The Burglar in the Closet - By Lawrence Block Page 0,54
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 attaché 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 attaché 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