He slammed his palm on his desk top. The three other men in the room tried to pretend they were still working. “Now why the hell did you go talk to them? One of the sons came around here and gave me a snootful. We’re doing out best. But, Christ, we haven’t got a damned thing to start from other than two pictures no one can identify and a size twelve boot!”

He pulled a file savagely from a stack on his desk and yanked a photograph from it to toss at me. I picked it up. It was a still made from the TV film of the men going into Boom Boom’s place. Two men, one in jeans and the other in chinos. They both wore corduroy sports jackets and had those Irish caps held up over their faces. McGonnigal handed me a couple of other stills. One showed them getting off the elevator—backward. Another showed them walking down the hall, crouched over to disguise their height. You could see their hands pretty clearly—they were wearing surgical gloves.

I gave the pictures back to McGonnigal. “Good luck, Sergeant. I’ll let you know if I come across anything.… When can I get the keys to the place back?”

He said Friday morning and warned me to be very, very careful. The police are always telling me that.

Chapter 10

Down the Hatches

From my apartment I tried Boom Boom’s agent again, even though it was after six. Like me, Fackley worked unusual hours. He was in and answered the phone himself. I told him I wanted to get in touch with Pierre Bouchard, star forward for the Hawks and another of his clients. Fackley told me Bouchard was in his hometown, Quebec, playing in the Coeur d’Argent, a demonstration hockey tournament. Fackley gave me his Chicago phone number and agreed to see me the following Wednesday to go through Boom Boom’s papers.

I tried phoning the Pole Star Line but no one answered. There wasn’t much else I could do tonight. I called Lotty and we went out for dinner together and then to see Chariots of Fire.

The photocopies of Eudora Grain’s shipping records were ready for me at ten the next morning. I stuck them in a large canvas shoulder bag. The originals I wrapped in heavy brown paper, taped securely. Starting to write Janet’s name on top, I realized I didn’t know her last name. Women exist in a world of first names in business. Lois, Janet, Mr. Phillips, Mr. Warshawski. That’s why I use my initials.