Read Online The Burglar Who Studied Spinoza by Lawrence Block - Free Book Online Page B

cell just yet.”
    We were standing on the pavement outside the redbrick structure, looking across the plaza at the central arch of the Municipal Building. Ray cupped his hands to light a cigarette, inhaled, coughed, took another drag. “Beautiful day,” he said. “Just gorgeous.”
    “Why do they think I was involved in the Colcannon burglary?”
    “Your M.O., Bern.”
    “You’ve got to be kidding. When did I ever turn a place upside down and leave a mess? When did I ever hurt anybody, or do anything but run like a thief if the owners came home while I was working? When did I ever get into a place by smashing a skylight? How does all that add up to my modus operandi? ”
    “They figure your partners were sloppy and violent. But they’ve got evidence that fits you like a glove.”
    “What do you mean?”
    “Here’s what I mean.” He reached into his jacket pocket and came up with something that he dangled from thumb and forefinger. It was a Playtex Living Glove, but he held it as if it had died.
    The palm had been cut out of it.
    “That’s your evidence?”
    “Their evidence, not mine. It’s on the sheet, Bern.‘Wears rubber gloves with palms excised.’ I like that word, excised. That means you cut the palms out but they can’t come right out and say so, you know?”
    “For God’s sake,” I said. “Where did they find this?”
    “Right outside of Colcannon’s house. There’s a garden there and that’s where it was.”
    “Can I see it?”
    “It’s evidence.”
    “So was the glass slipper,” I said, taking the glove from him, trying to force my hand into it. “And I must be one of Cinderella’s ugly sisters because this thing doesn’t fit. It doesn’t even come close to fitting. They make these things in sizes, Ray, and this one’s just not my size.”
    He took a close look. “You know somethin’? I think you’re right.”
    I gave the glove back to him. “Take care of this. You might even tell them the glove’s the wrong size. They can start looking around for a klutzy burglar with very small hands.”
    “I’ll spread the word. You headin’ back to the store now? I’ll give you a ride.”
    “All part of the service?”
    “Just that it’s on my way. What the hell.”
    This time I got a ride in an unmarked car. We made small talk about the Mets’ new third baseman, a possible garbage strike, and a shakeup in the Queens District Attorney’s office. Crooks and cops always haveplenty of things to talk about once they can get past the basic adversary nature of their relationship. The two classes actually have more in common than either of us would like to admit. Phil and Dan, who couldn’t have looked more like cops unless they’d been in uniform, had looked like robbers to me when they came into my store.
    Ray dropped me right in front of Barnegat Books, told me to take care, gave me a slow wink, and drove off. I started to open up, looked to see if he was gone, then said to hell with it and refastened the locks I’d opened. I had to do a few things that were more important than selling books.
    I hadn’t been part of the gang of burglars who’d killed Wanda Colcannon. Her husband hadn’t merely failed to identify me. He’d given them a firm negative identification. And if the rubber glove was all they had, their evidence was a joke.
    But Richler still thought I was involved.
    And something funny, something I’d realized at the very end of the ride back to the store. Ray Kirschmann thought so, too.

CHAPTER
Seven
    C arolyn and I usually have lunch together. Mondays and Wednesdays I pick up something and we eat at the Poodle Factory. Tuesdays and Thursdays she brings our lunch to the bookstore. Fridays we generally go someplace ethnic and inexpensive and toss a coin for the check. All of this, of course, is subject to change if anything comes up, and Carolyn must have gathered that something had. It was a Wednesday, so when I’d failed to turn up around noon she’d