It was getting to be time to go back to the plant and try to intercept some of the machinists on their way home, but my heart didn’t leap at the idea. Two beers on any empty stomach after a day in the sun made me long for any alternative to physical action. Like a nap. Anyway, how effective could I be in my current shape? If someone looked at me cross-eyed I’d fall over. My wits weren’t nimble enough to phrase questions that would be irresistible to answer.

I coaxed the Cressida into third and headed north on Halsted. At this hour it was faster to stay away from the expressways. Even Halsted was dense; I kept having to shift up and down at the lights. Tomorrow I’d return the Cressida and rent a car that worked right.

What I needed was a different approach to Diamond Head. I’d been butting my own head against a rock-hard wall there. I needed someone who might open the doors for me. I do a lot of work for industrial outfits in Chicago. It was possible that a grateful former client sat on the Diamond Head board. It was even possible that the owners, whoever they were, overlapped with some other company I’d worked for. Mr. Contreras kept saying Diamond Head had new owners; all I had to do was locate them. And that was something my trusty lawyer could do for me. He had a computer and access to the Lexis system—I didn’t.

I got off Halsted at Jackson, where the remnants of Chicago’s Greek community lie. I’d only turned there because Jackson was the direct route to my office, but the smell coming from the restaurants on the corners was too much for me. It was almost five, anyway, too late to ask Freeman Carter to start a search. I settled down with taramasalata and a plate of grilled squid and put the heat and frustrations of the day behind me.

20

Legal Enterprise

I had a hard time getting through to Freeman’s office the next morning. The first three times I dialed I counted twenty rings before hanging up. What on earth had happened to their phone system? The call should have gone to a message center. The fourth time I rang someone picked up the phone without knowing where Freeman was. His reluctance to take a message made me decide to go down in person.

I hadn’t been inside Crawford, Mead’s offices since they’d moved to their new crib near Wacker, but the walnut paneling, the russet Ferraghan hanging to the right of the entrance, and the two outsize Tang urns were all the same as they’d been on South LaSalle. Why move at all if you were just going to replicate your old surroundings at treble the cost?