with this guy."
"You saw Mr. Balzac," she said to Sachs.
In nomine patTi...
"You know, Line," Sellitto said uneasily, "better not to have too many civilians on a case. There are regs on that."
"Didn't you use a psychic one time?" Rhyme asked dryly.
"I didn't fucking hire her. Somebody at HQ did."
"And then you had the dog tracker and-"
"You keep saying 'you.' No, I don't hire civilians. Except you. Which gets me into enough shit." "Ah, you can never get into enough shit in police work, Lon." He
glanced at Kara. "Please. It's very important." The young woman hesitated. "You really think he's going to kill someone
else?"
"Yes," he replied, "we do."
The girl finally nodded. "If I'm going to get fired, at least it'll be for a
good cause." Then she laughed. "You know, Robert-Houdin did the same thing."
"Who's that?"
"A famous French illusionist and magician. He helped out the police
too, well, the French army. Sometime, I don't know, in the 1800s, there were these Algerian extremists, the Marabouts. They were trying to get local tribes to rise up against the French and they kept saying they had magic powers. The French government sent him to Algeria to have a sort of magical duel. To show the tribes that the French had better magic-you know, more power. It worked. Robert-Houdin had tighter tricks than the Marabouts." Then she frowned. "Though I think they almost killed him."
"Don't worry," Sachs reassured her. 'Tll make sure that doesn't happen
to you." Then Kara looked over the evidence chart. "You do this in all your cases?
Write down all the clues and things you've learned?"
"That's right," Sachs confirmed.
"Here's an idea-most magicians specialize. Like the Conjurer doing
both quick-change and large-scale illusion? That's unusual. Let's write down his techniques. That might help narrow down the number of suspects. "
"Yeah," Sellitto said, "a proille. Good."
The young woman grimaced. "And I'll have to find somebody to replace
me at the shop. Mr. Balzac was going to be out of the store with that friend of his.... Oh, man, he's not going to like this." She looked around the room. "There a phone I can use? You know, one of those special ones?"
"Special one?" Thorn asked.
"Yeah, in private. So there's nobody around to hear you lie to your boss." "Oh, those phones," the aide said, putting his arm around her shoulders and directing her toward the doorway. "The one I use for that's in the hall."
THE CONJURER
Music School Crime Scene
Profile as lUusionist
. Perp's description: Brown hair, fake beard, no distinguishing, medium build, medium height, age: fifties. Ring and little fingers of left hand fused together. Changed costume quickly to resemble old, bald janitor.
. No apparent motive.
. Victim: Svetlana Rasnikov.
. Full-time music student.
. Checking family, friends, students, coworkers for possible leads.
. No boyfriends, no known enemies. Performed at children's birthday parties.
. Circuit board with speaker attached.
. Sent to FBI lab, NVc.
. Digital recorder, probably
containing perp's voice.
All data destroyed.
. Voice recorder is a
"gimmick." Homemade.. Used antique iron handcuffs to restrain victim.
. Handcuffs are Darby irons. Scotland Yard. Checking with Houdini Museum in New Orleans for leads.
. Destroyed victim's watch at exactly 8:00 A.M.
. Cotton string holding chairs.
Generic. Too many sources to
trace.
. Squib for gunshot effect. Destroyed.
. Too many sources to trace.
. Fuse. Generic.. Too many sources to trace.
. Responding officers reported flash in air. No trace material recovered.
. Was from flash cotton or flash paper.
. Too many sources to
trace.
. Perp's shoes: size 10 Ecco.
. Silk fibers, dyed gray, processed to a matte finish.. From quick-change janitor's outfit.
. Unsub is possibly wearing brown wig.
. Red pignut hickory and Parmelia conspersa lichen, both found primarily in Central Park.
. Dirt impregnated with unusual mineral oil. Sent to FBI for analysis.
. Black silk, 72 x 48". Used as camouflage. Not traceable.
. Illusionists use this
frequently.
. Wears caps to cover up prints.. Magician's finger cups.
. Traces of latex, castor oil, makeup.
. Theatrical makeup.
. Traces of alginate.. Used in molding latex
"appliances."
. Murder weapon: white silk-knit rope with black silk core.
. Rope is a magic trick. Color
changing. Not traceable.
. Unusual knot.. Sent to FBI and Maritime
Museum-no information.
. Knots are from Houdini
routines, virtually
impossible to untie.
. Used disappearing ink on signin register.
. Perp will use misdirection against victims and in eluding police.
. Physical misdirection (for distraction).
. Psychological (to eliminate suspicion).
. Escape at music school was
similar to Vanished Man illusion routine. Too common to trace.
. Perp is primarily an illusionist.. Talented at sleight of hand.. Also knows protean (quick change) magic. Will use breakaway clothes, nylon and silk, bald cap, finger cups and other latex appliances. Could be any age, gender or race.
Chapter Nine
They sensed many smells as they walked: blooming lilacs, smoke from the pretzel vendors' carts and families barbecuing chicken and ribs, suntan lotion.
Sachs and Kara were making their way to the huge white tent of the
Cirque Fantastique through the damp grass of Central Park. Noticing two lovers kissing on a bench, Kara asked, "So, he's more than
your boss?"
"Lincoln? That's right."
"I could tell.... How'd you meet?"
"A case. Serial kidnapper. A few years ago."
"Is it hard, him being that way?"
"No, it's not," Sachs replied simply, which was the complete truth. "Can they do anything for him, the doctors?"
"There's some surgery he's been thinking about. It's risky, though, and it
probably wouldn't do any good. He decided not to last year and hasn't mentioned it since. So the whole thing's been on hold for a while. He may change his mind at some point. But we'll see."
"You don't sound like you're in favor of it." 'Tm not. A lot of risk and not much gain. To me, it's a question of balancing risks. Let's say you want to bust a perp real bad, lots of paper on him, okay? Warrants, I mean. You know he's in a particular apartment. Well, do you go ahead and kick the door in even when you don't know if he's asleep
or if he and his buddies have two MP5s pointed at the door? Or do you wait for backup and take the chance that he'll get away? Sometimes the risk is worth it, sometimes it's not. But ifhe wants to go ahead with the surgery I'm with him. That's the way we work."
Then Sachs explained that he'd been undergoing treatments that involved electronic stimulation of his muscles and a series of exercises that Thom and some physical therapists had been administering-the same exercises that the actor Christopher Reeve had been doing, with remarkable results. "Reeve's an amazing man," Sachs said. "Incredible determination. Lincoln's the same. He doesn't talk about it much but sometimes he just disappears and has Thom and the PTs work on his exercises. I don't hear from him for a few days."
"Another sort of vanished man, hm?" the young woman asked. "Exactly," Sachs replied, smiling. They were silent for a moment and she wondered if Kara expected more about their relationship. Stories of perseverance over the obvious obstacles, some hint about the knobby details of life as a quad. People's reactions when they were out in public. Or even some hint about the nature of the intimacies. But if she was curious she didn't pursue it.
In fact, Sachs detected mostly envy. Kara continued, "I haven't had
much luck lately in the man department."
"Not seeing anybody?"
'Tm not sure," Kara replied pensively. "Our last contact was French toast and mimosas. My place. Brunch in bed. Way romantic. He said he'd call me the next day." "And no call."
"No call. Oh, and maybe I should add that the aforementioned brunch
was three weeks ago."
"Have you called him?"
"I wouldn't do that," she said firmly. "It's in his court."
"Good for you." Pride and power were born joined at the hip, Sachs knew.
Kara laughed. "There's an old routine a magician named William Ellsworth Robinson did. It was way popular. It was called How to Get Rid of a Wife, or The Divorce Machine." A laugh. "That's my story. I can vanish boyfriends faster than anybody."
'Well, they're also pretty good at vanishing themselves, you know," Sachs offered.
"Most of the guys I'd meet working at myoId job, the magazine, or the store're interested in two things. A one-night romp in the hay. Or else the opposite-wooing then settling down in the 'burbs.... You ever get wooed?"
"Sure," Sachs said. "It can be creepy. Depending on the wooer, of course."
"You got it, sister. So hay-romping or wooing and 'burb-settling... they're both a problem for me. I don't want either. Well, a romp now and then. Let's be realistic."
"What about men in the business?"
"Ah, so you noticed I excluded them from the romp/woo equation.
Other performers... naw, I don't go there. Too many conflicts of interest. They also claim they like strong women but the truth is most of them don't want us in the business at all. The ratio of men to women is about a hundred to one. It's better now. Oh, you see some famous women illusionists. Princess Tenko, an Asian illusionist-she's brilliant. And there're a fewothers. But that's recent. Twenty, thirty years ago you never saw a woman as the star, only the assistant." A glance at Sachs. "Kind of like the police, huh?"
"It's not as bad as it used to be. Not my generation. The sixties and seventies-that's when women were breaking the ice. That was the hard time. But I've had my share. I was a portable before I moved to crime scene and-"
"A what?"
"A portable's a beat cop. If we ever worked Hell's Kitchen in Midtown
they'd partner a woman with some experienced male cop. Sometimes I'd have a knuckle-dragger who hated being with a woman. Just hated it. He didn't say a word to me for the entire watch. Eight hours, walking up and down the streets, this guy not saying a word. We'd go ten-sixty-three for lunch and I'd be sitting there trying to be pleasant and he'd be two feet away, reading the sports section and sighing' cause he had to waste his time with a woman." Memories came back to her. "I was working the Seven-five house-"
"The what?"
Sachs explained, "Precinct. We call them 'houses.' And most cops don't say Seventy-fifth. In numbers it's always Seven-five or Seventy-five. Like Macy's is on Three-four Street."
"Okay."
"Anyway, the usual supervisor was off and we had a temporary sergeant
who was old school. So it's one of my first days at the Seven-five and I'm the only woman on this particular watch. 1 go to roll call in the assembly room and there're a dozen Kotex taped to the lectern."
"No!"
"Kid you not. The regular supervisor never would've let anybody get away with that. But cops're like kids in a lot of ways. They push until an adult stops 'em."
"Not what you see in the movies."
"Movies're made in Hollywood. Not in the Seven-five."
"What'd you do? About the pads?"
"I walked up to the front row and asked the cop sitting right in front of the lectern if 1 could have his seat-which is where 1 was going to sit anyway. They were all laughing so hard I'm surprised some of them didn't pee their pants. Well, 1 sat down and just started to take notes about what the sergeant was telling us-you know, outstanding warrants and community relations things and street comers with known drug activity. And about two minutes later, no more laughter. The whole thing became embarrassing. Not for me. For them."
