Magicide

by Carolyn V. Hamilton

  The Bullet Catch. He was about to perform the most incredible feat of his career, the one illusion that would establish him as the greatest magician the contemporary world had ever seen. Maxwell’s death had provided the opportunity for this triumph, and now Maxwell’s death threatened it.

  He began to feel nervous about everything, and feeling nervous was the most dangerous thing a magician could do.

  His morose thoughts were interrupted by the ringing tune of his cell phone. He flipped open the cover and recognized the lengthy numbers. Even though he stood where a rush of cold air from the electrical unit assailed him, sweat gathered in his armpits. He held the phone tightly against his ear as if by crushing it he could crush this threat.

  He listened, and when he finally spoke, he knew he sounded panicky. “I’m telling you, the police are asking questions about religious rites. If they find out what happened, we’ll all be in big trouble. I’m too old for this shit.” He listened to the caller’s response, and his panic ebbed into a wave of anger. “You don’t give a fuck about anybody but yourself! Let me tell you—I’ll not go down alone in this! Kiss your career good-bye!”

  CHAPTER 38

  Thursday, August 11, 10:25 a.m.

  In the parking lot in front of The Rabbit & The Hat Cheri and Pizzarelli sat in the Explorer waiting for the air con to kick in and the hot air of the interior to dissipate. After several minutes Pizzarelli said, “S’posed to rain this weekend. I’m ready for a little cool down.” He began to back out of the parking space.

  A new suspicion mushroomed in Cheri’s mind and she put a hand on his arm. “Pull over there under that tree, and let’s wait a minute. Digbee was in an awful hurry to get rid of us, and I’d like to know why. I’d like to know who he has such an important appointment with that he’d close down his shop for the morning.”

  “Maybe business is just slow.”

  “Maybe. But I don’t think that’s the reason.”

  Pizzarelli drove the Explorer around the lot and repositioned it in an area crowded with other cars some distance away from The Rabbit & The Hat. If no one pulled into the slot in front of them, they’d continue to have a clear view of the entrance. He didn’t turn off the engine. They waited with the air conditioning running. “How long you want to do this?”

  A shiver raced down Cheri’s spine. “I don’t know. I just have a feeling…”

  Four minutes later, her fear manifested in the form of a green ‘87 Honda Accord that pulled up in front of the magic shop and parked. Her heart constricted when the tall, young man got out of the Honda, locked the door, and entered the shop.

  Her Honda. Her son.

  “He should be in school,” she hissed. She twisted her wrist to look at her watch. “It’s 10:30 in the morning.”

  Pizzarelli frowned, a perplexed expression that made his face wrinkle in odd places. “What’s the kid doing here?”

  “Trying to get Robert the Great to be his magic mentor. He thinks he wants to be a magician.” The anger in her voice caused her face to flush.

  “D’you think Digbee knows he’s your son?”

  “It’s possible. But maybe he hasn’t made the connection.”

  “Is Tom any good?”

  She turned on her partner. “Not the point, Pizza—if Digbee’s our guy, Tom might be in danger. I don’t know why, I just feel it.”

  He held up both hands. “Whoa. Far be it for me to question what the mother feels. What do you want to do? Shall we go in and take him out?”

  She sighed. “On what grounds? Anyway, we’re not on good terms right now. He’d be really pissed if I came barging in waving badge and gun.”

  “Beware the mother—with a badge and gun.”

  She didn’t like the faint smile at the corners of her partner’s mouth. She gave him a sharp look.

  “Cher, let’s just wait on this thing with Tom. Any minute we could get a break in this case and it’ll all be over. Robert the Great could be completely innocent, after all.”

  Her jaw tightened, and she heaved a deep breath. She did not like what she was about to say. “Alright, we wait. But Digbee could be completely guilty, too. Let’s get out of here. We still have a lot of work ahead of us.”

  He pulled the Explorer forward through the other parking space and headed for the street.

  She deliberately looked away from The Rabbit & The Hat and muttered, “Hope to God I don’t regret this.”

  CHAPTER 39

  Thursday, August 11, 1 p.m.

  A bell on the door chimed as Carter followed Andrea into The Rabbit & The Hat. He saw that they would have to wait to speak to Robert, who was helping another customer.

  Earlier Carter had spoken on the telephone with him. The old magician had created an improved version of the classic Arm Box effect and, though he hadn’t yet advertised it, had agreed to sell it to him.

  The old master’s magic shop had always made Carter feel at home, like he belonged here. Whenever he thought his career wasn’t moving or he hadn’t been in the business long enough to deserve the gig he’d gotten, he could come to The Rabbit & The Hat and recapture the feeling that he was really a part of the world of show business magic.

  The two ventriloquist’s dummies perched on a corner shelf were like old friends welcoming him to a secret place—he hoped Robert would never sell them.

  He marveled at the framed black and white publicity photos, many of them autographed “To Robert the Great”, that crowded one wall. Channing Pollack, Lance Burton, Fielding West, The Great Tomsoni, Shimada, David Copperfield—all the greats were Robert Digbee’s contemporaries and customers.

  Behind the main counter, a wall of wooden shelves with a carved cornice of leaves held a wide variety of magic tricks for sale. When Carter gazed at them he thought of himself as the proverbial kid in a candy store. Even the names of the effects were magical: Cigarette Through Card, Twisted Sisters, Prayer Vase, The Devil’s Bride Illusion.

  But now the magic had died. He just wanted to get the Arm Box effect and get away from this place as quickly as possible. He fidgeted while Andrea perused books displayed on a tall spinner rack. The customer left and the great man himself approached. Carter forced himself to look at Robert the Great with impassive eyes.

  “Here for the Arm Box?”

  “And good morning to you, too, Robert,” he said, suspicious of the man’s abrupt greeting. Had he somehow found out what Carter knew?

  Instantly Digbee’s tone changed. “I’m sorry, dear boy.” He smiled at Andrea. “Please forgive my rudeness. My mind is challenged, as you know, by the surprise I’m planning for MAGIQUE DU MONDE. You’ll be there, of course?”

  “Of course. We’ll take the Arm Box and leave you to your business.”

  “Yes, and I’ll take this, too, Robert,” Andrea said, holding out one of the books.

  “Ah, Houdini’s The Unmasking Of Robert Houdin. The father of modern magic. Houdin had great mechanical skill, for the 19th century.”

  “We read his book, Tricks Of The Greeks,” she said.

  “The one on crooked gambling,” Carter added. “Peter recommended it.”

  “Yes. Peter...” Digbee gave him an odd look. “Carter, my boy, there’s something you should know, if you haven’t heard it already.”

  He always listened with care when Robert the Great explained how to tweak a magic trick. “What?” He had an uneasy wariness of what it was he was about to hear.

  Even though there were no other customers in the store, the great man glanced around, as if ghosts might be listening. “I don’t know what’s going on with you and Peter, but he’s been saying strange things about you. You may have heard about a DVD floating around⎯”

  “It’s not floating around. It’s in a safe place.”

  Digbee cocked his head at the interruption. His eyes flashed new interest. “You’ve seen it? You know where it is?”

  Carter hesitated. He had a strong premonition that he shouldn’t reveal anything, that he shoul
dn’t volunteer information. Finally, he murmured, “I’ve seen it.”

  “Well, I have not,” Digbee declared, “and I understand it’s, ah, damaging.”

  A nauseous ball of repulsion roiled in Carter’s stomach. He forced himself to look the older man straight in the eye. “It is, shall we say, damaging in the extreme.”

  Digbee ignored his challenge. “I never approved of that black magic stuff Maxwell liked. I find it amusing that somebody would finally have something on him. Karma, and all that.”

  His words seemed to dare Carter to talk about what had been videoed. As much as he had respected Robert the Great, Carter wouldn’t confide in him. If the old master hadn’t seen the DVD, as he claimed, did he know how much was on it? Did he know how explicit it was? Surely he must.

  Tread carefully, he reminded himself. He wished that what he knew about Robert wasn’t true. “Karma can be unpleasant.”

  Digbee waived a dismissive hand. “I don’t care where the DVD is. That’s not what I wanted to tell you.”

  His tone told Carter he did care, but was not going to let them know it.

  “Then what?” Andrea asked.

  Digbee gave her a stare that said women should be seen and not heard. To Carter he said, “Peter’s been implying that you might have been blackmailing Maxwell with that video. I just wanted you to know, and to tell you I don’t believe a word of it. I can’t imagine what’s come over Peter, that he would say such a thing.”

  “I can,” Andrea said, ignoring Robert the Great’s attitude toward her. “Peter’s in love with Carter, and he’s mad that Carter doesn’t feel the same way, because Carter loves me.”

  Digbee scoffed. “Peter’s in love with Dayan Franklyn, little lady. Now, there’s somebody who might take advantage of an opportunity to blackmail Maxwell.”

  A dormant dragon of anger against Peter Jones rose in Carter’s chest. He’d known Peter since childhood. He’d tried to help an awkward situation with a simple favor, and now Peter had turned on him. He wished Andrea hadn’t spoken. He didn’t want to hear any more.

  “Robert, can I get the Arm Box?” he asked, his voice hoarse to his own ears.

  “Of course, my boy.” Digbee stopped at the end of the aisle leading to his workroom in the rear of the shop. He turned around to face them. “You know, I’m not unhappy that Maxwell’s dead. He was a cold-blooded pirate and everybody knows it. The magic world is better off without him.”

  Andrea said, “Robert, how can you say such a thing?”

  Carter stared at the old magician. “He was your protégé. You taught him everything you know.”

  Digbee’s eyes reflected pinpoints of ice blue. He opened his mouth to speak again and then closed it. He turned around, opened the door to his workroom, and directed them to follow him inside.

  Carter saw a young man working in the corner of the room. Did Digbee have a new protégé himself?

  As they entered, the teen-ager looked up, but Digbee made no move to introduce him, and the kid went back to his work.

  Carter noted that even with his head down, the kid watched them as Digbee showed the new apparatus and demonstrated how to use it. No more was said about Peter or Maxwell as Digbee took the cash Carter offered for the book and the effect. Cash, Carter knew, that would never see the light of Digbee’s accounts receivable.

  They said polite thank you’s and good-bye’s and left the shop. Andrea climbed into the passenger seat of the Mustang convertible, slammed the door and said, “I can’t believe Peter is spreading such lies about you.”

  “I don’t want to talk about it.” Carter struggled to maintain an even voice. “Buckle your seatbelt.”

  When he thought of Peter he felt pain and betrayal. When he thought of what the DVD showed, his thoughts collided in a battle of warring emotions that left him paralyzed, unsure of what action to take.

  Indeed, he wasn’t even sure it was his place to act. What could he do to change the horror? No amount of magic could undo what had been done. It was as if the world he knew had become one giant Fellini nightmare.

  When he thought of Robert Digbee, whom he had always regarded as a pillar of the magic community, his throat tightened with sadness mixed with something much darker—loathing.

  CHAPTER 40

  Thursday, August 11, 1 p.m.

  The subpoena issued by Judge Hayes included everything: business and personal checking accounts, accounts receivables and payables, appointment books, telephone records, letters and miscellaneous notes.

  “Pretty much everything on paper,” Pizzarelli said when he read it. His smile told Cheri he couldn’t wait to get started. “This oughta do it.”

  Washington had gathered a team ready to assist them in the search of Maxwell’s Twin Lakes mansion. As they drove across town, Cheri didn’t speak. Her thoughts were divided between the job at hand and her son at home.

  Except that he wasn’t at home. She’d called the house four times beginning an hour after they’d left The Rabbit & The Hat. No answer. Was he still with Robert the Great? She told herself her imagination was working overtime, when what should be working overtime was her concentration on solving this case.

  At the gates to the mansion, they were delayed and questioned by a new guard who had probably never seen so many badges and uniforms and cars. By the time they parked in front of the mansion, an indignant Edmund Meiner was already waiting at the front door. They flashed badges and paperwork.

  “We’re coming in,” Pizzarelli said.

  “You have no right to do this!” Meiner screeched. “It’s outrageous. Maxwell’s personal papers should go to a museum of magic, not some bourgeois police station!”

  “Bourgeois?” Pizzarelli asked. “How do you spell that?”

  This is making his day, Cheri thought. “Mr. Meiner, please show us the safe and open it for us.”

  “The safe? You want to look in the safe?” His voice rose to shrill desperation. “What’s with you people? Is nothing sacred?” His superior demeanor gave way to a pinched expression.

  “Safes are not sacred,” declared Pizzarelli.

  “Mr. Meiner,” Cheri said, “This will all be a lot easier, and we’ll be out of here sooner if you cooperate. You don’t want the mess we’ll leave behind if we have to open it ourselves.”

  Sputtering, the personal coordinator led them to one end of the dining room where a four-by-six-foot oil painting of Maxwell dominated the wall. Represented in full-length, the magician wore a long purple cape and an insolent stare. Piercing dark eyes seemed to follow every movement Cheri made in the room. She shook her head in a quick movement. He’s dead. He’s dead. He’s dead, she thought.

  “Help me with this,” Meiner said, his mouth a tight line. She turned her eyes away from the painting and nodded to two attending officers. The burly young men took down the painting with ease and leaned it none-too-gently against the desk.

  “That’s a very valuable painting,” Meiner protested.

  Pizzarelli pointed to the wall where the painting had hung. “The safe?”

  For a home wall safe, Cheri thought, it’s awfully large.

  Meiner stood in front of the safe, using his body to shield the lock from the eyes of the officers as he worked the combination. He threw the door open in defiance.

  “Have at it, detectives. But you should know every single thing in there is inventoried, and if even one little piece of paper or loose diamond goes missing, you’ll have a major lawsuit on your hands.”

  “Right,” said Pizzarelli, moving forward to peer inside the safe.

  “We’re only interested in the paper, Mr. Meiner,” Cheri said. Pizzarelli began to hand her stock certificates and envelopes with papers inside that they’d examine and inventory later at the station. She put everything in a black canvas bag she’d brought for the purpose.

  “You can close the safe now,” he said. “Let’s hit the study.”

  Meiner eased the door closed, twirled the lock and followed them,
fuming a little less now that the ordeal was nearly over. In the study, they collected bill statements, check registers, letters, shopping and to-do lists, Maxwell’s appointment calendar, and the accounting records.

  Pizzarelli opened the accounts payable book he held in his hand. His salt-and-pepper eyebrows came together. “Well, well, well.”

  “What?” she asked. “An interesting entry?”

  “Here.” He held the open book flat in one hand and with the other pointed to the left side of two pages. Dark spots obliterated much of what had been written on the page.

  “Splatters,” she murmured. “Blood, you think?”

  He shrugged, causing his suit jacket to shuffle loosely. “Definitely not coffee. Could be ink, I suppose, but looks like blood to me.”

  “We’ll know when the lab does their thing.”

  He closed the book and set it reverently inside the black canvas bag. She gestured to one of the attending officers and he hefted the heavy bag onto his shoulder.

  On their way out, she noted that throughout the search, Trudy Schwartz had remained quietly in the background, her face flushed with embarrassment.

  CHAPTER 41

  Thursday, August 11, 1:30 p.m.

  Peter sat at the dining room table and stared at his third cup of coffee until this cup, too, became cold.

  “Why the hell did I tell those detectives that Dayan held the video camera?” he mumbled to himself. Perhaps, if he were clever enough, he could take back what he’d said. Deny he’d ever said it. Their word against his.

  He didn’t want Dayan exposed. God forbid that the public find out about his involvement in this sordid business. This thing would ruin Dayan’s career. No, he never wanted that. Dayan’s image floated in front of him. The mouth smiled at him. The body beckoned to him, promising erotic sensual delights. The eyes accused him of betrayal.

  Peter got up from the table, took the cold coffee to the kitchen and dumped it into the sink. Being alone isn’t what makes you lonely, he thought. It’s being shut out of the other person’s life. He’d become obsessed with the thought that for some reason, Dayan had shut him out of his life.