"Please understand," said Woo, leaning forward. "Miss Chen would be ostracized from her community. Her father would be shamed. You are Caucasian, divorced, an alcoholic. Am I being too blunt?"
"It cuts through the bullshit," said Hanrahan with a smile.
"Yes," said Woo pensively.
"Is that it?" Hanrahan said, looking at all three men and standing up. "I've got to get to work."
His eyes met the old man's and held.
"This marriage might be good for you. Iris Chen is a good woman, but it would not be good for her. What she would gain from you could not possibly compensate for what she would lose. You do not look like a selfish man. If you would, please tell me with honesty if you believe me wrong."
"Oh, Lord," Hanrahan said with a sigh. "No, much as I'd dearly like to throw the three of you out and break your cane over my knee, you're right. I'll do some more thinking about it."
"You have been a lonely man," said Woo. "Do not sacrifice Iris Chen to your fear of being alone. I say this because I know what it is like to be alone." ox "I appreciate that," said Hanrahan.
Woo, with the help of his cane, stood up, and the other two men joined him.
"You have a look of failed expectation," said Woo, facing Hanrahan. "Did you expect me to threaten you, try to bribe you?"
"Maybe."
"Would that have had any effect?"
"No," said Hanrahan. "You handled it just right."
Woo extended his hand and Bill Hanrahan took it. It was a hand of wrinkled skin and thin bones. The policeman was careful with it.
"You need not show us out," said Woo, heading for the kitchen door with his men.
"But I wish to," said Hanrahan, leading the way.
The three visitors made a move with their heads that might have been a bow and left without a word.
"Quite a show," Hanrahan said aloud when the door was shut behind them.
A lot of polite reason, he thought, and a hidden weapon or two. Hanrahan wasn't afraid-he had carried around a bit of a death wish since Maureen left him-but he was troubled by the visit.
Not for the first time, Bill Hanrahan realized that Laio Woo was probably dead right, that the old man had said no more than Hanrahan had thought himself.
He rinsed the cups and saucers, put them in the dishwasher, and hurried for the door. He was more than a little late.
By the time Hanrahan got to the Clark Street Station, the lineup was almost over. The small room with the one-way mirror was crowded. Lieberman, Captain Kearney, Harvey Rozier, Kenneth Franklin, and a young female lawyer from the state attorney's office. Hanrahan couldn't remember her name.
No one looked at Hanrahan. Their eyes were fixed beyond the mirror on the small platform where four men stood. Two of the men were cops. One man was a local derelict named Mi/e. The detectives gave Mize three bucks for every lineup he stood. The last man, second from the left, was the real suspect, George Patniks. Hanrahan had never seen Patniks before, but he knew a frightened man when he saw one.
Bill Hanrahan leaned against the back wall and folded his arms. Lieberman sat next to Rozier and said nothing. In the room beyond, the eyes of George Patniks were fixed on the plate of glass through which he could not see. He was breathing deeply and trying not to show his anxiety, but he was doing one hell of a lousy job.
"Seen enough?" Lieberman asked softly.
"Yes," said Rozier.
"Don't want any of them to step out, turn around, speak again?"
"Not necessary," said Rozier.
Lieberman nodded and knocked twice on the window. Nestor Briggs ushered the four men in the lineup out to the right. Hanrahan switched on the light.
Kenneth Franklin turned to face him with a look of open contempt.
"I would ask that this officer not be present," Franklin said. "My client has already issued an official complaint of harassment against him."
Rozier turned to meet Hanrahan's eyes.
"Sorry, Mr. Franklin, Detective Hanrahan is an investigating officer on this case," said Captain Alan Kearney. "I will be talking to him later in the day concerning your complaint."
Kearney, at forty-one, was the youngest captain hi the Chicago Police Department. Until a year ago he had a promising career and the near certainty of becoming the youngest police chief in Chicago history. But a bombshell had hit-a cop had gone mad, barricaded himself in a high-rise room, raised hell, and accused Kearney of seducing his wife. The cop on the roof had died and Alan Kearney's ambition had died with him.
Kearney was dark and ruggedly good looking, but fading, a dangerous man who no longer had anything to lose by being honest.
"I think I'll have to insist, Captain," Franklin said.
"And I think I'll have to ask you to back off," said Kearney. "The point of all this is to find the person or persons who murdered Mrs. Rozier, not to get sidetracked by fragile personalities."
"Ken," said Rozier, touching Franklin's arm. "He's right"
Kearney nodded at Lieberman, who said, "Did you recognize any of those men, Mr. Rozier?"
"No," said Rozier with a shake of his head.
"You're sure none of them was the man who came to your door looking for handyman work?" Lieberman went on.
"Positive," said Rozier.
"Harvey, as I believe I told you, has a phenomenal memory for faces," said Franklin.
"Well, then," said Kearney, getting out of his chair, "we'll just have to keep trying."
"We would appreciate that," said Franklin.
"Bill, Abe, in my office. Thank you for coming, gentlemen. We'll keep you informed."
"Thank you," said Rozier.
Kearney left the observation room.
"You know the way out?" asked Lieberman.
"We'll find our way," said Franklin.
"Sergeant," Rozier interrupted, "thanks for trying. If you need me again, I'll be available. Any time, day or night. You're both doing your jobs. Please appreciate mat I'm not myself."
"Understood," said Lieberman. "Thanks for coming."
In the hall, walking toward Kearney's office, Lieberman said, "What're you, catching my insomnia? Father Murphy, you look like a wet dog biscuit."
"Lot on my mind, Rabbi," Hanrahan said. "Got a lot on my mind."
"What happened to Chuculo Fernandez?" asked Lieberman.
"Victim's not so sure anymore," said Cadwell without looking up. "Captain says we come up with something sure or we tell the public defender why we're not releasing him. Next time we get Fernandez in here it'll be for murder one. Remember I said it here and I said it first."
Hanrahan met his partner's eyes as they approached Kearney's office.
"Don't look at me like that, Rabbi. I'm sane, sober, and wide awake."
Kearney's office was in the corner of the squad room. It was small, but it was almost soundproof. The captain was seated behind his desk, waiting for them. The detectives sat.
"Well?" asked Kearney.
"I'd say Rozier recognized him."
"So would I," said Kearney.
"So, most likely case," said Lieberman, "is Rozier hired Patniks to kill his wife,"
"Doesn't figure," said Kearney.
"Nope," agreed Lieberman. "It doesn't figure. Patniks's not a gun for hire. Certainly not a knife. But who knows?"
"Who knows?" agreed Kearney, looking down at notes on his desk. "Mrs. Rozier was insured for twenty-five thousand. Harvey Rozier spends that in two months on public relations and lunch. The funeral will cost at least five or ten thousand. Mrs. Rozier left everything to him, but that's just about nothing but her half of the house. Doesn't look like a money motive."
"Doesn't look," Lieberman agreed. "Did he fool around?"
"Looking at him, I'd say yes," said Kearney, "but that's not money in the bank. You thinking she was threatening divorce, going for everything he owns?"