Hanrahan found the overstuffed chair surprisingly comfortable. He folded his hands on his lap and looked at George, who sat on the edge of the bed, without saying anything.
'What?' asked George.
Nothing from the cop.
'He didn't identify me,' George said. 'He couldn't. I didn't do anything.'
'He?' said Hanrahan finally.
'Hey, I can read the newspaper, I can see the TV. The Ro/ier murder. The old cop asked me did I know Rozier. Two and two make four. He. Period. Simple.'
Hanrahan nodded and looked around the room, stopping at the wrapped painting George had been going out the front door with.
'You're good,' Hanrahan said. 'Bit morbid for my taste, but you got control, style, good sense of color.'
'You know something about painting?' George asked suspiciously.
'Ex-wife did some painting,' explained Hanrahan. 'I read some books, took an extension course through DePaul, tried to keep up with her.' 'Tried?'
'She left me.'
'Sorry.'
'Happens to a lot of cops,' Hanrahan said. 'Your mother always keep the television that loud?'
'Always,' said George.
'Must drive you crazy,' said Hanrahan sympathetically.
'I get used to it Tell her to turn it down sometimes.'
'I got a problem, George,' Hanrahan said, looking around to be sure no one was about to leap out of a closet and hear the revelation. 'Want to hear?'
'I guess.'
'Got a woman I want to marry, but her people think I wouldn't be good for her. You want to know why?'
George shrugged.
'I have a reputation for sudden fits of violence,' he said, shaking his head as if he had confessed to bearing a rare disease.
'Wait-' George said, getting up from the bed.
'You were going to skip town, break parole,' said Hanrahan, still seated.
'I was going to check it out with my parole officer. I told you,' George whined.
'Bag packed, painting wrapped up under your arm. Counting on an affirmative answer, weren't you?' said Hanrahan.
'I guess. She's been OK with it in the past for shows. I tell her how to reach me, check in.'
Hanrahan was shaking his head no.
'What?'
'Rozier knows you, Pitty-Pitty. I was sitting behind that mirror watching his face. He knows you. The way my captain figures it, Harvey Rozier hired you to kill his wife.'
'Never,' George said indignantly, looking around the empty room for someone to believe him.
'Looks that way to the captain. I gotta see his point, you know?'
'I never hurt no one. My whole life.'
'You got nailed for carrying,' Hanrahan reminded him.
'I was a kid,' George pleaded.
'Pitty-Pitty, I think I'm going to lose my temper. I can feel my Irish coming up on me,' said Hanrahan, hearing his father's words, his father's voice.
'I swear on my mother upstairs,' George said, hand to his heart. 'I swear to the Father, Son, and Holy Ghost, to the Virgin Mary. I didn't kill that woman.'
'I'm a Catholic, Pitty-Pitty,' Hanrahan said so softly that George could barely hear him. 'Don't he in the name of the Lord.'
'I'm not lyin'. I…'
'And you'll swear in the name of the Holy Virgin that you don't know who killed Dana Rozier?'
George stood silent 'I think you're gonna go down for it, Pitty-Pitty. I think old Harvey Rozier is going to decide one morning that he made a mistake, that he suddenly remembers you. Your word against his and your word's not worth a tinker's damn.'
George walked to the wall near the window, put his palms to the cool brick, let his head drop, and then turned around.
'What's the charge for witnessing a murder and not reporting it right away?'
'Don't know. Could be lots of reasons for not reporting a crime right away. Fear. Say a man has a record. Police can be very generous with an honest witness, even if he is a little late.'
'Walk freer' he asked.
'Could be arranged,' said Hanrahan.
'I saw Rozier murder his wife. You protect me from him. I walk and I'll testify.'
'Still your word against his, George.'
'Let me show you somethin',' George said.
He moved to the wrapped painting and began to tear away the brown paper.
Tricks and Traps
'Doctor Berry,' Detective Applegate said, and Jacob Berry looked up from the waiting room chair at the policeman.
The waiting room at Edgewater Hospital still smelled faintly of cigarettes, though it had been a smoke-free room for almost a full year. Coffee was brewing in a corner. Newspapers were neatly stacked on tables. There were two others in the post-op waiting room besides Jacob Berry and his brother, who sat next to him. There was a pretty young Hispanic woman sitting upright near the bank of windows, an open book in her lap, and an older woman in a pink volunteer's smock.
The older woman, who had almost pink hair, asked in a whisper if either of the two detectives wanted coffee or a sweet roll.
'No, thanks,' said Acardo at Applegate's side.
The Berry brothers were almost twins-same height, weight, glasses-though Isaac Berry was a good ten years older, hair fuller, with definite gray in his sideburns and a tired look in his eyes. The detectives, in contrast, looked nothing alike. Applegate was tall, black, bespectacled, and wearing a neatly pressed navy blue suit with a perfectly matched red-and-blue striped tie. Acardo, his partner, was short, white, almost bald, and definitely disheveled. They were known on the streets and in the squad room as Black and White.
Jacob Berry recognized the white officer. Berry had given Acardo a physical about two months earlier. Acardo should have been a physical disaster. He overate the wrong foods, got no exercise, and was on the verge of a serious drinking problem. His vital signs, however, were fine. No high or low blood pressure, cholesterol well within reasonable bounds.
'Yes,' said Jacob.
'We'd like a description from you of the man who got away,' said Applegate. 'Do you think you could help us?'
'I… about six one, dark, wearing a denim… no, a leather jack… I'm not sure. He had a scar. Here.'
Jacob made a slashing motion down his forehead through his right eye.
'Dark scar. I'd say it was at least a year old, maybe more.'
'Anything else?' Applegate asked politely.
'I think he was the leader,' Jacob said.
'Officer Matthews,' asked the other Dr. Berry. 'Is he, do you know…?'
'Critical, but alive,' said Applegate. 'Bullet went through a rib and right lung, took a turn, and hit the
