Chicago Assault Read Online Free Page B

don’t treat me like some stupid rookie! I told you what happened. That dead Irishman over there practically confessed when I asked him why they had hit Beckerman. Remember? He said, ‘Why should I tell the man who killed me?’”
    Boone Chezick shrugged and put his notebook away. “The lab reports better confirm every single inch of your story, Hawker. Beckerman better have been murdered, and these bloaters better have powder burns on their hands—from their weapons. Because if it doesn’t match up, I’ll be coming after your ass. You can bet the damn bank on that. The commissioner will see to it. So, until we get everything checked out, don’t—”
    â€œI’m not going to leave town,” Hawker interrupted coldly. “Anytime you want me, Chezick, you’ll know where to find me.”
    Hawker turned toward the elevator and didn’t look back.
    Hawker stopped at the late Saul Beckerman’s penthouse before heading for his car.
    Except for another team of uniformed cops and Felicia, the apartment was empty. Those who had come for the sex banquet had vanished. Hawker wondered how they felt, how the lethal finish to their plunge into the modern world of fun-love had affected them.
    The image of a dozen wealthy, middle-aged businessmen scattering bare-assed toward the parking lot almost made Hawker smile.
    Felicia was in her bedroom, lying on a massive circular couch. Her room was neat and immaculately decorated. There was a walk-in closet, a Jacuzzi whirlpool near the sunken tub, and a series of pen-and-ink drawings on the wall.
    The pen-and-ink drawings were studies of gnarled oak in winter. They gave the room a faintly masculine air. They seemed to shout out her loneliness.
    Everything else bespoke a wealthy, refined—and independent—woman. All woman.
    She lay on the couch with her forearm thrown across her eyes. A policeman was in attendence. He sat on a chair by the bureau. He looked bored. He seemed to recognize Hawker. He nodded.
    â€œI need to give the doc a call, anyway,” the cop said as he rose and headed for the door. “I think she’s going to need a shot or something.”
    Hawker knelt down beside her. “How’re you doing, lady?”
    She shook her head wearily. “It really happened, didn’t it? Saul really is dead.”
    â€œYes. It happened.”
    â€œMy head’s roaring. Everything seems to be coming at me down a tunnel. There’s an air of unreality about me … you … this moment.”
    Hawker touched his hand gently to her arm. “It’s called shock. It’s nothing to be afraid of. A doctor will be here soon.”
    Her face trembled as if she were about to cry, but she didn’t. She studied Hawker for a moment. “Just before … just before Saul left, I was about to say that I wished something would happen to him. Something to make me a free woman. My God, it’s like it was—”
    â€œYou had nothing to do with it, Felicia. Every married man and woman who has ever lived has made that same secret wish at one time or another. Few of them mean it. And I know you didn’t mean it.”
    â€œBut I did want to be free!” she cried.
    â€œEven if you did, it had nothing to do with Saul’s death. Remember that. You have absolutely nothing to feel guilty about.”
    She nodded noncommittally. “I’ve just been lying here thinking how damn lucky I was you didn’t let me seduce you. I don’t think I could have stood knowing that Saul died while I was—”
    Hawker touched his finger to her lips. “Enough,” he said. “You need to rest.”
    â€œYou’re going?”
    â€œYes.”
    She propped herself up on one elbow, brushing the silken brown hair off her face. “Please call me. Please.”
    â€œI will.”
    â€œJames? Saul didn’t commit … I mean, was he—”
    Hawker had opened