He concurred, but added, “You know, Ms. Warshawski, nothing against you, but I do have a private life. It’s hard enough when all those New Solway clients think I’m the Japanese houseman they can call in the middle of the night. Can’t we have this conversation tomorrow in my office?”

I had to agree, although I didn’t really want to add another trip to the western suburbs to my crowded Friday schedule. We settled on three in the afternoon-Yosano had wanted to do it earlier, but I wanted to get things clear at Whitby’s house so that I knew whether I really had to clutch at straws by going into the Larchmont pond.

I was finally climbing back into bed when my phone rang. I was startled to hear Darraugh Graham’s voice, bitingly angry.

“Didn’t I make it clear that you were not to trouble my mother any further? You have thirty seconds to explain why you’ve so blatantly disregarded my orders.”

I stiffened. “Darraugh, you are not a marine colonel and I am not one of your recruits. I owed your mother the courtesy of a visit to explain what I’d done and why I wouldn’t be further involved in her problems. And I won’t apologize for seeing her.”

“It was unconscionable of you to upset her. That wasn’t a courtesy visit, it was an interrogation.”

“She called you to complain? Oh, no. Lisa called to complain. Your mother was upset by learning how ill Calvin Bayard was, not by anything I asked her. I think it’s permissible for a woman to weep over the decay of an old friend.”

“Talking to my mother can have nothing to do with your murder investigation. I warned you about that earlier. If you wish to continue in my employment, I am ordering you to stay away from my mother.”

“I’ll think about it, Darraugh. About my wishes, I mean. Good night.” I hung up before my anger rode me into an outright declaration o? quitting. His thousand-a-month retainer-one could pay too high a price for money sometimes.

CHAPTER 22

But Where Are the Pieces of the Jigsaw?

When I got to Lebold, Arnoff’s offices in Oak Brook Tower, Larry Yosano took me in to meet Julius Arnoff it was better that the senior partner know who was involving herself in the affairs of the firm’s most important clients. Better for Yosano, anyway.

By the time I arrived-late-at the meeting, I had already had a long day. I’d woken early, from feverish dreams: I’d been hunting for Morrell through the caves of Kandahar, when the caves turned into the culvert under the road in Anodyne Park. It was miles long, the soil rank with rotted fish and rat droppings. I was no longer hunting Morrell, but fleeing from the man who’d butted me in the stomach. I ran as fast as I could, but my feet in my Bruno Magh pumps were sinking into the fetid ground, and the man was driving a golf cart. When I finally turned in a desperate effort to confront him, Marc Whitby was at the wheel.