While they talked, my sudden spurt of energy died. I shrank back inside the blanket, the skin on my arms trembling from fatigue. Finchley’s slender, muscled frame was as still as a statue, like one of the Buddhas at the Art Institute.

I’d first seen the Buddhas when I was six and my mother took me downtown to look at masterpieces of the Italian Renaissance. They sat outside the main exhibit hall. Their faces were so calm, so unblinkingly benign, I wanted to stroke them. Gabriella couldn’t understand my fascination with them; we were there for me to experience the glory of her ancestry, not gawk at lower art forms.

The Buddha grew large and beckoned me. I let go of Gabriella’s hand and climbed onto his lap. One cool stone hand clasped me lightly while his soothing voice uttered great truths.

“When you wake up you will remember everything, my daughter, everything of importance.” He kept stroking me with his cool hand and repeating the mantra, until I became aware of Rawlings’s arm around me and his deep voice adjuring me to wake up.

“You gotta get to bed, Warshawski. You’re no use to anyone like this. Want me to run you home?”

“Take me to a motel,” I mumbled. “You don’t believe anyone’s after me, but they chased me this morning. Yesterday morning. Ask Barbara at the Belmont Diner—she’ll tell you it’s the truth.”

“You know a motel that’s gonna let you in looking like this? You don’t even have any shoes on. You better let me take you home, Nancy Drew. If you’re seriously worried I’ll get someone to drive by your place every twenty minutes.”

I felt weak and helpless, abandoned by the Buddha. I fought back the impulse to collapse on the floor in tears. “You better see me up into my apartment. I can’t deal with anyone jumping me tonight.”

“Okay, girl, okay. Personal police escort. Round-the-clock protection, at least until you leave the crib again. Now, come on home. Detective Finchley has to do some thinking. It’s ugly work and he doesn’t like an audience.”

I looked at Finchley. “So do you believe me? What did Neely tell you?”

He permitted himself a small smile. “A man at Christ Hospital came in around two-thirty with a bullet in the left thigh. Claims his gun went off accidentally when he was cleaning it. Could be your guy, or—it could be what he says.

“As for the rest of your story—it’s not a story, Vic. It’s just another way of looking at a company and a death. But I will take a second look at it. Now, let Conrad take you home. He’s been jumping out of his skin ever since he heard we pulled you from the drink.”