“I’m afraid I’m going to get cholera. From the canal, I mean. But I didn’t have any choice. They would have run me over if I hadn’t gone in.” Under the blanket my hair felt matted with sewage.

Finchley nodded as if my words had made perfect sense.

“Who?” Rawlings exploded. “Who would have run you over? And what the hell were you doing there? Klimczak was worried you were suicidal, but I told him not a hope of that.”

“Figure it out, guys.” My words came out slowly, from a great distance. I couldn’t make myself talk faster. “You know what’s going on at Diamond Head, right? I mean, to you, nothing. Nothing’s happening there. To me, it’s where a man got killed. And the head of the plant won’t talk to me. And Jason Felitti, who owns it, throws me out of his house. So I went down to have a look for myself. And voilà!”

I waved a hand like a comic-book drunk. I couldn’t seem to control such extravagant gestures.

“And voilà what?” Finchley prodded.

I jerked my head upright—I’d started to drop off again.

“They were loading Paragon copper onto trucks in the middle of the night.”

“You want me to arrest them, Warshawski?” Rawlings demanded.

I looked at him owlishly. “It’s a thought. A definite thought. Why do they have spools of Paragon copper to begin with? No, that’s an easy question. They bought it to make their little engine gizmos with, I guess. Why are they shipping it out? Secretly in the dark? That’s the hard question.”

“How do you know they’re doing it secretly? An active business might ship supplies at any time.” Finchley crossed his legs and adjusted the crease.

“They were loading it onto closed trucks. Spools go on flatbeds. Anyway, when they saw me watching them, why didn’t they call you guys? Why’d they chase me into the canal instead?”

A ghost of a smile flitted across Finchley’s ebony face. “If you caught someone on your premises, I doubt your first act would be to call me, Vic. I expect you’d get up a load of steam and drive them off yourself if you could.”

I couldn’t prod my brain into making cogent arguments. “I shot at them. I think I hit one guy. Has anyone reported that? Maybe come around wanting to file charges?”

Finchley’s brows went up at that. He gestured at a corner and I saw a uniformed woman get up and slip out the door. I hadn’t noticed her until then.

“Mary Louise Neely,” I said out loud.