The Burglar in the Closet - By Lawrence Block Page 0,16

awful. If two people knew, that was ten times as awful. It didn’t matter if the two people were sleeping together. Hell, maybe it was worse if they were sleeping together. They could have a falling-out and one of them could go about blabbing resentfully.

I did take time to speak to Craig, assuring him that it would be in everybody’s interest for him to give his errant tongue a Novocaine hit. He apologized and promised to be properly silent in the future, and I decided to let it go at that. I wouldn’t bail out. I’d see if I couldn’t fly the damn plane to safety.

Pride and greed. They’ll do you in every time.

That was on a Thursday. I got out to the Hamptons for the weekend, spent half a day out on a bluefish boat, worked on my tan, sampled the bar scene, stayed at a fine old place called the Huntting Inn (spelling it with two T’s was their idea), agreed with everyone that the place was a damn sight better now that the season was over, and in the course of things struck out with an impressive number of otherwise charming young ladies. By the time I was back in Manhattan where I belong, I’d eaten up a little more of my case money and was almost glad I’d decided to hit the Sheldrake residence. Not wild about it but, oh, let’s say sanguine.

I spent Tuesday and Wednesday casing the joint. Wednesday night I called Craig at his East Sixty-third Street bachelor digs to get another report on Crystal’s routine. I told him, not without purpose, that Saturday night sounded like the best time for me to make my move.

I didn’t intend to wait until Saturday. The very next night, Thursday, I had my conversation with Miss Henrietta Tyler and cracked Crystal’s crib.

And languished in her closet. And probed for a pulse in her lifeless wrist.

CHAPTER

Four

Around ten the next morning I was spreading rhubarb preserves on a piece of whole-wheat toast. I’d bought the preserves, imported from Scotland at great expense, because I figured anything in an octagonal jar with a classy label had to be good. Now I felt an obligation to use them up even though my figuring seemed to be wrong. I had the piece of toast nicely covered and was about to cut it into triangles when the phone rang.

When I answered it Jillian Parr said, “Mr. Rhodenbarr? This is Jillian. From Dr. Craig’s office?”

“Oh, hi!” I said. “Beautiful morning, isn’t it? How are things in dental hygiene?”

There was a funereal pause. Then, “You haven’t heard the news?”

“News?”

“I don’t even know if it was in the papers. I haven’t even seen the papers. I overslept, I just grabbed coffee and Danish on my way to the office. Craig had a nine-thirty appointment booked and he’s always at the office on time and he didn’t show up. I called his apartment and there was no answer, and I figured he must be on his way in, and then I had the radio on and there was a newscast.”

“Jesus,” I said. “What happened, Jillian?”

There was a pause and then the words came in a rush. “He was arrested, Bernie. I know it sounds crazy but it’s true. Last night someone killed Crystal. Stabbed her to death or something, and in the middle of the night the police came and arrested Craig for her murder. You didn’t know about this?”

“I can’t even believe it,” I said. I wedged the phone between ear and shoulder so that I could quarter the toast. I didn’t want it to get cold. If I have to eat rhubarb preserves I can damn well eat them on warm toast. “It wasn’t in the Times,” I added. I could have added that it wasn’t in the News either, but that it was all over the radio and television newscasts. But for some curious reason I didn’t mention this.

“I don’t know what to do, Bernie. I just don’t know what I should do.”

I took a bite of toast, chewed it thoughtfully. “I suppose the first step is to close the office and cancel his appointments for the day.”

“Oh, I already did that. You know Marian, don’t you? The receptionist? She’s making telephone calls now. When she’s done I’ll send her home, and after that—”

“After that you can go home yourself.”

“I suppose so. But there has to be something I can do.”

I ate more toast, sipped some coffee. I seemed to be developing a