Deadlock by Sara Paretsky Read Free Book Online Page A

he might have—well, let himself fall because he was terribly depressed about not being able to skate or play hockey anymore. But, from what you’re saying and what Pete Margolis at the elevator said, he’d gotten pretty involved in what was going on down here, not depressed at all. I’d sure like to know, though, if anyone on the
Bertha
or the
Lucella
saw the accident firsthand.”
    Sheridan shook his head. “It’s true we were tied up across the way, but the
Bertha Krupnik
lay between us and the wharf. I don’t think anyone on the
Lucella
could have seen anything.”
    The waiter came back to take our orders; we told him we needed a few minutes to study the menu. He was back again within thirty seconds, coughing apologetically.
    “Mr. Grafalk wants to know if you and the lady would join him and Mr. Phillips at his table.”
    Sheridan and I looked at each other in surprise. I hadn’t noticed either of them come in. We followed the waiteracross the rose and purple carpet to a table in the corner on the other side. Grafalk stood up to shake hands with Sheridan.
    “Thanks for interrupting your lunch to join us, Mike.” To me he added, “I’m Niels Grafalk.”
    “How do you do, Mr. Grafalk. I’m V. I. Warshawski.”
    Grafalk wore a soft tweed jacket, tailored to fit his body, and an open-necked white shirt. I didn’t have to know he was born with money to feel that he was a man used to controlling things around him. He exuded a seafaring atmosphere, his hair bleached white, his face red with wind and sunburn.
    “Phillips here told me you were asking some questions of Percy MacKelvy. Since I’m on the spot, maybe you can tell me why you’re interested in Grafalk Steamship.”
    I embarked on a story which by now seemed very threadbare. “Mr. MacKelvy thought he ought to check with you before he told me where the
Bertha Krupnik
is,” I finished.
    “I see.” Grafalk looked at me sharply. “Phillips told me you were a private investigator. I thought maybe you’d decided to do some snooping around my company.”
    “When people meet a policeman unexpectedly they often feel guilty: nameless crimes rise up to confront them. When they meet a private investigator they usually feel defensive: don’t come snooping around me. I’m used to it,” I said.
    Grafalk threw his head back and let out a loud crack of laughter. Sheridan gave me a sardonic smile but Phillips looked as strained as ever.
    “If you have a minute after lunch, walk back with me to the office—I’ll get Percy to cough up the
Bertha
’s whereabouts for you.”
    The waiter came to take our order. I asked for a whole artichoke stuffed with shrimp. Grafalk chose grilled laketrout, as did Phillips. Sheridan ordered a steak. “When you spend nine months of your life on the water, beef has a solid, earthy appeal.”
    “So tell me, how does a young woman like you get involved in a career as a detective? You work for a firm or for yourself?”
    “I’ve been in business for myself for about six years. Before that I was an attorney with the Public Defender in Cook County. I got tired of seeing poor innocent chumps go off to Stateville because the police wouldn’t follow up our investigations and find real culprits. And I got even more tired of watching clever guilty rascals get off scot-free because they could afford attorneys who know how to tap-dance around the law. So I thought—à la Doña Quixote perhaps—that I’d see what I could do on my own about the situation.”
    Grafalk smiled with amusement over a glass of Niersteiner gutes Domthal. “Who usually hires you?”
    “I do a certain amount of financial crime—that’s my specialty. The Transicon Company; that business last year with Ajax Insurance and the Knifegrinders … I just finished a job involving computer fraud in wire transfers at a small bank in Peoria. I fill in the gaps tracking down missing witnesses and serving subpoenas on people anxious to avoid a day in