Morrell and I exchanged uneasy glances, but Morrell said, “She was working on a series for an English newspaper. She met Czernin when he came to pick his daughter up from basketball practice. I don’t know what she was doing specifically—she said he was showing her the neighborhood, things behind the scenes she wouldn’t have had access to without him.”

“Such as what?” Conrad demanded.

“I don’t know. She only talked in generalities, about the poverty and housing problems she was learning about.”

“She’s staying with you, right, Morrell? How often was she meeting Czernin?”

“She made a lot of contacts in Chicago—including you, Rawlings—she said you were going to take her on a ride-along this week. She would take off for a day, sometimes more, and I never knew if it was with Czernin or you or some of the other people she was meeting. I didn’t make her sign in and out when she came and went,” Morrell added with bleak humor.

“Did she tell you more?” Conrad turned to me. “You spend a lot of time in that apartment, right?”

I smiled. “That’s right, Commander, but Marcena didn’t confide in me. She did say that Bron let her drive his semi the first night they met, and that she almost took out a shed or something in the school parking lot, but I can’t remember her talking about him more specifically.”

“Ms. Czernin said the Love woman was screwing her husband,” Conrad said.

Mr. Contreras made a noise at the vulgarity, which wasn’t typical of Conrad—I figured he was trying to get Morrell off balance, to see what indiscretion he might blurt out.

Morrell gave a tight smile. “Marcena didn’t confide her private business to me.”

“Or to you, Warshawski?” Conrad said. “No? One of the girls on your team said that everyone in the school knew about it.”

My face grew hot. “Why are you harassing my team, Conrad? Do you imagine one of them killed Bron Czernin? Do I need to make sure my girls have a lawyer?”

“We’re talking to everyone who knew the guy down there. He had a way about him around that neighborhood—a lot of men might have had a reason to kill him over the years.”

“Why would the men of South Chicago go for him now if he and Marcena were an item? I’d think they’d be glad he was finding more distant pastures to roam in—except maybe Sandra, and I don’t see how she could have beaten up both her husband and Marcena and dragged them to that pit.”

“She could have had help.” Conrad tipped his head toward Morrell, who looked at him in bewilderment.