Big Silence by Stuart M. Kaminsky Read Free Book Online

wants you to come home,” Abe said as Bess cut and served and sat to listen. “He says he didn’t throw you out. You ran. He said he loves you and thinks you should both see a marriage counselor. He talked to the intern. The intern confirmed that nothing much had happened between you.”
    Abe took a bite of the warm cake. It was just what he needed. He knew he would try for a second piece and that Bess would stop him.
    “I can’t face him,” Lisa said, looking at Bess who touched her daughter’s hand.
    “Wear a mask,” said Abe. “He’s a good man. Get a plane ticket and go back to California tomorrow.”
    “I’ve got a round trip,” Lisa said softly. “Open ended. It was cheaper than one way.”
    “Then go back to your husband in the morning.” Your mother will drive you to the airport.”
    “I’ll drive you,” Bess confirmed.
    Lisa hesitated and said, “You think he really wants me back?”
    “He really wants you back,” said Abe.
    Abe ate. He tried to eat slowly. It didn’t work.
    “I’ll call TWA,” Lisa said.
    “Settled,” Lieberman said, glancing at the television set. The score was flashed. The game was over. The Cubs had been trounced.
    “You’re tired,” Bess said to her daughter. “I’ll take you upstairs. We’ll worry about your travel arrangements in the morning.”
    Bess was the president of the Temple Mir Shavot, and there was a big meeting in two days. Her pile of paperwork and the number of calls she had to make to appease, persuade, and cajole was monumental. She wouldn’t get much more finished tonight. Bess wasn’t an insomniac.
    When Bess finally came down, she went to the sofa and sat across from Abe who had turned off the television set and was simply sitting with his feet up on his almost ancient hassock.
    “You know how much our daughter’s spent on airfare over the last three months?” Lieberman said. “We could spend a month in Florida, not that I want to spend a month in Florida.”
    “You ate Lisa’s piece of cake,” Bess said.
    “You’re the one who should be a detective.”
    “You left the evidence.”
    “I ate the evidence,” he said.
    Bess smiled and said, “Do us all a favor, Abraham. Try harder to keep company like we had tonight away from the house.”
    “You mean Lisa?”
    “You know what I mean. Remember, I said ‘try.’ ”
    “You are a realist,” he said.
    “I’ve been married to you for a little more than forty years,” she said. “I just know the way things are. I’m going to sleep. Tomorrow promises to be busy.”
    She had given him a kiss on the cheek and gone to their bedroom. Lieberman sat up watching Out of the Past for the sixth or seventh time and then sat through about half of Oklahoma coveting another piece of coffee cake and resisting the urge. Then he took a bath, running the water as quietly as he could, though it let out a nearly maddening hiss when it was on anything but full power.
    He read an article on George Bernard Shaw’s Irish heritage and how it appeared in his work. The article made sense. By three-thirty in the morning, Abe had turned off the lights and was in bed. He slept till seven.
    And now, tired and with three cups of coffee in him, he entered the squad room, looked across the morning victims, suspects, and weary policemen and women and saw Captain Kearney in the door of his office motioning for Abe to come to him. Kearney did not look happy, but, then again, he seldom did.
    Kearney was only in his early forties. He had been a rising star, headed for the top, possibly chief of police, and then, about a year ago, it had all gone bad. His ex-partner had lost control, held the city hostage for two days from a high-rise rooftop, and accused Kearney of seducing his wife. The ex-partner, Sheppard, had hit every newscast and front page. Kearney had denied the accusations, but the department needed a scapegoat and Kearney was it. When Sheppard was killed, so was Kearney’s career. He would never be more