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but aware of approaches, changes in my environment, more a sense than a sound, you understand?”
    Lieberman nodded.
    â€œThere have been four attempts in the past two years to break into the house, to rob me. All were thwarted by the alarm system, very noisy, lights, very upsetting to neighbors in the nearby apartments, but very effective.”
    â€œSo,” Hanrahan guided, “you thought you were about to be burgled.”
    â€œPrecisely, and I came awake. There were voices, a woman’s voice and weeping, and I came down in darkness to determine if this was taking place inside or beyond my fence. Before I could get to the bottom of the stairs, there was the firing of bullets.”
    â€œHow many?” asked Lieberman.
    â€œAt first, two, three, four. I don’t know. Then a pause and another shot and the woman shouted to her husband as I reached the bottom of the stairs. I turned on the lights and walked onto the porch. There was no one there but the poor young man and the stricken woman. I called the nine-one-one number, put on my coat, and attempted to minister to them.”
    â€œDid you see anyone else?” asked Hanrahan.
    â€œNo.”
    â€œDid the woman or the wounded man say anything else?”
    â€œNo. He was quite dead when I came to him and she was decidedly unconscious.”
    â€œYou said she called to her husband after the first round of shots,” said Lieberman. “How do you know?”
    â€œShe called him by name. ‘George,’ she called.”
    Hanrahan looked at his partner, but Abe was awake now and focused on the doctor.
    â€œYou sure she said ‘George’?”
    â€œOh, yes. My hearing is outstanding. I may have a bit of difficulty with discernment of range, but …”
    â€œYou sure it was the woman who said ‘George’?” asked Lieberman.
    Ranpur considered the question seriously as he examined his hands and pursed his lips.
    â€œThe voice was high, but so was the wind. Perhaps it was not the voice of the woman. The name was called in horror and I assumed … but, perhaps not, perhaps it was one of the assailants.”
    â€œPerhaps it was,” said Lieberman, getting up. “Thank you for your time.”
    â€œWait,” said Ranpur, rising and hurrying to the wooden case behind his desk as the detectives moved to their coats and began to put them on. Ranpur pulled a key from his pocket, opened the case, and retrieved a plastic vial of tablets, which jiggled as he hurried back across the room and handed the vial to Lieberman.
    â€œThree times a day after meals,” said Ranpur, as Lieberman put the vial into his coat pocket.
    â€œThanks,” said Lieberman.
    â€œYou are, perhaps, wondering why it is that an old man like me lives and a young man is murdered,” said Ranpur, touching Lieberman’s sleeve.
    â€œNo,” said Lieberman. “Maybe later when I have time I’ll think of all kinds of things to torture myself, but …”
    â€œWell then, perhaps, I was thinking it,” said Ranpur. “I see from your eyes. You sleep badly. The pills should help you. If you need more, please come back. There will be no charge.”
    â€œThanks,” said Lieberman, as the old man escorted them back to the porch and out into the predawn cold.
    On the sidewalk Lieberman, hands plunged deeply in his pockets, said, “What’ve we got?”
    â€œNot much,” said Hanrahan, enjoying the cold after the soporific heat of the house. “Pair of perpetrators, both black, Caribbean maybe, one maybe named George, and maybe they ran off with your nephew’s hat. Not much, Rabbi.”
    â€œHave faith, Father Murphy,” said Lieberman, starting to feel the cold again. “We’ll see what the computer and some friends can come up with.”
    â€œNot gonna find much at this hour,” said Hanrahan. “Want me to come home with you or back to the