Murder by Magic

by Paul Tomlinson

  Vickery looked at him and saw in his face that Toby felt like he’d wished the dead man ill, and now felt guilty. “That’s perfectly understandable, Toby,” he said. “We all know how things can get backstage.”

  “You don’t think he killed himself because Marlene was leaving him?” Toby asked.

  “I don’t have enough information to form an opinion on what might have happened here,” Vickery said. “To be able to answer your question, I will need to ask some of my own.”

  “Is there anything more I can do?” Toby asked.

  “I’d like to look at his dressing room. And if you’ve no objection, I’ll show Jamie around the theatre.”

  “Do what you need to do,” Toby said. “I’ll leave you two to it. Just holler if there’s anything you need.”

  “We will, thank you.”

  Toby left them.

  “Dressing room first?” Malloy asked.

  Vickery nodded. He led the way.

  Chapter Six

  The door to Charlie’s dressing room was locked, but the key was in the lock. They let themselves in. Vickery turned on the light and glanced around. “Have a look at the costume rack and see what you can find,” he said. He turned his attention to the dressing table. The top of it was thickly dusted with powder, and various stained jars of rouge, lip paint, eye make-up and facial creams were scattered there, some with their lids missing. The waxy smell of the make-up hung in the air. Vickery pulled open the drawers, but they were all empty and smelled of mothballs.

  “Anything?” Malloy asked as Vickery joined him by the costume rail.

  Vickery shook his head. “This is only his room for a week or so – there’s nothing personal here. All of this would have been packed up in a few days and he would have moved on. What did you find?”

  “The red costume and the blue costume,” Malloy said. “There are two blue robes and one red one.”

  “He was wearing the second red one when he was killed,” Vickery said.

  “Why duplicate costumes?”

  “Magician’s secret,” Vickery said. “Often an illusionist will have an accomplice who dresses identically – that way he can be in two places at the same time.”

  “The escape from the box,” Malloy said. “Constable Colman told us the theatre people expected to find the assistant locked in the box because Charlie was supposed to appear at the back of the theatre.”

  “Have a look at the two blue costumes, see if there are any differences between them,” Vickery said.

  Malloy lifted the two robes off the rail and held them up side by side. Large yellow shapes, crescent moons and five-pointed stars, were sewn all over them both.  “They’re exactly the same as far as I can see. Same length, same width, and same weight.”

  “Then we know his assistant was the same height and build as Charlie.”

  “You’d expect that, wouldn’t you?” Malloy asked.

  “It depends on the trick. Sometimes you want to use someone who looks the same from a distance, but who is much smaller and lighter.”

  “Is all magic cheating?”

  “It is all illusion,” Vickery said. “Except for the real magic, of course. What differences are there between the blue costumes and the red?”

  Malloy hung the blue robes back on the rail and took down the red one. It too had large yellow moon and star shapes sewn on it.  “It is much heavier. Thicker fabric, like velvet, and there’s all this ornate embroidery on the cuffs that makes them quite stiff.”

  “If you were going to lock yourself in a box and then escape from it, which of the two costumes would you wear?” Vickery asked.

  “The blue,” Malloy said instantly, “it is less bulky, easier to move around in.”

  “Why, then, did Charlie choose the robe that made escape more difficult?”

  “Perhaps because he didn’t plan to escape that night,” Malloy said, “or knew he wouldn’t.” He hung the red robe back on the rail.

  “That’s odd,” Vickery said.

  “What is?”

  “A red hat and a blue hat.”

  “One for each costume,” Malloy said. “Except... there should be two blue hats.” He looked around the room, but there was no sign of the missing hat. He shrugged.

  “Let’s go down and have a look at the trap room,” Vickery said.

  “Tap room?”

  “Trap,” Vickery said, rolling the ‘r’. “It’s the area under the stage.

  Malloy expected to see a small, dark, and dirty space that they would have to crawl into, but instead found a large, well-swept area that he could easily stand up in. They reached it via a spiral staircase, but Vickery said there was also a freight lift on the far side. There was electric lighting down there too, so only the farthest corners were in shadow. The ceiling above them was the floor of the stage, supported by dozens of upright timbers. Vickery pointed out a couple of the trap doors in the stage – a small ‘cauldron’ trap, through which things could be passed up onto the stage; and the morbidly-named ‘grave trap’ that could be lowered to create a hole in the stage that was the size and shape of a grave.

  “Think of the gravediggers in Hamlet,” Vickery said.

  There was another trap that particularly drew Vickery’s attention, which he said was a ‘drop and slide’ trap. The door at stage level would move downwards slightly and move off to one side, he said. Directly beneath it was a large steel framework that included a stack of what looked like large lead bricks suspended on wires – these were obviously counter-weights of some kind.

  “If you stand on this platform and release the lever, the mechanism will send you upwards. You pass through the opening and appear on the stage.”

  “As if by magic,” Malloy said.

  “A number of illusions make use of this mechanism,” Vickery said, “including Charlie’s Chinese Box.”

  “But not on the night he was killed,” Malloy said. “The trap door was never opened – he got in the box and then he was shot.”

  “That is what our friend the constable believes he saw,” Vickery said, “because that is what someone wants us to believe.”

  Malloy looked at the trapdoor and its underlying mechanism again, thinking over the possibilities it offered. “Could he have got into the box from down here?”

  Vickery nodded. “There is a false bottom in the box. It goes up on the platform and then locks in place to form the base. Then the box is lifted from the stage. The platform itself fills the hole in the stage – it is painted to match – so no one knows it is there.”

  “Charlie would climb into the box and disappear down through the same hole,” Malloy said.

  “He’d be down here before the chains had even been padlocked in place, supposedly sealing him in,” Vickery said. “He would normally place the rooster on the platform and send that up – to be revealed when the sides of the box fell away.”

  “You’ve seen his act?”

  “Several times.”

  “Do you know how all of his tr – illusions work?”

  “There’s often more than one way to achieve the same effect,” Vickery said.

  “On that last night, someone – the murderer – sent Charlie’s body up, instead of the rooster,” Malloy said.

  “I haven’t ruled out the possibility of suicide yet,” Vickery said.

  “Haven’t you?” Malloy asked. “I’m sure you don’t believe Charlie McNair killed himself in that sealed box.”

  Vickery smiled. “It seems unlikely.”

  “The sides of the box didn’t open that night,” Malloy said. “Do you think the killer believed they would – revealing his body to the world?”

  “It would have been more dramatic, wouldn’t it?” Vickery said. “There’s a hidden lever that must be slid open to allow that to happen. It wasn’t used on the night – whether that was by accident or design, I don’t yet know.”

  “Charlie got into the box on stage,” Malloy said, “he opened the trapdoor in the
bottom of the box and came down here. He was shot, placed on the lift platform and sent back up into the box.”

  “That is certainly one possibility.”

  “Or Charlie opened the trapdoor up there, and the murderer was directly under the stage,” Malloy said. “He shot Charlie and then closed the trapdoor again.”

  “But in either of those cases, wouldn’t the audience have heard the gunshot?” Vickery asked.

  “Do you think we should search down here for the missing gun?” Malloy asked.

  Vickery shook his head. “We won’t find it – it wasn’t fired down here.”

  “How do you know?”

  “If Charlie was murdered, then he was shot upstairs – almost certainly in his dressing room.”

  There were two other traps like this one under the stage, a smaller one two feet across, and a larger one almost four feet across – they both had the same framework and system of counterweights under them to raise and lower platforms.

  “Would Charlie have operated the lift mechanism himself?” Malloy asked.

  “He could have done, easily,” Vickery said. “There are stagehands who assist with the mechanics of an illusion – but they would probably have been upstairs operating the ropes and pulleys to raise the Chinese Box into the air. This is only a small theatre.”

  “Then Charlie could have been murdered down here,” Malloy said, “and the killer would have had the place to himself.”

  Vickery looked around the trap room. “Anyone who had been backstage during the act previously would have been aware of this opportunity,” he said.

  “Then our murderer is someone who works here in the theatre?”

  “That would be a reasonable assumption,” Vickery said. “Assuming it is murder.” He reached for the lever and sent the platform shooting upwards at speed. It moved smoothly and almost silently. “Do you want to go back up that way?”

  “I’ll take the stairs, thanks,” Malloy said.

  Back up at stage level, Vickery showed Malloy the backstage area, including the backdrops hanging one in front of another. Then he turned on the lights to reveal the huge space above the stage, filled with hundreds of ropes like ships’ rigging and a complex system of blocks, pulleys, and counterweights. This, Vickery said, was a flying system, which allowed curtains and backdrops to be safely ‘flown’ upwards and then lowered as necessary during a show. Charlie’s Chinese Box would have been hoisted aloft using a part of this system.

  “Did you find anything?” Toby asked when they got back to his office. There was an open bottle of ‘something stronger’ on his desk.

  “I expected to find nothing,” Vickery said, “and I wasn’t disappointed.”

  Toby frowned. “Is that good or bad?”

  “There’s nothing good where murder is concerned, Toby.”

  “Is this what you do now?” Toby asked. “Going around solving crimes when the police can’t do the job?”

  “It’s not what I do,” Vickery said, “but I keep finding myself doing it.”

  “Do you have a garden?” Toby asked.

  Vickery was caught off-guard by the question. “I’m retired, Toby – that doesn’t mean I have nothing to do with my time.”

  “Then you don’t have space for a chicken coop?” Toby asked.

  “No.”

  “Pity,” Toby said. “We need someone to look after Eric. Just for a while.”

  “Who’s Eric?” Malloy asked.

  Toby led them through to the staff kitchen area. There was a large cage near the window. Charlie’s rooster was standing in it, looking morose.

  “I know what you’re tempted to say, Jamie – please don’t,” Vickery said.

  “I don’t think I’ve ever seen such a big c...”

  “Jamie!”

  “... cage for a chicken,” Malloy said.

  “No one wants to take him home,” Toby said.

  “You’d never get it in the oven,” Malloy said.

  The rooster made a noise deep in its throat, tilted its head and gave Malloy the evil eye.

  “You could enter it in a cock-fight,” Malloy said.

  “It’s too docile for that,” Toby said. “He was Charlie’s pet.”

  “Did Charlie spend a lot of time stroking his...”

  “Jamie!”

  They walked back towards Toby’s office.

  “It’s so quiet,” Malloy said. “Not at all how I imagined it.”

  “Theatres aren’t normally like this,” Toby said. “We sent everyone home, until...” He shrugged. “You don’t fancy a two-week run here, do you?” Toby asked. “I can’t pay what you used to get, but you wouldn’t be out of pocket...”

  Vickery smiled and shook his head. “I’m not ready for that,” he said. “And I’m not sure I ever will be. That was another life.”

  “I would never give it up. When we stopped doing the act, I ended up doing this,” he waved his arm to take in the office, or maybe the whole theatre. “I could never do a real job.”

  “You have good memories of the theatre, Toby. I have only bad ones.”

  Toby nodded slowly and reached for his glass, raised it in salute. “To Terry,” he said.

  “And to Charlie,” Vickery said.

  “If ever you did want to play to an audience again, you could do it here,” Toby said. “Start small, see how you feel about it.”

  “We’ll let ourselves out,” Vickery said.

  “You take care of yourself, Ben,” Toby said, and he nodded towards Malloy as they turned to go.

  “Where to now?” Malloy asked.

  “Time for us to pay our respects to the widow,” Vickery said.

  They opened the door and stepped out into the daylight.

  “Did you have a cloak with stars and moons on?” Malloy asked.

  “I did not.”

   

   

  Chapter Seven

  “I wish I’d known you were coming,” Marlene said, trying to fluff up her hair as she showed them through to the sitting room. “I thought it was another telegram arriving.”

  Marlene McNair was too thin and when she drew on her cigarette her cheeks were even more sunken. Her hair was a brassy sort of blonde with grey roots. She was an attractive woman, Malloy thought, but not in the way she wanted to be. She wore a black sleeveless dress with a long filmy gown over it in plum-coloured silk. Her mules clacked on the floor and slapped against her feet as she walked.

  “Forgive the mess,” she said, “but you know what it’s like when you’re lodging – you never really unpack.”

  There were half-a-dozen bouquets around the room, most in vases, but one still lying on the side table in the cellophane. The curtains were half-drawn, and the air was hazy with cigarette smoke and the smell of perfume and gin. Marlene cleared a handful of telegrams off the old sofa and invited them to sit.

  “I could get you something to drink...” she said.

  “Thank you, but we just had morning tea with Toby Grange,” Vickery said.

  Marlene laughed. “I bet you did.” She sat down and crossed her legs. “It’s good to see you, Ben. Thank you for coming.”

  “I’m so sorry about Charlie,” Vickery said.

  Marlene nodded. “Who’s your new friend?”

  Malloy felt her eyes all over him and smiled. “Jamie Malloy,” he said, “I work with Mr. Vickery.”

  She drew on her cigarette and looked at him with hooded eyes. “You’re no more Irish than I am,” she said.

  “None of us are ever what we seem, Marlene,” Vickery said.

  That made her smile. “Ain’t that the truth? We’ll just pretend you two are not working for the police, shall we?”

  “I’m not working for them,” Vickery said.

  “God forbid!” Malloy said, with a fake shudder.

  “We are just seeing if we can spot anything they have missed,” Vickery said.

  Marlene laughed. “That shouldn’t be difficult. I don’t think that dete
ctive could find his own arse in the dark.” She drew on her cigarette again, her eyes on Malloy all the time. “You two are going to find out who killed my Charlie, are you? Well, good luck to you.”

  “Did your husband have any enemies, Mrs. McNair?” Malloy asked, shifting uncomfortably under her gaze.

  “Call me Marlene,” she said. “And you can say ‘Marleen,’ you don’t have to try and be posh like lord fancy-pants there.” She waved her cigarette towards Vickery.

  “Did he?” Malloy asked.

  “Enemies? No, I don’t think so. Do people really have enemies? Charlie was an entertainer, on stage and off. People liked him. He wasn’t one of those people who smiled when he was in front of an audience and scowled when he wasn’t.”

  “He had professional rivals, of course,” Vickery said.

  Marlene glanced at him and her brow creased. “Well, yes, I suppose he did. Everyone does, don’t they? Especially magicians.”

  Vickery nodded.

  “Who would you say was his greatest rival?” Malloy asked.

  “Oh, I don’t really know,” she said. “It’s not like Charlie was challenging anyone for top of the bill at the Palladium, is it? Not these days.”

  “Are there any old rivals who might still hold a grudge?” Malloy asked.

  He saw her eyes dart accusingly towards Vickery, and then she touched her throat with her fingers, massaging the skin under her jaw.

  “Men only make enemies when they’re successful, don’t they? Charlie never made it to the top – not like Benjamin.” She smiled sweetly at Vickery. “I’m sure a man like you must have upset a few jealous rivals over the years.”

  Malloy caught Vickery’s eye and winked. Vickery pretended not to see.

  “Did you watch your husband’s act on the night he was killed?” Vickery asked.

  “I watch him most evenings,” she said. “I don’t always stay for the whole thing, as I’m sure others have already told you. I can usually tell pretty quickly if it will be a good show or not. If it’s a good one, I’ll stay. There were less good ones recently.” She looked at Malloy and shrugged.

  “Why do you think that was?” Vickery asked.

  Marlene’s head snapped around, drawing back at the same time, like a cobra about to strike. “I’m sure I don’t know,” she said. She stubbed her cigarette out in a moulded glass ashtray and then leaned back, relaxing again. “Everyone goes through rough patches, don’t they?”