The Burglar in the Closet - By Lawrence Block Page 0,18

you come over? It’s crazy, maybe, but I don’t know who else to ask. I just don’t want to be alone by myself now.” I hesitated, at least partly because I had some unswallowed food on my tongue, and she said, “Forget I said all that, okay? You’re a busy man, I know that, and it’s an imposition, and—”

“I’ll be right over.”

There’s something to keep in mind. I didn’t agree to bop on over to Craig’s Central Park South office just because I have a penchant for sticking my head in the lion’s mouth, or into whatever orifice the beast chooses to present to me. Nor was I making the trip because I couldn’t help remembering how nice it felt when Jillian leaned against me during a cleaning, or how nice her fingers tasted.

On the surface, it might look as though I had a vested interest in staying uninvolved. I was after all a burglar, and am hence regarded generally as a Highly Suspicious Person. And I was, further, no more than a dental patient and casual acquaintance of Craig Sheldrake, nor was my relationship with Jillian such that she’d be likely to turn to me before all others for solace in time of stress. Why, she’d never called me anything but Mr. Rhodenbarr until this morning. So at first glance it certainly looked as though I ought to keep a low profile.

On the other hand—and there’s always another hand—whoever jammed Crystal’s pump had taken a caseful of jewels along with him. I had taken to thinking of those jewels as my own, and I still thought of them as my own, and I damn well wanted to get them back.

I didn’t just want the jewels, as far as that goes. The precious pretties, you may recall, were in an attaché case I’d brought into the apartment with me. I was reasonably certain no one could trace that case to me—I, after all, had stolen it in the first place. But I couldn’t begin to be sure that the inside of the damn thing wasn’t covered with my fingerprints. The outside was Ultrasuede and would no more take a print than Crystal Sheldrake’s wrist would, but the inside was some sort of vinyl or Naugahyde, which might or might not take prints, and there was a lot of metal trim in the interior, and it wasn’t at all hard to conjure up scenarios in which a cadre of cops kicked my door in and sought to learn what a case with my prints on it, loaded with Crystal’s jewelry, was doing in the apartment of a murder suspect.

So if they caught him I might be in trouble. And if they didn’t catch him he’d be getting away with my loot. And if there was no one to catch because the World’s Greatest Dentist had indeed gone and committed the world’s dumbest murder, well, that was less than super for me, too. Because in that case Craig would hand me to them on a platter. “I was talking to him about all this jewelry she had around, see, and he seemed to be taking quite an interest, and later it dawned on me that I’d read something about him being a burglar and once being mixed up in a murder, and I never dreamed he’d actually burglarize poor Crystal’s apartment—”

I could just about write the script for him, and after the way he’d set me up a week ago, I didn’t doubt he had the acting talent to read his lines properly. It might not be enough to get him out of the soup but it would certainly put me in the kettle alongside of him.

In fact, even if he wasn’t guilty he might try that approach. If no other suspect turned up he could panic. Or he could have the same doubts about me that I was having about him, and he could decide I might have hit Crystal’s apartment two days earlier than I said I would—which in fact I did—and that I happened to kill her accidentally in a moment of panic. He might simply have figured that our arrangement might come out so he’d better put the best possible light on it in advance.

What it came down to was that there were far too many ways that I could wind up in trouble.

And there was the fact that I liked Craig Sheldrake. When you are a patient of the World’s Greatest Dentist you don’t readily give him