Sara Paretsky's Blog, page 12
December 20, 2012
Crows Over A Cornfield
I am writing like a maniac, trying to finish the new book before the end of the year, but the end seems to be receding–kind of like the horizon in Tennyson’s “Ulysses.” A while back, I posted the first chapter here. While I try to get the baddies and V I and her young protegés all together in the same place at the same time, here’s part of chapter 2
Crows Over a Cornfield (Van Gogh)
2
“Your friend wasn’t there, but I did find one of her fellow communards. Or drug dealers, as we call them on the south side.” I was in Lotty Herschel’s living room, leaning back in her Barcelona chair, watching the colors change in the glass of brandy she’d given me.
“Oh, Vic, no.” Lotty’s face crumpled in distress. “I hoped—I thought—I wanted to believe she was making a change in her life.”
It was past nine and Lotty was almost as tired as I was, but neither of us had wanted to wait until morning to talk.
I’d driven the crows away from the dead body by flinging my flashlight and a screwdriver at them. They took off in a great black circle, flying around with angry cries just long enough for me to look at the body and see that it had been a man, not a woman. After that I backed away as fast as I could through the thick hot jungle of corn. I didn’t call the sheriff until I reached the edge of the road.
The dog wouldn’t leave her vigil at the entrance to the field, despite my pleas and commands. While we waited for the law, I poured more water over her head and into her mouth. She tried to lick my arm, but fell asleep instead, lifting her head with a jerk when two squad cars raced up, lights flashing, white lettering in dark brown stripes assuring us that Palfry County’s law cared while they served. Three deputies spilled out of the cars. Two, a young man and an older woman, followed the bent stalks of corn to the body. They left a youngish man with me to take a brief statement and phone headquarters for instructions. At the end of the call, my youngish man, Deputy Davilats, told me I was to go into town and explain myself in person to the sheriff.
I heard shots from the middle of the field and saw the crows rise up again.
I asked the deputy to help me lift the dog into my car. “Even though the dead guy in the field might have given her some of these wounds, she won’t leave while he’s out there,” I said.
When the deputy came over to help me shift the dog, she curled her lip at him and growled.
The deputy backed away. “You probably should just shoot her, weak as she is and mean as she is.”
I was a hundred miles from home, the law here was a law unto itself and could make my life miserable: I needed to not lose my temper. “You could be right. In the meantime, she’s innocent until proven guilty. If you’ll take her back legs, I’ll get her around the neck so she can’t bite.”
The dog struggled, but feebly. By the time we had her shifted into the back of my Mustang, the two other deputies stumbled out of the field at a shambling run. They had both turned a greeny-white beneath their sunburns.
“We gotta get a meat wagon out here while there’s still some of the body left for the ME,” the woman said, her voice thick. “Glenn, you call it in. I’m going—“ she turned away from us and was sick in the ditch by the road. Her partner made it as far as their squad car before he was ill.
My deputy called back to headquarters. “Davilats here. Got us an 0110…Don’t know who; I drew the long straw and didn’t have to see the body, but Jenny and Fred say the crows been doing a good job having dinner off of it.”
The voice at the other end told Officer Davilats to guard the entrance to the field while I followed Jenny and Fred back to the county seat, where the local sheriff met us. To my surprise and great gratitude, Sheriff Kossel didn’t keep me long. He had Jenny stay with me while Fred drove him to the cornfield. Once he’d viewed the body he demanded my credentials.
“Warshawski? You related to the auto-parts people?” he asked.
““No,” I said for perhaps the fifty thousandth time in my career. “They spell it with a ‘y’. I’m related to I V Warshawski, the Yiddish writer.” I don’t know why I added that, since it wasn’t true.
November 12, 2012
Where is V I? Week 5: Sneak Peak at the next VI novel
We took a break from our “Where is V I” while people started digging out from Sandy, and while we held Presidential and other elections.
It’s time to get back to the Girl Detective. We will have two winners this week. The first winner will come from our random drawing of “Where is V I this week?”
Where is V I? Week 5
Our second winner will provide the most entertaining answer to the question: Where in Chicago would you most like to meet VI? This will be a completely subjective decision by our team of judges. We will post the answer that most entertains us!
Here are your choices for the random drawing of Where is VI? Week 5
a. Trevi Fountain, Rome
b. Neptune Fountain, Kansas City
c. Buckingham Fountain, Chicago
d. Fountain of Time, Chicago
Both winners will get signed copies of the paperback edition of Breakdown. Both will also received PDF files of the first three chapters of the next VI novel, so far untitled.
Please remember: we only use answers that you email to whereisvi@mindspring.com
Special congratulations to our Week 4 winners, Umang Sharma, and Karri Pasteris
October 23, 2012
Week 4: Where is V I this time?
I rely on a team who don’t know my friends to pick the winners every week so that selection can be unbiased. Thanks to everyone who remembered that VI’s father was a cop–although those who thought she was cozying up to Officer Mota before Breaking and Entering were right, too. Anyway, special congratulations to Michael O’Neill and Andi Schechter for winning in this week’s random drawing. Email your addresses to me (viwarshawski@mindspring.com) and we’ll get signed paperbacks of Breakdown out to you ASAP.
V I in Chicago
Where is the Girl Detective now? And why is she sporting Guardian Angel instead of Breakdown? And please remember: only entries emailed to whereisvi@mindspring.com will be considered
a. She’s in front of Cloud Gate at Millennium Park
b. She’s in front of the Unisphere in Flushing Meadows
c. She’s in front of the Water Gate hotel in Georgetown
d. She’s in front of the Spirit of Chicago in Jackson Park
As to why she’s sporting Guardian Angel, is it
a. Sara forgot to photo-shop the base
b. The case still weighs V I down after all these years
c. Everyone needs a guardian angel; V I just carries her around with her
d. She wanted to see how alert people looking at the blog were
October 16, 2012
October 16: Why is V I with this Man?
V I with Officer Mota in front of Toni’s Patisserie
Our contest continues! This week, V I Warshawski is standing on Washington Street, near Grant Park, with Officer Mota of the Chicago Police Department. V I is often prickly, some might say confrontational, with the CPD’s finest, so what’s going on here?
a. V I is trying to fool the police into thinking she’s following their rules, but as soon as Officer Mota leaves, she’s off for a spot of breaking & entering
b. When V I’s beloved cousin Boom-Boom’s hockey career came to an end, he did a stint with the CPD before his untimely drowning
c. V I’s father Tony was part of the CPD and she still knows some of his old friends on the force
d. When V I’s adored mother Gabriella was murdered, the CPD tracked down the killer; V I continues to be grateful
Once again, only answers that are emailed to: whereisvi@mindspring.com are eligible.
Thanks for playing.
And CONGRATULATIONS to the Week 2 winners: Daniel O’Shea and Kate Wilson! As soon as we have books available we’ll get them out to you.
PS on a personal note, today is my husband’s birthday. HAPPY BIRTHDAY, COURTENAY!
October 9, 2012
October 9: Where in Chicago Is V I Warshawski
We had a great response to Week 1 and we have two winners! Rachel Benoit, and silvermaple@ca.rr.com As soon as we get mailing addresses, we’ll get early copies of the paperback Breakdown out to you.
On to today’s question. Where in Chicago is V I today?
October 9: Where is V I Warshawski?
a. V I has an explosive personality; she’s taken Sara down to the statue commemorating the first nuclear chain reaction
b. V I is always sticking it to the 1 percent. She’s in front of the statue where Chicagoans who belong to Yale’s famous Skull & Crossbones Club meet
c. The American Dental Association headquarters are in Chicago; V I is looking for clues near the statue of a giant tooth, complete with gold filling
d. V I grew up in the shadow of the old steel mills. They’re long gone and pieces of the USX Works were melted down into this ominous statue commemorating their end
Once again: email your answer to WhereisVI@mindspring.com
Only emailed answers are eligible for next week’s drawing.
October 2, 2012
October 2: Where in Chicago is V I Warshawski?
V I is a big sports fan. She went to college on a basketball scholarship, her cousin Boom-Boom played for the Blackhawks, and she herself follows Chicago baseball and football. She’s dragged Sara to one of her favorite sports arenas. Who plays here?
a) New York Yankees
b) Chicago Cubs
c) Manchester United
d) The Maple Leafs
Send your answer to whereisvi@mindspring.com
On October 8th we’ll do a drawing from all the correct answers and announce a winner, along with the October 9th quiz. DO NOT ANSWER IN THE BLOG COMMENTS. Only answers sent to whereisvi@mindspring.com will be entered in the drawing.
Good luck!
September 28, 2012
Where in the World is V I Warshawski?
V I Warshawski spends a lot of time racing across Chicago looking for clues. Here’s your chance to join her on her journeys!
Every Tuesday for the next seven weeks we’ll post a picture on my blog of V I in a different part of Chicago. Guess the right location, and you’ll be entered into a drawing. The winner will get an early copy of the paperback edition of Breakdown, in bookstores on December 4th. The final week, November 20th, will have a grand prize drawing from all of the entries to the quiz (note: there will be no quiz on November 6th, election day. V I expects all Americans to be going to the polls).
Sara reads her version of one of V I’s exploits aloud to the detective
Right now, Sara is reading V I a description of her exploits at Women and Children First. If the quiz were up and running, we’d ask, “Where is V I” and give you a choice of four answers. You’ll be given a link to a special email address to send in your answer.
Check in October 2nd to see where she is next as the contest gets underway!
This quiz is open to everyone all over the world, except for members of V I’s immediate family.
Good luck on the chase!
September 20, 2012
On the Road
I recently went to Vienna, Austria to do a little background work for the novel I’m currently writing. I wanted to see the Institute for Radium Research, which was radical in its support of women scientists back when it first opened its doors. In its prime, in the 1930′s, almost forty percent of the research staff were women, and it was the first place that hired janitors: all other labs demanded that women scientists also serve as janitors.
Dr. Marton showing Sara around the Institut
Sara in the Institut für Radiumforschung stairwell
It wasn’t until the 1980′s that the Institut got rid of the radium in the basement; in the process of cleaning the building they discovered so many hot spots that they had to dig pieces of the stairwell and the walls out and replace them.
I also went to the Leopoldstadt, the section of Vienna where immigrants typically congregate. When almost 200,000 Jews came in from eastern Europe in the years right after WW I, so many settled in the Leopoldstadt that it became known as the “Matzo Island.” More grimly and tragically, the Leopoldstadt became the ghetto where Jews were forced to live, and then deported to their deaths after the Nazi takeover of Austria in 1938. I wanted to see the building where Lotty Herschel and her family might have lived.
Entryway to the building where Lotty might have lived in 1938-39
I found Vienna challenging emotionally. Like most Jews of my generation and history, the past haunts me when I’m in Vienna or Berlin or Munich. The city, too, feels pinched in a way, but I was warmly greeted by Professor Marton at the Institut, and by the archivists to whom he introduced me.
I walked five or six miles a day, doing research and seeing sights and of course my trip was fueled by espresso. The best I found in Vienna was at the Coffee Pirates on Spitalgaße, across the street from Vienna’s great teaching hospital. The pirates welcomed me with open arms.
In Vienna with the Coffee Pirates
(On a side note, when I found a great coffee shop near my London hotel called “Workshop” I was wearing a sweatshirt from Intelligentsia Coffee in Chicago. I became an instant celebrity: their owner had gone to Chicago to study coffee making at Intelligentsia.)
From Vienna, I flew to Istanbul to meet up with my beloved cousin Barb, who’s serving in the Peace Corps in Crimea. We enjoyed all the tourist spots–the Blue Mosque, Topkapi, Haggia Sophia–but the highlight was taking the ferry across the Bosporous to the Asian side of Istanbul. There we met with the team from Artemis Publishing, who just brought out the first of my V I books to be published in Turkish (Hardball). Afterwards, we had tea with an important Professor of Turkology whom Barb works with in Crimea. From the team at Artemis and from Professor Isen, we got some interesting insights into contemporary issues in Istanbul. Among other things, the pressure on women to get pregnant and have children is such that doctors phone them at home once a week to interrogate them on their fertility! This will no doubt soon become the law in Texas, too.
Sara with Editor, Publisher, and Graphic Designer at Artemis Publishing in Istanbul
On the ferry across the Bosporus. Our apartment was near the tower in the background on the left
Sara and Barb inside Haggia Sophia, Istanbul
From Istanbul I went to London, saw David Hare’s The Judas Kiss about Oscar Wilde–astonishing production, which left us weeping at the end. Meetings with editors, agents, dog walks in Regents Park, great meals with good friends, good coffee, wonderful catching up with the incomparable Liza Cody and Margaret Kinsman, and my first outing to Kew Gardens, where I got to climb up to the Treetop Walk. You walk along level with the tops of great trees. It’s extraordinary and exhilarating. Then–home to laundry, bills, chaos, and The Book.
August 24, 2012
Assault
I have never been raped. One in seven American women experiences this dehumanizing assault some time during her life, so I know, compared to my sisters, that I have been lucky. Neither virtuous nor unusually skilled. Just lucky.
When I was 22, I was assaulted in my home. The man was my boss’s husband; he was a UCC minister, 45 years older than I was, and I admitted him to my apartment because I trusted him. He did important work in the social justice world and I thought, when he said he was in the neighborhood and wanted to drop in for a cup of coffee, that he was doing me an honor.
As soon as he got inside my door, he attacked me. He was a foot taller and a lot stronger than I was. I broke away from him, ran out of my building, jumped on the first bus I saw,not caring where it was headed, and finally got to a friend’s house, where I spent the night. This was in 1969. Not only were there no cell phones, there were no rape crisis centers. It didn’t occur to me to report him to the police, and because his wife was my boss, I didn’t think I could tell her. (I didn’t know this at the time, but he was having affairs with several other women. A year later, he left his wife of 40 years and their four children for one of these other women.)
He continued to be revered in my community. When he died, his second wife and all her friends eulogized him in the church I occasionally attend. I had to leave the service. The one person at the service I mentioned the episode to refused to believe me: this was much too saintly a man. Why would I want to make up something like this about him?
Writing about it now, all these years later, I find that my stomach is still knotting up, that it’s hard for me to type this and not cry.
For one in seven American females, as young in many cases as toddlers, the story moves from an attempt to complete sexual assault. I don’t know how many women came as close as I did but were able to flee or otherwise avoid their assailant (“My” attacker had left my door open when he came in. My youth made me a faster sprinter.)
If you have any doubt about the massive damage that rape does to women, and why it’s an outrage for a woman to be forced to carry a violently conceived pregnancy to term, read what Eve Ensler has to say on the subject.
Todd, Paul, Mitt, Benedict, Timothy and the rest of you trying to put yourselves in charge of women’s lives and women’s pain–one in ten American men experiences sexual assault, too. It’s not about sex, or babies. It’s about power and powerlessness and terrible pain. If you think you have a right to force people to be in pain, then you are part of the problem.
August 20, 2012
Chapter One
The first chapter of my work in progress will be included as a special addition to the paperback of Breakdown when that appears in December. However, as a thank you to everyone who stopped by the site after my last message, I’m letting you have a sneak preview of the first 2 pages here.
The sun scorched my back through my thin shirt. It was late September, but out on the prairie the sun still beat down with a mid-summer ferocity.
I tried the gate set in the front of the cyclone fence, but it was heavily padlocked; when I pushed hard to see if it would open enough for me to slide through, the metal burned my fingers. A camera and a microphone were mounted on top of the gate post, but both had been shot out.
I backed away and looked around the empty landscape. I’d been the only car on the gravel side road as I’d bumped my way down from the turn-off in Palfry. Except for the crows circling and diving into the brown cornstalks across the road, I was completely alone now. The only other person I could see was a farmer some half mile distant, creating a dust cloud with his tractor. I felt tiny and vulnerable under the blue bowl of the sky. It closed over the earth in all directions, seeming to shut out air, to let in nothing but light and heat.
Nebraska Cornfield in the 2012 Drought
Despite dark glasses and a visored cap, my eyes throbbed from the glare. As I walked around the house, looking for a break in the fence, little purple smoke rings danced in front of me.
Possible Meth Lab
The house was old and falling down. Glass had broken out, or been shot out, of most of the windows. Someone had nailed slabs of plywood over them, but hadn’t put much effort into the job: in several places the wood swung free, secured by only a couple of nails. Behind the plywood I could see pieces of cardboard or tatty cloth stuffed around the broken panes.
The steel fence had revolving spikes on top to discourage trespassers like me. Signs at several intervals warned of guard dogs, but I didn’t hear any barking or snuffling as I walked the perimeter.
In front, the house was close to the fence and to the road, but in the back the fence took in a large stretch of open land. An old shed had collapsed in one corner. A giant pit filled with refuse, and stinking of chemicals, had been dug near the shed. Jugs, spray cans of solvent, and all the other fixings of a meth operation fought with coffee grounds and chicken bones for top stench.
It was behind the shed that I found the opening I needed. Someone had been before me with heavy steel cutters, taking out a piece of fence wide enough for a person to walk through upright. The cuts were recent, the steel along the pointed ends shiny, unlike the dull grey of the rest of the metal. As I passed between the cuts, the skin on my neck prickled with something more than heat. I wished I’d brought my gun with me, but I hadn’t known I was coming to a drug house when I left Chicago.
