Murray was quiet for a minute. “I’m not sure I believe you,” he finally said. “No, no, I’m not doubting the conversation took place. I just question whether Felitti is a heavy enough hitter to keep something out of the papers on request.”

“His brother used to be a Du Page County commissioner and he’s still on the board of U.S. Metropolitan. Lots of little political connections run through that bank. Marshall Townley could well be approached that way.” Townley was the Herald-Star’s publisher.

Murray thought it over some more. “Maybe. Maybe. I’ll poke around a little. Why are you telling me this now?”

“Because too many people have been yanking me around the last two weeks. And when Dick Yarborough let that remark fly this morning—that he could suppress any public report about what I’m trying to find out—it made me, well, pretty peeved.”

“Pretty peeved, huh? Is anything left of the guy?”

“He still has one working testicle,” I said primly.

“You left one? Boy, you must be getting soft, Warshawski.… I guess it’s time for me to bite. What are you trying to find out?”

I gave him a thumbnail sketch of my fruitless investigation into Mitch Kruger’s death, including my meeting with Ben Loring at Paragon Steel. “I’ve got to believe Mitch had nosed out something that was going on at Diamond Head. Maybe the theft of the copper wire, depending on how important it was to them to keep it quiet. It could have been something else, though. Interest in his meager papers has been running high, but I finally got hold of them last night and there’s nothing in them to show he knew about the theft. But there’s nothing in them to show he knew about anything else either.”

Murray tried wheedling a look at Mitch’s papers from me, but I was keeping Eddie Mohr and the connection to Chicago Settlement to myself until after I’d talked to Mohr this afternoon. Murray hadn’t been supportive enough lately to get a free blue-plate special.

“Okay, Warshawski,” he said at last. “Maybe there is a story in this. Although I can see Finchley’s point, that maybe they just don’t like you snooping around down at Diamond Head. I’ll talk to some people and get back to you.”

“Gosh, Mr. Hecht, thanks. If it wasn’t for the hard-working, noble press, where would us poor working stiffs be?”

“In the San, where you belong. Catch you later, Warshawski.”

I finished my sandwich before dialing Max’s number at the hospital. Mr. Loewenthal was in a meeting; could his secretary take a message? I didn’t want to leave my phone number and play tag with Max all afternoon. His secretary finally allowed as how if I called back at four I could probably reach him.