spoke sharply. “No need to be rude. She’s trying to be kind.”
I looked around coolly. “I’m a detective and I have apretty good record.” I turned back to Mrs. Kelvin. “I’ll let you know what I find out.”
I shook her hand and left, heading back to the Dan Ryan and the Loop. It was after five and traffic scarcely moved. Fourteen lanes and all of it bumper-to-bumper within high concrete walls. Truck exhaust mingled with the damp still air. I shut the windows and wriggled out of my jacket. It was chilly on the lakefront but muggy in the expressway’s canyon.
I inched my way downtown and oozed off the expressway at Roosevelt Road. Main police headquarters are at State and Roosevelt, a good location, close to a lot of crime. I wanted to see if anyone there would give me any information about Kelvin.
My dad had been a sergeant, working mostly out of the Twenty-First District on the South Side. The brick building on 12th Street brought on a twinge of nostalgia—it had the same linoleum, the same cinder-block walls with yellow paint peeling away. A few harassed, overweight men behind the desk were processing everyone from drivers putting up bond for their licenses to women trying to see men brought in on assault charges. I waited my turn in line.
The desk officer I finally spoke to called inside on a microphone. “Sergeant McGonnigal, lady here to see you on the Kelvin case.”
McGonnigal came out a few minutes later, big, muscular, wearing a rumpled white shirt and brown slacks. We’d met a couple of years back when he was on the South Side and he remembered me immediately.
“Miss Warshawski. Nice to see you.” He ushered me back through the linoleum corridors to a tiny room he shared with three other men.
“Nice to see you, Sergeant. When were you transferred downtown?”
“Six, seven months ago. I got assigned to the Kelvin case last night.”
I explained that the murder had taken place in my cousin’s apartment and that I wanted to know when I could get back in and straighten out his papers. McGonnigal expressed the usual regrets at Boom Boom’s death—he’d been a fan, et cetera, and said they were almost finished with the apartment.
“Did you turn up anything? I understand the TV films showed two men going in. Any fingerprints?”
He grimaced. “They were too smart for that. We did find a footprint on the papers. One of them wears size twelve Arroyo hiking boots. But that doesn’t tell us much.”
“What killed Kelvin? He wasn’t shot, was he?”
He shook his head. “Someone gave him an almighty hard blow to the jaw and broke his neck. May only have meant to knock him out. Jesus! What a fist. Doesn’t tie in to any of our known B & E men.”
“You think this is a straight break and entry job?”
“What else would it be, Miss Warshawski?”
“Nothing of value was taken. Boom Boom had a stereo, some fancy cuff links and stuff, and it was all there.”
“Well, figure the guys are surprised by Kelvin. Then they see they’ve killed him rather than just stunning him like they intended. So they get nervous and leave. They don’t know whether someone else is going to come up looking for the guy if he doesn’t come back in so many minutes.”
I could see his point. Maybe I was making a mountain out of a molehill. Maybe I was upset by my cousin’s death and I wanted to blow it up into something bigger than an accident.
“You’re not trying to get involved in this, are you?”
“I am involved, Sergeant: it happened in my cousin’s apartment.”
“The lieutenant is not going to be happy if he hears you’re trying to stir up this case. You know that.”
I knew that. The lieutenant was Bobby Mallory and he did not like me to get involved in police work, especially murder cases.
I smiled. “If I stumble across anything looking through my cousin’s affairs, I don’t think that’ll upset him too much.”
“Just give us a chance to do our jobs, Miss
I looked around coolly. “I’m a detective and I have apretty good record.” I turned back to Mrs. Kelvin. “I’ll let you know what I find out.”
I shook her hand and left, heading back to the Dan Ryan and the Loop. It was after five and traffic scarcely moved. Fourteen lanes and all of it bumper-to-bumper within high concrete walls. Truck exhaust mingled with the damp still air. I shut the windows and wriggled out of my jacket. It was chilly on the lakefront but muggy in the expressway’s canyon.
I inched my way downtown and oozed off the expressway at Roosevelt Road. Main police headquarters are at State and Roosevelt, a good location, close to a lot of crime. I wanted to see if anyone there would give me any information about Kelvin.
My dad had been a sergeant, working mostly out of the Twenty-First District on the South Side. The brick building on 12th Street brought on a twinge of nostalgia—it had the same linoleum, the same cinder-block walls with yellow paint peeling away. A few harassed, overweight men behind the desk were processing everyone from drivers putting up bond for their licenses to women trying to see men brought in on assault charges. I waited my turn in line.
The desk officer I finally spoke to called inside on a microphone. “Sergeant McGonnigal, lady here to see you on the Kelvin case.”
McGonnigal came out a few minutes later, big, muscular, wearing a rumpled white shirt and brown slacks. We’d met a couple of years back when he was on the South Side and he remembered me immediately.
“Miss Warshawski. Nice to see you.” He ushered me back through the linoleum corridors to a tiny room he shared with three other men.
“Nice to see you, Sergeant. When were you transferred downtown?”
“Six, seven months ago. I got assigned to the Kelvin case last night.”
I explained that the murder had taken place in my cousin’s apartment and that I wanted to know when I could get back in and straighten out his papers. McGonnigal expressed the usual regrets at Boom Boom’s death—he’d been a fan, et cetera, and said they were almost finished with the apartment.
“Did you turn up anything? I understand the TV films showed two men going in. Any fingerprints?”
He grimaced. “They were too smart for that. We did find a footprint on the papers. One of them wears size twelve Arroyo hiking boots. But that doesn’t tell us much.”
“What killed Kelvin? He wasn’t shot, was he?”
He shook his head. “Someone gave him an almighty hard blow to the jaw and broke his neck. May only have meant to knock him out. Jesus! What a fist. Doesn’t tie in to any of our known B & E men.”
“You think this is a straight break and entry job?”
“What else would it be, Miss Warshawski?”
“Nothing of value was taken. Boom Boom had a stereo, some fancy cuff links and stuff, and it was all there.”
“Well, figure the guys are surprised by Kelvin. Then they see they’ve killed him rather than just stunning him like they intended. So they get nervous and leave. They don’t know whether someone else is going to come up looking for the guy if he doesn’t come back in so many minutes.”
I could see his point. Maybe I was making a mountain out of a molehill. Maybe I was upset by my cousin’s death and I wanted to blow it up into something bigger than an accident.
“You’re not trying to get involved in this, are you?”
“I am involved, Sergeant: it happened in my cousin’s apartment.”
“The lieutenant is not going to be happy if he hears you’re trying to stir up this case. You know that.”
I knew that. The lieutenant was Bobby Mallory and he did not like me to get involved in police work, especially murder cases.
I smiled. “If I stumble across anything looking through my cousin’s affairs, I don’t think that’ll upset him too much.”
“Just give us a chance to do our jobs, Miss
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