Sleight of Hand: A Novel of Suspense (Dana Cutler)

by Margolin, Phillip

  “And what was that?”

  “She never told me.”

  “But she suspected Benedict?”

  “I can’t remember if she came right out and said it, but I’m sure she was convinced that Benedict engineered the switch.”

  “Has anyone followed up on the investigation?”

  “No. Carrie was going to do it. Then . . . well, you know.”

  “Yeah.”

  “Why did you want to know about the Ross case?”

  “It came up in something I’m working on.”

  “Something involving Benedict?”

  “I can’t answer that right now, sorry.”

  “I get it, but I wish the worst for that bastard.”

  Santoro had discussed Ross with Maguire as he walked her to her office. The important additional information he’d gotten from the young prosecutor was that Carrie Blair seemed angrier at Benedict than Maguire would have expected. On the way back to his office, Santoro wondered whether Blair and Benedict had a history. He also wondered if Benedict, whose specialty was drug cases, had ever represented Kyle Ross’s sister.

  When he got to his desk, Santoro looked up the court records for Sharon Ross’s cases. Charles Benedict was listed as the attorney of record in her last two brushes with the law.

  Santoro let his mind wander. It seemed far-fetched, but Santoro was nagged by the idea that Charles Benedict might have something to do with Carrie’s murder. He wondered if Carrie had come in contact with the attorney after court on the day she disappeared.

  Santoro swiveled toward his desk and searched his file for the log of the information found on Carrie Blair’s office and home computers and Carrie’s phone records. He didn’t find any calls or e-mails from Carrie to Benedict, but he did note that Carrie had run an Internet search on a private investigator named Dana Cutler a few days before she’d disappeared. Why was Blair interested in a private investigator?

  Shortly before Carrie conducted the Internet search for information about Cutler, she had called the Department of Motor Vehicles. Then she called a lawyer named Alice Forte and a number in Seattle, Washington. When Santoro dialed the Seattle number he was connected to an answering machine for the Queen Anne Players. Now Santoro was thoroughly confused.

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Dana meant to get in touch with the detectives in charge of the Blair case but she had been on the go, constantly building a defense for the football player who had been accused of beating his girlfriend. The evening after Carrie Blair’s body was unearthed, Dana staggered home at ten thirty and collapsed on the couch to watch TV while she ate chicken lo mein out of a take-out carton. The lead story on the news killed her appetite.

  On the screen, Horace Blair was being perp-walked to a police car by a stocky woman in a brown suit. A voiceover informed Dana that Carrie Blair’s body had been found in the Blue Ridge Mountains and that her husband, Horace Blair, had been accused of her murder. Before she could think too much about Blair’s arrest, her cell phone rang.

  “Cutler,” she answered.

  “I hope I’m not calling too late,” a vaguely familiar voice said.

  “Who is this?”

  “Marty Draper.” There was a pause. “Rene Marchand.”

  “Oh, hi, Marty. What’s up?”

  “I was watching CNN and they had a story about the Blairs.”

  “He’s been arrested for his wife’s murder.”

  “I know. They showed her picture and it made me remember something. Did you know that Carrie was an actress?”

  “No, I didn’t.”

  “There was one time when she came to the gallery without Horace. I was getting ready to close and go to a restaurant down the street from the gallery. I asked her if she wanted to join me. She seemed grateful for the company.

  “Anyway, we both had a little more wine than we should have and we got to talking about our childhoods. Mine was a little rocky, but hers was bad.”

  “Oh?”

  “She told me that she never dreamed of being a lawyer when she was young. Her exact words were, ‘I was too busy trying to survive.’ ”

  “What did she mean?”

  “Her mother was an alcoholic. She abandoned Carrie when she was eleven. That was after her father died of a heart attack while he was serving a prison sentence for auto theft. Carrie said that Children’s Services shuffled her around through a series of foster homes. She didn’t go into detail, but I got the impression that she was sexually and physically abused. That’s where the acting came in.

  “Carrie said she ran away when she turned sixteen. She ended up in Hollywood, planning to become a movie star. She said she made money any way she could, but she didn’t go into detail.

  “You only saw Carrie in her disguise, but she was really beautiful. She told me that she was cast in minor roles in a few low-budget films. I think one was a vampire flick, and there was another one about a giant alligator at a summer camp for teens. But she caught on pretty quickly that the directors who offered her the roles didn’t do it because she was a talented actress. When she finally came to grips with the fact that she was not going to be the next big thing, she married another bit player for security, but her husband was abusive and the marriage didn’t last very long.”

  “How did she get to be a lawyer?”

  “It’s a great story. After getting divorced, Carrie worked low-paying jobs and barely got by. One day it dawned on her that education could be a way out of her situation. She got a GED, graduated from a community college, and ended up at Berkeley, where she graduated summa cum laude with a degree in history. That got her into Georgetown Law School, which is how she ended up on the East Coast.

  “Anyway, the reason I called you was to tell you about the acting.”

  “Did you tell her about the Queen Anne Players?” Dana asked.

  “I definitely mentioned it.”

  “Then that’s the link.”

  “Carrie would know how to fake a French accent,” Draper said, “and how to disguise herself as this Margo Laurent woman.”

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  The next morning, Santoro had to be at the courthouse at nine to testify in a motion to suppress. He was at the office of the prosecutor who was handling the hearing forty-five minutes before court was to start. They went over the evidence and walked up to the courtroom together. Santoro had his cell phone turned off while he was testifying. When he left the stand, he walked into the hall outside the courtroom and checked for missed calls. Stephanie had phoned him twice.

  “Where are you?” Robb asked as soon as Santoro called her.

  “I was in court on the Danny Fong case. I told you.”

  “You did. I forgot. Can you meet me at Horace Blair’s estate? I’m on my way.”

  “What are we going to do there?”

  “I have an idea and I want to see if it pans out.”

  Robb was parked on the side of the road next to the gate to the Blair estate. Santoro parked behind her. Sitting beside Robb was Wilda Parks, a feisty woman in her early sixties who had been working in the crime lab since well before Santoro joined the force. Santoro walked over to Robb’s car. She rolled down the window.

  “Why are we here?” Santoro asked.

  “Wilda found Horace Blair’s prints on the key from the grave.”

  “So?”

  Parks was holding three plastic evidence bags in her lap. Robb pointed to one bag which held a single key.

  “That’s the key we found in the grave,” she said.

  She pointed to another bag which held a key ring with several keys.

  “That’s the key ring we found in the purse that was buried with Carrie Blair.

  “And these,” she said, pointing to the third bag, “are the keys we took from Horace Blair when he was booked into the jail.”

  Santoro looked confused. “What are you going to do with these keys?”

  “There is a key on Carrie Blair’s key ring that looks exactly like
the key we found in the grave. What if they both open a specific door in the Blair house but none of Horace’s keys open that door?”

  “You think Blair dropped the key in the grave by accident?” Santoro asked.

  “It’s possible. If he buried Carrie at night he might not have noticed.”

  Santoro pointed to a key on Horace Blair’s key ring. “That key looks exactly like the key we found in the grave.”

  Robb shrugged. “I could be wrong. If I am, we wasted a trip out here. Hop in and let’s see what happens.”

  Robb pressed the button on an intercom attached to the wall next to the gate. Moments later, Walter Paget, Blair’s houseman, answered. Robb identified herself and asked to be admitted to the estate.

  “I can’t let you in without Mr. Blair’s permission.”

  “Actually, we don’t need his permission, Walter. I have a search warrant that authorizes me to enter the grounds. If you don’t open this gate right now, I’m going to arrest you for obstruction of justice, your choice.”

  The houseman was silent. Robb waited patiently. Moments later, the gate opened and Robb drove up the driveway to the front door. Walter was waiting for them.

  “Thanks for letting us in,” Robb said as she showed him the search warrant.

  “How can I help you?” Walter asked in a tone that could only be described as frosty.

  “We want to see if a few keys fit any of the doors in the house,” Robb answered.

  “What doors?”

  “We’re not certain but we might as well start with the front door,” she said. “Can you close it and lock it for us, please?”

  Paget hesitated for a moment before stepping inside and closing the door. Robb took the key that had been found in the grave out of the evidence bag and Parks began filming the proceedings.

  Robb held up the key. “I am Lee County detective Stephanie Robb and I’m standing at the front door of Horace Blair’s house. This is a key that was found in the grave where Carrie Blair’s body was discovered. The crime lab found prints matched to Horace Blair on this key. I am going to insert it in the front door of Horace Blair’s home.”

  Robb bent down and inserted the key in the front door lock while continuing to describe what she was doing for the camera. She twisted the key and opened the front door. Parks caught the expression of surprise on the detective’s face. Obviously Robb never thought it would be this easy.

  Robb put the key back and removed the keys found in Carrie Blair’s purse. She selected the key that looked identical to the key found in the grave and identified it for the camera. Then she put it in the lock and opened the front door. Finally, Robb took out the keys on Horace Blair’s key ring and tried the key that looked like the key found in the grave. It looked newer than the key from the grave and the key found in Carrie Blair’s purse. Santoro frowned as Robb tried the key. It did not open the front door. Robb tried every other key on the chain. None of them opened the front door.

  Robb told Parks to stop filming. Then she smiled. “We got him. Blair fucked up.”

  “That’s what it looks like,” Santoro agreed, but he didn’t sound completely convinced. Robb was too excited to notice.

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Three days in jail had done the damage Charles Benedict had anticipated. Blair’s complexion was pasty and he looked every day of his seventy-four years. With Carrie dead and Blair in jail, there was only a skeleton staff at Blair’s estate. Blair had given Benedict the security code for the front gate and the house so he could pick out clothing for Horace to wear at court appearances. Benedict had brought a beautifully tailored suit to the jail but Horace had lost so much weight that the suit looked like it was draped on a wire hanger.

  “How are you holding up?” Benedict asked. He sounded deeply concerned but he was really delighted.

  “Am I going to get out today?”

  “I hope so. Gardner is tough but Jack Pratt has lined up several prominent witnesses who will vouch for you.”

  Before Benedict could say anything else, the Honorable Preston L. Gardner III emerged from his chambers.

  “We’re here for a bail hearing in Commonwealth v. Blair,” Gardner said as he took his seat on the dais. “Are the parties ready to proceed?”

  “Rick Hamada for the commonwealth. We’re ready, Your Honor.”

  “Charles Benedict for Mr. Blair. The defense is ready.”

  “I don’t need any opening statements,” the judge said, “so let’s get this show on the road. You’ve got the burden, Mr. Hamada.”

  Rick Hamada began his presentation by calling Frank Santoro. He used the first few minutes to establish the detective’s credentials before asking questions that would allow him to argue that the defendant should be held without bail.

  “Detective Santoro,” Hamada asked, “can you please summarize the evidence that led you to the conclusion that there was probable cause to arrest the defendant for murder?”

  “Yes, sir. First off, there was the motive. There were newspaper reports about a prenuptial agreement—”

  “Objection! Irrelevant,” Charles Benedict said as he sprang to his feet. “This court shouldn’t be using unfounded rumors to decide an issue as serious as bail.”

  “The rumor is just one piece of the decision to arrest,” Hamada replied. “It’s background and was just part of the big picture.”

  “There’s no jury here, Mr. Benedict,” Judge Gardner said. “I’ll allow the testimony and take it for what I deem it’s worth.”

  “Go ahead, Detective,” Hamada said.

  “The newspaper reported that the defendant and his wife had signed a prenuptial agreement before their wedding. According to the story, Mr. Blair was going to have to give Mrs. Blair twenty million dollars the week she disappeared.”

  “Please tell the judge if any physical evidence caused you to suspect that Mr. Blair may have killed his wife,” Rick Hamada said.

  “There was the evidence we found in the trunk of Mr. Blair’s Bentley,” Santoro answered.

  Hamada turned to Judge Gardner. “For purposes of this hearing only, Mr. Benedict has agreed that we can present the following testimony without calling experts from the crime lab or the medical examiner.”

  “Is Mr. Hamada correct?” the judge asked.

  “He is,” Benedict agreed.

  “Proceed, Mr. Hamada,” Judge Gardner said.

  “Detective Santoro, please tell the court about this evidence and its significance?”

  “Okay, well, we found blond hairs in the trunk. The crime lab performed a DNA test on the hairs and concluded that they belonged to the victim, Mrs. Blair. So that was evidence that suggested she may have been in the trunk.

  “Next, we found a blood smear in the trunk. The lab concluded that the blood was from Mrs. Blair by doing DNA testing. That suggested that Mrs. Blair may have been wounded or deceased when she was in the trunk.”

  “Did you find a gun in the trunk?” Hamada asked.

  “We did, a .38 pistol.”

  “Was there anything unusual about the gun?” the prosecutor asked.

  “The serial numbers had been filed off.”

  “Why was that significant?”

  “We see this commonly in guns that are sold illegally on the street and used to commit crimes.”

  “Objection,” Benedict said. “Irrelevant, and the prejudice outweighs any possible relevance.”

  “Sustained.”

  “After you discovered this physical evidence in a car belonging to the defendant did you discover the body of the victim in this case, Carrie Blair?”

  “We did.”

  “Where did you find it?”

  “It had been buried in a shallow grave in the woods at an abandoned resort.”

  “Did the medical examiner determine the cause of death?”

  “Yes, sir. Mrs. Blair was shot and the bullet caused massive internal injuries.”

  “What type of bullet caused the damage?”

&nb
sp; “A semi-jacketed hollow-point.”

  “Where was this bullet discovered?”

  “The medical examiner found it in Mrs. Blair’s body while he was performing the autopsy.”

  “Why didn’t the bullet exit the body?”

  “A semi-jacketed hollow-point has a soft point. It’s designed to mushroom inside the body when it hits bone. That’s why there was so much damage to the internal organs.”

  “Was the bullet sent to the crime lab?”

  “It was.”

  “Did the ballistics expert at the crime lab draw a conclusion concerning the gun that fired the bullet?”

  “Yes, sir. He concluded that the gun that was found in the trunk of Mr. Blair’s Bentley fired the bullet that killed Mrs. Blair.”

  “One more thing, Detective Santoro. Did you find some keys in Mrs. Blair’s grave?”

  “We did.”

  “Where did you find the keys?”

  “Mrs. Blair’s purse was found in the grave, and there was a key ring in the purse. Then there was a single key that was unearthed when we began digging.”

  “The key was just lying there?” Hamada asked.

  “Yes, sir. It looked like it may have fallen in the grave by accident.”

  “Objection! That’s pure speculation,” Benedict said.

  “Sustained.”

  “Was the crime lab able to connect the single key to the defendant?”

  “A forensic expert found a fingerprint on the key and matched it to the defendant.”

  “Did you conduct an experiment with the keys?”

  “My partner, Detective Stephanie Robb, did. I was also present at the defendant’s estate, and so was Wilda Parks, the forensic expert who raised the print. We had in our possession the single key, the keys from Mrs. Blair’s purse, and the keys that were in the defendant’s possession when he was arrested.”

  “What did Detective Robb do when you arrived at the estate?” the prosecutor asked.

  “She tried the single key in the front door of the defendant’s mansion, and it opened the door,” Santoro replied.