Suspects by Thomas Berger Read Free Book Online Page A

could not afford it. He kept telling himself that, so as by means of inflated indignation to acquire the nerve, or the lack of shame, to enter the big PriceRite and do the deed. The most available victim would be the young mother with a toddler in tow and thus too distracted to watch her purse, someone very like Donna.
    Next door to the supermarket was an overstocked liquor store, in which, as could be seen through the big front windows, several artificial aisles, made up of stacked cardboard cases of bottles, narrowed or even obstructed those between the permanent racks of horizontally displayed wines. He looked for and identified the big mirrors mounted just below the ceiling at various points around the room and angled so that they could be monitored from the checkout counter. Whether there might still be a blind spot or two that eluded their ken could not be determined without going in, and if he once crossed the threshold he would perforce be treated as a suspicious character until he made a cash purchase: he was young, unshaven, and he had a naturally sullen expression unless he faked a smile. He maintained no illusions about his appearance. So why did he not do something about it, as Donna might ask? Well, he had tried to shave on getting up that morning, and look what happened. He had ruined his razor, which led to losing his job, which led to his needing a drink, which led him here, about to commit his first serious crime. Everything was linked in an unbroken progress he was powerless to alter.
    â€¦ But he had not yet fallen so far he would steal from a woman. He would take his chances on the liquor store, where, since he had been watching, no one had appeared behind the cash register or in fact anywhere else, and the entire place was visible through the floor-to-ceiling panes of plate glass that made up the front wall. It was possible that all who worked there were temporarily in the rear storage area, directing or helping with an ongoing delivery from a truck at the back door, the kind of job he had done at the Valmarket. If so, he might have time to step inside, seize the nearest bottle, and get out with nobody the wiser, unless of course there was a chime or buzzer that automatically announced the opening of the door. Even so, many clerks were lackadaisical in their response to such a signal. Some would only poke out or lift a head, then return to a preoccupation; some did less than that. In any case, he was very fast on his feet.
    Thus far it was all projection. He would reserve the right to make a decision on the moment.
    He pushed the glass door open and stepped quickly inside, listening for the alarm, hearing none. But there were those that signaled silently, with a storeroom light, for example. Big green jugs of weak table wine were nearest the door. He must go beyond the checkout, against the left wall, to reach the hard stuff.
    He seized the first half-gallon container he could reach—amber-colored whiskey of some brand—and in the next second was passing the unattended cash register on his way out. It was at his mercy. But had he become sufficiently criminal for that?
    The question was made meaningless by what he saw when he looked at the till. Its drawer was extended. Pausing for an instant at the counter, he saw that as much of the compartmented drawer as was visible at his angle appeared empty of money. He leaned farther across the cool smooth off-white Masonite counter—and saw a quarter of blood-streaked bald head and one shoulder tip of blue broadcloth.
    The store had been robbed and the only evident employee badly wounded or worse. Lloyd’s first impulse was to leave as quickly as he could. It was purely by chance that he had happened upon the scene. The laws of fate, which he respected, would not be defied by his fleeing the premises. He had not so much as seen any part of the crime as it was taking place, had not even noticed another person near enough to have been the