Murder by Magic

by Paul Tomlinson

  “I confess, I’m relieved to hear you say that,” Malloy said.

  “I may still dabble occasionally,” Vickery said. “An occasional show or private performance.”

  “I wouldn’t be opposed to that,” Malloy said. “I do enjoy that feeling when an illusion is carried off perfectly.”

  “It would be good to have someone I can trust at my side,” Vickery said. “Things are happening in the world, and I suspect there won’t be much time for stage magic.”

  “I have a feeling the other things you get up to are just as exciting,” Malloy said.

  They were interrupted then by the big blond stagehand, who grinned at them both. “All the equipment has been packed up and returned to the warehouse,” Bryan said. “It’s a shame to see all of that gathering dust in there.”

  Vickery nodded. “I really should do something with it.”

  “You could put it in a museum,” Malloy suggested.

  “No, Terry’s illusions are meant to be performed,” Vickery said. “It’s time to pass them on to someone younger. Perhaps Danny Holcroft will take them.”

  “That other matter we discussed?” Bryan said, “that has also been taken care of. It was where you said it would be.”

  Vickery nodded.

  “What’s that?” Malloy asked.

  “Another old piece of equipment that has been put into storage,” Vickery said. “It is nothing we need concern ourselves with now.” He turned to Bryan. “I want to thank you for all your help during the past week,” he said.

  The two men shook hands.

  “I hope we’ll see you at the Palais again some time,” Bryan said. “Good luck to you both.” He shook Malloy’s hand and winked. Then he wandered away towards the drinks table.

  Malloy watched Vickery watching him. “You should go after him, if that’s what you want,” Malloy said.

  Vickery smiled. “It isn’t. But it’s nice to look.”

  “Do you want more champagne?” Malloy asked.

  “Always,” Vickery said, handing over his empty glass.

  When Malloy returned with their fresh drinks, Vickery was gone. For a moment, he thought Vickery had gone in search of Bryan after all. He looked across the room and caught a glimpse of Vickery disappearing into the shadows, and wondered whether it would be appropriate for him to follow. Vickery reappeared and gestured for Malloy to join him.

  Vickery was standing just inside the stage door, and the man he was speaking to appeared, at first glance, to be a vagrant. His clothes were stained and creased, his hair unkempt, and his face dirty and unshaved. Only when the man moved did Malloy recognise him as Danny Holcroft.

  As Malloy approached them, he could see that Danny was charged with a sort of giddy nervousness. His movements were jerky and he was speaking quickly and breathlessly.

  “Where have you been?” Malloy asked.

  “Hiding. I was kidnapped and tied up,” Danny said.

  “We know,” Malloy said, “we tried to rescue you.”

  “You did?”

  “Yes, but you had already made your exit,” Vickery said.

  “Sorry to put you out,” Danny said, “but I thought it better not to wait.”

  “Where did you go?” Malloy asked.

  “I don’t have much time,” Danny said, looking around nervously. “Abigail is in great danger. I have to save her.”

  “Do you know who the men were that abducted you?” Vickery asked.

  “No idea. They were French, I think. One was very tall, and the other one was fat.”

  “You don’t know who they worked for?” Malloy asked.

  “It was whoever has been following Abigail,” Danny said. “I should have believed her when she told me. Have you seen her?”

  “Not since she came with us to rescue you,” Malloy said.

  “She did that?” He seemed touched by this, and also upset. “She shouldn’t put herself at risk to save me.”

  “When she saw you had escaped from that factory, she took off,” Malloy said.

  “Will you try and find her, please? Make sure she’s safe,” Danny said.

  “Can you give us any clue where we might look?” Vickery asked.

  “Not really. I can give you her address – perhaps her landlady can tell you something. I would go myself, but...”

  There was a commotion back in the rehearsal room. Malloy looked back and saw the tall helmets of two police constables moving through the crowd, coming towards the stage door. Grumbling, people stepped aside to let them through, and then Grives became visible, leading the charge. The Inspector looked towards them and pointed.

  “Daniel Holcroft!” he called.

  Vickery quickly pushed the stage door open. “Go!” he urged the young man, but Danny made no move to escape.

  “Whatever happens, will you promise me that you’ll help Abigail?” Danny asked.

  “I give you my word,” Vickery said.

  “Daniel Holcroft,” Grives said, “I am here to arrest you, and I’d like you to come quietly.”

  “What?” Malloy said.

  “Inspector, I think there has been some misunderstanding,” Vickery said.

  “No, there hasn’t,” Danny said. “I sent a message to the Inspector, asking him to come here. I have decided to confess and give myself up. I killed Charlie McNair.”

  The two constables moved up behind Danny, and one of them fitted handcuffs on him.

  Vickery stared at Danny, who nodded once. The uniformed constables led him away, out through the stage door.

  “I think you can leave this to us now, Vickery,” Grives said. “Good evening gentleman.” He followed his men out.

  “I don’t believe it,” Malloy said after the door had banged shut.

  “Nor should you,” Vickery said. “Danny isn’t our murderer.”

  “Then why confess?”

  “To protect someone. Abigail Lovelace or possibly someone else.”

  “Do you think Skelhorn might have taken her?” Malloy asked.

  “If he has, it would explain Danny’s reckless actions.”

  “What do we do?”

  “We find Miss Lovelace, and we prove that Danny Holcroft is innocent,” Vickery said.

  “How do we do that?”

  “By discovering which person, or persons, killed Charlie and Bristow.”

  “You think there might be more than one murderer?” Malloy asked.

  “We should not assume that our two victims were killed by the same person,” Vickery said. “At present, we have no evidence to show that they were.”

  “It seems we’ve been short on evidence since the beginning,” Malloy said. “It would help if we could find Bristow’s missing delivery van – before the police find it.”

  “Grives doesn’t even know it is missing,” Vickery said. “And if he did, I doubt he’d continue the search now that he has Danny’s confession.”

  Malloy paced up and down the corridor, his agitation growing. “What do we do now?” he asked, throwing his hands up.

  “We get a good night’s sleep, and tomorrow we go and talk to Danny – we’ll get Abigail’s address from him, and then we’ll go and find her.”

  “We should start now,” Malloy said, “Danny doesn’t have that much time.”

  “The police will not allow us to speak to him until the morning.”

  “What makes you think they’ll even let us talk to him then?”

  “I know someone who will put in a good word for us,” Vickery said. “Let’s go and say goodnight to our theatre friends.”

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  The cells under the police station were narrow, with walls covered in tiles yellowed like old bone and a bare concrete floor. Facing the door was a single window high in the wall, made from thick glass bricks in an iron framework – these gave the light coming in an odd quality, like being inside a fish tank. A platform under the window with a thin felt mat on it served as a bed. Vickery and Malloy had both spent time
in such rooms, and the familiar smell of urine and Jeyes disinfectant was enough to make them both shudder.

  The interview room was as dim and unwelcoming as the cell, but there was an old metal table they could sit around. A uniformed constable led Danny in. He was in his shirt-sleeves, and one hand was holding up his trousers because his belt had been taken away. His face was pale, unshaven, and his hair uncombed. There was a calm air of resignation about him – an absence of hope.

  “I’ll be outside,” the constable said and closed the door on them. The three men pulled out chairs and sat down at the table.

  “Hello, Danny,” Malloy said.

  “Mr. Malloy, Mr. Vickery,” Danny said, nodding to each of them.

  “Do you need anything?” Vickery asked.

  “A decent cup of tea would be nice,” Danny said.

  “You’ll never get that in a police station,” Malloy said, smiling.

  Danny looked at him with dead eyes and nodded.

  “Has anyone else visited you?” Vickery asked.

  Danny shook his head. “I didn’t expect to see anyone.”

  “We came because we want to help you,” Vickery said.

  “Thank you,” Danny said, his tone flat. “But there’s nothing you can do.”

  “Do you have a solicitor?” Vickery asked.

  “Ordinary people don’t have solicitors, do they?” Danny said. “I’ve never needed one. What will happen to me now?”

  “You’ll be assigned a legal representative, and on Monday you will be taken to appear before the local magistrates,” Malloy said. “They will ask you your name and address, and then they will read out the crime you have been charged with. You’ll be asked to enter a plea – guilty or not guilty.”

  “That will be your last chance to tell them you didn’t kill Charlie McNair,” Vickery said.

  “I can’t do that,” Danny said.

  “Then you will be remanded in prison custody, there to await trial for murder at the Crown Court,” Malloy said.

  “If you have entered a guilty plea, that trial is likely to be brief,” Vickery said, “and you know what the outcome will be.”

  “I will be hanged by the neck until I am dead,” Danny said without emotion.

  “Why are you doing this, Danny?” Malloy asked.

  “It’s the right thing for me to do,” he said.

  “We know you didn’t kill him,” Malloy said. “Why would anyone believe that you did?”

  “It doesn’t matter. If I confess, I don’t have to prove I did it.”

  “What makes you think she’s guilty of murder?” Vickery asked. “That’s why you’re doing this, isn’t it? To protect her.”

  “If I tell you that, you’ll use it to prove Abigail was the murderer and not me,” Danny said.

  “Why do you think she is responsible for Charlie’s death?” Malloy asked.

  “She was under the stage that night,” Danny said.

  “Someone saw her?” Malloy asked.

  Danny nodded. “One of the stagehands caught a glimpse of her – a blonde woman, he said. You have to help her, Mr. Vickery. She’s being blackmailed or threatened with violence, or something. She wouldn’t do it otherwise – I’m sure of it.”

  “I will do whatever I can to protect both of you,” Vickery said. “I will not permit you to hang for a murder you did not commit.”

  “If I confess, there’s nothing you can do about that,” Danny said, defiant.

  “I can prove who the real murderer is,” Vickery said. “If Miss Lovelace is guilty, I will do everything in my power to prove it – even if you do not tell what you know.”

  “You mustn’t! Please promise me that, whatever happens, Abigail will be kept safe.”

  “If she is guilty of murder, she will have to face justice, Danny – you must know that,” Vickery said. “If she was forced into it, then the court will take that into consideration.”

  The fight seemed to drain out of Danny Holcroft then and his shoulders sagged. “Is there nothing I can say to persuade you?” he asked.

  “Even if you choose to die in her place, I would make sure she was convicted,” Vickery said. “If she was guilty.”

  “Don’t give up your life for nothing,” Malloy said.

  “She’s not nothing,” Danny said quietly. “I will die for her, Mr. Vickery, if I have to.”

  “You won’t,” Vickery said.

  “But...”

  “She did not confess to you, did she?” Vickery said. “She never said to you, I killed Charlie McNair?”

  “Not in so many words...”

  “But there are things she said – and did – that aroused your suspicion, and led you to conclude that she committed the murder?” Vickery said.

  “Yes.”

  “While I have every respect for you, Danny – you are an intelligent and honourable man – I have to say that I do not put much faith in your investigative abilities. Particularly not when you are deeply and emotionally involved in the situation to be investigated.”

  “You’re saying I’m an idiot.”

  “No. I am saying that it is impossible for you to have the necessary objectivity to examine the evidence and decide whether or not Abigail Lovelace committed murder.”

  Danny’s internal conflict was clear on his face, but Malloy sensed he might be persuaded.

  “Many people have guilty secrets,” Vickery said. “Things they feel so ashamed about that they could never tell another person. And these things sometimes cause them to behave in ways we may think suspicious. But that does not mean they are guilty of murder.”

  “Well, not all of them,” Malloy said.

  “Whatever it is, it has something to do with Raymond Skelhorn,” Danny said. “I know there is some link between them, but Abigail won’t talk about him. I thought perhaps she was his daughter. I heard he has a child somewhere.”

  “Raymond Skelhorn is not her father. He does have a child, but that child is a son,” Vickery said.

  “Abigail was Skelhorn’s assistant on stage – for his magic act,” Malloy said.

  Danny nodded slowly, putting this new information together with what he already knew about Abigail Lovelace. “I thought she might have a child of her own,” he said. “If she did, that wouldn’t make me think any less of her. Nothing would.”

  “Even if she killed Charlie?” Malloy asked.

  “If she did, there must have been a reason,” Danny said.

  “Something Charlie did to her?” Malloy asked.

  Danny shook his head. “I don’t think she did it because she wanted to – I think she had to. Someone forced her to do it.” Danny frowned, frustrated because he couldn’t think of a way to win this. “I will do anything to protect her,” he said.

  “We need some time to discover what it is she is hiding from you,” Vickery said. “I am sure the truth is not nearly as bad as you fear.”

  “You think she is innocent?” Danny asked.

  “I do not believe she is our murderer,” Vickery said, “and I will try and prove that she is not. You have no proof that she is guilty, only a suspicion – do not sacrifice yourself for a suspicion. If she is innocent, I will be better able to prove it if you tell me all you know.”

  “Help us to help you, Danny,” Malloy said. “I have been in one of those cells – I know what it feels like. You think you’re going crazy – that your life is over, and that no one can save you.”

  “And you think Mr. Vickery can save us – Abigail and me?” Danny asked.

  “He saved me,” Malloy said.

  Danny looked at Vickery, who nodded.

  “But I could only do that because Jamie told me the truth – all of it,” Vickery said.

  Danny let out a shuddering sigh and seemed to be close to tears. “I don’t know what to do. This is all such a mess.”

  “Then let us help you,” Vickery said. “Please, Danny.”

  Danny stared at him, and for the first time, there was a flicker of s
omething like hope in his expression. “All right,” he said, “but will you give me your word that you will do everything you can to protect Abigail?”

  “If she is innocent, I will prove it – beyond any doubt,” Vickery said. “I give you my word.”

  Danny nodded.

  “Tell us what you saw or heard that made you think Miss Lovelace had committed the murder,” Vickery said.

  Danny rubbed his hands together, twisting them over and over. “I’m not sure where to start.”

  “Tell us what happened on the night of the murder,” Vickery said.

  Danny looked down at his hands. “She was there – Abigail – that afternoon. We had lunch together – just sandwiches – and then she came back with me to the theatre. I had to prepare the apparatus for that night’s performance. You know what it’s like Mr. Vickery – you have to check everything, every time.”

  Vickery nodded.

  “Abigail had been a bit distracted all day. When we were out, she was convinced someone was following us. She’s said that a few times during the past week or so. I thought it was ridiculous, but she seemed genuinely upset by it. But who would follow us? I asked her that, and she just went very quiet. What’s wrong? I asked, and you should have seen her face, Mr. Vickery – I don’t believe I have ever seen anyone look so sad.” Danny paused, reflecting on this, and some of that sadness was visible in his face.

  “What did she say?” Vickery asked.

  “She said: You don’t know me Danny, not really – there are things I’ve done – things I’m not proud of.

  “I said that didn’t matter to me, and she smiled and patted my cheek – but she was still sad. I wanted to do something, or say something, to make her happy. But I didn’t know what. All I could think of to say was, I love you.

  “I don’t want you to, Danny. That’s what she said. I wanted her to say she loved me too, but instead she said I shouldn’t love her.

  “If you knew what sort of person I am – the things I’ve done – you’d want nothing to do with me, she said. I don’t think we should see each other anymore – your life will be better without me.” Danny looked across the table at them. “How could she think that? I told her it didn’t matter what she had done – that I wanted to be with her. That I could forgive her anything.”