He studied it at arm’s length. I suspected he wore bifocals, but was too vain to put them on.

“You want something to eat?” he asked, tucking the card in a shirt pocket.

We ordered a couple of sandwiches. As soon as Johnny walked off to make them, Steven whispered, “It has to be Mercury Aircraft. Other than that, Rosie and E.J. couldn’t be more different. Maybe their mothers knew something about Mercury, or maybe-”

“Slow down. We have a lot of ground to cover. But I agree, it seems to be one of the few things they had in common. But it could be a coincidence; thousands of women worked for Mercury during those years. We don’t even know for a certainty that Rosie is Thalia, but if she is, Thanatos may be choosing these women because of their ages, and because they’re single.”

“Do you think she’s dead? Rosie, I mean?”

“I don’t know.” That, of course, was stretching the truth. If Rosie was Thalia, I figured the chances that Thanatos had delayed his plans were slim to none; I just didn’t know if they had reached their conclusion.

“What did Mr. Smith mean about someone hurting you?”

I shook my head. “You don’t need to hear it right now, and I don’t need to tell it.” At his look of chagrin, I added, “Don’t worry that you’ve offended me. I’ll tell you someday.”

“I didn’t mean to pry.”

“It isn’t prying, really. Now, you had some research to show me?”

He pulled out the list of E.J.’s research papers and articles and interests. Most were about the U.S. in the postwar era, particularly about two topics: women war workers and the Truman presidency.

“She was really interested in the role of women in the workforce in the postwar era,” Steven said. “But she couldn’t get published back when she first wrote about it, in the late fifties and early sixties. So she started to delve into the Truman administration.”

Johnny brought the sandwiches, which were surprisingly good, given his lack of enthusiasm over being of service. He didn’t linger at the table, just set the plates down and ambled back to the kitchen. As we ate, I thought about E.J. Blaylock and Rosie Thayer. I looked across the table. The professor certainly hadn’t given up on men.

“Do you have family in this area, Steven?”

“No, why do you ask?”

“Friends?”

He shrugged. “Not really. The two or three people I could call friends have gone home for the holidays.” It didn’t seem to bother him much.

“What about you?” I asked. “Will you be going home for the holidays?”

He shook his head. “My folks are in Florida. I can’t afford to go back there. And I wouldn’t even if I could.”

“Why not?”

After a long sigh he said, “They didn’t approve of my relationship with E.J. I haven’t had much to say to them for the last year.”

“Sorry. You see? That’s prying.”

“It’s okay. I appreciate the concern.”

“I just wonder if this sleeplessness and isolation is healthy for you.”

“What should I do? Start bedding women like Lindsey? Hardly any solace in that. I’d rather be alone. Or with you.” He blushed. “I mean, working on this with you.”

“That’s fine as far as it goes, but you probably need more than a research project to settle your nerves. And no, I’m not talking about indiscriminate sex as a remedy for insomnia. But why not make an effort to get to know some people? People you could respect.”

Whatever reply Steven might have made was forestalled when Johnny walked up and gave us the check. I paid it and left him a handsome tip, hoping it would help to keep me in his good graces. We said good-bye to him and started the walk back to the newspaper.

Although I had expected a lot of questions about E.J. and Rosie once we were outside, Steven was quiet as we walked. When we reached the Wrigley Building, he stopped and said, “I guess I’d better be going. I promised Dr. Ferguson – he’s the department chair – that I would have all of E.J.’s things out of her office today.”

“What?”

“Well, the police have taken what they need. The dean asked the campus police to keep it sealed, but I guess they finally convinced him that it… it wouldn’t serve any purpose. The department wants to use her office.”

“But why you?”

“She doesn’t have any relatives. And even though Dr. Ferguson was upset by the articles in the Express, he’s quite sympathetic. He knew about my relationship with E.J. I guess he doesn’t know who else to ask to take care of it.”

“Steven, do me a favor. Let me go with you when you go over to Dr. Blaylock’s office-”

“It isn’t necessary-”

“Give me the benefit of a doubt, okay? Give me time to write up my story. Just hang loose for a couple of hours and I’ll help you. It won’t hurt to have someone with you – I don’t know if you’ve thought much about it, but it isn’t going to be easy on you.”

“I know that gathering her things together will be painful but-”

“Have you been in her office since she died?”

“No.”

“Have you seen it at all since then?”

“No.”

I sighed. “Well, let’s just say the cops don’t get into janitorial work.”

He caught my meaning. “Oh.”

“So you’ll wait for me to go with you?”

He nodded. “I’ll wait at home until I hear from you.”

He left and I ran upstairs. I had a lot of writing to do. I also needed to call Frank and pick up the photo of Rosie Thayer. And to start rebuilding a bridge I had damaged that morning.

I WAS ABLE TO WRITE up the piece on Rosie Thayer fairly quickly. My adrenaline was flowing and it felt good to move at the fast pace that afternoon demanded. I found I wasn’t feeling as moody as I had that morning. Maybe thinking about Thayer being starved to death somewhere changed my outlook on my own troubles.

I discussed my progress with John Walters, then called the Las Piernas Police Department and asked for Robbery-Homicide. Frank was on another line, so I left a message that I was on my way over.

When I got there, he was talking to Pete about something. Pete saw me and gave me a pleading look, but then excused himself. Frank didn’t look overjoyed to see me. I couldn’t blame him.

“What can I do for you?” he asked. You would think I had walked into a shoe store.

“Unless you’d rather wait and read about it in tomorrow’s Express, I have some information that might interest you.”

He motioned for me to sit down, then sat up straighter in his own chair. His desk was neat and clutter-free. Next to it, Pete’s desk was covered with an Everest of paper, coffee cups, and file folders. Frank pulled out his notebook and looked over at me. “Go ahead.”

He ruffled my feathers a little with his show of detachment, but I figured he was still smarting from this morning. I shrugged and started to tell him about my conversations with Steven Kincaid. He listened attentively and made notes, and gradually his interest in what I was telling him started to lower the tension level.

“You were over at Rosie’s Bar and Grill this morning, right?” I asked.

He nodded.

“Well, there are lots of photos from Mercury Aircraft. Turns out both Rosie Thayer and Edna Blaylock were daughters of ‘Rosie the Riveters.’ Their mothers both worked for Mercury. I’m not sure that’s the only connection, since a hell of a lot of women worked there in the 1940s. But it’s hard to come up with much of anything else. Have you had any luck trying to find out what might have become of Thayer?”

“No, but we haven’t been at it for very long, just a few hours.”

“Missing Persons didn’t have anything on her?”

“No, but they have a heavy case load. They’ve asked a few people a few questions, but there wasn’t any sign of a struggle at her apartment, nor were there any other indications that she had been abducted.” He paused a moment then added, “Your story will probably help. Maybe someone saw her taken somewhere.”