"The Cubbies-"
"Maish's corned beef and chopped liver with a new pickle-"
"The kids-"
"The job-"
They turned at Western Avenue and went north. Traffic was light.
"Coffee?" Lieberman asked.
"I won't turn it down."
Lieberman turned on the radio, found the oldies station, and headed for Dunkin' Donuts. They drove silently, listening to Benny Goodman, Nat King Cole, Teresa Brewer, and Kitty Kallen. They drove past car dealers, a spotting of McDonald'ses, a forest of video shops, upholsterers, supermarkets, and a plethora of liquor stores.
"You know the new doc, Berry?" said Lieberman. "He's the possible for Lisa."
"Heard about him, that's all."
"What'd you hear?"
Hanrahan looked at his partner as Ginny Simms sang "These Foolish Things."
"He's Jewish, name's Berry."
"That I know," said Lieberman. 'Tell me what I don't know."
"Came from Ohio."
"Michigan," Lieberman corrected.
"Ah," said Hanrahan, shifting to face his partner.
"My daughter needs a life," said Lieberman. "My grandchildren need a home, not a campsite in their grandparents' hovel. I need my house back. Lisa and Doc Berry are a perfect match. He's easy to push around and has even less of a sense of humor than Lisa."
"Sounds made in heaven."
"He likes the Cubs," Lieberman said.
"Good."
"Chance in a thousand, but who knows?"
They pulled into the Dunkin' Donuts. Lieberman went in and came out with coffee and a donut, chocolate frosted, and a folded copy of the Chicago Tribune.
"You're not having donuts?" Hanrahan asked, taking the newspaper and opening the bag.
"Rozier, Rozier," Lieberman said, nodding the question away and changing the subject. "Can't place him. They sure it was me he asked for?"
"Lieberman, Abe," said Hanrahan, scanning the front page of the paper and trying not to spill his coffee. "That's what Gibbs said. Here it is. Page one, but at the bottom. Photo of Rozier and his wife."
"And…"
"Let's see. Ah, the answer to your question. Harvey Rozier is, and I quote, 'the prominent financial adviser to many of the county's elite, including Judges O'Donald, Hershkowitz, Balziniak, and Lincoln. Other clients include'-let's see who's interesting. I think this is the short list. A handful of corporate types and the president of the University of Chicago."
"What else?"
"Short article, but pretty much what Gibbs said on the phone. Wife was feeling sick. Usual night to go to a concert with friends. She insisted that Rozier go without her. He went. Came back with the friends and found what was left of Dana Rozier and a lot of blood. That's about it."
"TV pick it up?" Lieberman asked, trying to ignore the smell of Hanrahan's donut.
"Don't know. Happened late. Didn't watch this mom-ing."
"They'll be there," Lieberman said. "Suggestion, Father Murph."
"Fire," said Hanrahan.
"Use your comb, fix your tie, and use the electric razor inside the glove compartment."
Fifteen minutes later, empty cups and waxed paper stuffed into the bright donut bag, they pulled up to the entrance to the driveway of the Rozier house, where three private security guards in gray Kleinert Security uniforms were holding curious neighbors and impatient television crews at bay.
Lieberman flashed his badge. One of the uniformed guards nodded and they parted to let him drive through to the house, where two more uniformed Kleinert guards protected the door.
"Five to one Andy Kleinert is a Rozier client," said Hanrahan as they got out of the car.
Lieberman nodded. He was thinking about donuts.
Hanrahan reached for his badge, but one of the guards, a hefty man with cropped red hair, held up his hand.
"I know who you are. How've you been, Abe?"
He held out his hand, and Lieberman took it.
"Breathing," said Lieberman. "This is my partner, Bill Hanrahan. Scotty Phierson."
Phierson took Hanrahan's hand.
"Scotty worked the Lawndale," Abe said. "Hard times in the mill."
"Hard times indeed. Then my heart had enough. But I got no complaints, Abraham. Pay's good. Work's easy. Just got to dress up like a mailman once in a while. But the material's good. Feel it."
Lieberman touched the uniform and wondered how he would look in one. He concluded quickly that his effect would be decidedly comic.
"Good fabric," said Lieberman.
"First class," said Phierson, opening the door and leading the two detectives inside.
"Ask me a question, Abe," Phierson said quietly when the door was closed. "Company rule: don't volunteer. But you ask me a question, I've got to answer."
"What do you know the Tribune doesn't?" Lieberman asked.
"Not much. Homicide came in around one in the morning. We got here about an hour later."
"Who called you?" Hanrahan asked.
"Boss. Kleinert himself. The old boy. Two in the morning. Mr. Harvey Rozier knows the right people. What was left of the lady's body was taken out a few minutes after we got here. Evidence truck was here till about an hour, hour and a half ago."
"No cleanup?" Lieberman said, looking at the blood spots on the tile and steps that had been carefully outlined with white adhesive tape.
"None. That's about all I know. You want to see Rozier and his lawyer now? They're upstairs. Said you should come right up."
"Lawyer?" asked Hanrahan, looking at his partner.
"And best friend. Ken Franklin. You know the name?"
"We know the name," Hanrahan said with a sigh.
"Let's take a look at the kitchen before we go up," said Lieberman.
Phierson led the way, being careful not to step into any of the neatly marked splotches and splatters of Dana Rozier's blood.
When they stepped into the kitchen there were few places to stand that weren't splattered with blood. The outline of a body in tape lay next to the back door.
"Phone cord was cut clean," Phierson said. "Saw the body. That was one crazy hophead, you ask me. But don't quote me on it." 'Too damn many bloody footprints," Hanrahan said.
"What do you make of that, Murph?" said Lieberman.
Hanrahan followed his partner's eyes to a patch of blood.
"Looks like the blood flowed around something, Rabbi. Over there. Block of wood maybe. Maybe Evidence took it"
"Only thing I saw them take out was a set of kitchen knives," said Phierson.
Hanrahan took notes in his book. Lieberman made his way on tiptoe to the pantry and opened it Cans, cereal, boxes were lined up neatly on white shelves except for one shelf about shoulder high. The boxes on that shelf were out of line and one of them looked as if it were about to fall to the floor.
"We'll come back," he said, stepping out of the pantry.
They followed Phierson back through the kitchen door, past the dining room, and up the stairs. There were more patches of blood on the stairs, right up to the landing and beyond.
"No blood in any of the bedrooms," said Phierson. "Ask me, she heard the guy. He thought the place was empty, spotted her up here, grabbed a knife out of the kitchen, came up here, and-"
Phierson had stopped in front of a door at the end of the inlaid wood floor. He knocked.
"Come in," a man said. And in they went "What took you so long?" a man Lieberman's age dressed in a business suit said, checking his watch.
The Usual Suspects
At the moment Hanrahan and Lieberman were entering the study of Harvey Rozier, Dr. Jacob Berry was standing inside the outer door of his office trying to decide whether or not to open the door to the man with the booming, angry voice.
"Hey, I know you in there. What the fuck, man? I got a 'mergency here."
Jacob went back to his office and got the new gun out of the drawer. It felt cool and lighter than he had imagined. He put the gun in his pocket, which sagged suspiciously under its weight, and moved back into the reception room, where he opened the outer door with a trembling hand.