"I didn't know."

"Now you do. Kelsey also has a history of drug abuse and violence that you neglected to mention. Are you sleeping with this guy or something?"

Munro was becoming less attractive the longer I knew him.

"That's a disgusting insinuation," I said. "It doesn't deserve a reply. You've got a warped mind. And that drug story is ancient history. He went through a rehab program three years ago and has tested clean ever since. He's born-again, for heaven's sake. He leads the chapel on Sundays. Surely you can't suspect him?"

"I suspect everyone at this point. We're still checking alibis. I'm sorry if I've insulted you, but I just wish you'd told me about Kelsey and Thorson this morning."

"Who did tell you? Swain? Grabowski?" I could tell by his look that I was close to the mark.

"Those two are flat-out racists. They're good old boys from Texas who talk about niggers and dogs in the same breath. You're taking their word?"

"I'm not taking anyone's word, Ms. Henry. I just have to investigate everything I hear."

I guess he was right. I was overreacting. In lieu of an apology, which I couldn't quite choke out, I told him about the reconciliation I'd watched between Thorson and Kelsey after the game. He grunted and made a couple of notes in his book.

"What about Sanchez?" I asked. "Have you found the connection?"

"Not yet. Off the record, do you think Sanchez could have been capable of blackmail?"

I was a bit taken aback.

"I don't know. He wasn't cursed with many scruples. Behind his jovial facade he was driven and a bit paranoid. He saw conspiracies against him because of his colour, his language, his age, you name it. And he was always looking out for himself. I'm not sure what that adds up to. Why do you ask?"

"There are some unexplained large regular entries in his bank account."

"How large?"

"Five figures a month."

"Maybe he'd loaned some money? Maybe pay for endorsements? Bonuses?"

"We're checking it out. Blackmail is just one possibility. I'd rather you didn't print anything about this."

"Not until you tell me I can. I'm glad to help you, as long as I know I'm going to get my story when this is all over."

"I'll give you all you need then."

"That's a deal. If there's nothing else, I've got to run. I'll be at home tonight if you need me."

"Very kind," he said, with an almost straight face.

Chapter 13.

I called Jake Watson before I left the ballpark.

"I'll file from home, Jake. I'm babysitting."

"I need Sandi Thorson," he said.

"Give the lady a break. Her husband's hardly cold."

"We have to get her first, Kate. Get on it."

"I'll try in the morning."

"What are the odds?"

"I wasn't exactly her husband's favourite, Jake."

"No one was. Just use those womanly wiles."

"All right. I'll try. I'll make some calls tonight. I'm sure she won't talk, though."

"It's your neck if she's in the Mirror tomorrow."

When I got home, I heard loud music coming from Sally's apartment. I banged on the door on my way upstairs.

"I'm home, T.C. If you're not doing your homework, you're in deep shit!"

Elwy met me at the door, meowing a plaintive tale of imminent starvation. He butted his head against my calves while I opened a can and threaded between my ankles, yapping all the while, as I crossed the kitchen to his dish.

"Bitch, bitch, bitch. That's all you ever do. What about a bit of gratitude for all the work I do to feed you? Hmm?"

He was too busy to answer, trying to eat the food before it finished the trip from the can to his dish.

I phoned down to Sally's.

"Hey, T.C. What have you got down there for supper?"

"Mum's left me macaroni and cheese."

"Great. My personal fave. It will go perfectly with the burgers I'm going to make us. Bring the noodles when you come. I've got to make some calls. I'll see you at six-thirty."

"Okay. That's neat."

"And if you've finished your homework, we'll watch the Yankee game."

"All right!"

I made myself a pot of tea and took it up to my study. My first call was to Gloves Gardiner.

"I need your help," I said. There was no point getting coy with the catcher. "Isn't Karin a good friend of Sandi Thorson?"

"Yeah, she's over there right now."

"I want to interview her. Could Karin put in a word for me? I'd like to get her story as soon as possible."

"Can't you leave her alone for a few days?"

"Unfortunately, she's news and I've got to get to her."

"It isn't like you to be so cold, Kate. I don't want to get involved. Neither does Karin."

"Just ask. Tell her if Sandi doesn't talk to somebody she's going to have every reporter in the city camped outside her door. If she talks to one person, it will get the rest off her back. And wouldn't she rather talk to me than to one of those sleazoids from the Mirror? I'm not going to do a hatchet job on her, for God's sake. She's a widow. Trust me."

"I don't know. I'll ask Karin what she thinks when she gets home. I can't promise anything."

"There's something else. About the murder motive."

He laughed. "I can think of about twenty. Can't you?"

I crossed my fingers for the promise I was about to bend a little.

"I can't tell you why, but I think maybe Sanchez was blackmailing someone."

"It wasn't me."

"Think about it. Did anyone seem really relieved when they heard he was dead?"

"No. We were all shocked."

"What about the reaction to Thorson?"

"Now we're scared."

"How so?"

"Sultan could have been killed by anyone in Toronto. Steve's murderer has to be someone we know. We're watching our backs."

"Oh, Gloves, no."

"'Fraid so. I gotta go. See you tomorrow."

"Get Karin to call me." I gave him my number.

My next call was to Tiny Washington. We covered most of the same ground. He said he wasn't being blackmailed either.

"Tiny, did you know it was Preacher's bat that killed Thorson?"

Munro hadn't said I couldn't tell anyone, just that I shouldn't print it.

"Do they think he did it?"

"They also know about the fight on Sunday."

"Who told them?"

"It wasn't me. Was it you?"

"Stinger and Grabowski."

"That's my guess."

"They think Preacher's stupid enough to kill someone with his own bat?"

"Who knows. If you're talking to any of the guys, ask if they know anything about any blackmail, okay?"

"What are you doing, playing detective?"

"Just chasing a story, Tiny. Keep in touch."

"Yes, ma'am." Tiny sounded amused.

I finished the story I had started at the ballpark. I didn't have much more than gossip and off-the-record stuff, but I managed to pull something together.

When I was done, I changed into a leotard and tights and spent half an hour at the barre. The workout was long overdue. My knees creaked in the plies. My hamstrings screamed on the tendus. I'd been playing hooky from class for the last six weeks. Madame would not be pleased.

T.C. was at the door promptly at six-thirty. He was juggling a casserole, a schoolbook, and Sultan's glove, his prized possession-he probably slept with it. His glasses had slipped down his nose. I relieved him of the casserole before it fell.

"I didn't quite finish my homework," he said. "I've got another chapter to read."

"Perfect," I said. "I've got to take a shower anyway. Why don't you get yourself a Pepsi out of the fridge-I won't tell your mum-and read your chapter. Then we can talk."

I turned the bathroom radio to As It Happens while I let the shower wash away the day. I bumped it up to the hottest it would deliver and let the spray massage some of the tension kinks out of my back. I felt almost human when I was done.

I was crashing about in the kitchen, doing my world-famous imitation of a domestic person, when T.C. came in.

"Can I help? My homework's done."

"Just sit yourself down and tell me your news."

"Have they found anything out about the murders yet?"

"I don't think so."

"Why would someone want to kill them?"

"I don't know, honey."