Murder by Magic

by Paul Tomlinson

  “I’m sure it will be perfectly safe,” Malloy said. “Vickery knows what he’s doing.”

  “You’d better hope that what he’s doing isn’t killing you,” Bettie said. “I’ve warned you, and I’ve nothing more to say.”

  “I’m touched by your concern, really,” Malloy said.

  “I’m not worried about you – I just don’t want him to have to bury another one. I’m sure you can see yourself upstairs, I’ve things to do.”

  Vickery drove, taking them out of town and out to an old Victorian warehouse near the docks. From a distance, it looked as old and dirty as everything around it. But as they got closer, Malloy could see that the place was in good repair: all of the windows were intact, part of the roof had been replaced, and there were new padlocks on all of the doors.

  The Alvis drew to a stop in front of the large double doors that were painted a pale greenish colour, and had the ghosts of letters on them: Malloy couldn’t make out what it had once said.

  “I didn’t think I’d ever come back here,” Vickery said. “Everything was just packed up in here because I didn’t want to deal with it. And some of it was evidence, of course.”

  “You kept the apparatus that... that...”

  “That killed Terry? Yes, it’s in there. The police had it for some time, wouldn’t allow it to be destroyed. And then when they were done with it, I had it put in here with the rest. I thought I might examine it one day, see if I could work out who had tampered with it. But...” Vickery shrugged.

  “We don’t have to do this,” Malloy said.

  Vickery looked at him and smiled. “I know. But I feel I should. Some fears have to be faced, don’t they?” He opened the car door. “I’m glad you’re here with me.”

  One of the large warehouse doors had a smaller door set into it. It was fastened with a big grey padlock threaded through a rusty hasp and staple. Vickery stared at the lock and then held up the key. Malloy took it from his gloved hand.

  “We should have brought a torch,” Malloy said.

  “There is electric lighting,” Vickery said. “I have someone who maintains the place for me.”

  “What if he’s sold off all your valuable tricks and the place is empty?”

  “Then we won’t be here long,” Vickery said.

  Malloy unlocked the door, opened it, and then stepped back.

  “There’s nothing to be afraid of, Jamie.”

  “I don’t like rats,” Malloy said.

  “The magic keeps them away,” Vickery said and stepped through into the darkness.

  Malloy hesitated a moment longer, then followed.

  Loud clicks echoed in the warehouse as switches were thrown to turn on the overhead lights. Row by row, weak cones of yellowish light illuminated the contents. There was an open area where larger pieces of apparatus sat under sheets and tarpaulins on the cracked and stained concrete floor. Over to the right, rows of shelving, made from bolted-together pieces of angled steel painted a dark industrial green, held wooden crates and pasteboard boxes.

  “Thirty years of my life are locked up in here,” Vickery said. “Somewhere, in one of those crates, is the magic set my grandfather gave me. That started it all. And this is the last trick I ever performed.”

  Vickery stood beside a piece of equipment that looked like a framework of black metal cubes in the shape of a crucifix. It was the item closest to the door, and there were scratches in the concrete where it had been dragged inside.

  “We called it ‘Jack-in-a-Box.’ It was more impressive with the painted cladding over it. They had to cut that away – to get Terry out of it.” His voice was curiously emotionless.

  Malloy looked up at the arrangement of empty cubes, pulleys and gears. In the dim light, it looked threatening. Malevolent. “What does it do?”

  “Turn that wheel on the side, and the boxes all fold in on one another, like a Japanese paper sculpture, until they form a single cube that is too small to contain a person.”

  “And Terry stood inside it?” Malloy asked.

  “For the first minute or so – he was out of it before it folded completely, of course. Slipped out without the audience knowing he was gone.”

  Malloy stood looking at the black framework, imagining a man standing inside it, arms outstretched into a T, and knowing what had happened to that man.

  “Terry could imagine something like this,” Vickery said. “He’d sketch it on paper, trying to show me what he saw in his head. There were times when I couldn’t see how what he was describing could ever work – but he’d go away and oversee the construction, and I’d trust him to get on with it.”

  “And he’d trust you to perform it,” Malloy said.

  Vickery nodded. “It was my job to present it to the audience – to hide the mechanics of it all, and misdirect their attention so they wouldn’t see the ‘cheats’ we employed.”

  “Does it spoil magic for you, knowing how the tricks are done?” Malloy asked.

  “I can still appreciate a good illusion – but I look at it in a different way, I suppose. An artist can look at a painting, and know how the colours were mixed and the effects achieved, but he can still appreciate it. But I’m no longer fooled by the ‘magic’.”

  “Have you decided what you’re going to take to the Palais?”

  “I think we should select a handful of pieces and try them out, then decide which ones we’ll use on stage. I brought some ribbons to tag the things we want to be taken to the house.”

  Malloy went over and drew the sheet off a coffin-like piece of apparatus. He pulled up one of the large cleaver-like blades. “Do you want to saw me in half?”

  “I hope you won’t be offended when I say this,” Vickery said, “but you’re a little on the large side for that trick. The equipment is designed to hold two slim, and very supple, young ladies.”

  “Two?”

  “One with a pretty upper half, and one with beautiful legs,” Vickery said.

  Malloy lifted one half of the lid of the box. “That’s how it’s done? I’d never fit in there.”

  “There’s another trick we could do, where I put you in a box and then stick swords into it.”

  “I’d slip out unseen before the blades went in?”

  “Ideally, yes.”

  “We could try that one,” Malloy said, “put a ribbon on it. Could you make me disappear as well?”

  “There are a couple of variations on that here somewhere...”

  “Is it done with mirrors?” Malloy asked.

  Vickery smiled. “It can be.”

  “I suppose we’ll need to buy new rabbits,” Malloy said, looking around.

  “Rabbits?”

  “To pull out of your top hat.”

  “I don’t have a top hat.”

  “That explains the lack of hutches,” Malloy said.

  “I’ve always thought white rabbits to be too much of a cliché. And doves. Also, they tend to defecate at inopportune moments.”

  “I promise not to do that,” Malloy said, “unless you really scare me.”

  “Scare you?”

  “Betty thinks you might kill me on stage in one of these tricks.”

  “She really wants to be rid of you, doesn’t she?” Vickery asked.

  “I think she was trying to frighten me off.”

  “Did she succeed?”

  Malloy climbed up into the T-shaped frame of the Jack-in-a-Box and stretched out his arms. “I trust you.”

  Vickery’s discomfort was plain on his face. “I really wouldn’t stand in there, if I were you. Someone tampered with the mechanism – it broke Terry’s neck.”

  Malloy scrambled out of the apparatus – and the moment he was clear of it, the box where his head had been snapped violently backwards.

  “Terry’s ghost?” Malloy asked, face pale.

  “I think he likes you,” Vickery said.

  “What?”

  “You’ve still got your head, haven’t you?” Vickery chuckled.
>
  Unaware he was doing it, Malloy massaged his throat.

  “There’s no such thing as ghosts, Jamie. I’ve exposed a few fake ones in my time, but never seen a real one.” He placed the palm of his hand on the black metal frame as if trying to commune with the spirits. “Nothing here but dust and the smell of oil.” He stepped away from the frame and moved further into the warehouse. “Let’s tie these ribbons on the things we want. There are also a couple of smaller boxes we can take with us in the car.”

  Malloy looked up at the Jack-in-a-Box and shivered. Then he set off after Vickery. “I don’t have to wear a sequinned leotard, do I?” he asked.

  “Not unless you really want to.”

  Chapter Fifteen

  “There’s another disreputable gentleman downstairs,” Betty said.

  “Why did you look at me when you said that?” Malloy asked.

  “I didn’t,” Betty lied. “He says he’s been asked to call.”

  “It’s probably Georgie Drake,” Vickery said, “I sent him a telegram.”

  “Does he look like Bill Sykes?” Malloy asked.

  “I don’t know,” Betty said, “I’ve never met Bill Sykes – whoever he is.”

  “He’s a friend of Fagin’s,” Malloy said.

  Betty leaned forward and peered at him. “You can’t be drunk, not this early in the day.”

  “Show our visitor up, please, Betty,” Vickery said. He turned to Malloy when she’d gone out. “I wish you wouldn’t do that.”

  “Do what?”

  “Provoke her.”

  “She implied that I was disreputable,” Malloy said.

  “Jamie, you are disreputable.”

  “I know that. But I don’t think it’s right for them below stairs to say so.” He looked up suddenly as Betty cleared her throat: she was standing in the doorway glaring at him.

  “Mr. Drake,” she announced and ushered him in. “If anyone wants me, I shall be below stairs, knowing my place.” She banged the door shut behind her.

  “Georgie, how are you?” Vickery said, getting up to shake hands.

  “I’m very well, thank you for asking. Yourself?”

  “I’d like you to meet Jamie Malloy, my new partner.”

  Drake and Malloy shook hands, and then all three men took their seats.

  “I heard you’d been tempted again,” Drake said.

  “Tempted?” Vickery said.

  “Back into the theatre.”

  “It’s for one weekend only,” Vickery said.

  “I’ll have to get Toby to slip me a ticket,” Drake said. “Wouldn’t want to miss it.”

  “Thank you for stopping by,” Vickery said, “I do appreciate it.”

  “Your message said to come at my earliest convenience, so here I am. Truth be told, I was expecting to hear from you. I heard Inspector Grives had to come crawling and begging for your help. Wish I’d been a fly on the wall for that one.”

  “They didn’t come to blows, but it was close,” Malloy said.

  “I don’t doubt,” Drake said. “Now, how can I be of help to you, gentlemen? It’s not a detective you're looking for, I know that much.”

  “You are a consulting detective?” Malloy asked.

  Drake bowed his head. “At your service. Mr. Vickery and I have helped each other out in the past, haven’t we?”

  “I know that I can rely on you, Georgie, if ever I need to,” Vickery said tactfully. “We were told that you were engaged by someone at the Palais.”

  “Me, engaged? I’m not the marryin’ type, Mr. Vickery.”

  “He means you were working for someone,” Malloy said.

  “A course he does. Just my little joke. I’m afraid your informant has misinformed you – I have no connection with anyone at the Palais.”

  “If that is true, why were you expecting me to contact you in relation to Charlie’s murder?”

  Knowing he’d been caught out, Drake looked at Malloy and grinned. The broad front teeth reminded Malloy of a gorilla he’d seen once at London Zoo.

  “He’s good, isn’t he?” Drake asked, nodding towards Vickery. “A regular Sherlock Holmes. I remember this one time we was trying to get the goods on a blackmailer, and Mr. Vickery managed to locate the villain’s lair just by looking at his discarded overcoat.” He poked his tongue between his teeth and nodded twice towards Vickery, raising his eyebrows.

  “There was a tram ticket in the pocket,” Vickery told Malloy.

  Drake’s face fell. “You never told me that!”

  “I didn’t? How remiss of me. You were about to tell us the name of your client,” Vickery said.

  “She’s only...” Then Drake caught himself and grinned. “I can’t tell you that, of course. I could never reveal the identity of one of my clients.”

  “Then tell us what Marlene McNair asked you to investigate,” Vickery said.

  “If you know so blasted much, why don’t you tell us what she hired me to do?” Drake crossed his arms and sulked.

  “Marlene thought her husband was secretly seeing another woman,” Vickery said.

  “You’re guessing,” Drake challenged.

  “It’s either that or a lost cat,” Malloy said.

  “I don’t do lost cats,” Drake said firmly.

  “Were you at the theatre on the night of the murder?” Vickery asked.

  Drake stared at him. “I don’t have to answer your questions,” he said.

  “I am aware of that, Georgie. Perhaps you would feel more comfortable if Inspector Grives were to call on you. Over the years, I’m sure you and he have developed a mutual professional respect.”

  Vickery was well aware of Grives’ loathing for private detectives, and so was Drake.

  Drake sighed. “What do you want to know?”

  “What were you doing on the night Charlie McNair was murdered?” Malloy asked.

  “I was on my way to the theatre,” Drake said.

  “The Palais?” Vickery asked.

  “The scene of the crime, yes,” Drake said.

  “You intended to watch the performance?” Vickery asked.

  Drake thought before answering. “I was there to meet one of my clients.”

  “Marlene McNair,” Malloy said.

  Drake scowled at him. “Yes.”

  “Were you in the theatre when the murder was committed?” Vickery asked.

  “I don’t know,” Drake said, “when did it take place?”

  “You arrived before the performance began?” Vickery asked.

  Drake shook his head. “I was late. I arrived just after the interval. The audience was all seated again.”

  “When you arrived at the theatre, was Marlene waiting for you?” Vickery asked.

  Drake nodded. “Pacing up and down in the lobby. She doesn’t like being kept waiting – she made that very clear. I was only twenty minutes late.”

  “Twenty minutes? You’re sure of that?” Vickery asked.

  “Oh, yes. ‘Twenty minutes I’ve been standing here. When I am paying for someone’s services, I do not expect to be kept waiting.’ She said that.”

  “Embarrassing,” Malloy said.

  “Not half,” Drake said, “the girl in the ticket office turned pale and hid herself.”

  “Why were you late for the meeting?” Vickery asked.

  Drake shifted uncomfortably. “Someone stole the wheel off my bike, so I had to walk.”

  “Your bike?” Vickery said, trying not to smile.

  “We don’t all get to ride around in limousines, you know!” Drake said.

  “The Alvis is hardly a limousine, Georgie,” Vickery said. “When you arrived at the theatre, was Charlie McNair already on stage?”

  “Yes. I could hear that Chinese flute music they play, and the audience was almost silent.”

  “And the purpose of your meeting?” Vickery asked.

  “Purpose?”

  “Why were you there?”

  “Marlene asked me to go,” Drake said, “just to
give her an update on my investigation.”

  “Did you have something significant to reveal to her?” Vickery asked.

  “Not really – it was just more of the same.”

  “The two of you remained in the lobby of the theatre?”

  “Yes. There was no one else there.”

  “Except the ticket-seller?” Vickery asked.

  “She saw me enter, and she saw us talking together,” Drake said, “if you’re looking to check up on what I’m telling you.”

  “Why would I have reason to doubt you?” Vickery said. “Were you with Marlene when you heard the sound of a gunshot coming from the auditorium?”

  “We were together, yes. The sound made us turn and look, but you have to remember that the doors were closed. The sound wasn’t that loud.”

  “Like a champagne cork popping?” Vickery asked.

  “I don’t know – probably.”

  “What was Marlene’s reaction when she heard the sound?” Vickery asked.

  “Like I said, we both looked round. I think she said, ‘What was that?’ – in fact, I’m sure she did.”

  “Did she seem nervous? Agitated?”

  Drake shook his head. “No more than usual. Women are more highly strung, aren’t they? She didn’t seem any different than before.”

  “At what point did you realise something was wrong?” Malloy asked.

  “There was a scream,” Drake said. “Someone in the audience, I suppose. And then there was a lot of talking from people – it was quite loud when the door to the auditorium opened.”

  “Who was it that opened the door?” Vickery asked.

  “One of the ushers – he wanted to know where the manager was. Marlene said he was backstage.”

  “Apart from the usher, did anyone else leave the auditorium while you were there?”

  “No. But we didn’t stand there long. Marlene and me both went into the auditorium. Then the lights came on and lots of people moved towards the exit.”

  “Did you notice anything else that night – anything that struck you as unusual or out of place?” Vickery asked.

  “Nothing,” Drake said.

  “Of course you didn’t,” Vickery muttered. “You said you were there to update Marlene McNair on your investigation into Charlie’s alleged illicit romance – had you been able to confirm her suspicions?”