Caroline shrugged. “Art keeps a pretty tight grip on a number of the businesses down there. He might have gotten their insurance in exchange for a tax break or something. Of course when Washington was elected Art didn’t have as many favors to hand out, but he still can do a lot for a company if they do something for him.”

I pulled Jurshak’s report to Mariners Rest from Mozart’s Concert Arias and handed it to Caroline. She frowned over it for several minutes.

“I don’t know anything about insurance,” she finally said. “All I can tell you is that Ma’s benefits have been first-class. I don’t know about any of these other companies.”

Her words triggered an elusive memory. Something someone had said to me in the last few weeks about Xerxes and insurance. I frowned, trying to drag it the surface, but I couldn’t get hold of it.

“It meant something to Nancy,” I said impatiently. “What? Did she collect data on health and mortality rates for any of these companies? Maybe she had some way of checking the accuracy of this report.” Maybe the report didn’t mean anything. But then why had Nancy been carrying it around?

“Yes. She did track all these health statistics-she was the director of Health and Environmental Services.”

“So let’s go down to SCRAP and check her files.” I got up and started hunting for my boots.

Caroline shook her head. “Nancy’s files are gone. The police impounded what she had in her desk, but someone had cleaned out her health files before the cops got them. We just assumed she’d taken them home with her.”

My anger returned in a rush, fueled by disappointment: I was sure we’d reached a break in the case. “Why the hell didn’t you tell the police that two weeks ago? Or me! Don’t you see, Caroline? Whoever killed her took her papers. We could have been looking exclusively at people involved in these companies, instead of trailing around after vengeful lovers and all that crap!”

She heated up just as fast. “I told you at the time she was killed because of her work! You just were on your usual fucking arrogant head trip and wouldn’t pay any attention to me!”

“You said it was because of the recycling plant, which this has nothing to do with. And anyway, why didn’t you tell me that her files had disappeared?”

We went at it like a couple of six-year-olds, both venting our fury over the threats and humiliations of the past few weeks. I don’t know how we would have extricated ourselves from the escalating insults if we hadn’t been interrupted by the buzzer outside my front door. I left Caroline in the living room and stormed to the entrance.

Mr. Contreras was standing there. “I don’t mean to be butting in, cookie,” he said apologetically, “but this young fella’s been ringing the lobby bell for the last couple of minutes and you two was so wrapped up, I thought maybe you couldn’t hear him.”

Young Art trailed in behind Mr. Contreras. His square, chiseled face was flushed and his auburn hair disheveled. He was biting his lips, clenching and unclenching his hands, in so much turmoil that his usual beauty was obscured. The family resemblance I saw in his distraught face staggered me so much that it muffled my surprise at seeing him.

I finally said weakly, “What are you doing here? Where have you been? Did your mother send you?”

He cleared his throat, trying to speak, but he couldn’t seem to get any words out.

Mr. Contreras, his promise not to breathe down my neck still present in his mind, didn’t linger to issue his usual unsubtle threats against my male visitors. Or maybe he’d summed up Art and figured he didn’t need to worry.

When the old man had left Art finally spoke. “I need to talk to you. It-things are worse than I thought.” His voice came out in a squawky little whisper.

Caroline came to the living-room door to see what the uproar was about. I turned to her and said as gently as I could, “This is young Art Jurshak, Caroline. I don’t know if you’ve ever met, but he’s the alderman’s son. He’s got something confidential he needs to tell me. Can you call some of your pals at SCRAP, see if any of them know anything about this report Nancy was carrying around with her?”

I was afraid she was going to argue with me, but my stunned mood got across to her. She asked if I was all right, if it was okay to leave me with young Art. When I reassured her she went back to the living room for her coat.

She stopped briefly at the door on her way out and said in a small voice, “I didn’t mean all those things I was saying. I came here to get back on good terms with you, not to shout like that,”

I rubbed her shoulders gently. “It’s okay, fireball-it goes with the territory. I said some stupid things myself Let’s forget it.”

She gave me a quick hug and took off.

I took Art into the living room and poured him a glass of the Barolo. He gulped it down. Water would probably have been just as good under the circumstances.

“Where have you been hiding? Do you know every beat cop in Chicago is carrying your description? Or that your mother’s going crazy?” They weren’t the questions I really wanted to ask, but I couldn’t figure out how to frame those.

His lips stretched in a nervous parody of his usual beautiful smile. “I was at Nancy’s. I figured no one would look there.”

“Hn-unh.” I shook my head. “You’ve been gone since Monday night and I was at Nancy’s on Tuesday with Mrs. Cleghorn.”

“I spent Monday night in my car. Then I figured no one would be bothering with Nancy’s house. I-I could see it had been torn up pretty good. It’s been kind of spooky, but I knew I’d be safe there since they’d already searched it.”

“Who’s ’they’?”

“The people who killed Nancy.”

“And who are they?” I felt as though I was interrogating a jug of molasses.

“I don’t know,” he muttered, looking away.

“But you can guess,” I prodded. “Tell me about the insurance your father manages for Xerxes. What was Nancy’s interest in it?”

“How did you get those papers?” he whispered. “I called my mother this morning, I knew she’d be worried, and she said you had been by. My-my old man-Big Art had found the card you left and really blown sky high, she said. He was screaming that-that if he got his hands on me, he’d see I remembered never to betray him again. That’s why I came here. To see what you know. See if you can help me.”

I looked at him sourly. “I’ve been trying to get you to tell me a few things for the last two weeks and you’ve been acting as though English was your second language and you weren’t too fluent in it.”

He scrunched up his face in misery. “I know. But when Nancy died I was so afraid. Afraid my old man had something to do with it.”

“Why didn’t you run away then? Why wait until I talked to you?”

He flushed an even deeper red. “I thought maybe no one would know-know the connection. But if you saw it, anyone could.”

“Like the police, you mean? Or Big Art?” When he didn’t answer I said with what patience I could muster, “Okay. Why did you come here today?”

“I called my mother this morning. I knew my old man would be at a meeting, that I could count on him not being home. The slate-makers, you know.” He smiled unhappily. “With Washington dead, they were all getting together this morning to plan for the election. Dad-Art-might miss a Council meeting, but he wouldn’t stay away from that.

“Anyway, Mother told me about you. About how you’d been around but then you’d almost ended up the same-the same way as Nancy. I couldn’t stay in her place forever, there was hardly any food anyway and I was scared to turn on the lights at night in case someone saw and came into inspect. And if they were going to go after anyone who knew about Nancy and the insurance, I figured I’d better get help or I’d be dead.”