“Todd and I know each other,” I said. “We met over dogs. Fact is, he’s got such an active social conscience, he’s just about looking after our whole block right now.”

Todd flushed a dull mahogany. “Mr. Yarborough knows about it, sir. He can explain it to you. If you’ll excuse me, I was with a client when you called.”

“Ah, these young guys, just can’t take a joke. What’s this about dogs, Vic?”

I gave him a short summary, in between a series of phone calls. His attention was wandering long before I finished. “I’ll look into it for you, Vic, let you know if I learn anything. Good to see you. Just give me advance notice the next time you come, so I can have the cops ready.”

I forced a smile and left for my own office. I spent the afternoon on odd jobs—typing invoices, preparing a presentation for the Schaumburg company I’d seen on Monday, catching up on correspondence.

By the end of the day no word had come from Catherine on my Lexis search. I didn’t have any way to get back in touch with her until she and Freeman started work next week. I left a message on their new office’s answering machine just in case, but it looked as though I would have to drive to Springfield tomorrow.

At six I called Lotty to see if we could swap cars back tonight; with the Trans Am I could probably make the round trip in under five hours. She agreed, but without enthusiasm.

“What’s wrong? You busy?”

She laughed self-consciously. “No. Just feeling sorry for myself. Today was Carol’s last day. I feel—personally bereft. And Max keeps trying to make me be reasonable, which only makes me want to be as unreasonable as I possibly can.”

“Well, I still love you, Lotty. Want me to take you out for dinner? You can scream and shout to your heart’s content.”

At that she gave a more natural laugh. “That’s what the doctor ordered. Yes. Great idea. I’m running behind here. How about seven-thirty at I Popoli?”

I agreed readily and started going through the motions of tidying my office for the night. I was just heading out the door when the phone rang again. Thinking it might be Freeman, I went back to my desk. A smooth-voiced woman asked if I was indeed Ms. Warshawski, then commanded me to hold for Mr. Yarborough.

“Vic, what in hell were you doing poking through our offices this morning?” he demanded without preamble.

“Dick, that question is just loaded with negative pregnants. How on earth do you handle the affairs of your impressive clients when you express yourself so loosely?” I picked up a pen and sketched a row of jagged teeth on an envelope in front of me. Then I added a ball of fire erupting from them.