he had a cyanide capsule in a hollow tooth, and he knew the jig was up, so he let himself into my store and bit down on the old bicuspid. It’s natural enough that he’d want to die in the presence of first editions and fine bindings.”
“Well, if it wasn’t a heart attack or suicide—”
“Or herpes,” I said. “I understand there’s a lot of it going around.”
“If it wasn’t one of those things, and if somebody killed him, how did they do it? You think you locked two people in the store last night?”
“No.”
“Then what?”
“He could have slipped in when I opened up this morning. I might not have noticed. Then, while I was picking up coffee and taking it to your place—”
“That rotten coffee.”
“—he could have gone into the john and died. Or if there was someone with him that person could have killed him. Or if he came alone, and then someone else came along, he could have opened the door for that person, and then the person could have killed him.”
“Or the murderer managed to get locked in the store either last night or this morning, and when Turnquist showed up the murderer let him in and murdered him. Could either one of them let the other in without a key?”
“No problem,” I said. “I didn’t do much of a job of locking up when I went for coffee. I left the bargain table outside and just pressed the button so the springlock would work. I don’t even remember double-locking the door with the key.” I frowned, remembering. “Except I must have, because it was bolted when I came back. I had to turn the key in the lock twice to turn both the bolt and the springlock. Shit.”
“What’s the matter?”
“Well, that screws it up,” I said. “Say Turnquist let the killer in, which he could have done from inside just by turning the knob. Then the killer left Turnquist dead on the potty and went out, but how did he lock the door?”
“Don’t you have extra keys around somewhere? Maybe he found them.”
“You’d really have to look for them, and why would he bother? Especially when I didn’t have the door double-locked in the first place.”
“It doesn’t make sense.”
“Hardly anything does. Watch the curb.”
“Shit.”
“Watch that, too. People seem to have stopped picking up after their dogs. Walking’s becoming an adventure again.”
We managed another curb, crossed another street, scaled the curb at the far side. We kept heading west, and once we got across Abingdon Square, the traffic, both automotive and pedestrian, thinned out considerably. At the corner of Twelfth and Hudson we passed the Village Nursing Home, where an old gentleman in a similar chair gave Turnquist the thumbs-up sign. “Don’t let these young people push you around,” he counseled our passenger. “Learn to work the controls yourself.” When he got no response, his eyes flicked to me and Carolyn. “The old boy a little bit past it?” he demanded.
“I’m afraid so.”
“Well, at least you’re not dumping the poor bastard in a home,” he said, with not a little bitterness. “He ever comes around, you tell him I said he’s damn lucky to have such decent children.”
We walked on across Greenwich Street, took a left at Washington. A block and a half down, between Bank and Bethune, a warehouse was being transmuted into co-op living lofts. The crew charged with performing this alchemy was gone for the day.
I braked the wheelchair.
Carolyn said, “Here?”
“As good a place as any. They angled a plank over the steps for the wheelbarrows. Make a good ramp for the chair.”
“I thought we could keep on going down to the Morton Street Pier. Send him into the Hudson, chair and all.”
“Carolyn—”
“It’s an old tradition, burial at sea. Davy Jones’s Locker. ‘Full fathom five my father lies—’”
“Want to give me a hand?”
“Oh, sure. Nothing I’d rather do. ‘Well, at least you’re not dumping the poor bastard in a home.’ Hell no, old timer. We’re dumping the old bastard in a seemingly abandoned warehouse where he’ll be cared for by the Green Hornet and Pluto.”
“Kato.”
“Whatever. Why do I feel like Burke and Hare?”
“They stole bodies and sold them. We’re just moving one around.”
“Terrific.”
“I told you I’d do this myself, Carolyn.”
“Oh, don’t be ridiculous. I’m your henchperson, aren’t I?”
“It looks that way.”
“And we’re in this together. It’s my cat that got us in this mess. Bern, why can’t we leave him here, chair and all? I honest to God don’t care a rat’s ass about