The Burglar in the Closet - By Lawrence Block Page 0,67

man with three last names. But you’re the man Frankie Ackerman was talking about. It’s pretty obvious, when you stop to think about it.”

“I don’t follow you, Bernie.” Jillian did look puzzled, all right. “If his name is Carson—”

I said, “‘And now, heeeeeeeere’s Johnny.’ Johnny Who, Jillian?”

“Oh!”

“Right. There’s millions of people named John, it’s hardly a rare enough name to make Frankie go into Ed McMahon’s routine every time she met somebody with the name. But Carson, that’s something else again. That’s not so common as a first name, and maybe it struck Frankie funny.”

“Ridiculous,” Verrill said. “I’m a respectable married man. I love my wife and I’ve always been faithful to her. I was never involved with Crystal.”

“You’re not that respectable,” Jillian said. “You flirt.”

“Nonsense.”

“You’d have made a pass at me last night. You were sort of moving in that direction. But I wasn’t interested and you backed off.”

“That’s absurd.”

“You knew Crystal years ago,” I said. “You knew her when she was married to Craig. That’s right, isn’t it?”

Craig confirmed that it was. “Carson represented me in my divorce,” he said. “Hey, maybe that’s why I got such a reaming in the alimony. Maybe my trusted attorney was already hopping in the sack with my wife and the two of them teamed up to put me through the wringer.” The World’s Greatest Dentist let that thought sink in, and his face took on a new set. Murder was one thing, he seemed to be thinking, but shafting a pal in the alimony department was really rotten. “You sonofabitch,” he said.

“Craig, you can’t believe—”

“I wish I had you in the chair right now. I’d grind your teeth clear to the gum line.”

“Craig—”

“You’ll have free dental care for the next few years, Mr. Verrill,” I said. “Those penitentiary dentists are terrific. You’re in for a treat.”

He turned on me, and if those weren’t a killer’s eyes then seeing’s not believing. “You’re out of your mind,” he said. “You have a lot of theories and nothing else. You don’t have any proof.”

“That’s what the bad guy always says in the movies,” I said. “That’s when you know he’s really guilty, when he starts talking about the lack of proof.”

“You’ve got the prattling of a convicted burglar and a drunken car parker. That’s all you’ve got.”

“What’s this car-parker crap? I don’t park the cars. I own the garage.”

“But as for hard evidence—”

“Well, it’s a funny thing about evidence,” I said. “You usually find it when you know what to look for. When the police start showing your photo around it’s going to turn out that more people saw you with Crystal than you ever realized. You found a way to get past my doorman last night, and that couldn’t have been the hardest thing in the world, but he or someone else in the building will probably remember you. And then there’s the jewelry. You didn’t plant all of Crystal’s stuff at my place because you’re too damned greedy for that. Where’s the rest of it? Your apartment? A safe-deposit box?”

“They won’t find any jewelry.”

“You sound pretty confident. I guess you found a safe place for it.”

“I never took any jewelry. I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Well, there’s the counterfeit money. That ought to be enough to hang you.”

“What counterfeit money?”

“The twenties.”

“Ah, the elusive twenties.” He arched an eyebrow at me. “I thought we were to understand that the equally elusive Knobby headed south with them.”

“That’s what he must have done. But I’ve got a hunch there was a sample batch that Grabow ran off in advance, because I’ve got the damnedest feeling there’s a couple thousand dollars’ worth of those phony bills in your office.”

“In my office?”

“On Vesey Street. It’s funny how deserted the downtown section is on a Sunday. It’s as if a neutron bomb got rid of all the people and just left the buildings standing there. I’ve got a strong hunch there’s a thick stack of twenties in the center drawer of your desk, and I’ll bet they’re a perfect match to the plates in Walter Grabow’s loft.”

He took a step toward me, then drew back. “My office,” he said.

“Uh-huh. Nice place you’ve got there, incidentally. No view of the park like Craig has, of course, but you can see a little of the harbor from the one window, and that’s something.”

“You planted counterfeit money there?”

“Don’t be silly. Knobby took the money south. How could I plant it?”

“I should have killed you, Rhodenbarr. If I’d known you were