The girls were still jumping double Dutch in the road. Among them was the one who’d pointed out Marc’s car to me last week. She nudged someone waiting a turn at the ropes. They all stopped jumping to stare at me. I waved as I climbed into the driver’s seat.

“You with the police, miss? The police want that car or are you stealing it?” my informant asked, hands on hips.

“Stealing,” I said, rolling down the window so they could hear me. That made them laugh and draw closer. “What the police want with Mr. Whitby’s car, miss?”

“Clues. He was killed, you know. We’re hoping the car will hold some clues about who killed him. None of you saw the person who drove this car back here last Sunday night, did you?”

That was too strong. They pulled away, huddling together, quiet. A killer coming right onto the block, no, they didn’t need that fear over their young heads.

I said cheerfully, “Don’t worry if you see lights on in the house tonight. We’re bringing in a caretaker, someone to live here until the family decides to sell. Okay? And don’t worry about this killer-they’re not going to come back here.”

“How do you know?” one of them demanded. “No one been arrested, no one been suspected.”

“Three people are suspected. They live far away. You’re safe here in your neighborhood.”

When I drove up the street, I could see them in my rearview mirror, jump ropes dangling from their hands. While I waited at the light on Thirtyfifth, they finally started turning the ropes again, but the energy had gone out of their play. Good work, VI., sucking the enthusiasm out of little girls.

I took a look at the traffic stalled on the Dan Ryan Expressway and stayed on the side streets, driving slowly but quietly up to St. Remigio’s.

Marc’s green Saturn was just the car for these streets, not flashy, not the kind that people stare at and remember. I parked two blocks west of the church and made a great circle around it on foot so that I came up to the school entrance from the south.

I walked briskly through the gates to the playground, not looking around, although the back of my head prickled as I wondered if any lawmen had me in their sights. Inside, a hall guard still sat on duty. Although it was four-thirty now, afterschool activities were going full spate. No one could come into the school without an ID or a legitimate reason to be there.

The guard made a phone call: Father Lou was in the gym; I could talk to him there. The priest was standing in front of one of his punching bags, dressed in sweats, showing a group of ten-year-olds how to move their arms. Curious glances from the boys made him turn to look at me. Barking a few hasty instructions to them, he came over to my side.

“I got a clean car,” I said. “And I think I have a safe house, where Benji can stay for a couple of days. But-I want to turn the murder investigation over to the police. It’s too big for me. I really need Benji to cooperate. I think I can get Captain Mallory to protect Benji if he’ll only say what he saw last Sunday night. Can you help me persuade him?”