Elton was standing there with his usual ingratiating smile: I will not hurt you, I am your friend, help me out. He started his usual patter:

“Streetwise, miss. Get your update on hot bands in Chicago this weekend. Find a nice place for your boyfriend—oh, evening, Vic. You been away?”

I gave him a five and took a paper. “Been away. Someone broke into the office while I was gone. You notice anyone strange hanging out the last few nights?”

Elton scrunched up his face in earnest thought but shook his head regretfully. “But I’ll be on the lookout now, Vic, you can count on that. God bless you, Vic… . Streetwise, sir. Now, how about a list of all the hot new bands in this area, place to take your best girl …”

Blue strobes were dancing toward me along North Avenue. I hurried back up Leavitt and got to my office as a blue–and–white pulled up. A young pair stepped out, black woman, white man. The perfect TV cop–show pair. I showed them mutely what I’d come on.

“You didn’t touch anything, did you, ma’am?” the woman asked, following me into the office.

“I—uh, I put the covers back on the couch.” Somehow that seemed the worst thing. “I tried not to touch any papers, but I’m not sure. Anyway, my prints are on everything. Mine and my assistant’s.”

The male half of the team was on his radio summoning additional troops. It’s something cops love to do. The work has so much tedium that when one of them finds something, the others all get invited to look. In ten minutes they had a whole battalion in place.

I was answering questions from the pair who took the call—was anything missing, had the lock been forced, how long had I been out of town—when a plainclothes team arrived. A thin, triumphant voice demanded to know if the crew had searched the premises.

“I don’t think the perp is on the premises, Sergeant,” the woman said.

“Not for the perp, for drugs. We’ve got information that Warshki is dealing.”

Craning my neck, I saw Detective Lemour. He was wearing the same brown polyester suit he’d had on the first time I saw him, unless he’d bought a closetful on sale at Wal–Mart.

I stood up. “Sergeant Lummox. What a coincidence. I didn’t know you worked burglary.”

“It’s Lemour, and I don’t work burglary, I work violent crimes. I told you I’d be on you like your underwear, but you went on across that line, Warshki, the one we knew you danced on, and we’ve got you dead to rights.”

“What are you talking about, Lemming? Since when is it a crime in this town to be the victim of a major break–in?”