Free Lieberman's Folly by Stuart M. Kaminsky Page A

said. “Now, what do we do?”
    â€œI told the captain a woman in Valdez’s clothes got in a Green and White cab just before I went up,” Hanrahan said. “Cabby went in and got her bags.”
    Lieberman’s partner did not look good. Hughes was wrong. Bill Hanrahan wasn’t drunk any longer and he wasn’t hung over. He was feeling sorry for himself and guilty. Lieberman had seen it before.
    â€œI had Witten call the cab company,” said Hughes. “Dispatcher’s checking. It’s a busy night. You and Hanrahan can check the neighbors on this floor. Clevenger’s talking to the doorman. What else do we know?”
    â€œShe lived here about three months,” Lieberman said, turning his head to look around the room. It was a disaster.
    â€œShe didn’t live here,” Hughes said, pointing his right hand at the torn bed. “She worked here. Everything’s new. Looks like she spent nights here working, but probably called someplace else home. Look around and tell me you don’t read it the same?”
    â€œI read it the same,” Lieberman had to admit.
    â€œAnd someone was looking for something in here,” Hughes went on, now moving from the balcony and wandering about the room. “They didn’t find it. Lieberman?”
    â€œThey didn’t find it,” Lieberman agreed.
    If the killer had found what he or she was looking for, the place would probably not have been in this shape. It looked as if some of the damage had been done in a frenzy, and Estralda’s body looked as if someone had tried to get her to say something. In addition, the killer had taken some big chances staying so long, making so much noise. No, whoever did this probably hadn’t found what he was looking for. Hughes was right.
    â€œWhat were they looking for, Abe?” Hughes said. “Drugs? She tell you?”
    â€œA book,” said Hanrahan.
    â€œList of clients,” said Lieberman.
    Hughes turned on them both.
    â€œBullshit,” he said. “Nobody does this because a hooker has his name in a book.”
    Hughes glared at the two detectives and watched Lieberman’s impassive face.
    â€œWell,” Hughes finally grudgingly admitted, “maybe they do. Hanrahan, you in shape to go knocking on doors?”
    â€œHe’s in shape,” said Lieberman.
    â€œAbe, I asked your partner,” Hughes said. “The only thing saving his ass is that he was off duty.”
    â€œI can knock on doors,” said Hanrahan. He pushed himself away from the railing on the balcony and stepped into the room.
    â€œThen do it,” said Hughes. “Maybe we got a chance of keeping this small. Papers, TV might not pick up on it, at least not big. Whore gets murdered. Nothing special.”
    â€œNothing special,” Lieberman said softly.
    Hughes prodded a pair of pink silk underpants on the floor.
    â€œSaw her around the building a couple of times,” he said. “Good-looking woman. Not enough good-looking women around, whores or not, to have someone going around wasting them. The case is yours, Lieberman. Comes down to it and you want to lie to the press, you do it. You just let me know what’s going on. Do it fast. Do it quiet and get it over with. I’m sending all the media shit, if there is any, to you and your partner. You earned it.”
    â€œWe appreciate your confidence,” said Lieberman.
    â€œI’m going home,” Hughes said. “I’m on the third floor, three-oh-eight. Don’t come to my door. Don’t tell me your problems. Be in my office tomorrow at ten with a progress report.”
    â€œI’ve got my annual department physical tomorrow morning at nine,” said Lieberman. “I don’t know if I’ll be done in time to get—”
    â€œThen come when you’re done, as soon as you’re done. Shit, wife and I were thinking of selling the apartment. This gets out