Lieberman's thief al-4

by Stuart M. Kaminsky

  "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.

  Two men burst in, both black, one in his forties or fifties, big, me other young and slender with a frightened look on his face. They were wearing jeans and matching orange shirts.

  Jacob came very near to shooting them.

  And then he saw that the young man was bleeding, his left hand a deep, moist red.

  "What you all doin' in here? Playin' with yourself? Got a man here bleedin' to death," the big man said angrily.

  "This way," Jacob said, leading them into the office/ examining room.

  "My son, Jamie here, caught it in the truck door. We was unloading fish at the Chink restaurant downstairs."

  Jamie was beyond discussing anything. He was biting his lower lip so hard that Jacob had to tell him to open his mouth and take deep breaths. Jamie, little more than a scared boy, nodded and tried. His breaths were not deep but his mouth was open.

  Jacob sat him on the examining table and told the father to be sure his son didn't fall off. Then Jacob washed his hands in the sink and examined the damage.

  Jamie was holding his left wrist with his right. He held it away from his body. His shirt was already badly stained. Jamie made small whimpering sounds as Jacob carefully cleaned the hand, probing for broken bones and looking for lacerations.

  "Not too bad," Jacob said. "From the swelling and tenderness I'd say the middle finger is broken. Looks like a simple fracture, but he'll have to have X rays. I'll clean the wounds, give him something for the pain and something to hold his hand steady till you get him to the emergency room. You know where Weiss Hospital is? It's just-"

  "I know," said the older man. "I don't have much cash on me. You take a check?"

  "Can you manage ten dollars cash or a check for twenty-five?' "Yeah. Cash."

  "I don't think the lacerations need suturing, but mat's something for the ER," said Jacob. "Don't worry. He's going to be fine. My advice is that you and Jamie wear thick gloves when you work."

  "Thanks, Doc," the older man said, clearly relieved and touching his son on the cheek. "Now, you min' if I give you some advice?"

  "No," said Jacob, working on the wounded hand.

  "Get yourself a holster for that thing in your pocket," me big man said. "The way you carryin', some bad ass is gonna figure you got something to protect."

  Harvey Rozier's study was as big as Lieberman's living room. No, it was bigger, and certainly better furnished. One row of books, colorful Oriental rug on the inlaid wood floor, antique French desk near the floor-length windows, a green wing-backed chair and two-seat couch that perfectly matched the dominant colors of the rug and the muted green of the wall. Three movie posters were framed on the wall, from King Kong, Casablanca, and Gone With the Wind. Lieberman would have bet his house that all three were originals.

  And then there were the two men. Kenneth Franklin was standing, impatient. He was tall, tan, and athletic-club trim, and in better shape than Lieberman, who was younger. Harvey Rozier had been sitting at the end of the couch. He got up slowly and held out his hand. He wasn't conspicuously built like a bodybuilder, but it was clear that he was in good condition. His dark, not-too-long hair was combed neatly back and he looked as if he had recently shaved. He wore jeans, a perfectly ironed tan Burberry shirt, and sneakers.

  "Thank you for coming, Detectives," Rozier said sincerely, shaking their hands and meeting their eyes. "Please make yourselves comfortable. There's a small refrigerator in the master bedroom if you'd like something light to drink."

  Harvey Rozier's eyes were red and moist. He rubbed his hands together as if they were cold and sat back down in the corner of the couch.

  "Gentlemen," Franklin said. "Considering what Mr. Rozier has been through, we would appreciate it if you could keep this brief. We, and my wife, have already given a full account to the detectives who came last night, or this morning, if we are going to be precise. Neither Mr. Rozier nor I have had any rest-"

  "It's all right, Ken," Rozier said, his right hand covering his eyes. "I want to talk to these men. I want whoever did that to Dana to be caught soon, tried quickly, and put away forever."

  Ken Franklin shrugged in resignation and sat next to Harvey Rozier.

  Hanrahan leaned back against the bookcase, where he could watch the men and admire the posters. Lieberman took the wing-backed chair.

  "I understand you asked for me by name. Why?" asked Lieberman.

  Harvey Rozier looked up.

  "Someone told me you were the best," he said.

  "I'll be content with 'one of the best,' " said Lieberman. "Who?"

  "Is this really-" Franklin said, but Rozier held up his hand to stop him.

  "Ida Katzman," Rozier said. "I h
andle her accounts and coordinate her investments. She's mentioned you more than once."

  Mystery explained, in a way. Ida Katzman was eighty-six years old, walked with a cane, and had a seat in the front room of Temple Mir Shavot, where Bess Lieberman was president. Ida Katzman was the principal donor to the temple and the primary source of funding for the new temple on Dempster, now being remodeled from a Great National Bank. Ida was the widow of Mort, who had died more than twenty years ago. He had come to Chicago with then-borrowed dollars and gone to his grave owning ten very successful jewelry stores in ten major cities. It was all Ida's now. There was nothing wrong with Ida Katzman's business judgment. In the two decades since her husband's death, Ida, apparently with the advice of Harvey Rozier, had doubled the number of stores and, it was rumored by none other than Rabbi Wass himself, the young Rabbi Wass, that she had more than doubled the company's net worth.

  "I'll thank Mrs. Katzman when I see her at services Friday," Lieberman said.

  Rozier examined Lieberman's face for a tint of sarcasm, but there was none there. Hanrahan had his notebook out.

  "Would you ask your friend to please not lean against the bookcase?" Franklin said.

  "Detective Hanrahan," Lieberman said, cocking his head toward his partner. "Would you please not lean against the bookcase?"

  Hanrahan took a half step forward.

  "Mr. Rozier," Lieberman continued. "I think I would like a glass of water."

  Rozier started to rise, but Franklin put out a hand to stop him.

  "I'll get it," he said. "And you?"

  "Nothing for me," said Hanrahan.

  "If it's not too much trouble, Ken," Rozier said, "I'd like a mineral water too."

  Ken Franklin nodded and went out the door. Lieberman launched immediately into his questions after asking if it was all right to tape the conversation. Rozier said it was.

  LIEBERMAN: Why didn't your wife go to the, what was it…?

  ROZIER: Chamber music. We have series tickets with the Franklins. Every Tuesday. Dana was a little sick to her stomach. I think it was from the fish we had at dinner. I wasn't feeling too well either, but nothing like Dana. I wish I had been sicker. I wish… but Dana insisted that I go.

  LIEBERMAN: You were all together, you and the Franklins, from the time you left the house till the time you came back through the front door?

  ROZIER: I don't…

  LIEBERMAN: I'd like to eliminate you from suspicion fast, before the papers or channel 4 start exercising their imagination.

  ROZIER: I see. Of course. The husband is the first suspect. We all went into the concert together at eight, had drinks at intermission around nine. I went to the rest room just as intermission ended. Gone, I don't know, five minutes, maybe less. Other than that…

  LIEBERMAN: When did you go to the rest room?

  ROZIER: God, I don't… Yes, just before the Vivaldi piece. Got back in time to hear most of it. Cello, I remember, went a little flat in the scherzo.

  LIEBERMAN: That a fact? You were seen during the performance by the Franklins, then? ROZIER: And many others, too.

  Ken Franklin returned and placed a tray with two fluted glasses on the small wooden table.

  "Quibel," he said, handing a glass to Lieberman and to Rozier before checking the crease in his trousers and sitting.

  Man's got style, Lieberman thought and then asked…

  LIEBERMAN: Mr. Franklin, you were in sight of Mr. Rozier throughout the concert?

  FRANKLIN: What the hell do you-?

  ROZIER: It's all right, Ken. He's doing his job.

  FRANKLIN: Yes.

  LIEBERMAN: Did he leave the room during the performance?

  FRANKLIN: I don't know. Perhaps for a minute or two. No, he did leave for a few minutes to use the rest room at the end of the intermission.

  LIEBERMAN: You saw him come back into the hall?

  FRANKLIN: Don't remember, but I do recall looking back at Mr. Rozier once or twice after the intermission. Does that satisfy you?

  LIEBERMAN: You remember the Vivaldi piece?

  FRANKLIN: This is… Yes.

  LIEBERMAN: Mr. Rozier tells me the violin was a bit off on the scherzo.

  FRANKLIN: For God's sake. Dana was murdered, horribly… and you… All right. No, the violin was fine. The girl on the cello was definitely off on that piece. Now ifLIEBERMAN: Any of you touch anything when you came in and found Mrs. Rozier's body?

  ROZIER: I… went to Dana, lifted her head, knew she was dead, but…

  LIEBERMAN: Touched nothing?

  ROZIER: Not that I recall.

  FRANKLIN: Nor I, nor Mrs. Franklin. I said immediately that nothing should be touched.

  LIEBERMAN: We'll check with the neighbors, but did you see anyone unfamiliar in the neighborhood in the last week or two? Your wife mention anyone?

  ROZIER: No, I don't think… God, there was a man, came to the door last Sunday. Wanted to know if we needed a handyman. Said he had a customer in the neighborhood and was trying to pick up more work. But I don't think…

  LIEBERMAN: He give you a card? His name?

  ROZIER: No, maybe. Maybe he did mumble it. I told him immediately that we've had the same handyman, Jeff Lerner, for years. He does electrical work, carpentry, a little plumbing.

  LIEBERMAN: Didn't say which neighbor he was working for?

  ROZIER: No.

  LIEBERMAN: Think you'd recognize him again if you saw him?

  ROZIER: Absolutely.

  FRANKLIN: Harvey has an amazing memory for faces, names, and numbers.

  LIEBERMAN: Good. Would you mind coming to the station and looking at some pictures?

  FRANKLIN: You mean now?

  LIEBERMAN: The closer we are to the event, the more likely you are to recognize him. We can wait tillROZIER: I'll be happy to come whenever you like, the sooner the better. Now is fine. If he… Ken, I know you're tired, but if you can hold down the fort for another hour or so…

  FRANKLIN: Of course.

  LIEBERMAN: Good. Then let's go. And thanks for the water.

  They didn't have to say anything. Hanrahan simply stayed outside to follow up with the neighbors when Abe and Rozier got into Lieberman's car.

  "Back here in front of the house in two hours," Lieberman said.

  "Cutting it close for the Cubbies," Hanrahan said quietly.

  'Tomorrow," said Lieberman, "Giants are in town."

  Cameras turned and reporters with microphones shouted questions through the closed window, but Lieberman had no trouble getting through on a path cleared by Scotty Phierson and his Kleinert crew.

  Lieberman looked up at the window of Rozier's study, Kenneth Franklin looked down at the policeman. The old lawyer didn't look quite so health-club robust from this angle. Lieberman backed out, leaving his partner in the driveway.

  Lieberman drove silently, heading back toward the heart of the city.

  "Radio all right?" asked Lieberman, Rozier at his side.

  The smell of donuts and coffee hung in the car. Abe Lieberman's stomach growled.

  Rozier nodded. Lieberman turned the radio on and pushed the button for the oldies station. Rudy Vallee was looking for a nasal high note in "Goodnight Sweetheart."

  "Kids?" asked Lieberman.

  Rozier shook his head no.

  "Wife's relatives? Yours?"

  "Dana's parents live in Santa Fe. I talked to them earlier. They'll be here sometime tonight or this afternoon."

  "… till we meet tomorrow," Rudy crooned.

  "No brothers, sisters, cousins?"

  "Dana's father said he'd take care of that. One brother. A few cousins I've never met. My parents are dead. I was an only child. Haven't talked to my aunt and cousins in, who knows, twenty-five years. Ken and Betty are the closest thing I have to family. I'm sorry, but do you mind changing the station?"

  "No," said Lieberman, even though they both knew that he did.

  A classical piece came on and Rozier closed his eyes.

  "I've ha
d a few tranquilizers," Rozier said.

  "I understand."

  Nothing more was said till they pulled into the small parking lot behind the Clark Street Station. The smell of the Wendy's next to the station hit Abe when he opened the car door. It made him long for a burger with fries even though he ate at fast-food restaurants only in emergencies. Home or Maish's T amp; L were the places of choice. He would have to read carefully the brochures Doc Berry had given him. He would have to tell Bess tonight and they would have to come up with a plan that would keep Abe from temptation. It was going to be hard. A good pastrami on fresh rye with a pickle was the best refuge from the chaos of human existence. He would have to make an effort this time and stick to the diet.

  Lieberman led Rozier down the cement path to the front of the station and into the lobby, where Sergeant Nestor Briggs was on the desk talking to a pair of women complaining in Spanish, a language that had successfully eluded Nestor in his almost thirty years as a Chicago cop. Nestor looked more than a little like Edgar Kennedy, the old-time bald actor who did a slow burn at the antics of every comic from Keaton to Abbott and Costello. Not only was Briggs trying to handle the complaint, he was also trying to deal with a phone call. He barely nodded as Lieberman and Rozier went by.

  Tapes and mug books were kept in the "library," through the doors behind Nestor Briggs. Abe led Rozier to the small room, sat him at a table in front of a computer screen, and said, "Gonna show you burglars, hundreds of burglars, but we'll try to narrow it down so you don't start forgetting his face."

  "I'll recognize him if I see him," said Rozier.

  "Right," said Lieberman. "The memory. Can I get you a Coke, coffee, something?"

  "Coke, diet, with caffeine."

  Lieberman picked up the phone on the table and hit two buttons.

  "Bobby, you got someone up there can bring a Coke, diet, with caffeine, and a coffee, black, with even more caffeine, down to the library?"

  "You got Rozier down there?' asked Bobby Arango.

  "Yes," said Abe.

  'Then I'll be right down. I want to get a look. Morbid, huh?" asked Arango. "You think he whacked her, paid someone to do it?"