The Burglar Who Studied Spinoza by Lawrence Block

to see it. It wasn’t one blow. Somebody hit him a lot of times in the face and over the head.”
    “God.”
    “Time of death’s a guess at this stage, but the ballpark figure is early afternoon yesterday. So you could have raced up there after I dropped you at the store, killed the old man, then raced back down to open up for business. Just a little lunch-hour homicide. Except that’s not your style an’ we both know it, plus I got a look at your face when I told you about Crowe bein’ dead, Bern, and you were learnin’ it for the first time.”
    We caught a light at Thirty-seventh Street and he braked the car. “The thing is,” he said, “it’s a coincidence, isn’t it? Colcannon and now this, both hit on the head and both dead and not twenty-four hours apart. More like twelve hours.”
    “Was Crowe’s apartment robbed?”
    “It wasn’t taken apart. If anybody stole anything it didn’t show. I got there long after the lab crew came and went, but even so there wasn’t much of a mess. But maybe the killer knew where to look. Did Crowe keep large sums of cash around the apartment?”
    “I wouldn’t know.”
    “Sure you would, but we’ll let it pass. Maybe it was straight robbery and murder, with the killer forcing the old man to fork over the money, then killing him. Or maybe it was somebody with a reason to kill him, a motive. He have any enemies?”
    “Not that I know of.”
    “Maybe he cheated somebody and yesterday it caught up with him. He had a long life. You can make a lot of enemies in seventy-one years.”
    “He was a nice man. He ate pastries and quoted Spinoza.”
    “And bought things from people who didn’t own them.”
    I shrugged.
    “Who did the Colcannon job?”
    “How would I know?”
    “You had some connection there, Bern. And one way or another Colcannon ties into Abel Crowe.”
    “How?”
    “Maybe the old man set it up. Fences do that all the time, set up a place and get a burglar to knock it off. Maybe he did that and then there was an argument over the payoff. When Wanda Colcannon got killed maybe he decided there was more heat than he wanted to handle and he refused to buy whatever they stole, or wouldn’t pay the price that was set in advance. Something like that.”
    “I suppose it’s possible.”
    We batted it around until we were at the curb in front of Barnegat Books. I’d glanced at the Poodle Factory as we drove by and Carolyn was open for business. I started to thank Ray for the ride but he interrupted me with a heavy hand on my shoulder.
    “You know more than you’re lettin’ on, Bern.”
    “I know it’s hard enough to make a living selling used books. It’s impossible if you never open the store.”
    “There’s a killer out there,” he said. “Maybe that’s somethin’ you oughta remember. He killed the Colcannon woman and he killed Crowe, and I’d say that’s beginnin’ to make him look like one dangerous son of a bitch.”
    “So?”
    “So we’ll pick him up before too long. Meanwhile,there’s that Colcannon loot floatin’ around, and who knows what else is up for grabs? And you always did have itchy fingers, Bern.”
    “I don’t know what you’re getting at.”
    “’Course you don’t. Just a couple of suggestions. If you know who did the killin’, or if you happen to get wind of it, I’m the person you tell. Got that?”
    “Fair enough.”
    “I’d like to bag whoever did it. Crowe was a nice old gentleman. The two times I met him, we never had anythin’ we could make stick, nothin’ that even came close, but he was a gentleman all the same. What he was, he was generous.” Free with a bribe, in other words. “And there’s another thing.”
    “Oh?”
    “There’s money in this, Bern. I keep gettin’ this sense of money, you know what I mean? I’d say I smell it, but that’s not it because it ain’t a smell, it’s a feel in the air. You know what I mean?”
    “I know what you mean.”
    “Like the feel right before it