Chapters (61)
I didn’t think I was going to make any progress by staying. I put my empty glass on the desk.
“But you know who I am,” I repeated. “And that means that Chamfers was concerned enough to call you. And that means my suspicions that Mitch Kruger knew something about Diamond Head are correct. At least I know now where to focus my energies. Thanks for the whisky, Mr. Felitti.”
“I don’t know who you are; I never heard your name before,” he made a last-ditch attempt at bluster. “I just know it was supposed to be a girl named Maggie here, and your name isn’t Maggie.”
“Nice try, Mr. Felitti. But you and I both know you’re lying.”
As I sashayed down the hall in front of him the doorbell rang. A petite young woman with a mound of frizzy black hair was standing on the step.
“Maggie from Chicago Life?” I asked.
“Yeah.” She grinned. “Mr. Felitti here? I think he’s expecting me.”
“Right behind me.” I fished a card from the side of my handbag and handed it to her. “I’m a private investigator. If he says something interesting about Diamond Head, give me a call. And watch out for his laugh—it’s a killer.”
Getting the last word brings a certain emotional satisfaction, but it doesn’t help an investigation. I drove aimlessly around Naperville, looking for a place to have a soft drink before going back to Chicago. I didn’t see anything that looked like a coffee shop. At last I pulled off at the park that borders the river. I walked past parties of women with small children, necking teenagers, and the assorted homeward-bound commuter until I found an empty rustic bridge.
Peering over the wood railing at the Du Page River I tried to interpret Felitti’s and my conversation without too many shades of wishful thinking. I believed what I’d said to him at the end: he did know who I was. Chamfers had been in touch. That meant I really had to focus on Diamond Head.
On the other hand, I believed what he’d said about U.S. Met. He was the wrong person to ask about marketing plans. The way he phrased it made me think it was his brother Peter I should be talking to: I’m not clever enough, ask anyone. Even though his tone wasn’t especially bitter, it was the expression of someone who was used to being told about his own stupidity. Peter, after all, was the one who’d been trusted with the family business. Jason had never been invited to participate.
I should have done a search on Peter at the same time that I looked up Jason. I didn’t know much about him, but I was willing to bet he was on the U.S. Met board.
30
