for you.'
  'He - he didn't do it with all the invoices, only about ten per
cent.'
  'And then my cousin found out. He was going through the papers, and
he compared some
invoices with the contract
  orders.'
  'It was terrible,' she gasped. 'He was going to tell the
  president of Eudora Grain. It would have been the end of Clayton's
job. We would lose the
house, the club. It would
  have been the end of Stop
  'Stop it,' I said coldly. 'It was a choice between the Maritime Club
and my cousin's life.'
  She didn't say anything. I took her by the shoulders and I shook her.
'Answer me! You decided
to kill my cousin to
  keep yourself in expensive clothes. Is that what happened? Is it?'
  In my anger I had lifted her from her chair and was shaking her. Mrs
Carrington came into the
room.
  'What's happening here?' She took my arm. 'I think you must go now.
If you don't leave, I'll
call the police.'
  Somehow I heard her scratchy voice and forced my anger back. 'You're
right. I'm sorry, Mrs
Carrington.' I turned to
  Jeannine. 'Just one more question before I leave you to your
mourning. What part did Paige
play in all this?'
  'Paige?' she whispered, rubbing her shoulders. She gave the secret
smile I'd seen earlier. 'Oh,
Paige watched Boom
  Boom. But you'd better talk to her. She hasn't told you my secrets.
I won't tell you hers.'
  'That's right,' Mrs Carrington said. 'You girls must be good to each
other. You only have each
other.'
  'As well as your expensive homes in Lake Bluff and Astor Place,' I
said.
  
  12 A question money
  I was sick by the side of the road as soon as I got out of the house.
I walked slowly down the
road to the Chevette
  and see in it for a long time. My shoulder ached and I felt a sharp
pain across my chest every
time I breathed. I had
  found out about Boom Boom's death. My face felt wet. I passed a hand
across my eyes,
expecting to find blood. I
  was crying.
  After a while I looked at my watch. It was one o'clock. I started the
engine and slowly Burned
the car and drove up
  the road past the Phillips's house to the Grafalks'.
  I climbed the shallow wide seeps to the front door and rang the bell.
  Mrs Grafalk opened the door. She was dressed to go out, in a pink
silk suit. Her eyes were
sharp but not unfriendly.
  I handed her my card. 'I'm a detective. I wane to talk to you about
Clayton and Jeannine
Phillips.'
  An expression of dislike crossed her face. 'I can't tell you much
about them. Clayton is - was, I
should say - a
  business friend of my husband's. Clayton helped Niels in some way and
Niels introduced them
at the Maritime Club
  because he was grateful. I tried to interest Jeannine in what I do -
collecting money for the
poor in Waukegan - but
  she can only think of her clothes. Does that answer your questions?
I'm afraid I must go now.
I'm on my way to a
  meeting.'
  She came out of the door, moving quickly to the Bentley parked in
front.
  68
  Slowly driving back to Chicago, I thought about Mrs Grafalk's
remarks. How could Clayton
have helped Grafalk? Had
  he given Grafalk some of the money he had stolen from Eudora Grain?
But what did Grafalk
need a few thousand
  dollars for? I remembered thee Grafalk's ships were all smaller
ships, and that the three
hundred metre ships were
  more efficient.. Suddenly, I saw the whole thing. I even had an idea
where Clayton Phillips
had been murdered and
  how his body had been carried on to the Gertrude Ruttan
  I parked the Chevette and ate a chicken sandwich at a little bar
behind the Ajax Insurance
Company building. Then I
  went into the Ajax building and asked to see the person dealing with
the fifty million dollar
bill Ajax was going to pay
  for the Lucella. Finally, they sent me up to the fifty third floor,
to the Special Risks
Department. Roger Ferrant had
  come over from London to deal with the insurance problems of the
Lucella.
  'I may have some information for you about the accident to the
Lucella,' I told him.
  Roger Ferrant was very tall, with long brown hair falling over his
eyes, and he spoke with an
English accent. We see
  down in chairs near the window.
  'I'm investigating the murder of a young man at Eudora Grain,' I went
on. 'I was on board the
Lucella when she blew
  up, and I'm sure the two crimes are connected. I'd like to ask you
some questions. First of all,
what's happening to
  the ships on the Great Lakes since the accident at the Poe Lock? Can
ships still gee through?'
  'Well, ships can still use the ocher rocks,' Ferrant explained, 'but
the biggest ships are shut off
from the upper lakes
  for a year - until the Poe is fixed.'
  69
  
  'So the smaller ships have an advantage?'
  He smiled. 'Until the Poe is fixed.'
  'How profitable is the Grafalk Steamship Line?'
  He looked at me in surprise. 'Grafalk's is the biggest shipping
company on the lakes.'
  'I know - but do they make money? Grafalk has only small ships and I
understand they are
unprofitable.'
  Ferrant shook his head. 'All we do is insure the ships. Why do you
want to know, Miss
Warshawski?'
  'There has to be a reason for the bombing of the Lucella. I'm trying
to find out if that reason
was to give the smaller
  ships an advantage. Grafalk is profiting from this accident. I want
to know how successful his
business is.'
  Ferrant looked amused. 'You certainly look for the less pleasant side
of human nature . . . I'll
get the files.'
  He asked his secretary to bring him five years of Grafalk Steamship
files and after a few
minutes a middle aged
  woman in a smart business suit came into the office with a pile of
files.
  Ferrant was suddenly enthusiastic. 'Now we'll see the whole picture:
workers' insurance and
cargo insurance as well
  as the ship insurance which I deal with. You go through the workers'
insurance files and find
out how many people
  sail for him every year. Then we can guess his costs. I'll go through
the cargo insurance files
and see how much he's
  earning.'
  I sat down at a round wooden table and began going through the files.
We worked through the
day, and it became
  clear that each year it cost Grafalk about a hundred and twenty
million dollars to run the
Steamship Line; and that
  for the last five years his ships had made no more than a hundred
million dollars a year.
  70
  'That answers your question all right,' Ferrant said. 'Grafalk is
definitely losing money.' He
closed the file in front of
  him.
  'Where's Grafalk been getting the money to pay the Steamship bills?'
I asked.
  'He has a profitable railway that connects the Port of Buffalo with
Baltimore. And he owns a
computer company. He
  must have used profits from those businesses to help the Steamship
Line.'
  I asked Ferrant if I could use the phone. My answering machine told
me that the woman at the
Fort Dearborn Trust
  had left a message that I could call her at home.
  'Hello, Vic. I got the information you wanted.'
  'I hope you've not lost your job.'
  She gave a little laugh. 'No - but you owe me some free detective
work. Anyway, the building
is owned by a Niels
  Grafalk - Vic. Are you there? Hello?'
  'Thanks, Adrienne,' I said mechanically. 'Let me know when you need
the detective work.'
  Ferrant looked at me politely. 'Something wrong?'
  'Nothing I hadn't suspected since this morning. But it's upsetting
anyway - Grafalk owns
buildings as well as
  everything else.'
  'You know, Miss Warshawski, you're being terribly mysterious. Would
you mind telling me
what's going on?'
  'Some other time. There's someone I need to talk to. I'm sorry, but
I must go.'
  I left and drove to Astor Place, a huge pink brick building. I rang
the bell to Paige's apartment,
and when her voice
  came through on the house phone I said it was Jeannine and she told
me to come in.
  71
  
 Paige was waiting at the top of the stairs.
 'What brings you to the city, Jeannine?' she was saying as my
 head came into sight. She stopped in surprise for a second too
 long. I reached the door before she started to shut it and pushed
 my way inside her apartment.
 'We're going to talk, Paige.'
 'I have nothing to say to you. Get out of here before I call the
 police.'
 I sat down and looked around the large, light room.
 Expensive gold curtains hung at the windows. 'The police will
 be very interested in your part in Boom Boom's death. Please do
 call them.'
 'They think it's an accident.'
 'But do you, dear Paige? Do you think it was?'
 She turned her face away, biting her lip.
 'Jeannine told me this morning you were watching my
 cousin. I thought she meant for her and Clayton. But she wasn't
 talking about them, was she? No. You were watching him for
 Grafalk.'
 She didn't say anything.
 'How long have you been Grafalk's mistress?'
 Colour stained her cheeks. 'What an offensive remark. I have
 nothing to say to you.'
 'Then I'll have to do all the talking. You tell me if I'm wrong.
 Niels knew that Clayton was cheating Eudora Grain. He
 promised to keep quiet if Clayton gave Grafalk more shipping
 orders.'
 'I don't know anything about the Grafalk Steamship Line.
 I've only met Niels Grafalk at my sister's house.'
 'Oh, nonsense, Paige. Grafalk owns this building.'
 72
 'How do you know that?' she demanded. 'Did Jeannine tell
 you?'
 'No, Paige. Your sister kept your secret. But names of
 property owners are public in Chicago. Now tell me why you
 watched Boom Boom for Niels?'
 'Vic, I had no choice. Niels pays for everything. This place,
 all the furniture. My bills. My clothes. I owe him so much. It
 seemed easy to go out with your cousin a few times and see if he
 had learned anything about the Eudora Grain invoices. I liked
 Boom Boom, Vic. When I told Niels that Boom Boom had
 found out the truth, he wanted Clayton to get rid of Boom
 Boom immediately. But I told him not to.' She lifted her chin
 and looked at me proudly. 'We went sailing on that Saturday
 and Niels tried to persuade Boom Boom to keep quiet. On
 Monday, Clayton had a terrible row with Boom Boom. But
 then - then he slipped and fell. That accident was a good thing.
 I was afraid Niels might do something desperate.'
 I was silent. I couldn't find words that matched my horror
 and anger. Finally I whispered, 'What about Clayton? Were you
 with Niels Sunday morning when he put a big hole in the side of
 Clayton's head?'
 She looked at me with gentle blame. 'I don't think you should
 talk to me like that, Vic. You may not like Niels, but he is my
 lover.'
 I gave a burst of mad laughter. 'Why should I care about you
 and Grafalk? It's what the two of you did to my cousin that I
 care about.'
 Paige looked at her watch. 'Yes, well, I've told you how
 much I owe Niels. He's coming over in a few minutes, too, so
 unless you want to meet him I suggest you leave.'
 73
 

  I got up. 'There never were any love letters, were there? It was the
copy of Grafalk's invoice
you were looking for in
  Boom Boom's apartment the day after the funeral, wasn't it? If it
was, I've found it.'
  13 The fire ship
   
  Back outside I sat on the steps, unable to move any further. The day
had started out at
Jeannine's with the fact that
  her husband had pushed Boom Boom under the Bertha Krupnik. Now came
the news that
Paige had gone out with
  Boom Boom only to spy on him for Grafalk. What good would it do Boom
Boom if I could
prove Grafalk had ordered
  his death? Revenge brings only limited pleasure. The one thing I
might be able to prove was
that Grafalk murdered
  Phillips. I knew the cops wouldn't believe Grafalk was a murderer
without proof. But if I could
find a witness,
  someone who saw Grafalk and Phillips on his boat Sunday morning - or
if there were some
bloodstains on Grafalk's
  boat . . .
  I stood up and went to my car. At home I put some plastic bags in my
pocket and a small knife
to cut up a piece of
  deck or carpet with blood on it. Then I went out to the car and drove
to the lake. Instead of
turning south on Green
  Bay for Lake Bluff, I went on to Sheridan Road and turned left,
following the road up to the
harbour.
  A guard was on duty at the entrance. I gave him a bright smile. 'I'm
Niels Grafalk's niece. He's
expecting me to join a
  party on his yacht.'
  'Down to the wharf, then turn left. You can't miss it - it's the
biggest boat there.'
  I followed the road down to the lake. It was nearly six, and
   the sun was low in the sky. Grafalk's yacht was beautiful, in the
  75
  
  golden light of spring. Painted white and green, she floated easily
against the ropes that held
her to the wharf, like a
  beautiful sea bird.
  I parked the Chevette and walked out to the boat. I pulled myself on
to the deck and began to
examine the deck, on
  hands and knees, like a real detective. I found two short pale brown
hairs caught in the deck at
the top of the ladder.
  I pulled out the hairs and put them in a little plastic bag. Then I
went downstairs.
  The door was locked and it took me a few minutes to force it open.
There were several
bedrooms and a kitchen and
  bathroom, but I didn't think Grafalk and Phillips would have fought
in there. I went into the
sitting room. I noticed that
  in front of the small electric fire, the thick green carpet looked a
different colour. I went over
and knelt down near it:
  the carpet was wet and there was a strong smell of cleaner, but there
was no blood. I found
another hair. Perhaps
  the police with their equipment would be able to find blood.
  With my knife, I cut a small piece of carpet from the place where I'd
found the hair. As I put
the piece into another
  plastic bag, I heard a noise on the deck. Then footsteps. Someone had
come on to the boat. I
put the plastic bag
  into my pocket. Holding the knife firmly, I went to the door. I heard
the sound of voices, and
then the engine started
  and the boat began moving slowly backwards.
  I looked around for a hiding place. There was none. Finally, I heard
a footstep on the stairs.
  'Miss Warshawski, I know you're there. I saw your car on the wharf.'
It was Grafalk.
  My stomach turned over. I felt too weak to speak. I breathed
  76
  slowly and stepped out of the door.
  'Good evening, Mr Grafalk. My voice didn't shake and I was pleased
with myself.
  'I think we can talk more easily down here,' Grafalk said. 'Sandy
will be able to manage the
boat alone for a while.'
  He took my arm and moved me back into the sitting room. 'Do sit down,
Miss Warshawski.
You know, by now you
  should be
  77
  
  dead several times. You're a survivor. And your discoveries, as I
learned from Paige, are really
very accurate.'
  I sat down in one of the chairs near the table. 'Thank you, Mr
Grafalk.'
  Grafalk opened the drinks cupboard. 'A drink, Vic? You don't mind if
I call you that, do you?'
He sat down opposite
  and poured himself a glass of whisky. There was an expression of
excitement on his face. 'By
the way, who are you
  working for? Not Martin, I hope.'
  'I'm working for my cousin.'
  'Revenge. I see. Paige says you don't believe Boom Boom's death was
an accident.'
  'You told Phillips to kill my cousin. You told Mattingly to search
Boom Boom's apartment,
and he killed the night
  watchman. You told Phillips to damage my car, and I was nearly
killed. You told Mattingly to
blow up the Lucella,
  and then you killed Mattingly. Oh yes. And then you killed Phillips.'
  Grafalk poured himself some more whisky. 'Mattingly did most of the
damage, and he's dead.
Right now, the police
  seem extremely uninterested in me.'
  'When they have the proof that Phillips received his head wound here,
their interest will catch
fire.'
  'Yes, but who's going to tell them? I won't. And you, I'm afraid,
aren't going to be with us
when we return to harbour.
  So you won't.'
  He was trying to frighten me and succeeding very well. 'Phillips
called you Saturday night
after he got my message,
  didn't he?' I asked.
  'Yes. I'm afraid Clayton was breaking down. He was clever enough, but
he worried about
details too much. He knew
  that
  78
   
  if you told the president of Eudora about the invoices, his job would
be finished.'
  'Why did you kill him, though? You own the Steamship Line - how could
it harm you if the
public discovered you
  cheated Eudora Grain? You can't lose your job.'
  'Oh, I agree. Unfortunately, Clayton knew my feelings towards Martin
too well. He suspected I
was responsible for
  the accident to the Lucella, and he threatened to tell the police if
I didn't help him with the
president of Eudora.'
  'So you put a hole in his head and sailed him down to the Port.
Putting him on one of Bledsoe's
ships was a clever
  idea.'
  Grafalk was annoyed that I had guessed so easily. 'I won't take those
risks with you, Vic. I'll
leave you a couple of
  kilometres from shore, with a good strong weight to hold you down.'
  I have always been afraid of death by drowning more than any other
end - the deep water
pulling me down into itself.
  My hands were trembling a little. I pushed them against my legs so
that Grafalk couldn't see.
  'I didn't realize how much you hated Bledsoe. You threatened him
while he was trying to
borrow money to buy the
  Lucella, but once he'd got the ship he stopped giving you contracts.
That's when you got
Mattingly to put water in
  the Lucella's holds.'
  Grafalk wasn't so calm now. 'How'd you know that?' he asked sharply.
  'Boom Boom saw Mattingly at the Port . . . But what I really want to
know is how long the
Grafalk Steamship Line
  has been losing money?'
  He got up with a sudden movement that knocked his whisky
  79
  
  glass over. 'Who told you that?'
  'Niels, it's obvious. Grafalk Steamship is the only thing you really
care about. Your argument
with Bledsoe at lunch,
  my first day at the Port, was about getting rid of your unprofitable
old ships.'
  He pushed the bottle of whisky from the table with a violent movement
and sent it flying
against the wall. It broke and
  a shower of glass and whisky hit my back.
  'I never thought the new ships would be profitable,' he shouted.
'They're too big. There weren't
many ports that could
  take them. I was sure they wouldn't succeed.' His face was angry.
'But then I started losing
orders. And Martin! I
  saved him from prison. I gave him his old life back. And how did he
thank me? By building
that Lucella Wieser right
  under my nose.'
  'Why didn't you build your own?'
  'I couldn't afford to. My other businesses were paying the Steamship
bills, and I was losing so
much money that I
  couldn't find anyone to lend me more. I wished I could blow up all my
ships and collect the
insurance. Then I had a
  better idea. Get rid of the Lucella and close the upper lakes to the
bigger ships at the same
time. I can't keep the
  Poe Lock shut forever, but I can make enough money in the next twelve
months to start
building some new ships
  next year. And Martin should be finished by then.' He laughed
crazily.
  'I see.' I felt tired and miserable. I couldn't think of any way to
stop him.
  The anger had disappeared from Grafalk's face and the expression of
excitement returned.
'And now, Vic, I want you
  to come on deck with me.'
  I pulled my knife from my pocket. Grafalk smiled at it.
  80
  'Don't make it difficult for yourself, Vic. I'll kill you before you
go overboard - no unpleasant
drowning for you.'
  My heart was beating fast but my hands were calm. Grafalk started
around the table for me. I
let him follow until my
  back was to the door. I turned and ran down the hall, cutting through
my shirt with the knife as
I ran. I cut my arm
  and blood rolled down it to my hand.
  In the dining room I kicked over a cupboard with glasses in it. The
cupboard crashed to the
floor. I ran behind the
  table and wiped my bleeding arm on the curtains.
  'What are you doing?' Grafalk shouted.
  'Leaving something for the police,' I gasped. I drew the knife across
the table and then began
to cut the chairs.
  Grafalk stood still for a moment and then came forward again. I slid
a chair in his path and
turned into the kitchen.
  The gas cooker stood there and a mad idea grabbed me. I turned the
cooker on and a blue
flame shot up. As Grafalk
  came through the door at me I tore a curtain down and dropped it on
the flame. It caught fire
immediately. I waved
  the curtain around like a torch and the other curtains caught fire.
  Grafalk dived at me and I jumped out of the way. He fell, heavily,
and I ran with my torch
back to the dining room
  where I set the curtains on fire. Grafalk ran after me with a fire
extinguisher which he directed
at the curtains. I ran
  back down the hall and up the stairs to the deck. Grafalk ran behind
me. 'Stop her, Sandy! Stop
her!'
  A sandy-haired man at the wheel looked up. I ran to the back of the
boat. It was dark now and
the water was black.
  Lights from other boats shone far away and I screamed hopelessly for
help.
  
  Grafalk ran on to the deck towards me, a mad expression on his face,
the fire extinguisher held
in front of him. I
  breathed deeply and jumped overboard. The water was very cold. For a
minute, thinking of the
deep water stretching
  beneath me, terror held me. I forced myself to breathe deeply, to
stay calm. I kicked off my
shoes, then reached into
  the water and pulled off my socks and shirt. The yacht, its sails up,
was moving at a good
speed and had gone
  some nine metres past me.
  I was alone in the icy river. I might last twenty minutes - not
enough time to swim to shore.
My left shoulder ached
  from the cold. The yacht started to turn. Swimming on my back, I saw
Grafalk on the deck. I
was close enough to
  see his white hair and the gun in his hand.
  Something exploded - probably the gas in the kitchen - and a small
fireball flew up and landed
on the deck. Sandy
  appeared next to Grafalk and jumped into the water. Grafalk shook his
arms in anger. His gun
in his hand, he
  searched the water for me and found me. He pointed the gun and stood
there for a long minute.
I was too frozen to
  do anything except move my legs mechanically up and down.
  Suddenly he dropped the gun over the side and raised his right arm in
a greeting to me. Slowly
he walked towards
  the fire behind him. And then the yacht exploded.
  14 The long goodbye
  We sat outside, looking at Lake Michigan. The water, blue under a
soft summer sky, moved
gently over the sand
  below us. The May day was bright and clear, although the air was cool
out of the sun.
  Claire Grafalk was wearing a grey dress and a heavy pearl necklace.
She poured me a glass of
wine. 'Now. I must
  hear what happened. The papers gave only a few details. What happened
to Niels's boat?'
  'There was an accident in the kitchen and the ship caught fire.' This
was the answer I had given
to the police and to
  Murray Ryerson, after a passing boat had rescued me from the icy
water, and I wasn't going to
change it now.
  Mrs Grafalk shook her head forcefully. 'No, my dear. That won't do.
The president of Ajax
Insurance Company came
  to visit me two days ago with an extraordinary story. That Grafalk
Steamship was losing
money and you suspected
  Niels had blown up Martin's ship.'
  I put the wine glass down. 'And what do you want me to tell you?'
  She looked at me sharply. 'The truth. I still have to deal with this
matter. I shall have to do
something with the
  Grafalk Steamship Line. Martin Bledsoe would be the best person to
have the company now.
But I must know the
  whole story before I talk to him or to my lawyers.'
  'I don't have any proof. Wouldn't you prefer to let the dead
  83
  
 bury the dead?'
 'Miss Warshawski. For more than ten years Niels and I have
 lived separate lives. Neither of our children were interested in
 Grafalk Steamship and Niels couldn't think of anything else.
 During the past eight or nine months, Niels was growing more
 and more peculiar. I want to know why you were on Niels's
 boat and how it came to burn up.'
 
 I drank some more wine. If anyone had the right to know,
 Claire Grafalk did. I told her the whole story, beginning with
 Boom Boom's death and ending with the icy waters of Lake
 Michigan.
 'And the proof of Clayton's death?'
 I shook my head. 'I still have the plastic bags. But I don't
 want to use them. There's no one left for the police to deal with.
 I don't think the government will be able to prove that Niels
 blew up the Lucella.'
 Claire looked away from me and said in a flat voice, 'Niels
 left Paige Carrington a building on Astor Place.'
 I breathed deeply. Paige was the place that still hurt, the pain
 in the chest every time I thought of her.
 Mrs Grafalk still didn't look at me. 'She's in London now,
 with another wealthy ship owner.'
 'Do you mind so much?' I asked gently.
 Tears shone in her bright eyes, but she gave a trembling
 smile. 'Do I mind? Niels has been dead to me for many years.
 But once - it was different. Because of the man I once loved, I
 would have liked to see her mourn.'



Her back to me Paige Carrington sat at Boom Boom's desk.
I heard glass shatter.
A horrific sight met me.
I put my hand on the horn and kept it there.
Now who's doing the spying, Mr Grafalk?
Thirty metres above us the water rushed.
Two pieces of paper slid out from behind the picture.
Clayton Phillips was staring up at me.
You decided to kill my cousin to keep yourself in expensive clothes.
Do sit down Miss Warshawski.
I would have liked to see her mourn.