Read Online Lieberman's Choice by Stuart M. Kaminsky - Free Book Online Page B

dark dress and a scared, defensive look that opened her eyes with the expectation of more horror.
    â€œYes,” she said.
    â€œMy name’s Hanrahan, Sergeant Hanrahan. Can I come in for a minute?”
    She stepped back to let him enter and he entered, brushing against her, smelling a sweet perfume and fear. He moved to the right of the door and faced her.
    â€œYou want to close the door, Mrs. Beeton?”
    The woman looked at the door, nodded, and pushed it closed.
    â€œYou know?” he asked.
    â€œAndy,” she said. “He’s dead.”
    â€œYes.”
    â€œIt was on … My mother heard it on the radio. She called. I got dressed. My mother is coming. She lives in Palos Heights. She should get here, if she doesn’t hit too much traffic on the expressway, she should get here soon.”
    â€œYes,” said Hanrahan. “Can I do anything for you?”
    â€œA policeman shot him?” she asked.
    â€œYes, Mrs. Beeton.”
    â€œConnie, my name is Connie. Before I married Andy my name was Connie Conroy.”
    â€œIrish,” he said.
    â€œNo. Welsh. And Navaho,” she said. “A policeman killed Andy?”
    â€œYes ma’am.”
    â€œConnie.”
    â€œConnie.”
    She moved past him into the living room and Hanrahan turned to face her.
    â€œYou want to sit? Want some … I’ve only got instant, but it’s Taster’s Choice.”
    â€œNo, thank you.”
    The furniture in the room reminded Hanrahan of his own house. The chairs, sofa were old, comfortable. There was a large, colorful American Indian rag on the floor and the one huge painting on the wall was a scene of five or six Navaho Indians in the desert, shading their eyes with their hands, looking off the frame at something distant.
    â€œI had my nails done yesterday,” she said. “I’m sorry. I don’t know why I said that.”
    â€œIt’s all right,” said Hanrahan.
    â€œI’ve got decaf,” she said hopefully. “Would you mind staying till my mother gets here?”
    â€œI’ll stay,” he said. “And a glass of ice water would be fine.”
    Though he had not been invited to sit, Hanrahan moved to a chair opposite Connie Beeton. He could see the Navahos on the wall from there.
    â€œWhy did the policeman…?” she said, putting her hands flat on her knees, trying to remain calm.
    â€œHe—Sergeant Shepard—shot his wife too.”
    Connie Beeton made no move to get his water, which was fine with Hanrahan.
    â€œI understand,” she said. “You have any children, Officer …?”
    â€œHanrahan, Sergeant. Two boys, both grown, a couple of grandchildren.”
    â€œWe don’t have any children,” she said, smiling. “I work at the Eagle grocery, on Harlem.”
    She pointed over his shoulder in the direction of Harlem Avenue.
    â€œI’m an assistant manager. We were planning to have a baby later this year,” she said, patting her palms on her legs. “I forgot your water.”
    â€œLater,” he said.
    She nodded as if he had said something of great importance and then fell silent.
    â€œHe couldn’t help it,” she said finally, her eyes moist.
    Hanrahan wasn’t sure whether she was talking about Shepard or her husband.
    â€œYes,” he said, now wanting that water.
    â€œI knew he … I knew about the women,” she said. “Andy stayed in shape. He went to college. Bachelor’s degree in political science. I’ve got the degree on the wall in our room.”
    She started to rise.
    â€œI believe you.”
    Connie Beeton sank back on the chair and looked at him.
    â€œI think I’d like that water you offered,” he said.
    â€œI’m so sorry.”
    She leaped up and moved to the open door to the kitchen. He watched the Navahos and wondered what they were looking at as he heard the refrigerator door open and then the