The Burglar in the Closet - By Lawrence Block Page 0,34
you met him?”
“No. We went there looking for him but he’d switched shifts with Lloyd.”
“Who’s Lloyd?”
“The guy who was tending bar at Spyder’s Parlor last night. I’ll tell you one thing, he pours a hell of a drink. I don’t know Knobby’s last name. I don’t know Frankie’s last name, come to think of it, or anybody’s last name. None of the people I met last night had last names. But I don’t suppose it’ll be hard to find Knobby, not if he hangs onto his job.”
“I wonder why he didn’t work last night.”
“Beats me. I gather the bartenders switch shifts with each other all the time. Maybe there was something on television Knobby didn’t want to miss. Or maybe he had to sit up washing Crystal’s blood out of his official Spyder’s Parlor T-shirt. Not really, because there wasn’t any blood to speak of.”
“How do you know that, Bernie?”
Brilliant. “She was stabbed in the heart,” I said. “So there wouldn’t have been much bleeding.”
“Oh.”
“So here’s what we’ve got,” I said, changing the subject back where it belonged. “The Legal Beagle, Grabow the Artist, and Knobby the Bartender. I think we’ll have to concentrate on the three of them for the time being.”
“How?”
“Well, we can find out who they are. That would be a start.”
“And then what?”
And then I could see who had the jewels, but I couldn’t tell Jillian that. She didn’t know anything about my Ultrasuede attaché case filled with twice-stolen pretties, nor did she know B. G. Rhodenbarr had been on the premises when Crystal got hers.
“And then,” I said, “we can see if one of them had a reason for killing Crystal, and if there was any link between any of them and Craig, because the killer didn’t just happen to turn up with a dental scalpel because the local hardware store was fresh out of javelins. If it turns out that Grabow’s got a partial plate that Craig made for him, or—God, I’m stupid today. You’re really seeing me at my worst, Jillian. Drunk last night and hungover this morning. I’ve got a brain underneath it all, honest I do. A small one, but it’s stood me in good stead over the years.”
“What are you talking about?”
“Your files. Well, Craig’s files, actually. Knobby and Grabow and the Beagle. Craig has a record of everyone he’s seen professionally, doesn’t he? Grabow’ll be a cinch if he was ever a patient, unless Frankie got his name wrong. Knobby’ll be harder until I learn what his legal name is, but that shouldn’t take long and then you can see if there’s any connection between him and Craig. As far as Johnny the Lawyer is concerned, well, there we’ve got a problem. I don’t suppose you have your patients listed by occupation.”
She shook her head. “There’s blanks for business address and employer on the chart, but when they’re self-employed they don’t usually specify what they’re self-employed at. I know what I could do.”
“What?”
“I could go through and pull all the Johns who aren’t obviously something other than lawyers, and then I can check the ones who are left against the listings of attorneys in the Yellow Pages. Not all lawyers are listed, of course. I guess most of them aren’t. But does it sound as though it might be worthwhile?”
“It sounds like a long shot. And a lot of hard work.”
“I know.”
“But every once in a while somebody sifts through a haystack and actually comes up with a needle. If you don’t mind taking the time—”
“I don’t have anything else to do. And it’ll at least give me the feeling that I’m doing something to help.”
“You’re harboring a fugitive,” I said. “That’s something.”
“Do you really think you’re a fugitive? Just because you recognized a policeman in your lobby doesn’t mean he was there waiting for you. He might have been checking on some other tenant.”
“Mrs. Hesch, say. Maybe he came to arrest her for smoking in the elevator.”
“But he wasn’t even one of the cops we saw before, Bernie. Why would he be the one to go looking for you? I could understand if it was…I forget their names.”
“Todras and Nyswander. Todras was the block of granite with the menacing smile. Nyswander was Wilbur the Weasel.”
“Well, if they were waiting for you, then you’d have something to worry about. But I don’t think—who’s that?”
The doorbell sounded again, right on cue.
I said, “I came here last night around one. I left about an hour ago. You don’t know anything about