I knocked on Mr. Contreras’s door to let him know I was home, but he was out—with his tomatoes, I saw from my kitchen window. I’d forgotten the emergency glazier, but my generous neighbor had swallowed his hurt feelings and let the man in, as a note taped to the new window informed me.

I fiddled with a leftover piece of putty. The only way I know to keep depression at bay is by working. I needed to visit the Bank of Lake View, to try to discover why Mrs. Frizell had moved her account from them. I also wanted to put a little pressure on Ben Loring at Paragon Steel. First, though, I tried the alarm people. I got them just before they closed, but was able to schedule an installation for the next morning.

It was far too late now to go to the bank, but Ben Loring would doubtless still be wrestling away with Paragon Steel’s controls in Lincolnwood. I dialed their number and got put through to Sukey’s deep, sweet voice. I realized I hadn’t learned her last name.

“This is V. I. Warshawski. I was by Friday afternoon to talk to Ben Loring and his pals.”

“Oh, yes, Ms. Warshawski. I remember clearly.”

“I had another question for him. Something I learned after I left.”

“I’m sorry, but he specifically said he didn’t want to talk to you if you called.” Her rich voice conveyed personal regret. Someone ought to be auditioning her for the stage.

“Well, I won’t try to muscle my way past you. But could you tell him I now know that someone at Diamond Head is shipping out spools of Paragon copper wire in the middle of the night? Ask him if he thinks that’s curious, or just a normal part of their business.”

She put me on hold. Five minutes later Ben Loring was rasping at me, demanding to know what the fuck I was talking about, who was I working for, what the hell did I want.

“To share information with you. Are you surprised to hear it?”

He brushed that aside. “How do you know? You got pictures? Proof of any kind?”

“I saw them with my own eyes. I was clinging to one of your spools while it hung from a gantry. In fact, it probably saved my life. So really, I’m calling out of gratitude.”

“Don’t play the cute fool with me, Warshawski—you don’t strike me as the type. Give me some details. And tell me why you’re calling.”

I gave him a succinct picture of what I’d seen. “I am getting so tired of being jacked around by people connected to Diamond Head. If someone doesn’t start talking to me soon, I’m going to be sharing my bits of information with the feds. Maybe even the newspapers.”