'You didn't ask who I was before you opened the door,' Hanrahan said.
'You're right,' Rozier said with irritation.
'Don't want to take chances,' said Hanrahan.
'I'll be more careful,' said Rozier.
'You know who I am?'
'One of the policemen who came mis morning. Detective Lieberman's partner. I'm sorry, I don't remember your-'
'Hanrahan, Detective William Hanrahan. Mind if I come in?'
'What's happened?' asked Rozier.
'A few questions. I'll be fast.'
'Who is it, Harvey?' came a woman's voice from inside the house.
'A policeman, Betty,' Rozier answered, and then, to Hanrahan, 'The Franklins won't let me stay here alone.'
'Good friends to have,' Hanrahan said, stepping past Rozier into the hallway.
Mrs. Franklin, her white hair cut in a perfect cap and wearing an appropriate black dress, stepped out of the living room just to the left of the hall.
'This is Detective Hanrahan, Betty,' Rozier said. 'He has some questions. You've met Mr. Franklin. This is his wife.'
The woman was a bookend match for the tall lawyer Hanrahan and Lieberman had dealt with that morning. Tall, distant, and annoyed.
'I'll call Ken,' she said, moving to the phone on an antique table against the wall.
'Let Ken get some rest,' Rozier said. 'I'm sure I can answer Detective Hanrahan's questions without my attorney.'
'Couldn't this have waited till the morning?' Mrs. Franklin asked. 'Harvey's been through-'
'I'll be quick,' said Hanrahan. 'I thought you'd be pleased that we're putting in late hours trying to find the person who murdered your wife.'
Rozier nodded, brushed his hair back, and motioned toward the living room. Hanrahan followed, with Mrs. Franklin behind him to be sure he didn't pocket some valued bric-a-brac.
The Rozier living room was right out of one of those movies about French kings two hundred years ago. Dark wood, fading but light fabric with twining vines and flowers. Sideboards and sofas with spindly legs, and paintings on the wall of dogs and deep woods.
Neither Rozier nor Mrs. Franklin sat.
'Ipecac,' said Hanrahan. 'You have ipecac in the house?'
'Ipa…?' Rozier began, looking puzzled.
'The stuff you use to induce vomiting when you've accidentally swallowed something poisonous,' explained Hanrahan.
Rozier should have known that. They weren't dealing with some esoteric drug here.
'Yes, of course,' Rozier said, suddenly understanding. 'I'm sorry. A little surprised. I don't think we have any ipecac. Why…?'
'Your wife had more than a trace of ipecac in her stomach.'
'Why on earth would Dana… T Betty Franklin said, clenching her hands.
'That makes no sense,' Rozier said, sitting on one of the old French chairs. 'Why would she take ipecac?'
'Maybe she didn't,' said Hanrahan. 'Maybe someone gave it to her.'
'What?' cried Betty Franklin. 'Why would anyone give Dana something to make her throw up?'
'Who knows?' Hanrahan said, his eyes never leaving Rozier. 'Maybe someone wanted her sick and at home last night. Maybe she knew the killer who planned to murder her.'
'That's insane,' said Betty Franklin. 'Why would anyone want to murder Dana?'
'Somebody did,' said Harvey Rozier. 'Go on, Mr. Hanrahan.'
'Mind if I check around, see if we turn this ipecac up?'
'Can't it wait till tomorrow?' asked Rozier. 'Or Betty and I can look and let you know-'
Something in Hawaiian's eyes stopped Rozier cold with the knowledge that the policeman suspected him. But there was no reason to suspect him. It was a technique. That was all. Everyone's guilty of something. Keep the witnesses, suspects, and victims on edge. Harvey had employed the same technique with clients and business enemies. When Lieberman had chiseled at his alibi this morning, it was no more than Harvey had expected. It took only an occasional look at the ten o'clock news to know that the spouse who survived a murder was the prime suspect and very often the murderer. It was a situation he had anticipated and prepared for.
'I see,' said Rozier.
'See what?' demanded Betty Franklin, moving to a table and removing a cigarette from a dark enameled box.
'I'm a suspect,' said Harvey, smiling up at her.
Now that she had something to do with her hands, Betty Franklin was a bit more calm.
'I'm calling Ken,' she said, moving toward an old-fashioned phone on an end table near Rozier.
'No, Betty,' he said, moving quickly to her side and putting his hand over the phone to stop her from calling her husband. 'Detective Hanrahan is just doing his job. He suspects me. He suspects Ken. He suspects you.'
'Ken? Me?'
Mrs. Franklin sat in a chair across from Rozier, played with the cigarette in her fingers, and looked up.
'That is absurd,' she said. 'We were at the recital. You saw me. You saw Ken. And we saw you.'
'You saw each other the entire night?' Hanrahan said. 'I'm just trying to eliminate even the slightest suspicion, you understand.'
'Why not check with the ushers or Mrs. Gabriel?' Rozier asked. 'Someone must have seen…'
'We checked,' said Hanrahan. 'No one noticed if any of you left the concert hall.'
'We glanced at Harvey frequently,' Mrs. Franklin said with indignation. 'We knew he was concerned about Dana and we wanted to be ready to leave if Harvey wished to do so.'
'And I will vouch for the Franklins,' said Harvey, 'but I think Detective Hanrahan is considering the possibility of an accomplice actually killing Dana.'
'Maybe two accomplices,' said Hanrahan. 'There were two sets of unidentified footprints in Mrs. Rozier's blood. One set led to the broken dining room window and down the driveway. The other set led to the back door and disappeared. Strange. The killers go in different directions and one seems to have taken off his shoes at the back door.'
There was little that could be called distraught in Rozier. In fact, Hanrahan felt that the man was reassessing him, considering what the proper response should be. There wasn't a type Hanrahan had not seen in his more than twenty years as a Chicago cop. A pause. Rozier decided.
'Please, go look for the ipecac,' he said, rising, his voice quivering just slightly. 'And please be quick. And please go out and find the person or persons who killed Dana. And please do not come ringing my doorbell at night without calling first.'
'Can't you see the man is in agony?' Betty Franklin said to the policeman.
'Yes, ma'am,' Bill Hanrahan said, but he felt that he was watching a man pretending to be in agony. 'Now, if we can… T 'I'll go with you,' Rozier said, meeting Hanrahan's eyes and making it clear that no underpaid policeman was going to wander unattended through his house. 'Betty, please stay here.'
Betty Franklin had placed the cigarette in her mouth but hadn't lit it. Rozier touched her shoulder to reassure her and handed her a lighter, which she accepted with a nervous nod.
Less than three minutes later Hanrahan had found the small bottle in Dana Rozier's dressing table. Hanrahan took a zippered sandwich bag from his pocket and slipped it around the bottle, easing it inside the plastic without touching the bottle.
'You don't mind if I take this, do you?'
'No,' said Rozier, arms folded, watching. 'Why would Dana keep something like that?'
Hanrahan pocketed the bottle and shrugged.
'Bulimia, fear of being poisoned-who knows? I've heard the damnedest reasons for the damnedest
