I turned to her brother. “My name is V. I. Warshawski, Dr. Chigwell. I’m a lawyer and a private investigator. And I’ve been retained as the result of a lawsuit whose settlement leaves some money to the estate of Joey Pankowski.”

When he ignored my outstretched hand I looked around and chose a comfortable armchair to sit in. Dr. Chigwell remained standing. In his ramrod posture he resembled his sister.

“Joey Pankowski used to work at the Xerxes plant,” I continued, “but he died in 1985. Now there’s some question that Louisa Djiak, who also worked there, has a child whose father he may have been. That child is also entitled to a share of the settlement, but Ms. Djiak is very ill and her mind wanders—we can’t get a clear answer from her as to who the father is.”

“I can’t help you, young lady. I have no recollection of any of these names.”

“Well, I understand you took blood and medical histories from all the employees every spring for a number of years. If you would just go back and look at your records, you might find that—”

He cut me off with a violence that surprised me. “I don’t know who you’ve been talking to, but that’s an absolute lie. I won’t stand to be harassed and harangued in my own house. Now you get out right now, or I’ll call the police. And if you’re an officer of the court, you can explain that to them in jail.” He turned without waiting for a reply and marched from the room.

Clio Chigwell watched him leave, her scowl deeper than ever. “You’ll have to go.”

“He did the tests,” I said. “Why is he so upset?”

“I don’t know anything about it. But you can’t ask him to violate his patients’ confidentiality. Now you’d better leave, unless you do want to speak with the police.”

I got up as nonchalantly as I could under the circumstances. “You have my card,” I said to her at the door. “If something occurs to you, give me a call.”

9

Lifestyles of the Rich and Famous

A light drizzle had started to fall. I sat in the car staring at the windshield, watching the rain break up on the greasy glass. After a while I turned on the engine, hoping to coax a little heat from the noisy motor.

Was it the Pankowski name that had rattled Chigwell so? Or was it me? Had Joiner phoned him telling him to beware Polish detectives and the questions they bring? No, that couldn’t be right. If that was the case, Chigwell would never have agreed to see me at all. And anyway, Joiner wouldn’t know Chigwell. The doctor was almost eighty; he must have been long retired when Joiner started at the plant two years ago. So it had to have been the mention either of Pankowski or Louisa. But why?

I wondered with growing uneasiness what Caroline knew that she hadn’t bothered to tell me. I remembered in vivid detail the winter she had asked me to fight an eviction notice served on Louisa. After a week of running between courts and landlord, I saw an article in the Sun-Times on “Teens Who Make a Difference.” It featured a glowing sixteen-year-old Caroline and the soup kitchen she’d used the rent money to set up. That was the last cry for help I’d answered from her for ten years, and I was beginning to think I should have let it go for twenty.