by Roy Johansen
He turned toward the group. “I said last night that in a way Jesse showed me how this was done. I had a tough time figuring out how he did his tricks, because I assumed the only way he could possibly blow on those objects was through his nose or mouth. I was presuming that his anatomy was put together in a way that it wasn't. When I found out about Jesse, I realized that I'd also been making assumptions about this house. So, I pulled the architectural plans from the county building permit office.”
“What could that tell you?” Fisher asked.
“I discovered the downstairs living room has what's called a Windsor wall. Has anyone heard of that?”
No one replied.
“I hadn't either. In the early thirties, Chester and Klauss Developments built several houses here and in northern Florida that had a special feature: a wall that could be raised up and out of the room, so that a separated living room and den could easily become one big room. It worked with a motorized pulley system that operated a lot like our electric garage doors. It was actually based on a design used in some castles in the Middle Ages. These houses were built only during an eight-month period, because they were noisy and prone to mechanical failure. They probably don't work in most of the houses where they still exist, and I'd guess that a lot of the homeowners don't even realize they're there. I brought Nelson's girlfriend here today, and she didn't think he knew about it. The entire residence has been sealed off as a crime scene, so there was no way she or anyone who was familiar with the house could have told us that two downstairs rooms had suddenly become one large one. Dunning may have been planning to return and restore the wall to its original position.”
“But the wall is downstairs, right?” Howe said.
“Yes, but it needs somewhere to go. It can't just pop up in the middle of a second-story room, so the wall runs up two floors. The first-story wall rises up into the second story, and the top of the second-story wall runs into the attic.”
“Just the top?” Gerald asked.
“As you may have noticed, the second story has a much higher ceiling than the first.” Joe pointed to the chalk outline. “And you've probably noticed how low this is now.” Joe picked up the Styrofoam sculpture. “The second question is, how could you pick up a statue that heavy and run someone through with it? Here's how Dunning did it.”
Joe walked to the piano and placed the Styrofoam sculpture on top. “If you'll look carefully, you'll see there are marks on the piano that line up perfectly with the statue's base.” He pushed the piano toward the wall. “And the piano is on wheels and rolls easily. Either Nelson was so drugged he didn't see it coming—Dunning may have slipped him a mickey—or he was somehow forced to stand there. Maybe he was held at gunpoint. His girlfriend was coming over soon, and maybe Dunning threatened to kill her if she didn't go along. Anyway, the sculpture and piano rolled toward him and impaled him to the wall.”
Joe rolled the piano forward and the tip of the Styrofoam sculpture lined up perfectly with the gouge in the wall. He gave it an extra push to wedge it inside.
“Then Dunning went downstairs and raised the Windsor wall. The motor doesn't work anymore, but it's counterbalanced by pulleys. It's not difficult to grab the chain and do it by hand.” He spoke into a walkie-talkie. “Okay, Suzanne.”
There was a sharp click within the wall, and suddenly it began to rise, taking the sculpture with it. The cops and feds watched in amazement as the outline reached the height it had been the night of Nelson's death.
“There's your psychic murder,” Joe said.
Howe was still staring at the Styrofoam sculpture. “Abracafuckingdabra.”
Half an hour later, Joe escaped the reporters’ questions and left the house. It had been a hell of a day, tying up the loose ends and—
“Hi, Daddy!” Nikki ran up the front steps and hugged him.
Surprised, Joe held her close. “What are you doing here? I thought you were staying with Grandpa until the weekend.”
Detective Carla Fisk was standing on the sidewalk, smiling broadly. “I decided to come home from Savannah early, and she took a notion to come with me. Imagine that. I guess she must like you or something.”
“I missed you,” Nikki said.
“I missed you too, honey. So much.”
Carla faked a grimace. “Okay, I've had enough of this family togetherness. I'm joining the gang at Manuel's Tavern. See you, guys.”
“Thanks, Carla,” Joe said. “I owe you.”
Nikki pulled away. “I've been watching the news on TV. Jesse really doesn't have any powers, does he?”
“No, sweetheart.”
“I was kind of hoping he did.”
“Why?”
Nikki didn't answer.
Joe caressed her cheek. “For the same reason the rest of the world wants to believe in this stuff, huh?”
“I didn't think he killed that man, but I still thought maybe his powers were real. Magic is sort of … nice. You think that's stupid?”
“Maybe not. Have you seen Suzanne?”
“Yeah, she left a few minutes ago. She's really cool.”
“I think so too.”
A few minutes later, Joe knocked on Suzanne's front door. She answered it and stared at him with a puzzled expression. “I thought you'd be with those reporters for the rest of the night.”
He shrugged. “They can get what they need from the press release. Why did you take off?”
“I saw that Nikki was back. I thought you'd want to spend time with her.” Suzanne glanced around. “Where is she?”
Joe pointed to his 4Runner on the street. Nikki waved from the front passenger seat, and Suzanne waved back. Joe moved closer. “Thanks for helping out these last couple of days. You were a big help.”
“There's still one mystery we haven't solved.”
“How you do your séances?”
“That's not a mystery to me.”
“Of course not.”
She smiled. “Where do we stand, Joe? With each other, I mean.”
“That's the mystery?”
“Yep. And I have an idea that it's one you haven't the faintest idea how to solve.”
“Did your dead friend tell you that?”
“She didn't have to. And she prefers to be called Daphne.”
“My apologies.”
“I liked helping you on this case, but I liked spending time with you even more.”
“Yeah, me too.”
“Then why the mystery?”
He was silent for a moment. “Kellner and the spook squad will be continuing your trials at the university next week. I'll be there to watch you.”
She nodded. “Good.”
“Good?”
“Yes. Every time you see me in action and can't explain it, you'll believe in me a little more.”
“I will find out how you do it.”
She leaned toward him. “Take your best shot.”
He gazed into her confident, sparkling eyes, knowing that he'd probably expose her techniques within the next week or two.
And yet …
There was doubt, he realized. Even though he was 99.99 percent sure of himself, there were infinite possibilities in that other.01 percent.
Magic is sort of … nice.
Now he knew how Nikki felt. It wasn't bad.
He took Suzanne's hand in his own. “Join Nikki and me for dinner?”
She stepped outside and pulled the door closed behind her. “Are you sure?”
He smiled. “Yes.”
After all, he decided, everyone could use a little magic in their lives.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
In the larger sense, this book would not have been possible without the many defenders of reason and rationality who have entertained and enlightened me over the years, including James Randi, Martin Gardner, Joe Nickell, Michael Shermer, and the great Harry Houdini.
More directly, my wonderful editor, Beth de Guzman, has provided me with sage guidance, infinite patience, and b
oundless enthusiasm ever since I first told her this story on that autumn morning in Philadelphia. She's truly a marvel.
I owe a huge debt of gratitude to my terrific agent, Andrea Cirillo, whom I depend on for her business savvy and amazing story sense. I am also grateful to her associates at the Jane Rotrosen Agency, including Stephanie Tade, Annelise Robey, Don Cleary, Ruth Kagle, Meg Ruley, and Margaret Roohan.
And finally, much thanks and appreciation to Alan Ayers and Yook Louie for the fantastic job they did with the book jacket. I'll try not to take it personally that the corpse on the cover looks suspiciously like me!
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
ROY JOHANSEN‘S first screenplay, Murder 101, written while he was in college, was produced for cable TV and won an Edgar Award as well as a Focus Award, which is sponsored by Steven Spielberg, Francis Ford Coppola, George Lucas, and Martin Scorcese. He has written for Disney, MGM, United Artists, Universal, and Warner Bros. He lives in southern California with his wife, Lisa.
And look for
Roy Johansen's next nerve-tingling
thriller featuring Joe Bailey
DEADLY VISIONS
Available from Bantam Dell
NOT ONE WORD HAS BEEN OMITTED.
BEYOND BELIEF
A Bantam Book
PUBLISHING HISTORY
All rights reserved.
Copyright © 2001 by Roy Johansen.
Library of Congress Catalog Card Number: 00-64245
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publisher. For information address: Bantam Books.
eISBN: 978-0-307-48219-8
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