Stuart Kaminsky - Blood On The Sun

From an alcove a big balding man in his fifties with a paunch appeared, wearing a suit and carrying an apron, which he placed on a wooden armchair with a gold cushion. Stella was sure the cushion was both old and silk. The man walked slowly.

"Looking for something in particular?" the man asked with a smile.

Something about the smiling man irritated Flack, who took out his wallet, showed his shield and said, "Arvin Bloom? We're looking for a murderer."

Bloom looked at the two women, puzzled.

"I don't understand," he said.

"Asher Glick was murdered yesterday," said Flack.

Bloom bowed his head. "I know. I was going to sit shiva , but, to tell the truth, I don't know if I'd be welcome."

"Why not?" asked Stella.

"I owe Asher a great deal of money," he said.

"Forty-two thousand dollars," said Aiden. "We checked the business log on his computer."

"Actually, more than that," said Bloom. "My wife made the purchase from Asher. She saw it for the bargain it was and checked it with me. I was bedridden at the time. Prostate cancer. I'm fine now. Radiation treatment and radiation pellet implants. When Ivy, my wife, was talking to Asher, it turned out that we were Yeshiva students together."

"Can we speak to your wife?" asked Flack.

"Certainly," said Bloom. "I'll get her. Would you like some coffee? I always have it brewing for customers. Coffee and tea. Trade secret; if a potential customer accepts coffee, tea, wine, cookies, they feel obligated, not necessarily to buy, but to look more seriously than they might have done otherwise."

"I'll remember that," said Aiden.

"I will pay every penny I owed Asher to his family," Bloom said. "This is an up and down business. I have two pieces with buyers for the pieces we bought from him. They will bring in more than enough money to pay what I owe."

"Do you mind if I look around?" asked Aiden.

"Please do," said Bloom. "And feel free to ask any questions or touch any item as long as you are careful."

"I'll be as careful as I am with crime scene evidence," said Aiden, kit in hand, moving past Bloom, who followed her with his eyes.

"There's a small workspace back there where I make minor restorations myself," Bloom said. "My wife and I have an apartment up there." He indicated a wooden staircase that led up to a pair of doors.

Bloom looked at Stella and Flack, nodded, and said, "I'm a suspect, aren't I? The young lady said something about a crime scene."

"You're someone who might be able to supply us with some information," said Flack.

Stella moved to the chair where Bloom had dropped his apron. She opened her kit.

When she took out the mini vacuum, Bloom said, "I think you need my permission to do that."

"What do you think I'm going to do?" Stella asked.

"Vacuum my apron for evidence," Bloom said.

"You know about forensics?" said Flack.

"A little, television," said Bloom with a shrug. "Go ahead. Permission granted. But your time would be better spent looking for the lunatic who killed Asher."

"What lunatic?" asked Flack.

"Joshua," said Bloom. "He's a madman."

"You were part of the minyan yesterday," said Stella after she had carefully vacuumed the apron.

"You want to take it?" said Bloom. "Take it."

"Thank you," said Stella, carefully folding the apron and placing it in her kit.

"When was the last time before yesterday that you were part of a minyan ?" asked Flack.

Bloom smiled.

"When I was fifteen," he said. "I had a bar mitzvah when I was thirteen. I was considered a man who could make up the sacred number. A man named Ruben Goldenfarb found me on a street corner with some other kids. This was back in Cincinnati. He didn't ask me if I wanted to come. He simply said, 'Come,' and I came."

"Then why yesterday?" asked Flack.

"I had recovered from my treatment and I wanted to see Asher. He suggested I join the minyan and we could talk afterward. I said yes. I owed him. More than money. He was good to me, steered buyers to me."

"We know," said Stella. "We were at Mr. Glick's store."

"Your wife," said Flack, reminding the man that they wanted to talk to her.

As if on cue, one of the doors at the top of the landing opened and a woman came down the steps. She was short, slightly overweight, wearing a colorful orange and yellow dress. Her hair was short, touches of gray, neatly brushed, and she was wearing makeup and no smile. Aiden pegged her at forty plus.

"My wife," said Bloom with a smile. "These are the police. They want to ask you some questions about Asher Glick."

The woman vaguely registered Bloom's words and took a few seconds to turn her head to look at him, then turned to look at each of the strangers before her.

"He's dead," she said softly.

"When did you last see him?" asked Stella.

"I only saw him three times," she said. "Always at his shop to look at merchandise. The last time was, I think, last Monday. We bought a French Regency period commode, early nineteenth century, three doors, carved walnut with a marble top from L'оe-de-France."

"It didn't have the original hardware," said Bloom, "but Ivy knew that I had perfect period hardware. And the legs needed a little work. The restoration is undetectable. It is one of the pieces we have a buyer for."

"Your computer," Flack prodded.

"My accounts," answered Bloom. "I prefer the old-fashioned way, the feel and smell and touch of a craftsman's shop."

Bloom moved behind the counter, reached down to a shelf and pulled out an oversized old clothbound notebook.

"Before I forget," said Bloom, making some notes in the book with a pen he pulled out of a white mug on the counter. "I keep track of where I am on each job."

"We checked Mr. Glick's computer," said Stella.

"Yes?" said Bloom, looking up over the top of his glasses.

"What we didn't find on Mr. Glick's computer was more interesting," said Stella.

Bloom looked puzzled.

Aiden appeared from the back of the shop, nodded for Stella to follow her.

"We didn't find anything he bought or sold in the last year made of bloodwood," Stella said, nodding at Aiden. "There was nothing in his shop made of bloodwood. But Asher Glick had bloodwood dust on his clothes. Do you have anything made of bloodwood?"

"Yes, back where your friend was," said Bloom. "A beautiful piece. I was working on it when you came. My guess is that a fair number of people Asher was doing business with have pieces made of bloodwood. Have you checked them?"

"None of them were part of that minyan ," said Stella. "None but you."

Stella left Flack with Bloom and joined Aiden in the small back room. Aiden pointed to a red sideboard.

"Transfer from Bloom to Glick," said Aiden. "Can we match sawdust to a specific piece of furniture?"

"I don't know," said Stella, "but we're going to find out."

"He's not left-handed," said Flack as they left the shop.

Neither Aiden nor Stella responded. They had both noticed the same thing. Wristwatch on Bloom's left wrist. Notes he made in his notebook with his right hand. The killer's chalk marks, hammered nails, and written message near the body were definitely made by a left hand.

"But he avoided telling us if he had a computer," said Stella. "We know he does."

"Glick's e-mail," said Aiden. "He sent messages to Bloom."

"Could use a computer at the library or an Internet coffee bar," said Flack.

"Could be," Stella said. "Let's find out if he's got one."

"Will do," said Flack, wondering what they would find on Bloom's computer when he found it- and Flack was sure he would find it.

Kyle Shelton had abandoned the pickup on a street in the Bronx. The street, he knew, was an elephants' graveyard of abandoned cars. He didn't bother to wipe off fingerprints. He did bother to remove the license plate and tuck it into his backpack. It was four blocks to the subway station in a neighborhood where a white face was a rare exception.