The few bedroom windows had venetian blinds, which were drawn nice and tight, making it easy to sleep in, and that’s what we were doing. Not an infrequent practice of mine, after a late night out with a lady—a privilege of age and rank. Unless I had an appointment, I didn’t bother going in to the A-1 till around ten, and the only thing scheduled on this Monday was a staff meeting at 2:00 P.M. I felt awake enough, if sluggish after an excessive nine hours—the clock radio read 9:45 A.M. But my thick, whispered hello—actually “Yeah?”—must have been a tip-off. A familiar voice on the other end of the line said, “Don’t tell me you’re still in bed.” “Gimme a second.” In just my boxers, I carried the phone on its long cord across the room, out of consideration for the slumbering Helen. “I’m an executive, Dick. I go in to work when I please. Anyway, I didn’t know I had to clear it with you.” Dick was Chief Richard Cain of the Cook County Sheriff’s Special Investigations Unit.
