The Burglar Who Studied Spinoza by Lawrence Block Page B

satisfied with the lock that locks when you close the door.”
    “The spring lock.”
    “Right, the spring lock. But he must have wanted to keep the body from being discovered for as long as possible, and that mattered enough to him to make him take the trouble to find Abel’s keys.”
    “Maybe he didn’t have to look for them.”
    “Maybe. Even so—”
    “Right,” I said. “But so what? We still don’t know anything much about him that we didn’t know before we went through all this, except that he’s reasonably clever and that he doesn’t let a little thing like murder throw him off-stride. I can’t see any reason to suspect either set of Colcannon burglars. The ones that gotthere before we did were slobs. They would never know about Abel and they never would have been capable of getting into his apartment. They evidently stole a ton of stuff from the Colcannon house and they’ll have to fence it somewhere or other, but I can’t believe they tried to use Abel. Even if burglers like that knew him, he’d be all wrong for what they stole. They must have loaded up on silver and furs, all the things Colcannon didn’t keep in the safe, and Abel pretty much limited himself to stamps and coins and jewelry.”
    “And the ones who got there after we did?”
    “The ones who killed Wanda Colcannon? We have to assume they just dropped in because the broken skylight looked like an engraved invitation. What quirk of fate do you figure got them all the way to Riverside Drive?”
    “I guess they’re out.”
    “I guess so. And I guess the cops’ll have to work this one out for themselves, because I’m stumped. The best thing we’ve come up with so far is a homicidal numismatist who locks up after himself, and how many of those have you known in your life? I figure they’re in the same category as hen’s teeth and 1913 V-Nickels. I’m sorry he’s dead, dammit. I liked him.”
    “So did I.”
    “And I’m sorry Wanda Colcannon’s dead, even though I never met her. I’m sorry we got involved inthis mess in the first place, and if I’m glad of anything it’s that we’re out of it. I think it’s time I unlocked my own door again and tried selling a few books.”
    “I better get back myself. I got a dog to wash.”
    “Catch you later?”
    “Sure.”
     
    Five hours later we were continuing our conversation at the Bum Rap, she with a martini, I with Scotch and water. I’d had a long slow afternoon, the store full of customers who browsed endlessly without buying anything. On days like that it’s murder trying to keep up with the shoplifters, and I’m pretty sure a studious lank-haired young woman got away with a copy of Sartre’s Being and Nothingness. If she reads it, I figure that’s punishment enough.
    “I just hope the police wrap up both killers in a hurry,” I told Carolyn. “We’re out of it for the moment, and if they close both cases we’ll stay out of it, and that would be fine with me.”
    “And if they don’t?”
    “Well, we were at Abel’s place the night before last, and if they really dig they might try showing my picture to the doorman, and he might remember me. I told Ray I haven’t been over there since July. There’s no law against telling a lie to a policeman, but it doesn’t make them look on you with favor. I’ve got an alibi, but I don’t know how well it’ll hold up.”
    “What alibi?”
    “Denise.”
    “That’s for last night, Bern. We were at Abel’s the night before.”
    “Denise is my alibi for both nights.”
    “I hope she knows it.”
    “We talked about it.”
    “She knows about the Colcannon job?”
    “She knows they suspected me. I told her I had nothing to do with the murder. I didn’t mention that I happened to burgle the place earlier.”
    “Because she thinks you’re retired.”
    “Something like that. At least she tells herself she thinks I’m retired. God knows what women think.”
    “So the bony blabbermouth is your alibi. I wondered