The Burglar In The Closet (18 page)

Just as my cab pulled up in front of Jillian's building I spotted the blue-and-white cruiser next to the hydrant. "Keep going," I said. "I'll take the corner."

"I already threw the flag," my driver complained. "I'm risking a ticket."

"What's life without taking chances?"

"Yeah, you can say that, friend. You're not the one who's taking 'em."

Indeed. His tip was not all it might have been and I watched him drive off grumbling. I walked back to Jillian's, staying close to the buildings and keeping an eye open for other police vehicles, marked or unmarked. I didn't see any, nor did I notice any coplike creatures lurking in the shadows. I lurked in the shadows myself, and after a ten-minute lurk a pair of familiar shapes emerged from Jillian's doorway. They were Todras and Nyswander, not too surprisingly, and it was nice to see them still on the job after so many hours. I was happy to note that their schedule was as arduous as my own.

When they drove off I stayed right where I was for five full minutes in case they were going to be cute and circle the block. When this didn't happen I considered calling from the booth on the corner to make sure the coast was clear. I didn't feel like bothering. I buzzed Jillian from the vestibule.

All the distortion of the intercom couldn't hide the anxiety in her voice. She said, "Yes? Who is it?"

"Bernie."

"Oh. I don't-"

"Are you alone, Jillian?"

"The police were just here."

"I know. I waited until they left."

"They say you killed Crystal. They say you're dangerous. You never went to the boxing matches. You were in her apartment, you killed her-"

All this over the intercom, yet. "Can I come up, Jillian?"

"I don't know."

I'll pick the fucking lock,
I thought,
and I'll huff and I'll puff and I'll kick your door in.
But I said, "I've made a lot of progress tonight, Jillian. I know who killed her. Let me up and I'll explain the whole business."

She didn't say anything, and for a moment I wondered if she'd heard me. Perhaps she had closed the intercom switch. Perhaps at this very moment she was dialing 911, and in a scant hour the swift and efficient New York police would arrive with drawn guns. Perhaps-

The buzzer buzzed and I opened the door.

She wore a wool skirt, a plaid of muted greens and blues, and a navy sweater. Her tights were also navy, and on her little feet she wore deerskin slippers with pointed toes that suited her elfin quality. She poured me a cup of coffee and apologized for giving me a hard time over the intercom.

"I'm a nervous wreck," she said. "I've had a parade of visitors tonight."

"The cops?"

"They came at the very end. Well, you know that, you saw them leave. First there was another policeman. He told me his name-"

"Ray Kirschmann?"

"That's right. He said he wanted me to give you a message. I said I wouldn't be hearing from you but he gave me a very knowing wink. I wouldn't be surprised if I blushed. It was that kind of a wink."

"He's that kind of a cop. What was the message?"

"You're supposed to get in touch with him. He said you've really got the guts of a burglar and you proved it going back to the scene of the crime. He said something about he's sure you got what you went there for and he'll want to be on hand to check it out. When I told him I didn't really understand he said you would understand, and that the main thing was that you should get in touch with him."

"'Back to the scene of the crime.' What's that supposed to mean?"

"I think I know from something the other cops said. And other things. After Kirschmann left Craig came over."

"I thought you told him not to."

"I did, but he came anyway and it was easier to let him come up than make a fuss. I told him he couldn't stay."

"What did he want?"

She made a face. "He was horrid. He really thinks you killed Crystal. He said the police were sure of it and he blames himself for setting it up for you to steal the jewels. That was what he really wanted to tell me-to deny that you had any arrangement with him. He said you'd probably blab if the police arrested you and that it would be his word against yours and naturally they'd take the word of a respectable dentist over that of a convicted burglar-"

"Naturally."

"-but that I would have to swear that your story was a lot of nonsense or he might be in trouble. I said I didn't believe you would kill anybody and he got very mad and accused me of siding with you against him, and I got nasty myself, and I don't know what I ever saw in him, I swear I don't."

"He's got nice teeth."

"Then when he left, I was just getting interested in television when his lawyer came over."

"Verrill?"

"Uh-huh. I think he came over mainly to back up Craig. Craig told him about the arrangement with you and naturally he wouldn't want that to come out, and he tried to let me know how important it was to keep it a secret. I think he was building up to offer me a bribe but he didn't come right out and say it."

"Interesting."

"He was really pretty slick, but in a very Establishment way. As if the kind of bribe I could expect wouldn't be an envelope full of cash but some sort of tax-free trust fund. Not really, but he had that kind of attitude. He said there was no question you murdered Crystal. He said the police had evidence."

"What kind of evidence?"

"He didn't say." She looked away, swallowed. "You didn't kill her, did you, Bernie?"

"Of course not."

"But you'd say that anyway, wouldn't you?"

"I don't know what I'd say if I killed her. I've never killed anybody so the question's never come up. Jillian, why on earth would I kill the woman? If she came in and caught me in the act, all I'd want to do would be to get away before the police came. Maybe I'd give her a shove to get out of there, if I had to-"

"Is that what happened?"

"No, because she didn't catch me. But if she did, and if I did shove her, and if she took a bad fall, well, I can see how a person could get hurt that way. It's never happened yet but I suppose it's possible. What's not possible is that I'd stab her in the heart with a dental scalpel I wouldn't have with me in the first place."

"That's what I told myself."

"Well, you were right."

Her eyes widened, her lower lip trembled. She gnawed prettily at it. "Those two policemen got here about three-quarters of an hour after Mr. Verrill left. They said you broke into Crystal's apartment again last night. There were police seals on it and it was broken into. They say you did it."

"Somebody hit Crystal's place again?" I frowned, trying to figure it. "Why would I do that?"

"They said you must have left something behind. Or you wanted to destroy evidence."

That was what Kirschmann had been talking about. He thought I'd make a second trip for the jewels. "Anyway," I said, "I was here last night."

"You could have stopped on the way here."

"I couldn't have stopped anywhere last night. I couldn't see straight, if you'll remember."

She avoided my eyes. "And the night before that," she said. "They say they have a witness who spotted you leaving Crystal's building right around the time she was killed. And they have another woman who says she actually spoke to you in Gramercy Park earlier that night."

"Shit. Henrietta Tyler."

"What?"

"A sweet little old lady who hates dogs and strangers. I'm surprised she remembered me. And that she talked to the law. I figured no one who hates dogs and strangers can be all bad. What's the matter?"

"Then you were there!"

"I didn't kill anybody, Jillian. Burglary was the only felony I committed that night, and I was busy committing it while somebody else killed Crystal."

"You were-"

"On the premises. In the apartment."

"Then you saw-"

"I saw the closet door from the inside, that's what I saw."

"I don't understand."

"I don't blame you. I didn't
see
who killed her but I had a busy night tonight and now I
know
who killed her. It all fits, even the second break-in." I leaned forward. "Do you suppose you could put up a fresh pot of coffee? Because it's a long story."

Chapter Seventeen

She listened with appropriately wide eyes while I recreated the circumstances of the burglary and the murder. When I moved along to the story of my visit to Knobby Corcoran's humble digs, she stared in awe and admiration. I may have improved on reality a bit, come to think of it. I may have made the drop from one rooftop to the other greater than it actually was, and I may have added a gap of a few yards between the buildings. Poetic license, you understand.

When I got to the attache case she made oohing sounds. When it was Naugahyde instead of Ultrasuede she groaned, and when I opened it up and found all the money she gasped. "So much money," she said. "Where is it? You don't have it with you, do you?"

"It's in a safe place. Or else I wasted fifty cents."

"Huh?"

"Nothing important. I stashed the attache case but I held onto a few bills because I thought they might come in handy." I took out my wallet. "I've got two left. See?"

"What about them?"

"Nice, aren't they?"

"They're twenty-dollar bills. What's so special about them?"

"Well, if you saw a whole suitcase full of them you'd be impressed, wouldn't you?"

"I suppose, but-"

"Compare the serial numbers, Jillian."

"What about them? They're in sequence. Wait a minute, they're not in sequence, are they?"

"Nope."

"They're...Bernie, both of these bills have the same serial number."

"Really? Jesus, that's remarkable, isn't it?"

"Bernie-"

"A world where no two snowflakes are the same, where every human being has a different set of fingerprints, and here I go and take two twenties out of my wallet and I'll be damned if they don't both have the same serial number. It makes you think, doesn't it?"

"Are they-?"

"Phony? Yeah, that's what it means, I'm afraid. Hell of a note, isn't it? All that money and all it is is green paper. Take a close look, Jillian, and you'll see it's a long way from perfect. The portrait of Andy Jackson is damn good compared to most counterfeits I've seen, but if you really look at the bill it doesn't look wonderful."

"Around the seal here-"

"Yeah, the points aren't sharp. And if you turn the bill over you'll see some other faults. Of course these bills are new ones. If you age them and distress them a little, give 'em fold lines and take the newness out of the paper by cooking them with a little coffee-well, there are tricks in every trade and I don't pretend to know some of the ones counterfeiters have come up with lately. I have enough work staying ahead of the locksmiths. I'll tell you, though, those bills you've got in your hand would pass banks nineteen times out of twenty. The serial number's about the only obvious fault. Would you look twice at one of these if you got it in change?"

"No."

"Neither would anybody else. As soon as I saw the money was counterfeit I went straight back to Grabow's place. One step inside the door and I knew I was on the right track. He was an unsuccessful artist who'd turned to printmaking and had made no big success of that, and here he was living in a loft most New Yorkers would kill for, tons of space, beautiful furniture, a few thousand dollars' worth of primitive artifacts on the wall. I poked around and found enough inks and paper to make better money than the Bureau of Engraving and Printing turns out, and if there was any doubt it vanished when I found the actual printing plates. He does beautiful line work. It's really high-quality engraving."

"Grabow's a counterfeiter?"

"Uh-huh. I wondered why he was so suspicious when he had me trapped in the vestibule of his building. I did a pretty good job of looking like a dumb schmuck who was chasing the wrong Grabow, but he was full of questions. Who was I? How'd I get his address? How come I was working on a Saturday? He came up with questions faster than I could come up with answers, that's why I had to run out on him, but why would he have so many suspicions if he didn't have something to hide? Yes, he's a counterfeiter. I can't swear that he made the plates himself, but he's got them now. And he certainly did the printing."

"And then he gave the money to Knobby Corcoran? I don't understand what happened next."

"Neither do I, but I can make a few guesses. Suppose Crystal brought Knobby and Grabow together. Grabow was her boyfriend and maybe she took him around the bars a few times. That's what she did with the Legal Beagle, her other boyfriend, so why wouldn't she do the same thing with Grabow?

"Anyway, Grabow and Corcoran set something up. Maybe Grabow was going to produce the counterfeit twenties and Knobby was going to find a way to turn them into real money. There was some kind of a doublecross. Say Knobby wound up with the twenties and Grabow wound up talking to himself. Maybe Crystal crossed him one way or another, maybe
she
wound up with the money."