The Burglar in the Closet - By Lawrence Block Page 0,8

cared to create. So I’d have to find a gentler way out, and the first step was to get the damned key out of the lock.

Which is easy enough. I supplied myself with a scrap of paper by tearing one of the protective garment bags that was protecting one of Crystal’s garments. I scrunched down on hands and knees and slipped the paper under the door so that it was positioned beneath the keyhole. Then I used one of my little pieces of steel to poke around in the silly-ass lock until the key jiggled loose and fell to the floor.

Back on my hands and knees again, tugging at the paper. Tugging gently, because a swift tug would have the effect of a swift yank on a tablecloth, removing the cloth but leaving the dishes behind. I didn’t just want the paper. I wanted the key that was on it as well. Why pick a lock if the key’s just inches from your grasp? Easy does it, take your time, easy, that’s right—

And then the door buzzer buzzed.

I swear I wanted to spit. The damned buzzer made a sound loud enough to make hens stop laying. I froze where I was, praying fervently that Crystal wouldn’t hear it under the shower, but evidently my prayer wasn’t quite fervent enough. Because the thing sounded again, a long horrible piercing blurt, and while it was so doing Crystal shut off the water.

I stayed where I was and I went on tugging at the scrap of paper. The last thing I wanted was for her to spot the key on the floor on her way to the door. The key cleared the door and came into view, and while this was happening the bathroom door opened and I heard her footsteps.

I stayed where I was, crouched on the floor as if in prayer. If she noticed that the key was missing, well, at least she wouldn’t be able to open it because I had the key. That, I told myself, was something.

But she didn’t even slow down as she passed the closet. She swept right on by, presumably in her lime-green terry-cloth robe. I suppose she poked the answering buzzer to unlatch the downstairs door. I waited, and I suppose she waited, and then the doorbell sounded its two-tone chime. Then she opened the door.

By this time I had gotten to my feet again and was standing behind the rack of dresses. I was also paying close attention to what was happening, but it was hard for me to get a clear picture of what was going on. The door opened. I heard Crystal saying something. Part of what she said was inaudible, but I could make out “What is it? What do you want?” and similar expressions. It seems to me that there was panic in her voice, or at the least a whole lot of apprehension, but I may have just filled that in after the fact.

Then she said “No, no!” very loud, and there was no missing the terror. And then she screamed, but it was a very brief scream, chopped off abruptly as if it were a recording and someone lifted the tone arm from the record.

Then a thudding sound.

Then nothing at all.

And there I was, standing snugly in my closet like the world’s most cautious homosexual. After a moment or two I thought about using the key in my hand to unlock the door, but then once again I heard movement outside. Footsteps, but they sounded different from Crystal’s. I couldn’t say that they were lighter or heavier. Just a different step. I’d grown used to Crystal’s footsteps, having spent so much time lately listening to them.

The footsteps approached, reached the bedroom. The source of the footsteps began moving around the bedroom, opening drawers, moving furniture around. At one point the doorknob turned but of course the door was still locked. Whoever had turned the knob was evidently not proficient at picking locks. The closet was abandoned and I was safe inside it.

More movement. Then, after what couldn’t really have been an eternity, the footsteps passed me again and returned to the living room. The apartment’s outer door opened and closed—I’d learned to recognize that sound.

I looked at my watch. It was eleven minutes to eleven, and thinking of it that way made it more memorable than 10:49. I looked at the key I was holding and I slipped it into the lock and turned it, and then