the ransacking of Nancy Cleghorn's house

The ransacking of Nancy Cleghorn's house turns a report of property damage into a search for what Nancy may have known. When Ellen Cleghorn finds the house torn apart and asks V. I. Warshawski to look into it, Warshawski discovers damage across the rooms and signs that the intruders searched beyond the obvious places. Their purpose is never confirmed, but the breadth of the destruction raises the possibility that they wanted something Nancy had hidden.

Discovery and setting

Ellen Cleghorn called Warshawski after going to Nancy's house in South Chicago to collect Nancy's financial records. The rooms had been ripped apart: furniture was pulled to pieces and papers strewn around. Warshawski had intended to visit Louisa Djiak to understand Caroline Djiak's panic, but the discovery changed her immediate plans. Ellen had already endured speaking to the police and hoped Warshawski could take over investigating the damage.

Nancy's house stood on Crandon near Seventy-third Street. Its three stories filled a large lot, and its cupolas, stained glass, and carved banister gave it the appearance of an older, orderly home. That impression contrasted with the work still needed to repair it. Nancy had put much of what she had into buying the house and had restored only a few rooms. The ransacking therefore struck not only at her belongings but at a home she was laboriously trying to make whole.

The search through the house

The damage was not immediately visible from the empty front hall. Upstairs, Warshawski found the main bedroom, one of Nancy's renovation projects, thrown into disorder. Its finished floor, painted walls, and fireplace with a tiled mantel and brass fittings still showed the charm the room might have had. Against that care, the scattered furniture and bedding made the intrusion unmistakable.

The search seemed to reach into the structure of the house itself. The intruders had torn open the mattress and removed the fireplace grate and several bricks. Warshawski considered two possible explanations: money, if the intruders were desperate addicts, or papers connected to something so damaging that someone might kill to keep it secret. These were suspicions, not a solution. The ransacking gave her reason to ask what Nancy might have possessed, but did not identify what the intruders sought.

The dining room, where Nancy kept a small home office in built-in cupboards, had been devastated as well. Plates and tableware lay scattered, chair seats had been ripped away, and the walnut cupboards' shelves were splintered. Nancy's personal papers were spread across the room. Warshawski picked through the wreckage until Ellen, worried by her long absence, came in to help. Together they gathered bank statements and an address book, along with mortgage and insurance papers for Ellen to review later.

Damage, response, and significance

The disorder extended beyond the rooms Nancy had repaired. Warshawski found pried-up floorboards and missing grates in the house's six fireplaces. In the old kitchen, the intruders had scattered flour and sugar and pulled food from the refrigerator. The range of damage suggested a systematic, intrusive search rather than a disturbance confined to one room, though the precise object of that search remained unknown.

The intruders had entered through the back door, whose lock had been jimmied and which they left improperly closed. Overgrowth in the backyard concealed the open entrance from people in the alley. Ellen found a hammer and nails in Nancy's workshop beside the pantry; Warshawski used them to board the door shut. They could secure the entrance, but could not undo the destruction, and the two women left without speaking.

Warshawski knew she was disturbing possible evidence: she had not reported the damage before entering, and her passage added her own traces to those left by the intruders. She doubted the police would give the scene close laboratory attention, despite Nancy's murder, and proceeded to gather the papers that might matter. Her physical response—shaking hands—accompanied a broader recognition of the violation: if a person cannot feel secure at home, safety elsewhere becomes difficult to trust. When she later reported the incident to Bobby Mallory, he said he would refer it to the Third District and asked her to remain available for questions. The break-in thus left two unresolved matters: what had been taken or sought, and whether the police would pursue the damage as a significant clue to Nancy's death.