The Magician's Accomplice

by Michael Genelin

  Seges was the biggest rumormonger in the Slovak police department. He had simply decided not to give her any information.

  “I want you to check on someone for me.”

  “I’m not sure I can do that, Commander.”

  “Why not?”

  “I’m not authorized.”

  There was always one way to get Seges to do something: threaten him.

  “Seges, I will be back in Slovakia, maybe not tomorrow or the next day, but soon. I will recall your good humor, and your bad humor. I will remember your cooperation, or your lack of cooperation. Even more, I can still pull a personnel file and make notes in it. Do you understand the position you have now put yourself in, or shall I explain further?” There was another long silence. “Now, there is something I want you to do forthwith. And then, when you have the information, you’re to call me back immediately. I expect this to be done in no more than a half hour. Understood?”

  “I’ll get to it right away, Commander,” Seges said humbly.

  “One more thing: who is going to replace me as chief of the division?”

  “Unknown, Commander. There is not even a rumor about it.”

  That was strange. They had to fill her old position as quickly as possible. It was too important a vacancy to ignore.

  “There must be someone doing the job at the moment, even temporarily.”

  “Colonel Trokan has taken personal command of the division. Everyone is reporting directly to him.”

  Why had Trokan put himself in that position, along with his other duties? What in hell was going on in Bratislava? Things sounded crazy back there.

  Jana hung up on Seges after giving him another warning that the clock was ticking. He called back with the answers she wanted in twenty minutes, adding that he would be more than pleased to get her anything else she wanted. The information that Seges gave her was not surprising. In fact, she had expected it. The professor had no criminal record. Even though she was reasonably sure, she’d had to check. The stakes were too high for her not to.

  Jana went back to her work, trying to prepare the lecture she was to give for her Europol section. Nothing she thought of was what she wanted. She tossed page after page of her work, crumpling up sheets of work-problem hypotheticals she’d outlined for the crew of SC 4 to consider. No matter what she came up with, after a few minutes she would dump it in the wastebasket as fit only for first-year students at the police academy. Jana didn’t realize how late it had become until the phone rang. It was the professor, calling from the hotel lobby. She had worked past the time set for their dinner. Jana apologized, threw on a fresh blouse and pair of slacks, wasted a few moments fixing her makeup, and then took the stairs leading down to the lobby. Late, but as the professor said, taking her off the hook, only “fashionably” tardy.

  They took the tram. The professor had brought tickets for them both, carefully clocking them in the time-stamp mechanism on the tram. He handed her one, then took on the role of tour guide as they passed through and out of the center of the city. First, he apologized. “I have decided that we are not going to the Scheveningen area. The bloody beach scene is too crowded. It’s commercial,” he muttered, making a disparagingly rude noise with his mouth. “People invariably become disgusting at beach areas. So, I thought, since I have decreed that you are, for tonight, true royalty in the city where the Queen of the Netherlands has her home, you shall be treated like royalty. Hence we are going to the Tampat Senang. Don’t ask me what the name means, but there they know how to defer to royal visitors.” He glanced out the window of the tram, lighting up as he pointed out a museum they were passing. “Old Dutch Masters are housed there. One of my favorites, Vermeer, has a painting which is not to be believed. This is a city of very fine museums, you know.”

  “I’ve heard,” she said. “You like the arts?”

  “I like the pure arts. Painting, yes. With a good painting we can perceive with our eyes twice as well as we ordinarily might be able to. Once through the surface of the painting; and then second through the eyes of the artist and our perceptions of why and how and what the artist himself has seen. But only with the good artists. Old Vermeers and new Van Dongens. And others,” he smiled. “You must take advantage of being here.”

  He took out a blue handkerchief, which then became a red handkerchief, attached to a green handkerchief, then a yellow one attached to a purple one, then a polka-dotted one, then one striped in red, then another in fuchsia, going on and on until he blew his nose with an exaggerated flourish, then rolled them all into a ball and made them vanish.

  Jana smiled, applauding his performance.

  “Thank you; thank you.” He bowed. “Now you see my problem. I have never quite been able to retire from bringing wonders to the world. My talent just pops up when I least expect it.” He pulled a small orchid out from behind his ear. “This is for you. May I …?” He pinned the orchid to her blouse. “A lady’s eveningwear is never complete without a corsage.”

  “I thank the gentleman.” Jana made her own small bow.

  “I promise not to do any more magic for the evening. Everything shall be for ‘real.’ Besides, reality is always better than fantasy.”

  “Only sometimes. Magic has its place, Professor.”

  The tram passed over a canal, the professor gesturing at it to make his point. “Reality is also beautiful. You see the water, the greenery, trees, and lovely old homes that are cared for. They make a city feel cozy and comfortable. Liveable. Magic is already here.”

  “I’m glad you think so.” Jana decided it was time for her to confront the professor with what she had learned from Seges. “I’ve also made magic. My crystal ball has conjured up interesting information. Your full name is Denis Macek. Your nephew was the young man who was shot to death at the Carleton Savoy hotel.”

  The professor winced but didn’t seem surprised.

  “I was going to tell you at dinner,” he said, not by way of apology, merely as a fact. “Denis was a good boy. Being around him was a pleasure.” He quickly wiped away a tear that had formed in the corner of his eye. “I loved him. He was very curious, my nephew. We could spend lovely evenings together asking questions about life, and coming up with more questions. Great fun.” He let his sadness show for a second, then suppressed it. “How did you link the two of us?”

  “It was not hard. You performed magic; your nephew had a magic trick on his person. How many Slovaks take the same plane as I did to Amsterdam, then go on to The Hague as well? A possibility, but not a probability. I checked the plane’s passenger list. Lo and behold, you have the same name as your nephew. I had my warrant officer check your background. So, simple.”

  “You notice, we don’t need sleight of hand to find answers.” He waved his hand in the air as if to conjure up a spirit. “That’s how we differed, he and I. He was very practical. I, on the other hand, am not.” He paused, reflecting, his lips moving slightly as if he were talking to himself. “I think he was going to bring me some of the food he was going to obtain at the hotel. He always did. Some pastry or other. Pensioners can’t afford to eat pastry, and he knew I loved it.”

  “I’m sorry, Professor. I’m sure he loved you.”

  “I think so.” He scratched at the tablecloth, thinking. “I was a performer at one time. I put on magic shows. I was billed as the Clown Professor of Magic.” He smiled at the recollection. “That’s where the ‘Professor’ comes from. I came out costumed as a professor, makeup, glasses, long string tie, lab coat mixing a chemical experiment that would blow up with a cloud of smoke and a big bang, and fall to the floor. I was never really very good at magic. So I capitalized on my deficit by making it into a comic clown act. I was Harlequin, Pierrot, a Merry Andrew. No, more than that! I was a Wise Fool.

  “I deliberately made mistakes. People laughed and laughed. I was a comedian. I made my existence a joke. That was my fortunate—and unfortunate—calling. I made a good living, but spent my life mocking myself. A difficul
t task.” He lapsed into silence, staring ahead of them, unseeing. Looking down at the tablecloth, he whispered, “That explains the difference between a clown magician and a simple magician.” He looked up. “A clown starts his act slipping on a banana peel, or something equally foolish. It tells the audience to expect more clowning than magic.” He smiled at a thought. “Except for my nephew. I was never a joke to him. He thought of me as a skilled magician. A performing artist. Odd.

  “My nephew didn’t like seeing me as a clown. I was his uncle, so he thought it was not respectful. So for him I had to do good tricks. I practiced hard before every performance if I knew he was coming. He loved seeing me on the stage. For him, I became the larger-than-life Professor of Magic.”

  Jana nodded. “Professor, you are larger than life.”

  She reached into her pocket and pulled out the trick coin that she had picked up from the floor of the hotel restaurant where his nephew had been killed. “I think this was your nephew’s.”

  He took the coin, turning it over and over in his hands, working the coin’s mechanism to bend it, then bend it once more, then open it up again so it was an unmarked coin.

  “I gave it to him when he was much younger,” he said, his voice barely audible. “He wanted to do the inexplicable. This was his very first piece of equipment. He mastered other tricks. It didn’t matter. The first one that you awe people with is always your favorite. So he kept this with him all the time. He didn’t practice magic any more, except that once in a while he would pull this coin out and amaze someone.” He continued to finger the coin. “Was this with him when he died?”

  “At his feet. There was also a table napkin nearby. Did it mean anything?”

  “The coin and the napkin are both part of the setup for a performance. You have the napkin in your left hand, you cover the coin with the napkin, and the trick is set up for the turn, where the magician makes the ordinary act extraordinary. My nephew was doing the trick. It did not meet with the appreciation that my nephew thought it would.”

  The Clown Professor of Magic kissed the coin.

  “I must keep the coin,” Jana informed him. “It may be evidence. If it’s not, I’ll get it back to you.”

  He shrugged, fighting to check his emotions. “He has no use for it any more. It’s yours.”

  Jana put the coin away. “I think I told you I wanted to do magic when I was a child.”

  “Did you ever try it?”

  “Once. Only, I tried to do real magic. I was not successful.”

  “Like my nephew.”

  “Perhaps.” She thought for a moment. “I’d like to know how you found out I was coming to The Hague and why you wanted to talk to me.”

  “You’re supposed to be a very good detective. I would like to see how your mind works. Can you tell how I knew you were coming here?”

  “I’ve heard that magicians are not supposed to give away their secrets, Professor. If they do, they meet a bad end. It’s a cardinal transgression.”

  The professor looked sad.

  “Since you tried to become a magician, it’s quite acceptable for one magician to share secrets with another magician,” he said.

  “I’m not a magician, Professor.”

  “We can pretend.”

  Jana smiled at the thought of pretending to be a magician; then decided to humor the old man and his request.

  “You remembered my name because of the publicity surrounding other crimes I’ve investigated. Then you read it in the newspapers because of my initial investigation of your nephew’s death. You waited, perhaps a few days, calling my office only to find out that I was on leave. You kept calling, discovering that I had been taken off the case and that it had been assigned to another officer in the corruption division. You were referred to Investigator Elias.

  “When you contacted Elias, he told you he could not give out any information. That’s what the corruption division does; they politely tell you nothing. Your only hope for information was me, so you went back to my division. My new assignment is not secret, so they told you that I had been assigned to a new position here. They probably even told you when I was to start. The more serious question is how you knew what flight I was on and where I was to sit, so you would have the opportunity to talk to me.” Jana mulled it over. “Government agencies all use the same travel service to book flights. There are not that many travel agencies in Slovakia. You knew which one the government used. When you were a traveling performer, I’ll bet you used the same agency. You asked the agent to check with the airline for the flight I was listed on, then had him book a seat near me.”

  The professor confirmed her judgment by nodding a number of times as she talked. “So, you live up to your reputation.”

  Jana was embarrassed. “I wasn’t solving a very difficult problem.”

  “That may be so. However, now you have to solve the very grave problem involving my nephew’s murder.” He hesitated, then continued. “I want to help you solve it. It’s the least I can do for my nephew.”

  “I cannot use your help right now. I’ve been taken off the case.”

  He stood. “I hope you are still having dinner with me, even though you now know who I am.” He rang for the tram’s next stop. “The food here is too good to miss.”

  The professor was right. The Tampat Senang was unique. The inside of the restaurant was decorated like an old colonial rubber-plantation mansion, in the tradition of the Dutch imperial reign in Indonesia. The waiters, in native costume, catered to them with deferential service that was almost uncomfortable. The garden area where they were seated provided a graceful backdrop for the marvelous cumin-scented food they were served. It was all ethereally lovely.

  The professor seemed to recover from his disappointment at Jana’s refusal of his offer of help. The two of them talked freely about the changes that had been taking place in Slovakia, how the communist era was truly ended, about the new generation looking to the West and the EU. Small talk was used to fill up time, to avoiding the subject the professor wanted to talk about. They did not discuss that until dessert was served, in diminutive glazed bowls, scoops of both violet and tamarind fruit sorbets, their tastes gently soothing after the strong spices of the prior dishes. Then two small cups of strong espresso coffee to sip were brought.

  “Would you like to hear about my nephew?” the professor started.

  “I’ve told you that I’m no longer on the case.”

  “I don’t believe that.”

  “What don’t you believe about it?”

  “That you would sit by and let the case be interred.”

  “It’s being investigated.”

  “Not by the person who should be looking into it.”

  “That’s what happens in the real world.”

  “But I want to tell you about my nephew.”

  “If you wish.”

  “He was investigating something.”

  “A crime?”

  “It was a matter out of his area of expertise, but I think so.”

  “Did he tell you about it?”

  “Not much. He was writing a dissertation for his doctorate. Like all students, he spent huge amounts of time on the computer. He collated reams of information. He went back into historical archives and pulled out files by the hundreds. Somewhere in that process, he found something that both disturbed and animated him. He became more and more agitated, more keyed up, saying that he had never run across anything like this before.”

  “You inquired as to what had made him so agitated?”

  “I asked him,” the professor confirmed. “All he would say was that he wanted to corroborate the information, and when he was sure he would tell me. Before he could do so, he was killed.”

  “You think he was killed because of what he’d found in his research?”

  “Why else would anyone want to kill a starving student? His father died early on; I was his surrogate father. I knew him. He was not involved in any kind of criminality. I kn
ew that boy. He was… .” The professor faltered, forced to fight the sorrow that was welling up inside him.

  Jana reached out to hold his hand, squeezing it to give him whatever comfort the touch of another human can give.

  “I know what you’ve experienced. We’ve both lost someone dear to us recently.”

  The professor looked at her, trying to make amends for showing his feelings. “I have probably depressed you by talking about my nephew.”

  “No, Professor.”

  “Is the information useful?”

  “Very useful.”

  “I can help you more.”

  “Perhaps. We’ll have to see how.”

  “You’re going to investigate, then?”

  She thought about telling the professor that she had already determined she would continue her investigation in earnest, and decided against it. “I hope you understand that as a police officer, I have to follow departmental orders. I’ve received those orders and I’m officially unable to directly participate in any investigation of the student Denis Macek’s death. Of course, if, as you think, he had found out about some other crime, there is nothing in my orders that would stop me from investigating that crime.”

  The professor stared at her for a long moment before he understood what she was saying.

  “Thank you.”

  “There’s nothing to thank me for yet, Professor.”

  Jana obtained the professor’s contact information. He assured her that if and when she needed any additional information about his nephew, he would be available. Before they took separate trams back to their respective hotels, the professor handed her another tram ticket.

  “It wouldn’t do to have a police officer riding the public transportation system without a proper ticket.”

  Jana kissed him on the cheek and boarded her tram. He had all his handkerchiefs out again, waving them all in a multi-colored banner, as her tram left him at the stop.

  She felt sad at leaving him there, alone.

  But the evening of conversation with the professor had solidified something in Jana’s mind.