Murder by Magic

by Paul Tomlinson

  Malloy frowned.

  “We have some difficult questions to ask her,” Vickery said. “I want her to feel comfortable answering them.”

  “I thought for one moment you wanted to get her drunk and take advantage of her,” Malloy said.

  “Marlene is perfectly safe on that count,” Vickery said. “You, on the other hand, should keep your guard up.”

  Malloy grinned and was about to say something inappropriate, but Giancarlo ushered Marlene towards them. The restaurateur was buzzing around her like a demented wasp. He made a great show of pulling out her chair for her and bowing, a grin plastered across his face the whole time. Marlene was trying to seem irritated by the attention, but her smile gave her away.

  “You’d think I was royalty,” she said, putting a tiny clutch-purse on the table.

  “Giancarlo has a soft-spot for blondes,” Malloy said.

  “I doubt it’s soft,” Marlene said. “Italians always seem to have more hands than other men.”

  “We could go somewhere else, if it makes you uncomfortable?” Vickery said.

  “No, I like this place. It smells divine. What’s on the menu?” Marlene asked.

  “We’re having Tortellini all’Arrabbiata,” Malloy said. “It’s not on the menu, and I have no idea what it is. But everything here is incredible.”

  “I hope Giancarlo doesn’t go overboard with the red chillies,” Vickery said.

  “I love spicy food,” Marlene said, “it was one of the best things about working abroad. It was a huge disappointment coming back to stew and dumplings.”

  Giancarlo brought the wine and a platter of bruschetta. He had a pristine white cloth over one arm and fussed around their table far longer than was necessary. He made Marlene sample the wine – telling her it was made in the region where his family had lived for centuries.

  “This is the other thing I love,” Marlene said, helping herself to bruschetta, “eating with your fingers. It makes food so much more fun!”

  The starters were soon finished, and they were all on their second glass of wine.

  “Thank you for this, Ben. I haven’t been out in company for – months, it feels like,” Marlene said.

  “We wanted to ask Danny to come too...” Vickery said.

  “Why didn’t you?” she asked.

  “It would seem he’s otherwise engaged,” Vickery said.

  “Oh. Anyone we know?” Marlene asked.

  “He’s rather coy on that front,” Vickery said.

  “I know – I can never get anything out of him. He told me he had a special someone, but I wasn’t sure if he was making it up,” she said.

  “I wanted to ask him where he got that tie,” Malloy said, “I’ve been looking for one like it.”

  “Tie?” Marlene said.

  “The green silk one?”

  Marlene shook her head. “I’ve never seen him in a green tie. He always wears those awful knitted things – like something from a school uniform. I bought him a nice blue one for Christmas, with little white dots – but I’ve never seen him in that either.”

  The empty platter was taken away and crumbs were wiped from the table top, making way for the biggest dish of pasta any of them had ever seen. Hot dinner plates were placed in front of them, and the little meat-filled rings of pasta piled onto them. Giancarlo kept up a steady commentary, in English and Italian, telling Marlene how the bambini called the past ombelico, because they looked like belly-buttons, and warning her that the sauce he was spooning over the mounds of pasta was picante. He made sure their wine glasses were topped up before he left in search of another bottle.

  “He wasn’t kidding about the sauce,” Marlene said, smiling. “I love this.”

  “Danny’s landlady was telling us that he used to have a moustache,” Malloy said.

  Marlene frowned and shook her head. “He’s never had a moustache in the time we’ve known him. Except on stage, when he’s being the ‘Marvelous Mandarin’,” she said.

  “Danny mentioned that he’d stood in for Charlie once,” Vickery said.

  “More than once,” Marlene said. “He’s done the whole show at least half-a-dozen times.”

  “Is he good at it?” Malloy asked.

  “He could be,” Marlene said. “If he’d do it more often, I’m sure he’d be more confident. That’s his only problem, really – he doesn’t realise how good he is.”

  “From what he said, it doesn’t sound like he enjoys performing in front of an audience,” Malloy said.

  “I know – it’s such a shame,” she said. “In time, I think he could have been brilliant. Charlie wanted him to take over the act, but Danny wouldn’t hear of it.”

  “What will he do now?” Vickery asked.

  Marlene’s face became sad. “You’ll have to ask him that question.”

  They ate quietly for a while. Giancarlo came to check that they were happy and sprinkled grated parmesan over everything in sight.

  “You want I should bring out more pasta?” he asked.

  They all shook their heads: the serving dish in the centre was still half-full.

  “I don’t want to spoil a lovely meal,” Marlene said, “but can I ask you something?”

  “Of course,” Vickery said, setting down his cutlery.

  “Have you found out anything?” she asked. “About why Charlie – why he killed himself?”

  Vickery glanced at Malloy, then dabbed his lips with a napkin. “Marlene, Charlie didn’t kill himself.”

  Marlene stopped eating. “I don’t understand.”

  “Someone killed him,” Vickery said.

  Marlene sat motionless for a few seconds, then reached for her wine glass. Her hand was shaking. “Murdered?” she said.

  Vickery nodded.

  Malloy piled more tortellini on his plate, keeping his eyes on Marlene.

  “Do you know who?” Marlene asked.

  “No, but we will find out,” Vickery said.

  “You knew from the start, didn’t you?” she asked.

  “It seemed unlikely to me that Charlie would take his own life,” Vickery said, “when he had so much to live for.” He looked directly at Marlene when he said this.

  “Me?” she asked. “I’m not so sure about that. He wasn’t as happy with his lot as you seem to think.”

  “Is that why you had to hire Georgie Drake?” Vickery asked.

  Marlene’s face flushed a deep red, and Malloy thought she was going to get up from the table. But she relaxed suddenly.

  “Can I have a cigarette?” she asked.

  Malloy signalled to Giancarlo and pantomimed madam’s desire for a smoke. The Italian scurried over with a box of cigarettes and matches in a little wooden holder. He held the match to Marlene’s cigarette, nodding and smiling.

  “How did you know about the detective?” Marlene asked when Giancarlo had gone.

  “Georgie Drake is an old friend,” Vickery said.

  Marlene wafted her smoke away from the food.

  “You suspected your husband was unfaithful to you?” Malloy asked.

  Marlene looked at him sternly, then smiled. “You’ve got sauce on your chin,” she said. She drew on her cigarette and blew smoke up into the air. “No, I never suspected Charlie of anything. But someone told me they had seen Charlie in a restaurant with a woman. I asked him about it, and he said he’d never been there, said it must have been a mistake. Then someone saw him walking with a woman in the park...”

  “The same ‘someone’?” Vickery asked.

  Marlene nodded. “Some people can’t wait to bring you bad news. Again, Charlie said he hadn’t been there. Something in the way he said it made me think he was lying. Perhaps he was just annoyed at me for asking ridiculous questions.”

  “But you hired a detective anyway?” Malloy said.

  “I didn’t want to. Not at first. But you know how it is – when someone plants a seed of doubt in your head. It got so I couldn’t think of anything else. It was ridiculous. I was
annoyed with myself for even thinking it could be true. In the end – I had to do something. To prove to myself that I was being silly.”

  “But Drake reported back – and said you weren’t being ridiculous?” Malloy asked.

  Marlene nodded. “Drake followed him; from the theatre to the restaurant – the one he said he’d never been to.”

  “Charlie was dining with a woman again?” Vickery asked.

  “Yes, it was the same one. Blonde. Charlie always like blondes. And ten years younger than me,” she said.

  “Did Drake see anything to suggest this was anything other than dinner with a friend?” Vickery asked.

  “Not that time. But other times – putting his arm around her and kissing her neck. I don’t think there’s any doubt what they were up to, Ben,” Marlene said. She stubbed her cigarette out with great force.

  “Did you know Georgie Drake before you hired him?” Vickery asked.

  “Never set eyes on him before,” Marlene said. “I said I was looking for a private detective, and a friend gave me his name.”

  “Not the same friend who had seen Charlie out and about?” Malloy asked.

  “A different friend,” Marlene said.

  “When Drake came back and told you what he’d seen, how did it make you feel?” Malloy asked.

  “Honestly? I was surprised,” Marlene said. She took another cigarette out of the box: Malloy took a match from the holder and lit it for her.

  “Surprised?” Vickery prompted.

  “Yes. At our age, you tend to lose interest in romance, don’t you?” she said.

  Vickery avoided looking at Malloy, sure he was smirking.

  “In a way, I was a little bit excited by it,” Marlene said. “I was glad he was still interested. And I thought he might bring something back to our relationship, but...” she shrugged. “Nothing was different. There wasn’t even a hint he was up to something. He was just – Charlie.”

  “You weren’t angry with him?” Malloy asked.

  Marlene shook her head slowly. “Not really. Was I jealous? Yes, he was my husband. But you have to understand – Charlie was good to me. Always. In twenty years, he’s never hurt me.”

  “And his eye never wandered before?” Vickery asked.

  “Never.”

  “Were you ever unfaithful to Charlie?” Vickery asked.

  “No. But he took me in when – when...” She directed her attention to shaping the ash of her cigarette against the glass ashtray, creating a little glowing point at the end.

  “Walter?” Vickery asked.

  “Yes, Walter. You know? Of course, you’ve always known,” she said.

  “Walter told us,” Malloy said.

  Marlene nodded once, still staring at her cigarette. “Charlie treated Walter as his own son.”

  “Do you know who the woman was, that Charlie was – dining out with?” Vickery asked.

  Marlene smiled at the tactful choice of phrase. “No. She doesn’t sound like anyone I ever met.”

  “Is Georgie Drake still working for you?” Vickery asked.

  “No. There’s nothing I need from him now,” she said.

  “Drake might think otherwise,” Malloy said.

  “What’s that supposed to mean?” Marlene said.

  “He’s still hanging around,” Malloy said. “He’s been to see you, since Charlie’s death...”

  “He came for what I owed him,” she said abruptly. “And he asked me if I wanted him to keep looking for – for the other woman. I told him I didn’t care who she was. And that is the truth. I just hope she made Charlie happy before he was... before he died.”

  “Drake didn’t offer to do anything to make you happy?” Malloy asked.

  “Don’t be ridiculous! If I wanted a man – and I don’t – I could do a lot better than Georgie Drake.”

  “But he has a certain rough masculine charm, don’t you think?” Malloy asked.

  “No, I do not!” Marlene was clearly repulsed by the idea.

  “It’s just you then,” Malloy said to Vickery.

  Vickery ignored him. “You know that Drake has feelings for you?” he asked Marlene.

  “If he does, I did nothing to encourage them,” she said.

  “If?” Vickery said.

  “All right, I knew,” Marlene said, scowling. “I was flattered. I thought my husband was seeing another woman. I may have flirted with Drake – a little bit. But for heaven’s sake, Ben, I flirt with you. It doesn’t mean anything.”

  “George Drake thought it did,” Vickery said.

  “He can’t have done! Can he? He must have known... Oh, dear lord. You have to tell him, Ben. I can’t have him turning up all dewy-eyed...”

  “Drake won’t want to believe us,” Malloy said.

  “Then I will tell him myself,” she said. “He’s a grown man – I’ll just be blunt with him.”

  “Let him down gently,” Vickery suggested.

  “This isn’t funny, Ben!” Marlene snapped.

  “It is a little,” Vickery said. “Would anyone like to order dessert?”

  “No, thank you,” Marlene said.

  “I couldn’t possibly eat another thing,” Malloy said. “What kind of dessert?”

  “Do I tell Drake to get lost – or do I ask him to find out who Charlie’s mystery woman is?” Marlene asked.

  “I don’t think Georgie will be much use there,” Vickery said, “I suspect he hasn’t been telling any of us the truth.”

  “Oh,” Marlene said, sitting back in her chair.

  “Let’s have coffee and share a plate of cannoli,” Vickery said.

  “Just the one?” Malloy asked.

  *

  “That was the best meal I ever ate in my life,” Malloy said, slumped in the back of the taxi, eyes closed.

  “You said that the last time we ate at Giancarlo’s,” Vickery said.

  Malloy thought about this. “The linguine is now relegated to second-best,” he said.

  Vickery chuckled. “Did I tell you that Barry Cole has said he’ll do the rugs for us,” he said, clearly pleased.

  “The rugs?” Malloy said. “You’re redecorating?”

  “For the illusion with the table,” Vickery said. “I told you the moths had been at the old rug.”

  “You did. And I’m sure you thought I knew what you were talking about.”

  “We needed two identical rugs so that we can have a hole cut in one for you to come up through when you materialise on the table,” Vickery said. “Larry is going to cut them and stitch them for us.”

  “That’s grand, that is,” Malloy said, still not sure why they needed a rug with a hole in it. He remembered a discussion about him disappearing from a chair and reappearing on a table, but when Vickery had started to explain how the illusions were to be performed, he hadn’t really been able to follow the thread.

  “And you remember Bryan? We met him at the Dog and Partridge?”

  “The blond bear who said you had nice eyes?” Malloy said.

  “He has agreed to handle the apparatus under the stage for me.”

  “That’s not a euphemism, is it?” Malloy asked.

  Vickery frowned, confused.

  “I thought perhaps you were speaking Polari or something,” Malloy said.

  “I’m nanti,” Vickery said.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Vickery was alone in the sitting room. Drake burst through the door without knocking.

  “You can’t go in there unannounced!” Betty said, grabbing him by the collar. “I’m sorry, sir, he slipped by me.”

  “It’s all right, Betty, Mr. Drake and I are due another chat,” Vickery said.

  “If you’re sure?” Betty asked. She looked ready to haul Drake back down the stairs. Vickery nodded, and she released him.

  “Very good, sir.” She closed the door behind her.

  “What did you say to her?” He asked, clearly angry.

  “Marlene? I only said that you hadn’t been telling
her the truth,” Vickery said.

  “Why would you tell her that?” Drake demanded.

  “Georgie, you lied to her about seeing Charlie out with another woman.”

  “That wasn’t a lie,” he protested. “Not exactly...”

  Vickery gave him a schoolmasterly stare, and Drake wilted.

  “All right, I admit, I made a mistake,” Drake said.

  “And committed a serious error of judgment,” Vickery said.

  Drake tried to out-stare him on this, but eventually his shoulders slumped. “And an error of judgment,” he admitted.

  “I shall give you the benefit of the doubt, Georgie, and assume you would have taken advantage of the situation...”

  “Of course not!” Drake said quickly. “It was just a bit of fun. I was trying to make her feel attractive, you know, with her husband playing an away-game and all.”

  “Georgie!” Vickery warned.

  “I honestly believed he was,” Drake said. “If you had been there that night, you’d have believed it too – I guarantee.”

  “A mistake I can forgive you,” Vickery said, “but what you did after that was... unprofessional.”

  Drake’s face flushed scarlet. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, then nodded once. “It was wrong,” he said.

  “We will say no more about it,” Vickery said. “Tell me what you found out about the woman you saw at the restaurant.”

  “Woman?”

  “The mysterious blonde-haired lady you thought was Charlie McNair’s mistress,” Vickery said.

  “I didn’t find out anything about her,” Drake said.

  “You don’t know who she was?”

  Drake shook his head. “Never seen her before that day. And I didn’t manage to learn her name.”

  “But you didn’t try very hard to find out?”

  “There wasn’t much point, was there?”

  “I need to know who she is,” Vickery said, “and I want you to find out. Start with the restaurant – it’s possible that she made the booking herself. Ask the staff there, see if anyone recognised her. Bring me a report here at four o’clock tomorrow afternoon.”

  Drake stood with his mouth open. “Excuse me, mister high-and-mighty, but I don’t work for you, you know,” he said.

  “No, Georgie, you don’t. But I think you need to do something to justify taking that money from Marlene McNair, don’t you?”