The Burglar on the Prowl - By Lawrence Block Page 0,30

law comes around asking questions, but—”

“The question’s not when did you pee,” he said. “It’s where did you pee.”

Carolyn said, “What, did you miss the toilet, Bern? That’s disgusting, but I understand a lot of guys do it. It’s a natural consequence of the biological flaw that makes you pee standing up. But I didn’t know it was considered a police matter.”

He was looking at me, waiting for my answer. “I went to the bathroom,” I told him.

“The one in your apartment.”

“Oddly enough,” I said, “that’s the very one I used.”

“In that case,” he said, “do you suppose maybe you can tell me what the hell you were doin’ in the East Thirties?”

I’ll admit it, the question shook me. Here’s what I’d figured—someone had pulled some kind of break-in somewhere in Riverdale, and some eyewitness, presented with a book of mugshots of known offenders, had picked me out as someone who’d been seen lurking in the neighborhood. But any lurking I’d done had been in the early evening, and Ray said he was only interested in where I’d been after Law & Order.

It didn’t seem like anything to worry about. One witness who thought he might have seen me in Riverdale a few hours before a break-in—well, I hadn’t done anything, and wouldn’t have left prints or trace evidence, so I couldn’t believe Ray expected to get anywhere with this. Most likely he was just going through the motions.

And then he mentioned the East Thirties.

Where the hell did that come from? The only person who could have reported the break-in at the Creeley apartment was Barbara Creeley herself, and there was no way she’d think she was the victim of a burglar. The odds were she was still deep in the throes of a booze-and-Roofies hangover and hadn’t yet discovered that her class ring was missing, not to mention the very cold cash from her refrigerator. When she did, she could only assume it had been taken by the miserable son of a bitch who’d brought her home. If she reported it—and I could see why she might not want to—and if she had any memory at all of the pickup, it would be Lover Boy’s description she’d give the police. It certainly wouldn’t be mine, as the woman had never laid eyes on me.

I didn’t know what to say, but I had to say something. “The East Thirties,” I said. “In Manhattan, you mean.”

“No, in East Jesus, Kansas.”

“The East Thirties. You mean Kips Bay, over by the East River?”

“Try a little north and west of there,” he said. “Try Murray Hill.”

“Murray Hill,” I said. “Murray Hill. I went to school with a fellow named Murray Hillman, but—”

“We know you were there, Bernie.”

“I suppose you’ve got a witness.”

He shook his head. “Better. What we got is photographic evidence. Ever hear of security cameras?”

Of course I’d heard of them, and they were one of the reasons I’d stayed away from apartment buildings. But there hadn’t been a security camera in the Feldmaus-Creeley house. I’d looked, I always look, and I’d have spotted it before it could have spotted me.

“You’re bluffing,” I said, “and I don’t know why, because I don’t even know what I’m supposed to have done. Which I think you really ought to tell me before we go any further.”

“You think so, do you?”

“I really do, Ray.”

“Whatever you say, Bernie. Sometime a little after midnight a couple of mopes walked into the lobby of one of them white brick apartment buildings on the corner of Third Avenue an’ 37th Street. They overpowered the doorman, duct-taped his feet and ankles, slapped another piece of tape over his mouth, an’ locked him in the parcel room. Then they went around to all the security cameras an’ opened ’em up an’ took out the tape.”

“It seems like a lot to go through,” I said, “to steal some videotapes.”

“Go ahead an’ be a wiseass, see what it gets you. Next thing they did was go upstairs to the penthouse apartment, which was on the top floor.”

“Good place for it.”

“They forced the door, and overpowered the man and woman inside the apartment, who’d sublet the place as Mr. and Mrs. Lyle Rogovin, which may or may not have been their real names. They trussed them up with duct tape, same as the doorman, an’ went to work. There was a safe in the Rogovin apartment, big heavy monster, not what you’d expect to find in a residence. They got it open and cleaned it