Magician

by Timothy C. Phillips

  “That’s quite a theory.”

  “Yup.” Tiller sighed. “Only one that fits, though.”

  Tiller sauntered out, disappearing into the gloom of his own private underworld.

  I sat staring after him, and then shook myself. I pulled a thick file from the stack in front of me, and took out a binder. I opened it to the first page. The title read:

  Comprehensive list of persons present at 66 Park Place Avenue, Wednesday, 1st June.

  The list was indeed comprehensive. It detailed guests, servants, caterers and entertainers, as well as the gardeners, delivery people, and such peripheral persons as the mailman and meter readers. Their times of arrival and departure to the Champion’s home were noted, as were their reasons for being there in the first place.

  One could compare the times of each person’s presence on the premises with the estimated time of Georgia’s disappearance. From there, it was elementary police work to deduce certain people could not have been involved. Or was it?

  “Misdirection,” I murmured to myself.

  No one knew for certain when Georgia had disappeared. It was the assumption of the investigators that persons unknown had been lurking in an upstairs bedroom, waiting for Georgia to excuse herself to go to the upstairs bathroom. She did this around 2:00 in the afternoon.

  The Birmingham Police Department’s theory was stated explicitly in the case file: A person or persons unknown made their way into the Champion house unseen, abducted Georgia, and made their way back out, the child in tow, all without being observed by anyone.

  There were many holes in this theory, besides the obvious glaring one, that it was impossible. For one, Georgia may have come back downstairs after her trip to the bathroom. A boy claimed to have witnessed this. If his story was true, it blew the police theory out of the water. The problem with his story was that he alone had seen her. The boy had stated that Georgia had come back downstairs. He further stated she was wearing a red dress, and that told him it was time to cut the cake. If his statement were true, the boy was the last person to see her alive.

  The boy went on to state that he had immediately gone into the dining room, where the rest of the party guests were gathered. He had urged Mrs. Champion to cut and serve the cake. She had planned to do this a little later, but relented when the child repeated what Georgia had allegedly said to him.

  It was at this time that Mrs. Champion had sent the maid, Marguerite, to fetch Georgia. The maid hadn’t been able to find her. Neither had anyone else. And the rest was history. But could the history be wrong, at least in part? The detectives on the case, though duly noting the boy’s statement, seemed to discount it, since it disagreed with their own version of events. The police thinking was simple on that score.

  First of all, the police profiler suggested that the abductor was a white male, late twenties to early thirties, with a police record of some sort. He was skilled at breaking and entering, an effective speaker, and probably physically strong.

  Their theory of the abduction itself was simple: Georgia was abducted when she went upstairs. Someone had gained entry to the house and had lain in wait in her room. This was evidenced by the writing on the wall. The police felt that it was left by the abductor. In addition, the official theory pointed to the girl’s shoes being left behind. The detectives figured that the abductor did this so that Georgia could not injure him by kicking. The boy, therefore, couldn’t be telling the truth about encountering her on the stairs.

  Their theory rested on certain facts, whereas the boy’s story was hearsay. For example, in the video taken at the party, Georgia was wearing a blue dress and black shoes. The shoes had been discovered in the upstairs hallway, but the blue dress had never been found. The investigation had seemingly avoided the issue of the shoes. My intuition was that there was a lead in those shoes, somehow. In all likelihood, the shoes had driven some poor police detective nearly crazy already.

  There they were, another seemingly ambiguous set of pieces in the puzzle. But there was a second question that the police theory didn’t ask. This question was also raised by the weird staircase encounter. There was another bathroom downstairs, and at the time, according to the other guests, it was unoccupied. Was there another reason Georgia wanted to go upstairs? Taken in this light, it almost seemed as if Georgia had been caught sneaking downstairs by the boy. She may have thought he was in the kitchen with the other guests.

  Maybe she had excused herself to go to the bathroom as a ploy. Maybe she had told the boy that it was time to cut the cake, even though it really wasn’t, in order to get rid of him.

  I sat back for a moment and looked at the small ocean of photographs, statements, and other paperwork. It was an interesting theory, but it was a curiosity, like Tiller’s magic trick. And, like his trick, it raised questions, rather than answered them.

  Look for more assumptions. If the detectives made a mistake, that’s where they made it.

  I thumbed through the statements again; there were about fifty in all. If the detectives discounted the boy’s statement a bit too readily, wasn’t there an equal chance that they took someone else at their word, just as easily? Maybe the follow-up on the statement of one of these individuals wasn’t as thorough as it might have been.

  Who here seems above suspicion?

  There was a list beside the Table of Contents, detailing the names, ages, and occupations of everyone whose statements were contained therein.

  I looked through the occupations on the list: maid, caterer, meter reader, ice cream salesman, clown, clown, clown . . . three clowns? That seemed a bit excessive. Of course the whole party was excessive. He remembered his own birthdays as a child. There were no clowns. Of course, birthdays in the Westmoreland housing projects were a little different.

  I looked at the statements of the clowns. They were quite lengthy. According to what was written there, they were all accounted for at 2:00 p.m.

  That was important, since that was the supposed time of Georgia’s disappearance. Also in the dining room at the time were the two caterers, the maid, Mrs. Champion, and almost every one of the guests. All except one—the boy who said he’d seen Georgia. Why had he wandered out into the main hall? As far as I could tell, no one had ever asked him that question. His statement had been taken, filed, and ultimately discounted.

  I looked at the name on the statement; Kenneth Edward Joiner, III.

  Time to go ask Kenny that question.

  Chapter 5

  Kenny Joiner’s parents had cheerfully agreed to allow me to interview him. All of the families who knew the Champions had agreed to do whatever they could to help find Georgia. The Joiners had given me directions to their home, which was modest compared to the Champion’s, but still big enough to house an infantry platoon.

  Mrs. Joiner, a lovely woman in her early thirties, had greeted me as I walked down the hallway. She had long blond hair and blue eyes so bright they were arresting.

  “Well, Mr. Longville. It’s nice to meet the man who’s going to get to the bottom of this mess at last.” She extended a slender hand. Pianist’s hands, I noted, taking it lightly in my own much coarser one.

  “I’ll bet you say that to all the private eyes. I hope I am. I appreciate you folks letting me talk to Kenny.”

  “Any reason you chose to talk to our son? The police didn’t seem to give his story much weight.”

  “I’m impressed by his story, despite what the police think. In my experience, children usually see more than adults, not less. I just want to get his story straight from him.”

  “He is quite the little scholar. He’s also totally comfortable talking to adults. Don’t let his size fool you.”

  “Well, I thank you again.”

  “Oh, Mr. Longville.”

  “Ma’am?”

  “What do you think happened to her?” She lowered her voice and moved a step closer. “Georgia, I mean.”

  “That’s what I hope Kenny can tell me.”

  Kenny
Joiner smiled when I entered the sunny kitchen. He stood and greeted me with a casual handshake and charming smile. He was a small boy, blond like his mother. He had also inherited his mother’s bright eyes.

  “Hi, Mr. Longville. How are you?”

  “I’m fine, Kenny. Call me Roland. Okay?”

  “Yes, sir . . . Roland.”

  “Do you know what I’d like to talk to you about?”

  “Sure—what happened to Georgia. I remember talking to the police about it.”

  “Do you remember much about that day? The things that happened, and the way they happened?”

  “Sure. A lot of people didn’t believe me, but I saw Georgia right before she disappeared. Is that what you wanted to talk to me about?”

  “Well, that’s part of it. But the whole story is what I need. Can you tell me everything you remember about that day?”

  “I’ll try. My parents took me over to the Champions in the early afternoon. All of us kids were sitting so that we faced out through the patio doors.”

  “Do you remember what was visible through the doors?”

  “A few minivans belonging to the caters and the clowns. The driveway was full.”

  “What kind of day was it?”

  “It was a sunny day. We had all been outside, playing, and then Mrs. Champion had called us inside.”

  “To cut the cake?”

  “No, she wanted us to watch a video of the other birthday party.”

  “Another birthday party? One for someone else?”

  “No, Georgia’s, from the year before. So we could all see ourselves from then. And to get everybody settled down, I guess. So we went into the day room and watched the video. After it was over we played a few games. It was then that Georgia excused herself and went upstairs. I remember it was right after that, Mrs. Champion said that we should all head into the dining room, so we did.”

  “Were all of the adults in the room with you at that time?”

  “Um, well, I remember two of the clowns were outside, but that was right before then. After that, they were all in the dining room with us.”

  “What did the clowns do outside?”

  “One went out to get something, and he was gone while we watched the video. The other one came in through the side door to the day room, while we were watching the video. He just walked through.”

  “Do you remember how the clowns were dressed, or made up? Anything that stands out?”

  “The one that came through the dayroom was dressed in light blue. I remember, because it was the same color as my baseball uniform from school.”

  “Kenny, I’d like you to try to remember something else for me. It’s probably something minor, but it might be important. So take your time before you answer, okay?”

  “Sure.”

  “You were standing by the staircase when Georgia came down, right?”

  “That’s right.”

  “Now, you just said that Georgia’s mom told you all to go into the dining room. You said all of the kids did, right?”

  “Yes. That’s right.”

  “So tell me this, Kenny. Why were you standing by the stairs when she came down?”

  “Oh, yeah, I remember that. Well, I never went into the dining room.”

  “Why not?”

  “I wanted to wish Georgia a happy birthday.”

  “Why didn’t you just wait, and wish her a happy birthday with everybody else, in the dining room?”

  “Um, I guess I wanted to cheer her up.”

  “Cheer her up? It was her birthday. She was getting all kinds of nice presents. All of her friends were there. Why did she need cheering up?”

  Kenny Joiner squirmed a little in his chair. Well, it’s really no big deal. I mean, I don’t want to make it sound like a big deal, either.”

  “You aren’t making anything sound one way or the other, Kenny. You’re just telling me the truth. Okay?”

  Kenny sighed, and looked at me with his bright blue eyes. “Well, okay. I mean, it’s not like a secret. Georgia and her mom were mad at each other.”

  “And how do you know this?”

  “My parents dropped me off early. Our parents all go to the same club,” he volunteered in the way of explanation, “Anyway, when we got to the Champion’s house, Georgia and her mom were still upstairs. I was just hanging out, and I heard them shouting at each other.”

  “What were they arguing about?”

  “Oh, I don’t know that, Roland. You couldn’t really make out what they were saying. But they were yelling pretty loud. Mrs. Champion came down first, and when she saw me, she acted cheerful—you know how moms are.”

  “Sure.”

  “Well, some time during the party I would see Georgia glaring at her mother, and I could tell she was still mad.”

  “For example, when did you see her glaring at her mother?”

  “Twice I remember. Once when all of the kids were outside, and another time when we were watching the video.”

  “And that’s right before Georgia went upstairs?”

  “That’s right.”

  “Kenny, exactly what did Georgia say to you when she came downstairs? The last time you saw her?”

  “She said, ‘You kids go in the kitchen’ and I just kind of stood there, because that was a weird thing for her to say. I mean, she was a kid, too. Then she said, ‘It’s time to cut the cake and open presents.’ So I went in there. Like I told the police.”

  “Do you think they believed you?”

  The boy appeared reticent again. “I told them what I remembered. But it seemed like they got the idea from Mrs. Champion that I was either making it all up, or was just confused. But that’s the way it happened.”

  “Kenny, do you remember if Georgia was acting strange before she disappeared?”

  “Strange? What do you mean?”

  “I mean different in any way. For example, was she moody or quiet? Think. Was she acting normally?”

  “I don’t think so. Besides the argument with her mom, I mean. I’m sorry.”

  I decided to try a long shot. “Kenny, does the word cauchemar mean anything to you?”

  Kenny Joiner broke into a wide smile. “Nah, the police asked me that one, too. It’s French, right? But it doesn’t really mean anything to me.”

  “That’s fine, Kenny, just fine.” I stood and extended my hand. “Well, that’s about all. I want to thank you for going over this with me. I know it’s a bore and I thank you being such a good sport about it.”

  “Oh, that’s okay. I’m helping out, right?”

  “That’s right. If people like you didn’t help, guys like me would never get anything done.”

  I started toward the door. “Hey, Roland,” the boy called after me.

  “Yes, Kenny?”

  “Are you. I promise you, I am certainly going to try.”

  Kenny looked strangely distant for a second. “You know, I believe you will.”

  “Thanks, Kenny. That makes all the difference, sometimes.”

  Chapter 6

  It had taken me an hour to find what I was looking for. I needed both videos, and I had located the first one immediately. I believed it to be an exceedingly valuable piece of evidence, since it might contain clues to the identity of Georgia’s abductor. The second video, the one from the year before that the guests and adults had been watching when Georgia went upstairs, was equally important, because the length of that video could tell me just how long Georgia had been upstairs.

  One little problem with the second video: I couldn’t find it. It was on the list of items, recorded among the effects taken from the Champion home, but it was seemingly nowhere to be found. After considerable searching, I located it, buried beneath a stack of old paperwork, in a box with a pair of black girl’s shoes, size fours.

  I set the shoes aside, and carried the videos into the small room adjacent to the evidence room, where a television and VCR were set up on a metal gurney. Several racks of videotapes stood
beside it. Crime scene videos, I figured.

  I slid the first tape—the last tape to show Georgia alive—into the slot and turned on the power. The screen crackled to life. After a few moments of static, the cold little room was filled with the lively chatter of children from years past.

  I recognized Kenny Joiner among the young faces that grinned and hammed for the camera. He looked quite a bit younger in the video, and he had grown a lot in two and a half years. There were about twenty children in all in the Champion’s dining room. The camera panned to the right and my blood caught a little chill as Georgia’s face came into view. She really was a pretty little girl, with a hint of her mother’s olive complexion, and thick black hair. Her eyes were like her father’s, deep and soulful.

  She was also clearly pouting. She repeatedly turned away from the camera. Mrs. Champion was obviously the cinematographer, and her voice was clearly audible as she pleaded with her daughter to let herself be photographed. But Georgia turned and walked pointedly away from her mother. With a start, I realized she was wearing a dark blue dress, and the black shoes I had just found in the box with the video tape.

  Guess the detectives got that right.

  I hit the play button. The tape lingered on Georgia only for a minute more after she turned her back to the camera. Then her mother had obviously given up and turned her attention back to the happier, visiting children. The clowns were entertaining them. One, two, three. There was one in white, one in yellow, and one in light blue, just like Kenny had remembered. The one in white was pulling a long stream of brightly colored handkerchiefs out of the ear of the clown in blue. The one in the yellow was mugging. The children howled.

  After about five more minutes, then the tape cut off. I rewound and ejected the tape. Then I wiped the dust off the second tape and slid it into the player. There was a crackle, and again some static. The tape began with people singing “happy birthday” and Georgia, a year younger in this tape, blowing out candles, eight in all.

  Her mother was giving her a lot of help. They both looked very happy. But suddenly a shadow came over their happy faces. A large figure had come between them and the window. It was Georgia’s father, and he was playing photographer this time. His method was meticulous, and he was careful to methodically take in the entire party. He circled from his daughter and wife, around the room, lingering on each child’s face for a moment, recording the decorations, the weather outside, even getting a wave from each of the caterers.