“Corpus Christi?” he finally said. “When I married Catherine, her family accused me of being a fortune hunter. She was an only child and that estate was worth close to fifty million. I didn’t care much about the money. Some, but not much. I met her in Panama-her father was the ambassador; I was working off my loan from Uncle Sam. She was very idealistic, was doing a lot of work in the poor community there. Xavier O’Faolin was a priest in one of those shantytowns. He interested her in Corpus Christi. I met her because I was trying to keep dysentery and a lot of other unpleasant stuff under control in that shantytown. A hopeless battle, really.”

He swallowed some more brandy. “Then we came back to Chicago. Her father built this house. When he died we moved in. Catherine turned most of the Savage fortune over to Corpus Christi. I started becoming successful as a heart surgeon.

O’Faolin moved on to the Vatican.

“Catherine was genuinely idealistic, but O’Faolin is a charlatan. He knew how to look good and do well at the same time. It was John the Twenty-third who brought him to the Vatican-thought of him as a real people’s priest. After John died, O’Faolin headed quickly to where the money and power were.”

We drank quietly for several minutes. Few things go down as easily as Cordon Bleu.

“I should have spent more time at home.” He gave a mirthless smile. “The plaint of the suburban father. At first Catherine was pleased to see me at the hospital twenty hours a day-after all, it proved I shared her lofty ideals. But after a while, she burned out on suburban living. She should have had her own career. But it didn’t go with her ideals of Catholic motherhood, By the time I saw how angry she’d become, Agnes was in college and it was too late for me to do anything. I spent the time with Phil and Barbara I should have spent with Agnes and Cecelia, but I couldn’t help Catherine.”

He held the bottle up to his desk lamp. “Enough for two more.” He divided it between us and tossed the bottle into a leather wastebasket at his feet.

“I know she blamed you for Agnes’s-life-style. I need to know. Was she so angry with you that she’d try to get someone to shoot you?”

It had taken him a quarter bottle of good brandy to get that out. “No,” I said. “Not that simple, I’m afraid. I have some evidence showing that Corpus Christi is trying to take over a local insurance company. Mrs. Paciorek is most anxious that that information not become public. I’m afraid I had reasons for thinking someone might be waiting for me out front, so I broke in through a window in your conservatory. The police didn’t search the back of the house or they would never have left.”

“I see.” He looked suddenly old and shrunken in his tailored navy suit. “What are you going to do about it?”

“I’m going to have to let the FBI and the SEC know about Corpus Christi’s involvement. I don’t plan to tell them about tonight’s ambush, if that’s any consolation.” Nor could I bring myself to tell him about Agnes’s note. If she’d been killed because of her investigation into the Ajax takeover, then in some way or other, her mother bore responsibility for her death. Dr. Paciorek didn’t need to hear that tonight.

He stared bitterly at the desk top for a long time. When he looked up, he was almost surprised to see me sitting there.

Wherever he’d been was a long way away. “Thanks, Victoria. You’ve been more generous than I had a right to expect.”

I finished my own brandy, embarrassed. “Don’t thank me. However this ends, it’s going to be bad for you and your children. While I’m really most interested in Xavier O’Faolin, your wife is heavily involved in Corpus Christi. Their money is being used in an attempt to take over Ajax insurance. When the facts come out, she’s going to be right up front on the firing line.”

“But wouldn’t it be possible to show she was just O’Faolin’s dupe?” He smiled bitterly. “Which she has been, since she first met him in Panama.”

I looked at him with genuine pity. “Dr. Paciorek, let me tell you the situation as I understand it. The Banco Ambrosiano is missing over a billion dollars, which disappeared into unknown Panamanian companies. Based on a letter from a Panamanian named Figueredo to Archbishop O’Faolin, it looks as though O’Faolin knows where that money is. He’s in sort of a bind. As long as he doesn’t use it, no one will know where it is. Once he starts to move it, the game is up.

“O’Faolin’s no dummy. If he can get some large financial institution, like an insurance company, under his control, he can launder the money and use it however he wants. Michael Sindona tried that on behalf of the mob with the Franklin National Bank, only he was stupid enough to strip the bank’s assets. So he’s languishing now in a federal prison.

“Corpus Christi in Chicago has a huge endowment, thanks to Mrs. Paciorek. O’Faolin is a member and recruited your wife. Very well. Let them put together a dummy corporation, call it Wood-Sage, and use that to acquire Ajax stock. Once the connection comes out between Corpus Christi and the Ajax takeover-and it will; the SEC is investigating like crazy-your wife’s involvement will be front-page news. Especially here in Chicago.”

“But that’s not criminal,” the doctor pointed out.

I frowned unhappily. At last I said, “Look. I didn’t want to tell you this. Particularly not tonight, when you’ve had such a shock. But there’s Agnes’s death, you see.”

“Yes?” His voice was harsh.

“She was looking into the takeover for one of the Ajax officers,.. She found out about the Corpus Christi involvement. She was killed that night while waiting to meet with someone to discuss it.”

His white, stricken face was like an open wound in the room. I could think of nothing to say to ease that pain. At last he looked up and gave a ghastly smile. “Yes. I can see. Even if Xavier is the main culprit, Catherine can’t avoid her own responsibility for her daughter’s death. No wonder she’s been so…” His voice trailed off.

I got up. “I wish I could think of some comfort for you. I can’t. But if you want my help, please call me. My answering service takes messages twenty-four hours a day.” I put my card on the desk in front of him and left.

I was bone-weary and stiff. I’d have gladly lain down in front of the family-room fire and passed out, but I willed my aching body down the front stairs to the street. Going by road, it was only a five-minute walk to my car instead of the half hour it had taken me cross-country.

My watch said three when I moved the stiff Toyota back onto the tollway. I found a motel at the first southbound exit, checked in, and fell asleep without bothering to undress.

XXIV

IT WAS PAST noon when I woke again. Every muscle ached. I’d remembered to put the Smith & Wesson aside before going to sleep, but not the holster. My left side was sore from where the leather had pressed into my breast all night. My clothes stank. I’d fought Walter Novick in this shirt, put in a heavy stint of cross-country hiking, and slept in it. The smell bore acute witness to these activities.

I longed for a bath, but not if it meant redonning my repellent apparel. I picked up the Toyota and maneuvered its clumsy steering down the expressway to the Bellerophon. Mrs. Climzak gave me a darkling glance from behind the counter but forebore any criticism, so I gathered no one had tried burglarizing my apartment in the night.

It was only after a long soak in the stained porcelain tub that

Wherever he’d been was a long way away. “Thanks, Victoria. You’ve been more generous than I had a right to expect.”

I finished my own brandy, embarrassed. “Don’t thank me. However this ends, it’s going to be bad for you and your children. While I’m really most interested in Xavier O’Faolin, your wife is heavily involved in Corpus Christi. Their money is being used in an attempt to take over Ajax insurance. When the facts come out, she’s going to be right up front on the firing line.”