I laid my head back against the wall behind me. “When did he say that?”

“At the reunion.” A pause. “I’ll be honest with you, I went back to that reunion hoping to rekindle things with Sam.”

“I know. I could tell.”

“Really?” She laughed softly. “I guess subtlety isn’t my forte. I’ve always worn my heart on my sleeve. And I didn’t even know he was engaged until I got there. But Sam wasn’t having any of it. You could probably tell that, too. All he was doing was talking about you or gazing across the room at you. Even when I saw him last week and we were making small talk, it was mostly about you.”

I closed my eyes. “What did he say?”

“That you guys have an amazing relationship.”

“I thought so,” I said, my voice barely audible.

“And he said you were smart and sexy and that you weren’t afraid of anything.”

I hung up the phone a few minutes later, thinking that Sam was wrong. I was very afraid.

46

In Grady’s car heading to the office, I called Mayburn.

“Sam borrowed a credit card and passport from an ex-girlfriend’s brother,” I told him.

“Damn, that’s good info. How did you find out?”

“I didn’t tell you, but I got a postcard from him.”

“When?”

“Friday.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Because in the postcard he asked me not to.”

“Jesus, Izzy, you have to-”

“I know!” I said, cutting him off. “I have to tell you everything or you can’t help me. I get it. I wanted to tell you, but he asked me not to in the postcard, and I just wanted to see what I could find out first. Now I’ve learned something, so shut up and listen, will you?”

“That’s a hell of an outburst.”

“Please shut up.”

“Go ahead.”

“The postcard was from Indy.” I told him what the postcard said, and the fact that I’d remembered that Alyssa lived there. I told him about my conversation with her and how Sam had borrowed money, along with her brother’s passport and credit card. I gave him the credit-card number and Alec’s address in Bloomington.

“I’ll start tracing it. And I’m leaving in five minutes to drop off Forester’s herbs and heart medication at the lab.”

“I’m hoping to get the autopsy and the records of Forester’s cardiologist today.”

“Will you be able to read them?”

“Not well, but I know someone who does.”

“Can you get the records for the Chinese doc?”

“Not sure, but I’ll try. Meanwhile, do you think I should call the FBI about Sam and Alyssa’s brother?”

“Are you under subpoena?”

“No, I was questioned informally.”

“Did they tell you to call if you learned anything?”

I thought back to the conversation at FBI headquarters. “No, I don’t think so.”

“Then it’s up to you. Hey, I checked out that quote in that one letter to Forester. The one about how it’s better to be violent than to cover up impotence?”

“Yeah?”

“It’s a quote from Gandhi. So keep your eyes out for any Gandhi groupies.”

We hung up, and I watched out the window as LaSalle Street rolled by. The tourists were already in line outside what was known as the Rock-N-Roll McDonald’s. I usually rolled my eyes at such a sight. Why were these people coming to town and visiting a freaking McDonald’s? But now I felt only envy. I wished I was in a foreign city, with nothing to do except buy an Egg McMuffin.

I decided I wasn’t going to call the FBI. At least not yet. So far, Mayburn was making more of an effort than the feds. Mayburn and I were at least looking into Forester’s death, which, to all appearances, the police and the feds weren’t doing. And at least Mayburn kept me in the loop about what he found.

At the office, I got the usual stares and whispers from the assistants as I made my way to my office.

Q was there, a nervous expression on his face.

“What’s up?” I asked.

“Can I talk to you?” He gestured toward my office.

Inside, we closed the door. I sat at my chair, and Q perched on the edge of the desk. His usual blazer was already off, and his blue button-down shirt was rolled up at the sleeves, as if it was six at night instead of eight-thirty in the morning.

“Do I want to hear this?” I asked.

“Probably not. Elliot came down with a memo from Edward Chase saying Tanner is taking over all the Pickett cases.” Edward Chase was the head of the firm’s executive committee. He called the shots. “Except the Jane Augustine contract because they know you’re close to finishing that.”

I placed my fingers on the bridge of my nose and rubbed, then harder, trying to rub away the time-speeding past me like a fast storm, picking up everything and tearing it all apart. “God, I didn’t think this would happen so soon.”

“You didn’t think what would happen?”

I pulled my fingers away. Looked at Q. “I should have told you at the party, but I was hoping to come up with some way to stop it. We’re losing the Pickett cases.”

Q stood, his arms tense, giving him the look of a boxer about to get in the ring. “Why?”

“Shane wants to give the work to Tanner.”

“You’ve got to be kidding me! How could he do that?”

I told Q about the rest of my meeting with Shane, how he felt he had to build the best team for himself, in order to run Pickett.

“He can’t do this.”

“Well, it seems he can. I’ll try to get him to back off. I was thinking that maybe he’d let us keep a fraction of the cases, while I go looking for other entertainment-law work.”

Q gave me a doubtful look. We both knew that the market for entertainment law in Chicago was small. Most artists and creative companies found local counsel in Chicago, but when they got big, they went to one of the L.A. or New York firms. The work that remained was sought after and picked over by the many people in Cook County who wanted to call themselves entertainment lawyers, if only because it sounded cool.

“I can’t blame either Tanner or Shane too much,” I said. “Tanner has always wanted this work back, and who wouldn’t? And Shane, well, he doesn’t know what he’s doing with this job, and he needs people to help him.”

“Why are you so calm?” Q moved aside some file folders from one of my chairs and fell into it.

“Am I? It’s just that I can only do so much. I’m trying to get my head around the fact that Forester is gone, and I’m trying to figure out where in the hell Sam is, and I’ve got…” I paused. I wanted to say, And I’ve got Mayburn, who I’m working with.

“I know.” Q looked away. “You’ve got a lot on your shoulders.”

“It’s hard to care about work when I don’t know what’s going on with Sam.” Although my phone call with Alyssa had somewhat alleviated the feeling of loss. He had turned to her. Not me.

“Look, I know this is hard on you, too,” I said to Q. “And I’m going to find something else for us.”

“Sure.” He didn’t sound sure of my words at all. “Hey,” he said, sitting up straight, “if it helps, I got the autopsy and records of Forester’s cardiologist.”

“You did? Great.”

Q left and brought back a file folder about four inches thick.

I groaned. “It’s bigger than I thought.” I flipped through the file, trying to make sense of the EKG slips and the office notes and the operative reports. Reading medical records was an art form, one I’d never had reason to master.

I called Grady’s office. “Can I come for a visit?”

“Please. I’m in the middle of a dep summary that’s kicking my ass.”

I took the elevator up to the floor we commonly called the “med mal” department. There, Grady and his group represented hospitals and doctors who had been sued or gotten themselves in disciplinary trouble.

Grady’s office was near the end of the hall. It was a mess, like mine, but he had hung some interesting art on the walls-one a pop-art piece he’d bought at the Old Town art fair, another a colorful postmodern scribble his mother had done.