Lonny stopped at an outdoor phone booth, found a quarter, and looked up the number of the Ease Inn. About half of the pages were missing from the phone book, torn out. The right page of Es was still intact. A good sign. He dropped the quarter hi the slot and hit the buttons.
"Ease Inn," came a man's voice.
"Skilly there?" asked Lonny.
"He's here. I'll get him."
Lonny looked up and down the street, shifting his weight from one leg to the other. There weren't many black people around here but there were some inside the stores and restaurants he had passed.
"Skilly here," came a nervous voice.
"Lonny, Lonny Wayne. Say, man, you still tryin' to sell the ol' Chevy?"
"Still tryin'," Skilly said. "You buyin'?"
"How long you gonna be there?"
"Till you get here with three hundred bills, cash money."
"What time's it now?"
"Little after one by the Bud Light clock over Howard's head," said Skilly.
Lonny thought quickly. Shit. He'd take a chance on the subway, pick it up on Chicago Avenue.
"I'll be there with cash by four," Lonny said. "You have the car and the papers."
"Will be," said Skilly and hung up.
Lonny was wet and cold. He plunged his hands into his pockets and hurried down the street, covering the precious bouncing weapon to protect it from the rain.
A long walk and a short subway ride without incident and Lonny Wayne was back on his turf.
He arrived thirty minutes after the three black men with Spanish accents who were making the rounds of hangouts, bars, and fast-food joints looking for a brother named Lonny with a dark lightning scar through his right eyebrow.
Lieberman's eyes moved from Rozier to Betty Franklin and stayed with her. He had the feeling that if she had not stopped Harvey Rozier when he came into the living room and Rozier had not seen Lieberman, something… Lieberman knew the look of nervous guilt, but it wasn't on the face of Harvey Rozier. It belonged to Betty Franklin, who stood a few feet from Rozier, trying not to meet Lieberman's steady brown eyes.
Rozier and Betty Franklin? She was old enough to be his mother, and Rozier's murdered wife had been a beauty- not that Betty Franklin was a meesldte, but still… Kenneth Franklin was a dying man, a rich dying man. A motive definitely suggested itself.
"A few questions," Lieberman said, standing. "You must have the funeral to arrange, all kinds of things. I remember when my mother died. Had to take care of everything. My brother and me. My father was already gone."
"I appreciate your empathy," said Rozier. "If Dana's body is released by the medical examiner and can be… prepared by the funeral home, the funeral will be tomorrow."
Betty Franklin's eyes had closed when Harvey Rozier spoke. She wrung her hands, actually wrung her hands.
Lieberman couldn't remember seeing someone do that since Mary Astor in the The Maltese Falcon.
"I gotta tell you this," Lieberman said, scratching his head and smiling. "My mother, can you imagine this, a widow for ten years, a woman almost seventy years old, has a heart attack in the tub where she's taking a bath with the son of my father's partner, Bernie Witt. Bernie couldn't have been more than…" Lieberman looked at Rozier now and continued, "your age."
The result was more and better than Lieberman had expected.
Betty Franklin looked as if she were going to collapse. She caught her breath and moved to the nearby table for the comfort of a cigarette.
"Can we come to the point, Detective?" Rozier said, being careful, Lieberman was sure, not to look at Betty Franklin, who was fumbling with a lighter.
"Sorry," said Lieberman. "Long night. Hard day. Family problems."
"I would like to get to my office," Rozier said.
"One or two questions and…" Lieberman opened his hands, "I'm on my way."
"Do you mind if Mrs. Franklin goes in the other room while we finish talking?" Rozier said. "I think she's been upset enough by the last two days-"
"But it's Mrs. Franklin I want to talk to," said Lieberman.
Betty Franklin almost dropped the lighter she was about to use.
"Me?" she said, looking at Harvey, who still avoided her eyes.
"I'm sorry to say this," Lieberman said, looking deeply pained as he sat back down, hands folded in his lap. The chair may have been an antique, but it wasn't comfortable. Still, Lieberman did his best to look as if he would be content to sit there for hours. "But my partner, Hanrahan-" Lieberman shook his head. "He thinks Mr. Rozier is somehow involved in what happened to his wife. Or at least that he knows something."
"Your captain told me-" Rozier began with indignation as Betty Franklin managed to make it to a chair, where she sat with perfect posture, an unlit cigarette in her hand.
"And your complaint was heeded. Bill's been reprimanded, but… he won't stop, and I'm afraid Captain Kearney's told him to make some more inquiries. To stay away from you, mind you, but to make more inquiries."
"This is crazy," Rozier said, taking a quick glance at Betty Franklin to see how she was holding up. "I think I'll ask you to leave now, Lieberman."
"Suit yourself," Lieberman said, rising from the chair. "Mrs. Franklin, could you accompany me to the station for a few questions?"
A definite gasp escaped from Betty Franklin.
"Hold it," said Rozier, stepping in front of Lieberman angrily. "She's not leaving here or answering any questions till I talk to Ken. Are you crazy, Lieberman?"
"I'm the cop you requested, remember?" Lieberman said. "I think we should get some answers, give them to Hanrahan and Kearney, and show them that you couldn't possibly be involved."
"It's horrible," Betty Franklin said with a shudder.
"Horrible," Lieberman agreed with a sympathetic sigh.
"A man's wife is murdered, and he is immediately suspected," Rozier said. "Is that the way it's done?"
"Usually," said Lieberman. "Or when the husband dies, the wife is suspected. It's stupid, simpleminded, shows a lack of imagination on the part of the police, but you'd be amazed at how often it turns out to be true. Not this time, of course. You've been cooperative, helpful. I told the captain, but-"
"Detective, please stop babbling and ask your questions," Betty Franklin said, her voice low, just within control.
"I really don't think-" Rozier began.
"You were sitting next to Mr. Rozier all through the concert?" Lieberman asked, stepping between Rozier and Betty Franklin.
"I could see him the entire time," she said, looking at Rozier, who stood with his fists clenched.
"That wasn't my question," said Lieberman. "Were you sitting next to him?"
"We had seats together. Dana, Harvey, Ken, and I," she went on. "And… because Dana had been ill, Harvey insisted on sitting in the back, where he could step out and phone her, check on her. You know?"
"And you spent the entire concert looking… how many rows back?"
"I don't know. Eight, ten," she said.
"You spent the entire concert with your head turned, looking at Mr. Rozier?"
"Not the entire concert," she admitted. "But frequently. We, Ken and I, were concerned."
She was working hard at not meeting Rozier's eyes now.
"Enough, Lieberman," Rozier said behind him, but Lieberman went on.
"Are the lights on during the concert?" he asked.
"On stage, yes. The room is not completely dark, but the lights are down."
"My partner is there right now," Lieberman lied, just as he had lied about his mother in the bath. "He's having them turn the lights down to concert level and someone is going to sit in the seat where Mr. Rozier was sitting and my partner is going to sit where you and Mr. Franklin were sitting. What do you think he'll see?"