Magicide (13 page)

CHAPTER 30

Wednesday, August 10, 2 p.m.

This kid has real talent, Digbee decided. From the side, he watched him work the mechanism that guided the Woman Sawed in Half effect as he dramatized the story that went with the illusion.

“Slow down your patter, Tom,” he said. “You want to draw out the suspense, have your audience on the edge of their seats in awe. To do that, you must speak more confidently and dramatically.”

Business at The Rabbit & The Hat was slow on Wednesday afternoons, and Tom had skipped his last classes so that they could have the afternoon to work together in the back room. Tom stood on the small stage Digbee had built into the room for practice performances. Even though the room was icily air-conditioned, Tom’s tee shirt was already sweat-soaked.

“I know you’re nervous,” he said in a soothing tone, “You must trust me. Everything will be fine.”

Tom smiled, a natural boyish grin that almost dimpled his chin, that Digbee knew audiences would respond to and love.

“Let’s strike the apparatus and start from the beginning.” A wave of exhilaration heightened his senses. That special high that emanated from the excitement in the younger man’s face as he discovered the world of magic. It was almost like working with Maxwell again.

Maxwell. What a glorious time they’d had together. What a glorious son-of-a-bitch he turned out to be,
he thought bitterly. The more powerful the other man had become, the blacker his heart had turned, leading Digbee to fantasize about how it would all end. How it had ended, in reality, had not been something he’d foreseen. Maxwell had performed the ultimate sucker effect. 

“Show me again what you do here to separate the body. Should I be turning the apparatus and moving my hands more quickly?” Tom asked.

“You’re doing that part fine. You just need more practice.” He showed Tom the move again.

After another hour had passed, Tom began to show signs of fatigue and Digbee decided it was affecting the performance. He put his hand on the boy’s shoulder. “That’s enough of that for today. Let’s have a cup of coffee and talk. Leave that stuff there. I’ll attend to it later.”

From the cupboard he removed a crystal decanter and set it on the stained Formica counter amid the array of plastic spoons and chipped coffee mugs. “I like to have a little boost in my coffee,” he said. “Want to try it? I won’t tell.”

Tom grinned. “Sure. What is it?”

“A liqueur called
Frangelica
. It’s sweet, like the amazement of the crowd when you’ve dazzled the bejeesus out of them.”

Tom’s laugh was hearty. The laugh of the gusto of youth, Digbee thought, and realized he liked to see Tom laugh. He appreciated the natural ability Tom had shown in his hand and eye coordination, the fluid movements of his body about the stage. He was glad the boy had come to him to help him with his magic.

They settled themselves on two barstools. “Have you thought about your future? What you want to do when you finish school?” he asked.

Tom shook his head and shrugged. “I love magic. And I don’t see that I really need a high school diploma to do it. You’ve taught me more in two hours than I’d ever learn in school.”

Warm pride made Digbee thoughtful. “Don’t think that magic doesn’t take a lot of work and dedication…”

“Oh, I don’t.” Tom took a sip of his coffee. “I like it—the Frangelica, I mean.”

“Good.” Digbee set his coffee mug on the counter. He clasped his hands between his knees, then unclasped them and began rolling on his finger the gold ring on the middle finger of his left hand. “There’s something I want to tell you. It may be a bit premature. However, I have a sense that you have greatness in you.”

Tom grinned his surprise, and when he started to speak Digbee held up one hand.

“Hear me out. If you work hard in the coming months, by next June I’ll have a surprise for you. I’m not going to tell you now what it is, just trust me, it’s something that will take your magic talents to a level you cannot imagine. It’s a secret I taught Maxwell, and I want to teach it to you.”

CHAPTER 31

Wednesday, August 10, 3 p.m.

“Break time. I’m famished,” Cheri said. Back in the Explorer, headed up Maryland Parkway, she added a preference for Italian food.

Pizzarelli made a sour face.

“I know you hate it, and you just stuffed yourself with a bagel, but I found this great little place in the Albertson’s shopping center. I’ve been dying to try it. Tom and Bon love Italian, but with our crazy schedules, it’s hard to get all of us together to go out to dinner. I’d like to be able to tell them about it.”

Pizzarelli pretended disgust, but she knew he was going to humor her. “You can eat eggplant parmesan,” she suggested.

Since it was well after the lunch rush, they had no trouble getting a table in the small neighborhood restaurant. Cheri was pleased to discover that Mama DePalma’s Pizza and Bistro offered a nice selection of Italian specialties at reasonable prices, did a good take-out business, and offered home delivery as well. Maybe Friday night she could treat Tom and Bonni…

They were greeted by the owner, who introduced herself as Angelique. A curvy physique to match the name, Cheri thought, eyeing the red tee shirt she wore with black letters that spelled, “Nice Strombolis.”

As Angelique showed them to a table, Cheri could almost see Pizza’s interest in Italian food rise several notches. He gave Angelique his best smile as they sat down. He ordered the eggplant stromboli and a side of sautéed onions and peppers. Cheri thought, you’d never know he normally ran from Italian food because his mother’d been a rotten cook.

“So where’s Dayan Franklyn?” Cheri mused out loud. Their visit to the protégé’s stuffy Mayfair Arms apartment had turned up nothing new. As friendly as the landlord had been, he’d watched their every move, hovering over them as if he thought they’d steal something.

“Peter?” they both said in unison.

“You’d think,” Pizzarelli said. “But I got the impression when we were at Larissa’s house that he doesn’t know, and he’s not happy about it.”

She swallowed a big gulp of a glass of water with a lemon slice and said, “Plenty of motives, lots of suspects.”

“All of them magicians. I’m starting to feel like the whole world is made up of magicians.”

“Maxwell’s world, anyway.”

“A missing protégé and a missing video DVD that could be incriminating.”

Angelique brought a basket of warm garlic knots, set them on the table, and returned to the kitchen.

Pizzarelli leaned into the basket, inhaled deeply and picked up one of the bread pieces. “Suitcases in the closet,” he said. “Wherever Franklyn went, don’t think he planned to be gone a long time. These knots are good—have one. Who’s your favorite on the suspect list?”

She helped herself to the basket. “Right now, Edmund Meiner. He’s got motive, ability, and opportunity.”

“So does Larissa—maybe Regine not so much.”

Cheri chose to ignore the women for the moment. “Let’s follow the money. Where would the millions be if Meiner
did
embezzle them?”

“Find the money, find the DVD, it’ll come together,” Pizzarelli said, his eyes following Angelique as she moved around the kitchen. “Don’t forget the fifty million reasons why Larissa would kill him.”

“I don’t think Larissa did it.” Cheri picked up a second garlic knot from the basket on the table. “But Peter might have. Remember they were separated while he allegedly answered a page. She could be protecting him.”

“Or she got him to do it,” Pizzarelli said. He licked his lips and wiped them with a paper napkin.

“Hmmmm. Maybe. I think it had to be a man who actually did the deed. The person who delivered the hamburger to the Green Room was a man, and Digbee would have mentioned if he’d seen a woman around the track just before the performance.”

“Ah yes, Robert Digbee. Good old Robert the Great. What would his motive be to kill Maxwell? Professional jealousy?”

Between chews Cheri said, “I can’t see him killing Maxwell just so he can headline MAGIQUE DU MONDE. Maybe something in their past links them in a way we haven’t discovered yet.”

“Let’s dig into Maxwell’s finances, too. The note from Mrs. Schwartz isn’t enough to subpoena his records, but maybe she has something else.”

Their lunch arrived, and they decided that they’d pay Mrs. Schwartz a visit when she got home from work.

“She’s worked for Meiner a long time,” Cheri said. “I bet she knows a lot of secrets.”

Pizzarelli paused between mouthfuls of stromboli. “Like where all the bodies are buried. If she’ll talk, I bet she can tell us plenty.”

CHAPTER 32

Wednesday, August 10, 4:30 p.m.

On their way back to the station, Cheri tried to call Tom. No answer at the house—Bonni could be out, or had already gone to bed—and no answer on his cell phone.

Too early in the evening to worry, yet a nagging shiver crawled up the back of her neck. This phone contact agreement was definitely not working the way she’d planned. She’d have to think of something else, but at the moment, nothing came to mind.

They pulled into the parking lot, locked the Explorer and entered the building.

When they walked into the briefing room Detective Lieutenant Satch Washington put down the newspaper he’d been reading. Since Tuesday morning every edition of the
Las Vegas Post
—and every other newspaper in town—had carried stories about Maxwell, ranging from profiles of fellow magicians to wild speculations about who might have killed him.

“According to page two, Maxwell’s memorial service is to be held at the Desert Rose Mortuary and Funeral Home at ten Friday morning,” he announced. “The governor plans to attend.”

Pizzarelli grinned. “All the little suspects lined up in a row—except Governor Simms, of course.”

“Surely Dayan Franklyn will be there,” Cheri said. “Nobody’s seen him since Monday night, but I can’t believe he’d miss Maxwell’s funeral. Every celebrity in town will take advantage of the opportunity to be seen, and hopefully comment to the press so their names will be in print.”

Washington added, “Let’s try to find his parents, and talk to Peter again. If they’re lovers, they may have been in contact.”

Pizzarelli narrowed his eyes. “Peter’s hiding something, I’m sure of it. Maybe it’s Franklyn.”

Cheri scanned her notes in her electronic notebook. “Neither the Dunes Park catering department or the food and beverage department know anything about a hamburger delivery to the room where the committee was waiting to go on the roller coaster car. They reiterated what Artie Lundgren said. The committee wasn’t supposed to eat anything four hours before the stunt. They also said their waiters never wear white hats like the one Lundgren described.”

“A white jacket and hat turned up during a search of the trash dumpsters on the same floor,” Washington said. “Lab has them now.”

“What about fingerprints on the manacles?”

“Print report’s back on that. The manacle from Maxwell’s left leg has only two set of prints, and they’re all over the cuffs, so nothing could have been wiped later.”

“Any matches?”

“Maxwell’s for sure.” Washington paused and pursed his lips. “And someone else’s, unknown.”

“The killer’s,” Pizzarelli suggested.

Cheri twirled a lock of her hair in thought. “Too easy. Probably Edmund Meiner’s. As technical coordinator, I’m sure he’d have touched them.”

Washington frowned, causing his eyebrows to meet in the middle like one long, furry black caterpillar. “I don’t need to tell you there’s a lot of pressure to get this murder solved. Maxwell’s a big name, but you’d think Vegas killed Elvis. The press is all over this. And the governor is all over
me
.”

“High profile, all right.” Cheri considered the suspects, any one of whom would welcome the opportunity to praise Maxwell to the press or in front of a TV camera. Especially in front of a TV camera.

“We need a subpoena to get Maxwell’s records,” Cheri said. “Would help if it was fast-tracked.”

“Say no more.” Washington’s caterpillar eyebrow constricted. “I’ll take care of it. Then bring me something, people.”

CHAPTER 33             

Wednesday, August 10, 6 p.m.

Unlike Edmund Meiner, Trudy Schwartz didn’t live in the Twin Oaks mansion with Maxwell. She had her own little cottage in the old Huntridge neighborhood near downtown Las Vegas.

Cheri was waiting with Pizza outside in the Explorer when the woman came home from work. As soon as she’d parked her car in the driveway and turned off the engine, they got out and crossed the street. On the cement sidewalk, they caught her attention.

“Mrs. Schwartz, we’d like to talk to you,” Cheri said.

The woman peered up and down the street, as if afraid she was being watched, and nodded, “You’ll have to come in. I have to let out Teddy.” As soon as she put her key in the door, unruly barks began inside. “Come in quickly, I don’t want him in the street, y’know. Don’t worry, he doesn’t bite. You’re not allergic to dogs or anything, are you?”

Cheri and Pizzarelli shook their heads and followed her into the house. A little Scottie dog ran back and forth between the front door and French doors that led to the back yard and garden. Mrs. Schwartz let him out. Beyond the open French door Cheri saw manicured rose bushes covered with blossoms fading in the August heat.

In the living room, comfortable furniture crowded together on polished parquet floors. Pizzarelli fingered a knitted wool afghan folded neatly atop a wingback chair. “My mother had one just like this. Hated to cook, loved to knit. Did you make it yourself?”

“Years ago, when Mr. Schwartz was alive and I had time for things like that. Since I went to work for Edmund I only have Saturday afternoons and Sundays off.”

“I think you told us you’d worked for Edmund Meiner for eight years, right?” Cheri asked.

The woman stared out into the yard as if she hadn’t heard the question. “I raised all my children here, y’know? My husband’s been dead for years, but I never thought of moving.” She set her purse down on a side table next to the French doors, took out her reading glasses and a packet of tissues and set them beside it. “Do you have children?”

“A son. Sixteen. Mrs. Schwartz, I’m sure you know why we’re here. The note you passed us—”

She fingered the collar of her blouse. “That not
e⎯
it doesn’t mean anything. I mean, anyone could have taken the money… I’m sure it’s some trick Maxwell set up, y’know? He’s a sneaky devil, that one.”

“How did you discover the money was missing?”

Mrs. Schwartz’ face tightened, reminding Cheri of a cornered desert fox she’d seen once. “I don’t have any proof, only a few checks. You need proof, don’t you?”

“Just tell us what you know, Mrs. Schwartz,” Pizzarelli said. “We can always subpoena the accounts.”

“Well...it’s really none of my business... there’s not much to tell.”

“Just tell us what you know,” Cheri repeated.

The lines around the woman’s mouth barely moved. “In the beginning Edmund only took kickbacks from the suppliers. Making money the old-fashioned Vegas way, y’ know? The purchasing agents in all the hotels do it. Do you know I was eighteen and off at college in San Francisco when I discovered kickbacks weren’t a normal way of doing business?”

“We should get the records,” Pizzarelli bluffed. “They’ll tell a story.”

Mrs. Schwartz’ flustered expressions said she was disappointed that she hadn’t been able to sidetrack them. She walked to the French doors and peered out at her Scotty nosing the ground under the rose bushes.

“He didn’t think I knew, but I did. Maxwell didn’t, though, and I wasn’t going to be the one to tell him. Then I noticed we had a lot of new suppliers I’d never heard of. I wondered why none of them ever called on us, y’know? One day I was organizing these cancelled checks and I noticed the blue ink on the endorsements appeared to be the same on several of the checks. Then I thought the handwriting looked the same, too.”

She hesitated and rolled her shoulders, as if to give herself courage. Her voice became so soft Cheri had to move closer to hear. “Edmund has a gambling Jones. I hear him on the telephone with his bookie, a woman I think she is. I can put two and two together, y’know?”

“I’m sure you can,” Pizzarelli said. “When did you first notice the signatures on the checks?”

“Right after Maxwell did the coffin escape...five years ago.”

Cheri frowned. “So for five years, you knew Edmund Meiner was embezzling money from Maxwell and you never
said
anything?”

Mrs. Schwartz turned back from the French doors and walked to the side table. From her purse she withdrew an envelope. “It was none of my business. Maxwell had plenty of money. But after Monday night, I thought Edmund could be in trouble, y’know? I’ve been carrying these around…not sure I was doing the right thing.” She opened the envelope, withdrew several cancelled checks, and held them out.

Pizzarelli took them.

Her voice faltered. “You’re going to find out everything anyway. It isn’t fair. . .”

When she paused to open the French doors and let Teddy in, Cheri prompted, “What isn’t fair?”

“He began doing magic when he started out as a silhouette cutter on the boardwalk in Atlantic City—”

“Maxwell?”

Mrs. Schwartz frowned and made a
shussing
sound with her teeth. “Of course not Maxwell. Edmund. He was a great manipulator. His sleight-of-hand and close-up magic was flawless. He gave up what could’ve been a great magic career to manage Maxwell. He even gave up an opportunity to be a consultant to Disney World. It just wasn’t fair the way Maxwell ridiculed and verbally abused him.”

Edmund? Cheri wondered. “Mrs. Schwartz, are you in love with Edmund Meiner?”

A blush, the color of the roses on the other side of the French doors, came over the woman’s face. She leaned down to where Teddy now lay at her feet, picked him up, and snuggled him to her ample breasts. Having thus composed herself, she said, “Edmund is a wonderful man. He can’t help himself, y’know? His only vice is betting on the ponies. I could never understand why he took such abuse from Maxwell.” Her voice turned bitter. “But Edmund was blindly loyal. Maxwell was the center of his life. This money—Maxwell’s behind it somehow. It’s not Edmund’s fault.”

“Mrs. Schwartz, when did you last see Dayan Franklyn?” Pizzarelli asked.

A startled expression replaced the faraway gaze in the woman’s eyes. “Dayan? Why, the morning of the Dunes Park event. He came to the office to give Edmund some bills. After that, I think he was going home to rest before the performance.”

“He hasn’t been in the office since then?”

“Not that I’m aware of. Unless he came after hours, y’ know, after I’d gone home.”

“Did he do that often?”

“Dayan sort of came and went like Maxwell did. They don’t keep normal hours like the rest of us.” Teddy was squirming in Trudy Schwartz’ arms and she set him down on the parquet floor.

“Do you know anything about a DVD of Maxwell performing a magic ritual?” Cheri asked.

The woman’s expression was thoughtful. “I…don’t think we sell anything like that.”

“This wouldn’t be a DVD for sale to the public. We’ve been told someone made a film of Maxwell performing magic during the summer solstice, up on Sunrise Mountain. A hand-made video with unusual content,” Cheri said.

“Good heavens. I haven’t heard anything about something like that. Would it hurt Edmund?”

“We don’t know. We’ll need to take these cancelled checks back to our office. We’ll return them later. Is that okay?”

Mrs. Schwartz smiled, leaned down and picked up Teddy again. “Anything to help Edmund,” she said. “I just know he couldn’t have killed Maxwell.”

* * *

“What d’you think, Pizza?” Cheri asked as she turned the Explorer north towards the office.

“About what?”

“About Mrs. Schwartz’ involvement in all this. About Edmund Meiner’s supposed embezzlement. About what’s going on at Maxwell’s house. About everything.”

“I think you hit the nail on the head with Trudy Schwartz. She’s been in love with Meiner for a long time and was jealous of his loyalty to Maxwell, angered by the way Maxwell treated him. I think she really thinks she’s helping him by exposing his embezzlement.”

“Let’s get those records,” Cheri said.