Indemnity Only

by Sara Paretsky

  Beer is not my usual drink, but it was probably the best thing to order on an all-day pub crawl. It wouldn’t make me drunk. Or at least not as quickly as wine or liquor.

  “I’d like a draft, “I said.

  He went to his spigots and filled a glass with pale yellow and foam. When he brought it back to me, I pulled out my folder. “You ever seen these two guys come in here?” I asked.

  He gave me a sour look. “What are you, a cop or something?”

  “Yes,” I said. “Have you ever seen these two guys in here together?”

  “I’d better get the boss on this one,” he said. Raising his voice, he called “Herman!” and a heavy man in a polyester suit got up from the booth at the far end of the room. I hadn’t noticed him when I came in, but now I saw that another waitress was sitting in the booth. The two were sharing a late lunch after the hectic noon-hour rush.

  The heavy man joined the bartender behind the bar.

  “What’s up, Luke?”

  Luke jerked his head toward me. “Lady’s got a question.” He went back to his glasses, stacking them in careful pyramids on either side of the cash register. Herman came down toward me. His heavyset face looked tough but not mean. “What do you want, ma’am?”

  I pulled my photos out again. “I’m trying to find out if these two men have ever been in here together,” I said in a neutral voice.

  “You got a legal reason for asking?”

  I pulled my P.I. license from my handbag. “I’m a private investigator. There’s a grand jury investigation and there’s some question of collusion between a witness and a juror.” I showed him the ID.

  He looked at the ID briefly, grunted, and tossed it back to me. “Yeah, I see you’re a private investigator, all right. But I don’t know about this grand jury story. I know this guy.” He tapped Masters’s picture. “He works up at Ajax. Doesn’t come in here often, maybe three times a year, but he’s been doing it as long as I’ve owned the place.”

  I didn’t say anything, but took a swallow of beer. Anything tastes good when your throat is dry from embarrassment.

  “Tell you for free, though, this other fellow’s never been in here. At least not when I’ve been here.” He gave a shout of laughter and reached across the bar to pat my cheek. “That’s okay, cookie, I won’t spoil your story for you.”

  “Thanks,” I said dryly. “What do I owe you for the beer?”

  “On the house.” He gave another snort of laughter and rolled back down the aisle to his unfinished lunch. I took another swallow of the thin beer. Then I put a dollar on the counter for Luke and walked slowly out of the bar.

  I walked on down Van Buren past Sears’s main Chicago store. A lot of short-order food places were on the other side, but I had to go another block to find another bar. The bartender looked blankly at the photos and called the waitress over. She looked at both of them doubtfully, and then picked up McGraw’s. “He looks kind of familiar,” she said. “Is he on TV or something?” I said no, but had she ever seen him in the bar. She didn’t think so, but she couldn’t swear to it. What about Masters? She didn’t think so, but a lot of businessmen came in there, and all men with gray hair and business suits ran together in her mind after a while. I put two singles on the counter, one for her and one for the bartender, and went on down the street.

  Her TV question gave me an idea for a better cover story. The next place I went to I said I was a market researcher looking for viewer recognition. Did anyone remember ever seeing these two people together? This approach got more interest, but drew another blank.

  The game was on TV in this bar, bottom of the fourth with Cincinnati leading 4-0.I watched Biittner hit a single and then die on second after a hair-raising steal before I moved on. In all, I went to thirty-two bars that afternoon, catching most of the game in between. The Cubs lost, 6-2. I’d covered my territory pretty thoroughly. A couple of places recognized McGraw vaguely, but I put that down to the number of times his picture had been in the paper over the years. Most people probably had a vague recognition of Jimmy Hoffa, too. One other bar knew Masters by sight as one of the men from Ajax, and Billy’s knew him by name and title as well. But neither place remembered seeing McGraw with him. Some places were hostile and took a combination of bribes and threats to get an answer. Some were indifferent. Others, like the Spot, had to have the manager make the decision. But none of them had seen my pair together.

  It was after six by the time I got to Washington and State, two blocks west of Michigan. After my fifth bar I’d stopped drinking any of the beer I ordered, but I was feeling slightly bloated, as well as sweaty and depressed. I’d agreed to meet Ralph at Ahab’s at eight. I decided to call it an afternoon and go home to wash up first.

  Marshall Field occupies the whole north side of the street between State and Wabash. It seemed to me there might be one other bar on Washington, close to Michigan, if my memory of the layout was correct. That could wait until another day. I went down the stairs to the State Street subway and boarded a B train to Addison.

  Evening rush hour was still in full force. I couldn’t get a seat and had to stand all the way to Fullerton.

  At Lotty’s I headed straight for the bathroom and a cold shower. When I came out, I looked into the guest room; Jill was up, so I dumped my clothes in a drawer and put on a caftan. Jill was sitting on the living-room floor playing with two rosy-cheeked, dark-haired children who looked to be three or four.

  “Hi, honey. You get a good rest?”

  She looked up at me and smiled. A lot of color had returned to her face and she seemed much more relaxed. “Hi,” she said. “Yes, I only woke up an hour ago. These are Carol’s nieces. She was supposed to baby-sit tonight, but Lotty talked her into coming over here and making homemade enchiladas, yum-yum.”

  “Yum-yum,” the two little girls chorused.

  “That sounds great. I’m afraid I have to go back out tonight, so I’ll have to give it a miss.”

  Jill nodded. “Lotty told me. Are you doing some more detecting?”

  “Well, I hope so.”

  Lotty called out from the kitchen and I went in to say hi. Carol was working busily at the stove and turned briefly to flash me a bright smile. Lotty was sitting at the table reading the paper, drinking her everlasting coffee. She looked at me through narrowed eyes. “The detective work wasn’t so agreeable this afternoon, eh?”

  I laughed. “No. I learned nothing and had to drink too much beer doing so. This stuff smells great; wish I could cancel this evening out.”

  “Then do so.”

  I shook my head. “I feel as though I don’t have much time-maybe this second murder. Even though I feel a little rocky-too long a day, too much heat, I can’t stop. I just hope I don’t get sick at dinner-my date is getting fed up with me as it is. Although maybe if I fainted or something it would make him feel stronger, more protective.” I shrugged. “Jill looks a lot better, don’t you think?”

  “Oh, yes. The sleep did her good. That was well thought of, to get her out of that house for a while. I talked to her a bit when I came in; she’s very well be, doesn’t whine and complain, but it’s obvious the mother has no emotions to spare for her. As for her sister-” Lotty made an expressive gesture.

  “Yeah, I agree. We can’t keep her down here forever, though. Besides, what on earth can she do during the day? I’ve got to be gone again tomorrow, and not on the kind of errand that she can go along with.”

  “Well, I’ve been thinking about that. Carol and I had a bit of an idea, watching her with Rosa and Tracy-the two nieces. Jill is good with these children-took them on, we didn’t ask her to look after them. Babies are good when you’re depressed-something soft and unquestioning to cuddle. What would you think of her coming over to the clinic and minding children there for a day? As you saw this morning, they’re always tumbling around the place-mothers who are sick can’t leave them alone; or if one baby is sick, who looks after the other when Mama brings him in?”


  I thought it over for a minute, but couldn’t see anything wrong with it. “Ask her,” I said. “I’m sure the best thing for her right now would be to have something to do.”

  Lotty got up and went to the living room. I followed. We stood for a minute, watching the three girls on the floor. They were terribly busy about something, although it wasn’t clear what. Lotty squatted down next to them, moving easily. I moved into the background. Lotty spoke perfect Spanish, and she talked to the little girls in that language for a minute. Jill watched her respectfully.

  Then Lotty turned to Jill, still balancing easily on her haunches. “You’re very good with these little ones. Have you worked with young children before?”

  “I was a counselor at a little neighborhood day camp in June,” Jill said, flushing a bit. “ But that’s all. I never baby-sit or anything like that.”

  “Well, I had a bit of a plan. See what you think. Vic must be gone all the time, trying to find out why your father and brother were killed. Now while you are visiting down here, you could be of great help to me at the clinic.” She outlined her idea.

  Jill’s face lit up. “But you know,” she said seriously, “I don’t have any training. I might not know what to do if they all started to cry or something.”

  “Well, if that happens, that will be the test of your knack and patience,” Lotty said. “I will provide you a little assistance by way of a drawerful of lollipops. Bad for the teeth, perhaps, but great for tears.”

  I went into the bedroom to change for dinner. Jill hadn’t made the bed. The sheets were crumpled. I straightened them out, then thought I might just lie down for a minute to recover my equilibrium.

  The next thing I knew Lotty was shaking me awake. “It’s seven thirty, Vic: don’t you have to be going?”

  “Oh, hell!” I swore. My head was thick with sleep. “Thanks, Lotty.” I swung out of bed and hurriedly put on a bright orange sundress. I stuck the Smith & Wesson in my handbag, grabbed a sweater, and ran out the door, calling good-bye to Jill as I went. Poor Ralph, I thought. I really am abusing him, keeping him waiting in restaurants just so that I can pick his brains about Ajax.

  It was 7:50 when I turned south on Lake Shore Drive and just 8:00 when I got onto Rush Street, where the restaurant lay. One of my prejudices is against paying to park the car, but tonight I didn’t waste time looking for street parking. I turned the car over to a parking attendant across from Ahab’s. I looked at my watch as I went in the door: 8:08. Damned good, I thought. My head still felt woolly from my hour of sleep, but I was glad I’d gotten it.

  Ralph was waiting by the entrance. He kissed me lightly in greeting, then stood back to examine my face. “Definitely improving,” he agreed. “And I see you can walk again.”

  The headwaiter came over. Monday was a light night and he took us directly to our table. “Tim will be your waiter,” he said. “Would you like a drink?”

  Ralph ordered a gin-and-tonic; I settled for a glass of club soda-Scotch on top of beer didn’t sound too appetizing.

  “One of the things about being divorced and moving into the city is all the great restaurants,” Ralph remarked. “I’ve come to this place a couple of times, but there are a lot in my neighborhood.”

  “Where do you live?” I asked.

  “Over on Elm Street, not too far from here, actually. It’s a furnished place with a housekeeping service.”

  “Convenient.” That must cost a fair amount, I thought. I wondered what his income was. “That’s quite a lot of money with your alimony, too.”

  “Don’t tell me.” He grinned. “I didn’t know anything about the city when I moved in here, barring the area right around Ajax, and I didn’t want to get into a long lease in a place I’d hate. Eventually I expect I’ll buy a condominium.”

  “By the way, did you find out whether McGraw had ever called Masters?”

  “Yes, I did you that little favor, Vic. And it’s just what I told you. He’s never had a call from the guy.”

  “ You didn’t ask him, did you?”

  “No.” Ralph’s cheerful face clouded with resentment. “I kept your wishes in mind and only talked to his secretary. Of course, I don’t have any guarantee that she won’t mention the matter to him. Do you think you could let this drop now? ”

  I was feeling a little angry, too, but I kept it under control: I still wanted Ralph to look at the claim draft.

  Tim arrived to take our orders. I asked for poached salmon and Ralph took the scampi. We both went to the salad bar while I cast about for a neutral topic to keep us going until after dinner. I didn’t want to produce the draft until we’d eaten.

  “I’ve talked so much about my divorce I’ve never asked whether you were ever married,” Ralph remarked.

  “Yes, I was.”

  “What happened?”

  “It was a long time ago. I don’t think either of us was ready for it. He’s a successful attorney now living in Hinsdale with a wife and three young children.”

  “Do you still see him?” Ralph wanted to know.

  “No, and I really don’t think about him. But his name is in the papers a fair amount. He sent me a card at Christmas, that’s how I know about the children and Hinsdale-one of those gooey things with the children smiling sentimentally in front of a fireplace. I’m not sure whether he sent it to prove his virility or to let me know what I’m missing.”

  “Do you miss it?”

  I was getting angry. “Are you trying to ask in a subtle way about whether I wish I had a husband and a family? I certainly do not miss Dick, nor am I sorry that I don’t have three kids getting under my feet.”

  Ralph looked astonished. “Take it easy, Vic. Can’t you miss having a family without confusing that with Dick’s family? I don’t miss Dorothy-but that doesn’t mean I’m giving up on marriage. And I wouldn’t be much of a man if I didn’t miss my children.”

  Tim brought our dinners. The salmon had a very good pimento sauce, but my emotions were still riding me and I couldn’t enjoy it properly. I forced a smile. “Sorry. Guess I’m overreacting to people who think a woman without a child is like Welch’s without grapes.”

  “Well, please don’t take it out on me. Just because I’ve been acting like a protective man, trying to stop you from running after gangsters, doesn’t mean I think you ought to be sitting home watching soaps and doing laundry.”

  I ate some salmon and thought about Dick and our short, unhappy marriage. Ralph was looking at me, and his mobile face showed concern and a little anxiety.

  “The reason my first marriage fell apart was because I’m too independent. Also, I’m not into housekeeping, as you noticed the other night. But the real problem is my independence. I guess you could call it a strong sense of turf. It’s-it’s hard for me-” I smiled. “It’s hard for me to talk about it.” I swallowed and concentrated on my plate for a few minutes. I bit my lower lip and continued. “1 have some close women friends, because I don’t feel they’re trying to take over my turf. But with men, it always seems, or often seems, as though I’m having a fight to maintain who I am.”

  Ralph nodded. I wasn’t sure he understood, but he seemed interested. I ate a little more fish and swallowed some wine.

  “With Dick, it was worse. I’m not sure why I married him-sometimes I think it’s because he represented the white Anglo-Saxon establishment, and part of me wanted to belong to that. But Dick was a terrible husband for someone like me. He was an attorney with Crawford, Meade-they’re a very big, high-prestige corporate firm, if you don’t know them-and I was an eager young lawyer on the Public Defender’s roster. We met at a bar association meeting. Dick thought he’d fallen in love with me because I’m so independent; afterwards it seemed to me that it was because he saw my independence as a challenge, and when he couldn’t break it down, he got angry.

  “Then I got disillusioned with working for the Public Defender. The setup is pretty corrupt-you’re never arguing for justice, always on points of law. I wante
d to get out of it, but I still wanted to do something that would make me feel that I was working on my concept of justice, not legal point-scoring. I resigned from the Public Defender’s office, and was wondering what to do next, when a girl came to me and asked me to clear her brother of a robbery charge. He looked hopelessly guilty-it was a charge of stealing video equipment from a big corporate studio, and he had access, opportunity, and so on, but I took the case on and I discovered he was innocent by finding out who the guilty person really was.”

  I drank some more wine and poked at my salmon. Ralph’s plate was clean, but he was waving off Tim-”Wait until the lady’s finished.”

  “Well, all this time, Dick was waiting for me to settle down to being a housewife. He was very supportive when I was worrying through leaving the Public Defender, but it turned out that that was because he was hoping I’d quit to stay home on the sidelines applauding him while he clawed his way up the ladder in the legal world. When I took on that case-although it didn’t seem like a case at the time, just a favor to the woman who had sent the girl to me-” (That had been Lotty.) It had been awhile since I’d thought about all this and I started to laugh. Ralph looked a question. “Well, I take my obligations very seriously, and I ended up spending a night on a loading dock, which was really the turning point in the case. It was the same night that Crawford, Meade were having a big cocktail party, wives invited. I had on a cocktail dress, because I thought I’d just slip down to the dock and then go to the party, but the time slipped away, and Dick couldn’t forgive me for not showing up. So we split up. At the time it was horrible, but when I look back on it, the evening was so ludicrous it makes me laugh.”

  I pushed my plate away. I’d only eaten half the fish, but I didn’t have much of an appetite. “The trouble is, I guess I’m a bit gun-shy now. There really are times when I wish I did have a couple of children and was doing the middle-class family thing. But that’s a myth, you know: very few people live like an advertisement, with golden harmony, and enough money, and so on. And I know I’m feeling a longing for a myth, not the reality. It’s just-I get scared that I’ve made the wrong choice, or-I don’t quite know how to say it. Maybe I should be home watching the soaps, maybe I’m not doing the best thing with my life. So if people try to suggest it, I bite their heads off.”