The Burglar on the Prowl Read online

  “As for you,” he said, “I have to say you look good in stripes.” I was wearing a striped polo shirt, a red and blue number Lands’ End had introduced a year ago with an excess of optimism; I’d picked it up last month from their catalog of overstocks. “It’s a damn shame,” he went on, “that the prisons quit issuing striped uniforms, because they’d look great on you.”

  “They still wear them in cartoons,” I pointed out. “When a cartoonist wants you to know that somebody’s a convict, he always puts him in stripes.”

  “Is that a fact? Well, I guess you’ll be stayin’ out of the funny papers, because what they’re gonna put you in is one of them orange jumpsuits. I’m glad you think that’s funny, Carolyn. Maybe you’d like to explain the joke to me.”

  “I was just trying to picture you in an orange jumpsuit,” she told him. “I figure you’d look like the Great Pumpkin.”

  “You’d look like a beach ball,” Ray told her, “but then you always do.”

  “Always a pleasure, Ray.”

  “Pleasure’s mine,” he said. “An’ for a change you’ll come in handy. You can lock up after I take your pal here downtown.”

  “Wait a minute,” I said. “It’s beginning to dawn on me. Ray, you’re serious.”

  “Serious as a positive biopsy. You been gettin’ away with it long enough, Bernie, but I don’t see how you’re gonna get out from under this one.”

  “Well, maybe you can help me,” I said. “For starters, why don’t you tell me what I’m supposed to have done?”

  “I got a better idea. Why don’t I ask the questions an’ you tell me a few things?”

  “Well, I suppose we could try it that way.”

  “For starters, where were you last night?”

  “Home. I was watching Law & Order.”

  “I didn’t watch it myself, but I can tell you what happened. The cops put a great case together and the rest of ’em screwed it up. That’s what makes it a good show. It’s always true to life. You were home, huh?”

  “All night long.” I decided to hedge a little. “Of course Law & Order doesn’t come on until ten, and it had already started by the time I got home.”

  “Whatever you did before ten o’clock is your business, Bernie.”

  “Actually,” I said, “you could say the same for whatever I did after ten o’clock, but it happens I was home, and I made it an early night. I must have been asleep well before midnight.”

  “And slept right through?”

  “Except for getting up to pee, and I couldn’t tell you when that was because I didn’t look at the clock. I suppose I ought to keep track of that sort of thing, in case a minion of the 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 out and left.”

  “And you think I had something to do with it.”

  “I know damn well you did, Bernie.”

  “Because you know me, and you know how I operate, and I have a long history of overpowering doormen and binding them with duct tape and forcing my way into apartments when the owners are home.”

  “No, you’ve never done anythin’ like that in your life.”

  “Of course not,” I said, “so why are you wasting my time and yours with this nonsense?”

  “And mine,” Carolyn said.

  “You want to go back where you belong so you can hose down a Rottweiler,” he told her, “feel free. No, it’s not your style, Bernie. An’ I don’t think for a minute that you roughed up the doorman or held a gun on the Rogovins.”

  “Then why on earth—”

  “What I figure you did,” he said, “what I flat out know you did, is ope
n the safe. That box was a Mosler, an’ it took real talent to get into it, an’ if there’s one thing you’ve got a shitload of it’s talent. In one area, anyway. I don’t know if you can carry a tune or draw a straight line, but you can open any lock ever made without breakin’ a sweat. That’s what they wanted you for, an’ that’s why you were all over the neighborhood, walkin’ around as nervous as a long-tailed cat in a room full of rockin’ chairs.” He glanced over at Raffles, who was once again sunning himself in the window. “No offense,” he said. “You figure that’s how he lost his tail, Bernie? Got hisself run over by a rockin’ chair?”

  “He’s a Manx,” I said. “He was born that way.”

  “An’ I guess you were born that way yourself. With a talent for locks, I mean, not that you were born without a tail, although that’s probably true too, now that I come to think of it.”

  “Ray,” I said, “am I missing something? Besides a tail, I mean. What I don’t get is where I come into all this. I know, you just told me, I’m the guy they brought in to open the safe. But why me?”

  “They heard you were good.”

  “No, what makes you think it was me?”

  “I told you, Bernie. We got your pitcher.”

  “My pitcher? Oh, my picture.”

  “That’s what I just said.”

  “Right. But you said they took the tape. The security cameras were out of commission.”

  “In that buildin’, yeah. But not in the rest of the neighborhood. Jesus, Bernie, you walked past an ATM machine at the Chase bank at the corner of Third and 34th. An’ you walked past a whole lot of buildin’s. You must have been walkin’ around for an hour or so, waitin’ to get the call to go over to the penthouse an’ crack the safe. What you got to remember, Bernie, is that they got these cameras all over the place. They’re not just in lobbies an’ elevators. You walk down a street, any street, you might as well go ahead an’ smile, ’cause it’s a good bet you’re on Candid Camera.”

  “You say you’ve got all these pictures of me. You know, security camera pictures always tend to be blurry and out of focus. How do you even know it’s me?”

  “You want me to tell you what you were wearin’? Khakis an’ a blue blazer. An’ a polo shirt, but not striped like the one you got on today. It was a solid color shirt, but don’t ask me the color, ’cause that I couldn’t tell you.”

  “You’ve got pictures of me,” I said, “but all I’m doing is walking around, and the last I heard that was still legal. The pictures don’t establish that I was doing anything wrong.”

  “They didn’t,” he said. “Not until you opened your mouth and lies started pourin’ out of it.”

  “Huh?”

  “I asked you where you were last night,” he said, “an’ you said you were home, watchin’ TV an’ goin’ to bed early an’ never stirrin’ except to pee. Right in your own bathroom, you said. You recall sayin’ somethin’ along those lines?”

  “I wasn’t under oath,” I said, “so it’s not perjury, but you’re right. I lied.”

  “Now tell me somethin’ I don’t know.”

  “The reason I lied,” I lied, “is I was ashamed to admit where I was.” I turned to Carolyn. “Because you’re here,” I said.

  “What’s Shorty here got to do with it?”

  Carolyn gave him a look. I said, “Oh, hell. There’s a woman I’ve been seeing, and it’s a sick, hopeless relationship, and I swore to Carolyn that I wasn’t going to see her anymore. And I went out last night looking for her.”

  “I bet you went lookin’ in Murray Hill.”

  “As a matter of fact I did. That’s where she lives, but she wasn’t home, so I went around looking in some of the bars and coffee shops she’s apt to frequent.”

  “And did you find her?”

  “Finally, but it took forever.”

  “Bernie, I can’t believe what I’m hearing,” Carolyn chimed in helpfully. “You actually started up with that neurotic bitch after you swore up and down you were through with her.”

  “I know, I know. It was a mistake.”

  “The two of you are somethin’,” Ray said. “One lies an’ the other swears to it. This femme fatality, has she got a name?”

  “Of course she’s got a name.”

  “Yeah, well, don’t tell me, not just yet. First we’ll try a little experiment.” He took out his notebook, tore out a sheet of paper, ripped it in half, and gave half to me and half to Carolyn. “Since you both know this woman,” he said, “whyntcha both write down her name?”

  We did, and he collected the slips. “ ‘Barbara,’ ” he read. “An’ Barbara. I don’t know how the two of you pulled that one off, but it don’t really matter. I don’t buy the whole story for a second.”

  “Fine,” I said. “It happens to be the truth, but you don’t have to believe it. Take my picture and show it to those people.”

  “What people?”

  “The Rogins, or whatever their name is.”

  “Rogovin.”

  “Fine. Show my picture to the Rogovins and ask them if they can identify me. When they can’t, maybe you’ll go bother somebody else.”

  “Can’t do it, Bernie.”

  “Why not?”

  “They took two bullets apiece in the side of the head, an’ they’re never gonna be able to identify anybody.”

  “Ohmigod.”

  “You didn’t know, did you? I had a hunch you didn’t. Your partners must have sent you home before they capped ’em.” He frowned. “Bernie, you don’t look so good. You’re not gonna puke, are you?”

  I shook my head.

  “I know it’s not your style,” he said. “Not the rough stuff, and not the triple homicide.”

  “Triple? I thought you said there were just two of them.”

  “Yeah, well, the doorman was taped a little too well. He died of suffocation by the time somebody found him.”

  “God, that’s awful.”

  “It’s about as bad as it gets. I don’t understand you, Bernie. Why would you want to work with people who would do something like that?”

  “I didn’t work with anybody.”

  “You usually don’t,” he allowed. “An’ that’s wise, because the worst thing about partners is they’ll always rat you out to save their own asses. An’ that’s exactly what you’re about to do, my friend.”

  “What?”

  “Give up the murderin’ bastards you worked with last night. We’ll pick ’em up and you’ll turn state’s evidence an’ testify against ’em, an’ you’ll get off with a slap on the wrist an’ a stern talkin’-to from the judge. That doesn’t sound so bad, does it?”

  “No, but—”

  “Matter of fact,” he said, leaning on the counter and lowering his voice, “there’s no reason you got to walk away from the whole deal empty-handed. I figure you an’ me, we worked a lot of angles in the past, we can probably work somethin’ out here. Share an’ share alike, if you get my drift.”

  It wasn’t that elusive a drift. “While we’re on the subject,” I said, “what exactly did they get from the safe?”

  “I should be asking you that, Bernie. You’re the one who was there.”

  “Except I wasn’t.”

  “Aw, Bernie,” he said, shaking his head. “You’re disappointin’ me, you really are.”

  “Well, I don’t mean to, Ray, but—”

  “Let’s go.”

  “Huh?”

  “What, you want to hear the whole spiel? ‘You have the right to remain silent, di dah di dah di dah.’ Do I have to give it to you word for word?”

  “No, that’s good enough. You’re serious? You’re taking me in?”

  “You’re damn right I am. Three people are dead an’ you’re mixed up in it up to your eyeteeth. You bet your ass I’m takin’ you in. Now have you got somethin’ you want to tell me?”

  “I think I’d better exercise my right to remain silent.” I turned to Carolyn. “Call Wally Hemphill,” I said, “
and tell him to do something. And would you do me one more favor? Wrap up the rest of my sandwich and put it where Raffles can’t get it. I don’t know how long it’ll take Wally to spring me, but I’m sure to be hungry by the time I get out.”

  Twelve

  The first time I met Wally Hemphill, I’d just been arrested, which is when I have the most urgent need for an attorney. I’d called Klein, who’d served me in that capacity for many years, only to learn that, in the time since I’d last had the need for him, the man had died. You don’t figure your lawyer’s going to do that, and it threw me, but I wound up with Wally, who was training for the New York marathon. And I have to say I was glad of that, because I figured it would keep the weight off and the cardiovascular system in tiptop shape. It takes a while for an habitual felon to bond with his lawyer, so you want to pick a guy who’s going to be around for the long haul.

  Wally went on training for marathons, and running them, until he blew out a knee. Then he met a nice girl and got married, and they had a kid, and then either he found out she wasn’t so nice after all, or she found out he wasn’t, or the discovery was mutual. They got a divorce and she packed up the kid and moved to Arizona, where she’d apprenticed herself to a potter. “She’s throwing clay pots,” Wally said, “and as long as she’s not throwing them at me, I say the best of luck to her.”

  After the divorce he’d taken up martial arts, and you can make of that what you will. It didn’t stress his bum knee, and the skills he developed gave him increased self-confidence when dealing with some of his less savory clients, but the chief benefit, he assured me, was spiritual. “You’ve got to try it,” he told me. “It’ll change your life.”

  I’d tried running, though I never got to the marathon level, and I have to say it had changed my life. It made me feel better, and I stuck with it for a few years, and then I stopped, and that made me feel better all over again. When I’ve got more time, I told Wally, and he gave me the knowing smile of the spiritually advanced human being. “When you’re ready, Bernie,” he said gently. “You just let me know.”