Deadlock

by Sara Paretsky

  “We’re going to talk, Paige. A little heart-to-heart.”

  “I have nothing to say to you. Get out of here before I call the police.” Her voice came out in a harsh whisper.

  “By my guest.” I sat down in a wide armchair upholstered in rust brocade and looked around the large, light room. A Persian rug covered about two thirds of the dark parquet. Gold brocade drapes were looped back from the windows overlooking Astor Street and sheer gauze hung underneath. “The police will be very interested in your role in Boom Boom’s death. Please do call them.”

  “They think it’s an accident.”

  “But you, dear Paige? Do you think it is?”

  She turned her face away, biting her lip.

  “Jeannine told me this morning your role was to keep tabs on what my cousin was up to. I thought she meant for her and Clayton. But she wasn’t talking about them, was she? No, you were keeping track of him for Grafalk.”

  She didn’t say anything but kept staring at a picture on the west wall as if seeking inspiration from it. It looked like a very good copy of a Degas. For all I knew, it was an original. Even with the losses to the steamship line, Niels Grafalk could afford to give his lover that kind of trifle.

  “How long have you been Grafalk’s mistress?”

  Spots of color stained her cheeks. “What an offensive remark. I have nothing to say to you.”

  “Then I’ll have to do the talking. You correct me where I’m wrong. Jeannine and Clayton moved to Lake Bluff five years ago. Niels knew Clayton was fiddling around with Eudora Grain invoices. He promised not to turn him in to Argus if Clayton would start giving Grafalk a preferred position on shipping orders.”

  “I don’t know anything about the Grafalk Steamship Line.”

  “You and your sister are so pure-minded, Paige. You don’t want to know anything about where your money comes from, just that it’s there to spend when you need it.”

  “I scarcely know Niels Grafalk, Vic. I’ve met him socially at my sister’s. If Clayton and he did have some kind of business arrangement, I would be the last person to know about it.”

  “Oh, bullshit, Paige. Grafalk owns this condominium.”

  “How do you know that?” she demanded, sitting down suddenly on a sofa near me. “Did Jeannine tell you?”

  “No, Paige. Your sister kept your secret. But property titles are a matter of public record in Chicago. I was curious about this place, since I suspect Windy City can’t afford to pay you very much. Anyway, where was I? Oh yes, Grafalk got Clayton to give him preferred customer treatment. In exchange, Grafalk helped pave the way for them socially when they moved back to Lake Bluff. Got them into the Maritime Club and all that good stuff.

  “Well, of course, you don’t like Jeannine enjoying the good things in life alone-and vice versa. So you started hanging out with her around the Maritime Club. Now Mrs. Grafalk’s an interesting lady, but she’s going at about a hundred knots all day long with her charities and Ravinia and the Symphony Board, and Niels saw you and thought you were just about the most beautiful little thing he’d ever laid eyes on. You saw your chance to get set up in a big way, and three years ago, when Feldspar converted this building, Niels moved you in. Right so far?”

  Paige spoke in a low voice. “You are totally insufferable, Vic. You have absolutely no understanding of this sort of thing, or the kind of life I lead.”

  I interrupted her. “Jeannine already gave me the heartbreaking details of the Carrington family’s slide into poverty and the attendant humiliation. Take it as fact that I’m too vulgar to understand how shattering that must have been to the two of you. What I really want to know is where my cousin fitted into this. You told me a few weeks ago that you two were falling in love with each other. Did you think my cousin was a better prospect in the long run because he wasn’t married? Not as much money, but more of it might come to you?”

  “Stop it, Vic, stop it. Do you think I have no feelings at all? Do you know what I went through when I learned Boom Boom was dead? I had no choice. I had no choice!” The last sentence was uttered in a rising cadence.

  “What do you mean?” I was controlling my temper with increasing difficulty. “Of course you had choices. If you really were in love with Boom Boom, you could do without a lot of things. And he didn’t exactly live in poverty, even by Lake Bluff standards.”

  Her honey-colored eyes were filled with tears. She held out a hand in a beseeching gesture. “Vic, Niels pays for everything. This place, all the furniture. My bills at Saks and I. Magnin run me a thousand dollars a month alone. He pays those without question. If I want to go to Majorca for a month in October, he pays the American Express bills. I owe him so much. It seemed like such a little thing to go out with your cousin a few times and see if he had learned anything about the invoices.”

  I gripped the side of the chair to keep from rising up and strangling her. “Such a little thing. You never thought of Boom Boom as a person, with feelings, or the right to live, did you?”

  “I liked Boom Boom, Vic. Please, you must believe me.”

  “I believe nothing you say. Nothing. You dare call me insufferable!” I stopped and checked myself. “Tell me what happened that day you went sailing. That Saturday before my cousin was murdered.”

  She winced. “You mustn’t say that, Vic. It was an accident. Niels assured me it was an accident and the police believe so, too.”

  “Yes, well, tell me about the sailing trip. Mattingly was there, right? And Phillips. Grafalk, of course. What was the purpose? Why did you drag Boom Boom up for that?”

  “Mattingly wasn’t there, Vic. I keep telling you I don’t know him. You accuse me of being unfeeling, but I’m not. When I told Niels that Boom Boom had-gotten close to the truth on the invoices, he wanted Clayton to get rid of him on the spot. But I told him not to.” She lifted her chin and looked at me proudly. “We went up there to see if Niels could persuade Boom Boom to see things their way. On Saturday it looked as though he might. But the next Monday he had a terrible argument with Clayton over the matter, and Niels said it was no use trying to talk to him, in fact that we’d better do something before Boom Boom called Argus. But then-then he slipped and fell and that ended the matter. I was so relieved. I was terrified Niels might do something dreadful.”

  It was my turn to be speechless. I couldn’t find words that matched my horror and my anger. Finally I choked, “You tried to bribe Boom Boom and he didn’t live that way. You vermin just couldn’t understand that. You gave him a chance to be corrupted and he refused to take it… What about the water in the holds of the Lucella? What did that have to do with Clayton and Niels?”

  She looked blank. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “The Lucella couldn’t take on a load of grain because someone had poured water into her holds. Boom Boom was going to talk to the captain about it before he called Argus… Never mind. 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 reproof. “I don’t think you should talk to me like that, Vic. You may not approve of my relations with Niels, but he is my lover.”

  I gave a crack of manic laughter. “Me not approve! Christ, Paige, you’re a whole separate universe. Why should I give a damn about you and Grafalk? It’s what the two of you did to my cousin that I care about. That’s what makes your relationship stink.”

  Paige looked at her watch. “Yes, well, I don’t agree with you. I think I pointed out to you what an obligation I’m under to Niels. He’s coming over in a few minutes, too, so unless you want to meet him I’d suggest you leave.”

  I got up. “One last question, Paige darling. Was it the photocopy of Grafalk’s invoice you were looking for in Boom Boom’s apartment the day after the funeral? If it was, I’ve found it. And as for the letter Boom Boom wrote you-‘Beautiful Paige’-I don’t think he sent that to the Royal York in Toronto at all. He wrote you the Sunday before h
e died, didn’t he? To tell you he didn’t want to see you again. You put it in an old envelope to prove to me that you were writing each other love letters. You knew I’d look at the heading and not read the letter.” I choked on a sob and swallowed it. If I stayed any longer the last threads of my self-control would snap.

  Paige watched me with dark, angry eyes as I walked across the Persian rug to the front door. For once her exquisite poise deserted her, lines appeared around her mouth and eyes and she looked older.

  26 On the Tiles

  Back outside I sat on the stoop, unable to move any father. Fatigue fogged my brain. The day had started at Jeannine’s with confirmation that her husband pushed Boom Boom under the propeller of the Bertha Krupnik. Now came the news that her sister 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’s complicity in his death, or even in destroying the Lucella and the Poe Lock? Revenge brings only limited satisfaction, and I didn’t feel noble enough to act out of a disinterested sense of justice.

  I stood up and looked around vaguely for a cab. A tall figure detached itself from the shadows and crossed the street to me.

  “A satisfactory encounter?” Ferrant asked.

  “You waiting around for me?” I said. “How about finding me a cab? Speaking as a detective, I guess it was satisfactory. But, as a human being, I can’t say it appealed to me much.”

  “Look, how about dinner and you can tell me about it?”

  “Roger, I’m too tired to eat and I don’t feel like telling anyone about it.”

  He trotted over to State Street and flagged a cab there. He helped me inside and followed after.

  “Look, you don’t have to tell me about the interview, but you’ll feel better after something hot to eat and another drink.”

  I finally let myself be persuaded. He’d been very cooperative about looking into Grafalk’s records. If he wanted to hear the gory details of the rest of the case, why not?

  We went to the Filigree, a restaurant in the Hanover House Hotel that resembles my idea of a men’s club: discreet tables with maroon drapes shielding diners from one another, a fireplace with a high marble mantel, and elderly waiters who seem to ooze a vague distrust of women diners: do they really appreciate the fine old vintages they’re drinking?

  You go to the Filigree for steaks. Over a thick-cut T-bone and a bottle of Château St. Georges (1962) I felt myself reviving.

  “Earlier this evening you said you weren’t really concerned about the locks or the freighters-that you were involved in this from a personal standpoint. What is that?”

  I explained to Ferrant about my cousin and the problems down at Eudora Grain. “I was just visiting the woman he was dating the three months before he died. Her name is Paige Carrington. She’s a talented dancer, maybe not New York quality, but quite good. She is exquisite, the kind of woman you gawk at but who appears too perfect to touch. Anyway, it seems she’s been Grafalk’s mistress for a number of years. He arranged a party at which she could meet my cousin-said he wanted to buy some shares in the Hawks and asked Guy Odinflute to hold a party for him and the team. Boom Boom was always included in that kind of function and Grafalk saw to it that Paige had an invitation, too.

  “Well, my cousin was easily as susceptible as the next man. When Paige made a dead-set at him, he responded-probably with enthusiasm. She’s that type of person. And she spent the next three or four months tracking what he was doing at Eudora Grain.

  “When it became obvious that Boom Boom had discovered the extent of the problem there and was planning on blowing the whistle to Argus-Eudora’s chairman-Paige’s tender heart was touched: she got Grafalk and Phillips to try to buy off my cousin. Instead, they knocked him off.”

  I drank some more wine and slumped back in my seat. I’d only been able to eat half the excellent steak.

  I gestured with the wineglass. “This whole business with the freighters and the locks looks like something separate altogether. I wouldn’t even be interested if it didn’t seem to tie in with what happened to my cousin.” I finished my wine and poured myself another glass. At this rate I was going to be mildly sozzled; after the day I’d had, it felt good. Ferrant ordered a second bottle.

  “I’ve got a couple of problems right now. One is, although Jeannine Phillips as good as told me that her husband pushed Boom Boom off the wharf, I don’t have any proof. She didn’t come out and say it in so many words, and nobody witnessed the drowning. I do have some skeletal proof about what was going on at Eudora. I could send that to Argus, but all it would do is discredit Phillips. Even if they make the tie-in with Grafalk stick, it doesn’t prove anything more criminal than taking kickbacks.”

  The waiter took my plate with a contemptuous glance at the unfinished steak as the wine steward opened the second bottle of St. Émilion for us. Like many very thin men, Ferrant ate a great deal-he’d consumed a sixteen-ounce sirloin while we talked, along with oysters florentine, a special potatoes Filigree, and a platter of beefsteak tomatoes. He ordered chocolate cheesecake; I passed on dessert and had some more wine.

  “The one thing I might be able to get Grafalk on is murdering Phillips.”

  Ferrant sat up in his chair. “Go on, Vic! Grafalk murder Phillips?”

  “He was last seen alive around one o’clock Sunday morning. The police figure he was in the holds and suffocated by 8:00 A.M. at the latest. So between one in the morning and eight in the morning someone bonked him on the head and got him onto a Great Lakes freighter. The police have a guard on duty at the entrance to the Port. Not that many people enter the Port that late at night, and they have a pretty good list of who came in. I’m sure that they’ve been through those people’s cars quite thoroughly. If one of them had driven Phillips’s body into the Port, they’d have nailed him for it. But they haven’t made an arrest.”

  “Maybe the murderer brought him on board in a plastic bag and no blood got on his car… Was Grafalk at the Port that night?”

  “He didn’t drive down there.”

  “What’d he do-fly?”

  “Don’t think so-a helicopter would be pretty noisy.”

  “Then how did he get there?”

  “Good heavens, Roger, I’m ashamed of you. You come from this island country, famous for four centuries of naval prowess. It ought to be the first thing to leap to your mind.”

  His brow creased. “By boat? You must be joking.” He thought it over. “I suppose he could. But can you prove he did?”

  “I don’t know. The evidence is so circumstantial-it’s going to be hard to sell people on it. For instance, you. Do you buy Grafalk as master criminal?”

  He gave a half smile. “I don’t know. We proved the figures on Grafalk this afternoon. And yet-that’s a big jump to stuffing someone into a freighter to die… What about Bledsoe?”

  I shook my head. “Bledsoe was up in the Soo and his plane was down in Chicago. Not only that, someone sent his plane back down here in such a way as to implicate him for a different murder.”

  I wondered what the waiters would do if I curled up on the plush cushion and went to sleep. I yawned. “The trouble is, if I can’t convince you, when you believe the financial evidence, I know I’ll never convince the cops enough to swear out a search warrant. It’s a big step, going to look at a rich man’s yacht. They have to be real convinced before they do something like that.”

  I leaned back in the seat and closed my eyes, still holding the wineglass. “He can’t get away with it,” I muttered to myself. But it looked as though he might. Even with blowing up the Lucella, because nobody knew where the depth charges came from. If only I had evidence, someone who’d see Grafalk and Phillips at his boat Sunday morning-or some bloodstains on the foredeck of Grafalk’s yacht.

  I opened my eyes at Ferrant. “I need to get some proof. And the cards are not going to be stacked all his way. They just can’t be. Even if he is as rich as Rockefeller.”

&nb
sp; On this dramatic statement I got up from the table and walked with careful dignity to the front door. The maître d’hôtel also gave me a scornful glance. Not only can women not appreciate the great vintages, they swill them disgustingly and get revoltingly drunk.

  “Thank you, my good man,” I said as he held the door open for me. “Your contempt for women will bring you more pleasure than any paltry tip I could give you. Good night.”

  In the lobby of the hotel was a pay phone. I walked over to it, carefully avoiding the Greek columns haphazardly dotting the floor, and tried to call the Great Lakes Naval Training Station. The operator and I went a few rounds before I got my meaning across and she found a number for me. The phone rang twenty times or so, but nobody answered. A grandfather clock by the front door showed that it was close to midnight.

  Ferrant was standing nearby holding my handbag, which I’d left at the table.

  “Who’s defending the country at midnight?” I demanded as I took my bag from him. “If nobody answers the phone, how will they ever know the Russians are attacking?”

  Ferrant took my arm. “You know, Vic, I think you should wait till morning to get your proof.”

  “If I wait until morning he’ll get away with it,” I protested stubbornly. “Get me a cab!” I yelled at the doorman.

  “Where are you going?” Ferrant demanded.

  “Back to my car. Then out to Grafalk’s boat. I’m going to get proof.”

  The doorman looked at us uncertainly.

  “Are you getting my cab?” I called at him. He shrugged and went outside with his whistle.

  Ferrant followed me into the chilly night. He kept trying to take my arm and I kept pushing him aside. When the cab came I climbed in and told the driver to take me to my car.

  “Yeah, well, where is your car?”

  “In the garage,” I mumbled, and fell asleep.

  27 On Board the Dragon Ship