“About the purity of your heart. You’re not always as frank with your own counsel as a lawyer could wish. Get your own computer,” he repeated. “That’s my best advice for you today.”

He hung up while I was still fishing around for a response. I stared at the phone, too astounded even to feel angry. Dick must have called him to read him the riot act, but why would that make him treat me to such a tirade? Nothing Dick had ever said or done in the past had had that kind of effect on him. The parting from Crawford, Mead must have been exceedingly painful.

I wondered what would take longer—driving the four hundred miles to Springfield and back to look at the paper copy of the corporation files, or buying my own machine and figuring out how to dial up Lexis. I phoned Murray at the Herald-Star.

“You know Lotty Herschel got beat up last night?” I said without preamble.

“Christ, Vic. I’m fine, thanks—how are you? Glad to see you’re not bearing a grudge from the other day.”

“I should be—you ate my sandwich, trough-hound. You care about Lotty?”

“Lots. How is she? How did she get beaten up? Where did it happen?” He sounded as though he was choking down a doughnut as he spoke.

“I’ll tell you the whole story when you’re through with your current snack. Only I need to come down and look at something on Lexis.”

“You never call just to say hi, Warshawski. It’s always because you want something.”

The buzzing in my brain was starting to concentrate into a throb over my right temple. “Maybe if you hadn’t been drooling at my bedside every time I had a close call the last few years I’d feel more like a friend and less like a piece of meat at a barbecue when we talk.”

He paused a second, trying to decide whether that was a justifiable complaint. “Tell me what you want to know and I’ll dial it up for you.”

“N-o, no. You wouldn’t give me the time of day over Pichea and Mrs. Frizell. I’ll tell you what happened to Lotty, but the rest of my business is my business.”

“I can get one of my gofers to find the story on Lotty.”

“True,” I said, “but they wouldn’t have any of the inside details. Like how she happened to be driving my car. Stuff like that.”

“Oh, screw you, Warshawski. Lotty’s important to you, but she’s not big news in this town. And I know neither of you will let me in with a camera. But come on down here. Let’s get it over with.”

“Thank you, Murray,” I said meekly. “See you in two hours, okay?”