It was past noon by the time Luke finished his funeral oration on the damage to the Trans Am. Since he wouldn’t hand over the keys to the Impala until he’d had a chance to say everything he wanted on the subject of the state of modern car manufacture in general, Pontiac more specifically, and my car as a particular example, I had to listen with what grace I could muster.

He was right about the Impala: it rode like a bus after the Trans Am. But its engine felt like spun silk to handle. I maneuvered it cautiously into traffic, getting a feel for its sidelines, and keeping an eye out for uninvited company. I didn’t think anyone had followed me to the garage, but I didn’t want to be foolhardy.

Remembering my promise to Mr. Contreras, I phoned from the lobby of the Herald-Star. When he didn’t answer I figured he was out with Peppy and went on up to the news floor to talk to the young reporter Murray had assigned me to.

Lydia Cooper, Murray’s gofer, looked as though she was fresh from journalism school. In fact, with her red, round cheeks and fluffy black bangs she looked as though she were on her way to a high school class. She had a thick Midwestern twang; when I asked, she grinned and said she came from Kansas.

“And please don’t ask about Toto or whether everything there’s in black and white. Believe me, I’ve heard it a million times already and I’ve only been in Chicago eleven months.”

Murray had apparently passed along my request without any baggage—she cheerfully offered to fix me up with the Lexis system as soon as we finished talking.

I gave her the details of the attack on Lotty. With Lydia dutifully taking notes at my shoulder, I called Max to see how Lotty’s tests had gone. As Audrey thought, Lotty had a hairline fracture of her left arm, but the CAT scan didn’t show clots or other head problems. Carol, shocked by the attack, was coming into the clinic for a few hours a day, but Lotty was fretting to get back to work herself.

Lydia went through a conscientious list of questions, but she had a lot to learn about probing behind partial answers. When she finished, she led me to a computer with a modem and called up Lexis for me.

“Murray said I should warn you that we might not use the story,” she drawled. “But thanks for talking to me. Just exit the system when you’re done—you don’t need to see me before you go.”