Lawrence Block - Burglars Can’t Be Choosers

She nodded. “I checked his pulse and his heart was beating, and then I saw that he was breathing, and I knew that I ought to call the fire department or an ambulance or something. Then I realized that I wanted him to be dead. I even felt cheated because he was breathing and his heart was beating. I thought of killing him, smothering him with a pillow while he lay there unconscious, but I couldn’t do that.”

“So you left him there.”

“Yes. I just…left him there. I got dressed in a hurry. There were a few things of mine in his closet. I packed them in a shopping bag, put my clothes on and left. I figured maybe he would live and maybe he would die and he would just have to take his chances. I wouldn’t call an ambulance. I’d leave it up to fate.”

“Where did you go?”

“Home. My apartment downstairs.”

“What time was that?”

“I don’t know exactly. Probably around seven or seven-thirty.”

“That early?”

“It must have been. We hadn’t started to get dressed and we had to be at the theater in time for an eight-thirty curtain.”

I thought about it. “All right,” I said. “He was collapsed on the bed naked around seven or seven-thirty. Somewhere along the line he came back to consciousness. He got up, picked up a robe and put it on. He looked around for you and you were gone. Where was the money?”

“What money?”

“The fifty thousand dollars Loren found.”

“I don’t know anything about it. There was no money in sight when I was with him. I don’t know who brought him the money or where he got it.”

“But you locked the door when you went out.”

She hesitated, then nodded. “I didn’t want anyone just walking in and saving him. I couldn’t actually kill him but I could make it easy for him to die. Was that horrible of me, Bernie? I guess it was.”

I left the question unanswered. “He probably already had the money,” I said. “Sure. He realized you were gone and he looked in the closet and your things were gone, too, and he wanted to make sure you didn’t decide to take along the fifty thousand bucks that Debus had passed on to him, or that he had picked up on Debus’s behalf. Whatever. So he went to wherever he’d put the money and it was there, and then he got a little woozy and he went back to the bedroom and sat there with the money in his hand, and he felt rotten and he tried to get up and he knocked a lamp over or something, made a noise, maybe cried out in desperation, and then he collapsed on the bed again. That could have happened any time before my arrival a little after nine. Then he was unconscious while I riffled his desk. He’d have lapsed into regular sleep by the time Loren went in and started picking up what must have looked like all the money in the world. Then the commotion woke him and Loren went nuts and smacked him with his nightstick, and Flaxford closed his eyes for the third and final time that night, and after Ray and I had done our little pas de deux Loren went back and beat him to death with the ashtray.”

“God.”

“But how did you come into it again? How did you know I was in this apartment?”

“I saw you come in.”

“How? You couldn’t have followed my cab, and how would you know to follow it anyway? Besides you were down here all along. All right, you could have seen me from your window, you’ve got an apartment that fronts on the street. But how would you recognize me?”

“I saw you uptown, Bernie.”

“What?”

“I went back uptown. I sat in my apartment for a while and then I started to worry about him. If he was dead, well, then he was dead and that was that. But if not I really had to do something for him. I took a cab back up there and tried to decide what to do. I didn’t want to call him up and I didn’t want to send an ambulance before I knew whether he was all right or not, and I just didn’t know what to do. I sent the cab away and I was walking back and forth on the sidewalk in front of his building, trying to get up my courage to go inside. I had my key, of course, and the doorman would have let me in because he knew me. But I was afraid Fran would be furious with me if he was all right and knew I’d left him, and if he was dead I didn’t want to walk in on him, and-God, I just didn’t know what to do.”

“And then you saw me go into the building? But you wouldn’t have recognized me.”

“It was later than that. I saw you come out of the building. You were moving at the speed of light and you almost ran right into me. You sort of dodged me and went tearing off down the street, and a few minutes later a policeman came tearing out after you, and then the doorman told me you were a burglar who’d been in Mr. Flaxford’s apartment.”

“And then what?”

“Then the other policeman came downstairs a few minutes later and they talked about how Fran was dead and you had killed him. I didn’t know what had happened. I came back here and stayed in my apartment, and I was convinced the police would find out that I had been responsible, although I don’t think I really was responsible, but I was getting increasingly paranoid. I kept going to the window and looking out for cops, and then I saw you walk right into the building and I thought I was going to die. I didn’t know who you were or how you knew about me and I was sure you were coming after me to kill me.”

“Why would I be after you?”

“How did I know? But why else would you be coming into the building? I locked all my locks and I stood at the door shaking like a leaf and listening to you come up the stairs. When you reached the fourth floor I nearly died, and when you went on up to the fifth floor I thought you’d made a mistake and you’d be back down in a minute. When you didn’t come back down I couldn’t figure out what had happened. Finally I went upstairs and listened at the two doors up here, and when I heard sounds in this apartment I knew you must be in here because Rod was out of town and the apartment was empty. I couldn’t figure out what you were doing here but I went back to my own apartment and knocked myself out with a Seconal, and in the morning I bought the papers and found out what had happened and who you were.”

“And then you called Rod and arranged to pick up his keys.”

“I also found out that he knew you. I said I’d run across a fellow named Bernie Rhodenbarr and hadn’t he mentioned that name to me once? And he said he might have, though he didn’t recall, but that the two of you had played poker together a few times. So I figured that was why you’d picked this apartment.” She took a deep breath. “Then I decided to come up here. I didn’t know whether you had killed Fran or not. I figured he must have been dead before you got there, that he died because he didn’t receive prompt medical attention and it was my fault. But then there was all that business about the ashtray and I wondered if maybe you had killed him after all. And then you and I met, and I guess it’s obvious I was drawn to you and fascinated by you, and I got involved more deeply than I probably should have. And at the same time I had to play a part. I couldn’t give you my real name or address at the beginning because if you really were the killer and I wanted to bail out, then I was better off if you didn’t know who I was or where to get hold of me. And if the police caught you, you wouldn’t be able to drag me into it.”

“And then you told me your right name because you were afraid I’d catch you in the lie.”

She shook her head. “That’s not it. I just couldn’t stand it when you called me Ruth. I hated it, and when we went to bed and you kept saying my name at critical moments it was absolutely horrible. And I figured you’d find out my real name anyway. By then I knew you hadn’t killed anybody, I was really fairly sure of that from the beginning-”