Did Quill have an illicit relationship, possibly with a prostitute?
Did Quill buy drugs from somebody called China White, at a bar called the Territorial Lounge?
What was happening with the supposed malpractice lawsuit against Quill and the U?
—
All of the items on the list suggested motives for the murder—a wide variety of motives. Some seemed fairly simple to eliminate, and he decided to start there. After brushing his teeth, he got on the phone to Trane.
“You have a minute?”
“Sure. I’m sitting here in the county attorney’s office like a dummy. Want to know something? Alternative newspapers suck. Especially after you’ve read them the third time.”
“Yeah, but they’re free.”
“True... What’s up?”
“Did you ever talk to the woman who might be a suspect in those map thefts?”
“I never got to her,” Trane said. “That didn’t seem like a major priority.”
“I agree. But...” He told her about the list and his idea of knocking down the items one at a time. “I thought I might be able to take care of her with one stop. Then I got a guy from the BCA I want to bring in on the China White thing.”
They discussed tactics for a few minutes. Trane gave him the suspected thief’s address, and said, “She works from seven to three—she should be headed home.” They ended the call after a few more words. Virgil put on his boots and got back on the phone to a BCA agent named Del Capslock.
“How you doin’, Virgie?” Capslock asked when he picked up. “I heard you’re on the Quill thing.”
“Yeah. Listen, Del, you know a place called the Territorial Lounge? Or where I might find a woman named China White?”
“The Territorial’s over by KSTP,” Capslock said. “Stay away from the Philly cheesesteak unless you want to spend the rest of the week on the can.”
Virgil told him about the China White tip. “If you have any sources in the area...”
“Let me call around,” Capslock said. “You know what China White is, of course.”
“Of course.”
“Seems like a strange name for a dealer,” Capslock said. “It’s like having a sign on your chest that says ‘Buy Your Smack Here.’ It sounds made up by somebody who looked up ‘heroin’ in the dictionary.”
“I know, but it is what it is.”
“Long as you know,” Capslock said. “I’ll get back to you.”
—
The suspected map thief, Genevieve O’Hara, lived in the small town of Lauderdale, not far from the university, in what looked like a postwar GI house, painted a faded yellow with white trim. An aging Nissan was parked in the badly cracked driveway, with cantaloupe-sized dents on both ends of the back bumper.
Virgil walked up to the front door and knocked. A moment later, a woman, perhaps sixty, wearing narrow rectangular glasses, opened the door and peeked out. Virgil identified himself and showed her his ID, and she asked, “Is this about the maps?”
