I wrinkled my face. “Park Forest South? She told me she grew up in Lake Bluff.”

“Maybe she did. That’s just where her mother lives … Anyway, about her and your cousin. There was some talk about her and Boom Boom the last month or so before he died. They didn’t go to any of the celebrity hot spots, so it took Greta a while to catch on—someone spotted her with him at the Stadium back in March. If it was serious they kept it mighty quiet. We talked to some of the other hockey players. They seemed to think she was pursuing him—he wasn’t so involved.”

I felt an ignoble twitch of pleasure at that.

“Your turn.” Murray’s blue eyes were bright with amusement. I told him everything I knew about the accident.

“Who emptied your brake fluid?”

“Police say it’s vandals down at the Port.”

“And you say?”

“I say it was whoever pushed my cousin under the Bertha Krupnik.” But that I said to myself. “Not a glimmer, Murray. I can’t figure it out.”

“Vic, with anyone else I’d believe it. But not with you. You got someone mad and they cut your power steering. Now, who?”

I shut my eyes. “Could have been Lieutenant Mallory—he wants me to keep my nose out of the Kelvin case.”

“Someone at the Port.”

“I’m an invalid, Murray.”

“Someone connected with Kelvin.”

“No comment.”

“I’m going to follow you around, Vic. I want to see this thing happening before it happens.”

“Murray, if you don’t get out of here I’m going to sic the nurses on you. They’re a very mean lot in this hospital.”

He laughed and ruffled my hair. “Get well soon, Vic. I’d miss you if you got to your ninth life … Just for laughs, I’m going to talk to your red-faced guard over at Tri-State Grain.”

I opened my eyes. “If you find anything, you’d better let me know.”

“Read about it in the Star, Vic.” He laughed and was gone before I could think of a snappy comeback.

After he left, quiet descended for a while. I raised the head of the bed and struggled to fix up the side table so that I could write. I’d never mangled an arm before and hadn’t realized how hard it is to do things with one hand. Thank goodness for power steering, I thought, then remembered I didn’t have a car, either. I called my insurance agent to report the loss. I hoped my policy covered vandalism.

I doodled around on a sheet of cheap hospital paper—a freighter bouncing through a high sea, a few crocodiles. Anyone down at the Port could have sabotaged my car. Phillips knew I was there—he’d seen me outside the Pole Star offices. He could have told Grafalk or anyone at Grafalk’s—the dispatcher, for example.