Lieberman's Choice Read Online Free PDF Page B

where we can see the street and the front of this building. You talked to him?”
    â€œI talked to him,” said Lieberman.
    They went into the lobby of the Shoreham. Residents, afraid to stay in their apartments, were gathered in small groups, arguing, listening, complaining, looking frightened. Lieberman led the way through the crowd to the laundry room. Hanrahan closed the door behind them.
    Five minutes later Kearney knew what they knew, and the three policemen went carefully back to the front of the Shoreham. An ambulance had pulled up to the front of the hotel. Its lights were flashing.
    Hanrahan grabbed a uniformed cop and started to give him orders to clear the area.
    â€œHow well you know Bernie Shepard?” Kearney asked Lieberman.
    â€œNot well but long,” said Lieberman, watching as a large dark car pulled up to the end of the street and was stopped by the police.
    â€œHe’s good,” said Kearney. “Picked the high ground. He can shut down Sheridan Road at rush hour.”
    â€œIf it goes that long,” said Lieberman.
    â€œIt’ll go that long,” said Kearney. “It’ll go till he gets whatever he wants or blows up a good part of this city.”
    â€œYou know what he wants, Captain?” asked Lieberman.
    Kearney rubbed his broken nose and shrugged, but the shrug was a lie.
    â€œNo,” he said. “What do you think he wants?”
    â€œSomeone else dead,” said Lieberman.
    The doors of the dark car were open and two men were being escorted toward the front of the Shoreham. The men were ducking and weaving. When they got close enough, Lieberman could see that one of them was a hastily dressed Marvin Hartz, chief of police, his hair disheveled, anger in his eyes. Hartz’s gray suit and dark tie didn’t match.
    Hartz had fifteen years experience as liaison to the board of education. He had been a forgotten man till he took a chance, bolted the party, quit his job and came out strongly for Aaron Jameson, the black challenger for mayor. Hartz hadn’t risked much. His wife had just died and the insurance and his pension would have left him warm and comfortable in Santa Fe. But Jameson had won and Hartz was chief of police. The man running behind Hartz was Captain Alton Brooks, SWAT director, in full uniform.
    The chief was burly and big with a slightly stooped right shoulder. Brooks, compact, his face the gnarled color of stained oak, was known to his men as the Indian. To the rest of the Chicago Police Department who knew him, Brooks was the Cowboy.
    Before Kearney could speak, Hartz said, “That’s Shepard up there? Bernie Shepard just blew his wife and a cop away and climbed on the roof? What the hell for, for God’s sake?”
    Hartz looked up into the darkness as if it might yield some answer.
    â€œSergeant Lieberman talked to him a few minutes ago,” said Kearney.
    Hartz looked at Lieberman, trying to recognize him, a slight look of distaste on his lips.
    â€œWhat does he want?” asked Hartz.
    The word was that Hartz was anti-Semitic. Lieberman believed the word.
    â€œWants a Channel Four interview and to see Captain Kearney tomorrow morning at one.”
    â€œIn the morning?” asked Hartz as if the requested hour were a confirmation of Shepard’s madness.
    â€œHe’s out of his mind,” said Hartz, looking at Alton Brooks for support.
    Brooks blinked once.
    Lieberman wanted Kearney to take over, but Kearney had turned to watch the medics removing Andy Beeton and Olivia Shepard in body bags.
    â€œHe may be out of his mind, but he’s not stupid,” said Lieberman. “He says the roof is rigged with explosives. He says he has an arsenal up there.”
    â€œHe’s bluffing,” said Hartz.
    â€œI don’t think so,” said Lieberman.
    â€œShepard doesn’t bluff,” added Alan Kearney. “If he says it’s rigged, it’s rigged.”
    â€œI’m