The Burglar in the Closet Page 15

  Finally she got up and put on a robe and made coffee while I set about getting into the same clothes I seemed to have been wearing forever. Then I got on the phone.

  Ray Kirschmann’s wife said he was out. Working, she said. Did I want to leave a message? I didn’t.

  I tried him at the precinct. He had the day off, somebody told me. Probably at home with his feet up and a cold beer in his fist and a ball game on television. Was there anybody else I would talk to? There wasn’t. Did I want to leave a message? I didn’t.

  Did I dare go home? I wanted a shower but there wasn’t much point taking one if I had to put on the same clothes again. And it was Sunday, so I couldn’t go out and buy a shirt and socks and underwear.

  I picked up the phone again and dialed my own number.

  The line was busy.

  Well, that doesn’t necessarily prove anything. Somebody else could have called me a few seconds before I did; he’d get an unanswered ring while I got a busy signal. So I hung up and gave him a minute to get tired of the game, and then I dialed my number again, and it was still busy.

  Well, that didn’t prove anything either. Perhaps I’d had a visitor who knocked the phone off the hook. Perhaps phone lines were down on the West Side. Perhaps—

  “Bernie? Something wrong?”

  “Yes,” I said. “Where’s the phone book?”

  I looked up Mrs. Hesch and dialed her number. When she answered I heard her television set in the background, then her dry cigarette-hardened voice. I said, “Mrs. Hesch, this is Bernard Rhodenbarr. Your neighbor? Across the hall?”

  “The burglar.”

  “Uh, yes. Mrs. Hesch—”

  “Also the celebrity. I seen you on television maybe an hour ago. Not you personally, just a picture they had of you. It must have been from prison, your hair was so short.”

  I knew the picture she meant.

  “Now we got cops all over the building. They was here asking about you. Do I know you’re a burglar? they asked me. I said all I know is you’re a good neighbor. I should tell them anything? You’re a nice young man, clean cut, you dress decent, that’s all I know. You work hard, right? You make a living, right?”

  “Right.”

  “Not a bum on welfare. If you take from those rich momsers on the East Side, do I care? Did they ever do anything for me? You’re a good neighbor. You don’t rob from this building, am I right?”

  “Right.”

  “But now there’s cops in your apartment, cops in the halls. Taking pictures, ringing doorbells, this, that and the other thing.”

  “Mrs. Hesch, the cops. Was there—”

  “Just a minute, I got to light a cigarette. There.”

  “Was there a cop named Kirschmann?”

  “Cherry.”

  “Jerry?”

  “No, Cherry. That’s Kirsch in German. Kirschmann he told me, Cherry Man is what went through my mind. He could lose thirty pounds and he wouldn’t miss it.”

  “He’s there?”

  “First two of them came to my door, a million questions they had for me, and then this Kirschmann came with the same questions and a hundred others. Mr. Rhodenbarr, you ain’t a killer, are you?”

  “Of course not.”

  “That’s what I told them and what I said to myself, that’s what I always said about you. You didn’t kill that nafkeh by Gramercy Park?”

  “No, of course not.”

  “Good. And you didn’t—”

  “What did you call her?”

  “A nafkeh.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “A whore, you should pardon the expression. You didn’t kill the man either, did you?”

  What man? “No, of course not,” I said. “Mrs. Hesch, could you do me a favor? Could you get Ray Kirschmann to come to the phone without letting anybody know that’s what you want? You could say you have something you just remembered about me, find some way to get him into your apartment without letting the other policemen know what’s happening.”

  She could and did. It didn’t take her very long, either, and all at once I heard a familiar voice, careful, cagey, say, “Yeah?”

  “Ray?”

  “No names.”

  “No names?”

  “Where the hell are you?”

  “On the phone.”

  “You better tell me where. You and me, we better get together right away. You really stepped in it this time, Bernie.”

  “I thought you said no names.”

  “Forget what I said. You were pretty cute, hitting the dame’s apartment a second time and coming up with the loot. But you shoulda connected with me right away, Bern. I don’t know what I can do for you now.”

  “You can lock up a killer, Ray.”

  “That’s what I can do, all right, but I never figured you for a killer, Bern. It’s a surprise to me.”

  “It would be a bigger surprise to me, Ray. As far as the jewels are concerned—”

  “Yeah, well, we found ’em, Bern.”

  “What?”

  “Right where you left ’em. If it was just me it’s a different story, but I had to break my ass to get here along with Todras and Nyswander, let alone gettin’ here ahead of ’em, and it was Nyswander who found the stuff. A diamond bracelet and an emerald doodad and those pearls. Beautiful.”

  “Just three pieces?”

  “Yeah.” A pause, speculative in nature. “There was more? You got the rest stashed somewhere else, right, Bern?”

  “Somebody planted those pieces, Ray.”

  “Sure. Somebody’s givin’ away jewelry. Christmas is comin’ up in a few months and somebody’s got the spirit ahead of schedule.”

  I took a deep breath and plunged ahead. “Ray, I never stole the jewels. They were planted on me. The man who stole them is the same man who killed Crystal, and he planted a handful of the jewels in my apartment, at least I guess that’s where you found them—”

  “I didn’t find ’em. Nyswander found ’em and that tears it because the bastard’s incorruptible. And you bet your ass they were in your apartment, Bern, ’cause that’s where you left ’em.”

  I let it pass. “The man who did it, the theft and the murders, is somebody you probably never heard of.”

  “Try me.”

  “He’s dangerous, Ray. He’s a killer.”

  “You were gonna tell me his name.”

  “Grabow.”

  “Somebody I never heard of, you said.”

  “Walter I. Grabow. The I stands for Ignatius, if that matters. I don’t suppose it does.”

  “Funny.”

  “It’s complicated, Ray. The plot’s pretty involved. I think we ought to meet somewhere, the two of us, and I could explain it to you.”

  “I just bet you could.”

  “Huh?”

  “We better meet somewhere, that’s the truth. Bernie, you know what happened to you? Somewhere along the line you went bananas. I think it was the second murder that unhinged you.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “I never figured you for a killer,” he went on. “But I suppose you could do it, as cool as you are. The second killing, in your apartment and all, I guess it unhinged you.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “Sayin’ I never heard of him. Grabow, for Christ’s sake. Sayin’ he’s dangerous. Here’s the poor sonofabitch lyin’ dead on the floor of your apartment with one of them dentist things in his heart and you’re tellin’ me he’s dangerous. Jesus, Bern. You’re the one who’s dangerous. Now how about if you tell me where you are and I’ll bring you in nice and safe so you don’t get shot by somebody who’s gun-happy? It’s the best way, believe me. You get yourself a good lawyer and you’re on the street in seven years, maybe twelve or fifteen at the outside. Is that so bad?”

  He was still talking, earnest, sincere, when I cradled the receiver.

  CHAPTER

  Nineteen

  “I’ve got him on the run now,” I s
aid to Jillian. “He’s starting to panic. He knows I’m closing in on him and he’s scared.”

  “Who, Bernie?”

  “Well, that’s a good question. If I knew who he was I’d be in a lot better shape.”

  “You said Grabow killed her.”

  “I know.”

  “But if Grabow killed her, who killed Grabow?”

  “Grabow didn’t kill her.”

  “But it worked out so perfectly. The counterfeiting and the dental scalpels and everything.”

  “I know.”

  “So if Grabow didn’t kill her—”

  “Somebody else did. And killed Grabow so that I’d get blamed for it, although why I’d kill that gorilla in my own apartment is something else again. And whoever it was scattered some of Crystal’s jewelry around so that I’d be locked into her murder, as if I wasn’t already. That would be really intelligent of me, wouldn’t it? Killing Grabow with another convenient dental scalpel and then tucking one of Crystal’s bracelets under the corpse.”

  “Is that where they found it?”

  “How in hell do I know where they found it? Nyswander found it, whatever the hell it was. Diamonds, emeralds, I don’t know. I haven’t seen any of that garbage since I got it all packed up for someone else to steal. How the hell do I know where it was? I barely remember what it looked like.”

  “You don’t have to snap at me, Bernie.”

  “I’m sorry,” I said. “I’ve got my head in a frame and I can’t think straight. It’s all crazy, it’s all circumstantial evidence and it doesn’t make any sense, but I think they’ve got enough to nail me.”

  “But you didn’t do it,” she said, and then her gaze narrowed slightly. “You said you didn’t do it,” she said.

  “I didn’t. But if you put twelve jurors in a box and showed them all this evidence and I stood up there and said I didn’t do it and they should believe me because it would have been stupid for me to do it that way—well, I know what my lawyer would say. He’d tell me to make a deal.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “He’d arrange for me to plead guilty to a reduced charge. And the District Attorney’s office would be glad to get a sure conviction without the hazard of a trial, and I’d cop a plea to something like manslaughter or felony murder and I’d wind up with, I don’t know, five-to-ten upstate. I could probably be back on the street in three years.” I frowned. “Of course it may be different with Grabow dead, too. With two corpses in the picture they’d probably hold out for Murder Two and even with good behavior time and everything I’d be out of circulation for upward of five years.”

  “But if you were innocent, how could your lawyer make you plead guilty?”

  “He couldn’t make me do anything. He could advise me.”

  “That’s why Craig switched lawyers. That man Blankenship just assumed he was guilty, and Mr. Verrill knew he wasn’t.”

  “And now Craig’s out on the street.”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “Even if I had a lawyer who believed in me, he’d have to be crazy to go to court with what they’ve got against me.”

  She started to say something but I wasn’t listening. I felt a thought slipping around somewhere in the back of my mind and I went after it like a dog trying to catch his tail.

  I got the phone book. What was Frankie’s last name? Ackerman, Frances Ackerman. Right. I found her listed as Ackerman F on East Twenty-seventh Street, just a few blocks from all her favorite bars. I dialed the number and listened to the telephone ring.

  “Who are you calling, Bernie?”

  I hung up, looked up Knobby Corcoran’s number, dialed it. No answer.

  I tried Frankie a second time. Nothing.

  “Bernie?”

  “I’m in a jam,” I said.

  “I know.”

  “I think I’m going to have to turn myself in.”

  “But if you’re innocent—”

  “I’m wanted on murder charges, Jillian. Maybe I’ll even wind up copping a plea. I hate the idea, but it looks as though I might not have any choice. Maybe I can get lucky and some new evidence will come to light while I’m awaiting trial. Maybe I can hire a private detective to investigate this thing professionally. I’m not having much luck as an amateur. But if I keep running around like this I’m taking the chance of getting shot by some trigger-happy cop. And the corpses are just piling up around me and I’m scared. If I’d turned myself in a day ago nobody could have framed me for Grabow’s murder.”

  “What are you going to do? Go down to police headquarters?”

  I shook my head. “Kirschmann wanted me to surrender to him. He said I’d be safe that way. All he wanted was to be credited with the pinch. What I want is to have a lawyer present when I turn myself in. They can keep you incommunicado for seventy-two hours, just shuttling you around from one precinct to another without formally booking you. I don’t know that they’d do that to me but I don’t want to take any chances.”

  “So do you want to call your lawyer?”

  “I was just thinking about that. My lawyer’s always been fine at representing me because I’ve always been guilty as charged. But what good would he be at representing an innocent man? It’s exactly the same problem Craig had with Errol Blankenship.”

  “So what do you want to do?”

  “I want you to do me a favor,” I said. “I want you to call Craig. I want him to get hold of his lawyer, What’s-his-name, Verrill, and I want the two of them to meet me in his office.”

  “Mr. Verrill’s office?”

  “Let’s make it Craig’s office. That way we all know where it is. Central Park South, nice convenient location. It’s twelve-thirty now so let’s set the meeting for four o’clock because I’ve got a couple of things I have to do first.”

  “You want Craig there too?”

  I nodded. “Definitely, and if he doesn’t show up tell him I’m going to throw him to the wolves. He set me on the hunt for Crystal’s jewelry. That fact is the only trump card I’ve got. The last thing he wants is for me to tell the police about our little arrangement, and there’s a price for my silence. I want Verrill on my side. I want him to arrange the surrender to the police and I want the best defense money can buy. Maybe Verrill will wind up hiring a criminal lawyer to assist, maybe he’ll bring in private eyes. I don’t know how he’ll do it and we can arrange that this afternoon, but if the two of them don’t show up on schedule you can tell Craig I’ll sing my little heart out.”

  “Four o’clock at his office?”

  “That’s right.” I reached for my jacket. “I’ve got some things to do,” I said. “Some places to go. Make sure they get there on time, Jillian.” I went to the door, turned toward her. “You come along, too,” I said. “It might get interesting.”

  “Are you serious, Bernie?”

  I nodded. “I’m a threat to Craig,” I told her. “If that’s my trump card, I don’t want to throw it away. He and Verrill might agree to anything just to get me to turn myself in. Then they could forget all about it and leave me stranded after I told my story the way I promised. I want you around as a witness.”

  I had a busy afternoon. I made some phone calls, I took some cabs, I talked to some people. All the while I kept looking over my shoulder for cops, and now and then I saw one. The city’s overflowing with them, on foot and in cars, uniformed and otherwise. Fortunately none of the ones I saw were looking for me—or if they were I saw them first.

  A few minutes after three I found the man I was looking for. He was in a Third Avenue saloon. He had his elbow on the bar and his foot on the brass rail, and when he saw me coming through the front door his eyes widened in recognition and his mouth curved in a smile.

  “Cutty on the rocks,” he said. “Get your ass over here and have a drink.”

  “How’s it going, Dennis?”

  “It’s going. That’s all you can say for it. How’s it with you, Ken?”

  I extended my hand horizontally, palm down
, and wagged it like an airplane tipping its wings. “So-so,” I said.

  “Ain’t it the truth. Hey, Ace, bring Ken here a drink. Cutty on the rocks, right?”

  Ace was wearing a sleeveless undershirt and an uncertain expression. He looked like a sailor who’d given up trying to find his way back to his ship and was making the best of a bad situation. He made me a drink and freshened Dennis’s and went back to the television set. Dennis picked up his glass and said, “You’re a friend of Frankie’s, right? Well, here’s to Frankie, God love her.”

  I took a sip. “That’s a coincidence,” I said, “because I was trying to get hold of Frankie, Dennis.”

  “You don’t know?”

  “Know what?”

  He frowned. “I saw you last night, didn’t I? ’Course I did, you were drinking coffee. We were talking with Knobby. And I was waiting for Frankie to show up.”

  “That’s right.”

  “She never showed. You didn’t hear, Ken? I guess you didn’t. She took her own life, Ken. Booze and pills. There was something bothering her about her friend, girl named Crystal. You know about Crystal, don’t you?” I nodded. “Well, she had some drinks and she took some Valium. Who’s to say if she did it on purpose or if it was an accident, right? Who’s to say?”

  “Not us.”

  “That’s the truth. A hell of a nice woman and she took her life, accidentally or on purpose and who’s to say, and God rest her is all I got to say.”

  We drank to that. I’d been looking for Frankie, at her place, at some of the bars in the neighborhood. I hadn’t heard what happened to her but the news didn’t surprise me. Maybe it was an accident. Maybe it was suicide. Or maybe it was neither and maybe she had help, the kind of help Crystal Sheldrake and Walter Grabow had had.

  He said, “I had a whatchacallit last night. A premonition. I sat there all night with Knobby, coasting on the drinks and trying her number from time to time. I was there waiting for her till Knobby closed the joint. Maybe I could of gone over there, done something.”