The Magician Murders

by Josh Lanyon

  Terry took the card gingerly. “Okay. Is she—the other agent—okay?”

  “Yes. She is. She’s not happy, though, so you definitely don’t want to get between her and Boz.”

  “No, no. Of course not. He wouldn’t come to me anyway. He’d—” He stopped, his expression stricken.

  Jason smiled. “So there is someone you think he might turn to?”

  If Terry had looked uncomfortable before, he looked agonized now. “No, not really. I mean… Not really.”

  “Terry, do yourself a favor. Don’t lie to a federal agent.”

  “Elle Diamond.”

  “And Elle is…?”

  “They used to be together. I think maybe Boz still— It wouldn’t be Elle’s fault or anything. But she’s got such a big heart. I don’t think she could turn anyone away. She has a ranch out near Lake Hattie. Really, it’s an animal preserve. She runs a rescue for mistreated circus and magic-show animals.”

  “What’s the name of this ranch?”

  “China Creek.”

  “Okay. Thank you. Can you think of anything else that might be helpful?”

  Terry slowly shook his head. “He was trying to rebuild his act, you know.”

  “Who? Boz? As a magician, you mean?”

  “Yes. He wrangled it so he was going to be one of the opening acts this weekend. There’s a new magic club opening up.”

  “Top Hat White Rabbit?” Jason asked.

  Terry looked as amazed as if Jason had pulled his own white rabbit out of a top hat. “Yes. That’s right. He hadn’t performed in front of a big crowd for years, so he was kind of nervous.”

  Was that supposed to explain Boz’s guilty behavior?

  “Thank you,” Jason said. “Don’t forget you’ve got my number if Boz contacts you—or if you think of anything that might be helpful.”

  “I won’t forget,” Terry said.

  As Jason was on his way out, he passed a shelf of vintage magic kits. A 1960s Zenith Magic, a 1970s Remco Magic Kit, and a 1990s Pressman Magic Act Kit… There were plenty of new kits too. He pointed to the 1940s 102 E-Z Magic Starter Kit for Kids & Adult Magicians. “I had one of these. It was used. Half the booklet got soaked and was unreadable, but I still loved it.”

  Terry said, “Yeah? It would be worth something now.”

  Jason smiled. “It was worth something then.”

  Chapter Fourteen

  “I can’t believe I walked right into that punch.” Dreyfus moaned.

  She was sitting behind her desk, holding a plastic bag of ice against her swollen face. They had been going over their case, such as it was, for the last ten minutes.

  “I still don’t understand why you went after him,” Jason said. “We didn’t have anything on him. He was within his rights to refuse to answer our questions.”

  She raised her head and glared. “Why did he run, then?”

  “Sometimes people do.”

  “Why’d he punch me, then?”

  “I don’t know. I’d say he really, really doesn’t want to go back to prison.” They’d already had it out over her leaving her partner in the dust and failing to wait for backup. No need to belabor the point. He liked the fact that she had taken the reprimand without getting angry or defensive. He liked that she took a black eye with a sturdy sort of resignation. He liked her. She was green, but she had guts and grit.

  She shook her head. “Did we get anywhere today?”

  “Sure we did. We learned that almost everyone believes Michael Khan was behind the theft of his own collection—and that there’s no shortage of suspects in Khan’s murder.” He added hastily, “Not that the last is relevant, because we’re not investigating Khan’s murder.”

  Dreyfus muttered her discontent and shifted the ice pack.

  “We learned that Minerva Khan looks to have an airtight alibi on the night of the theft. Although we also learned she claims to have total recall, yet told investigators she has trouble remembering the security codes to her own home.”

  “Hey, that’s right.”

  “She’s strong and she’s got nerve, but judging by her skimpy stage costume, she doesn’t appear to have sustained any injuries or bruising, which she probably would have if she had garroted her husband.”

  “She could have hired someone.”

  “True. And it sounds like there was no love lost there, but most people settle for slaughtering each other in court. Anyway.” Jason once again remembered that they were not investigating the murder of Michael Khan. He said briskly, “If Ian Boz is to be believed, we learned that although Khan planned to steal his collection, someone else got there first. Unless Khan accused Boz in an attempt to cover his own tracks.”

  “But is the word of a con man and trickster to be believed?”

  “Probably not. Boz certainly has the knowledge and resources to traffic the Khan collection. Khan obviously thought Boz would make the ideal fence. And we know Boz does not have an alibi for the night the Khan collection vanished or he’d have offered that up.”

  “True. And the same of Sunday night.”

  “Maybe. Although he might not realize Khan was killed Sunday night. I don’t think the Sheriff’s Office has made a statement to the press yet.”

  They fell silent. The rain spattered soundlessly against the bulletproof window, blurring the view of the parking lot.

  “Why do you think there are so few female magicians?” Dreyfus asked suddenly.

  “Not sure. It probably wasn’t considered respectable? Women weren’t supposed to go on the stage.”

  “But I mean even now, it seems like there are relatively few female magicians.”

  “Yeah, I don’t know.”

  Dreyfus said, “I looked up the meaning of that tarot card they found in Khan’s pocket. The Fool. It means the start of a new journey. New beginnings. Everything is still possible.”

  Jason looked up from his phone. He kept hoping for a text from Sam, but nope. Nada. Out of sight, out of mind, apparently. No messages from anyone. It was like he’d fallen into another dimension. “Doesn’t the meaning change depending on whether the card is upright or reversed?”

  “Yes, but I think we have to assume the intended meaning would be the upright because Khan’s killer would have to know there’s no guarantee in what position the card would be found.”

  “You don’t want to make assumptions about an unsub’s thought process.” He stopped. “Wait. Wasn’t the card found at the scene The Hanged Man?”

  Dreyfus looked confused. Her eyes widened. She laughed. “Oh my gosh. You’re right. Where did I come up with The Fool?”

  “Not sure.”

  “I was looking at a bunch of different cards and their meanings. I guess I got distracted.”

  She picked up her phone as though preparing to re-google. Jason said, “Honestly, it doesn’t matter. For all we know, Khan carried that card as a talisman or good luck charm. Or the card was added to the crime scene simply to throw investigators off the trail.”

  She gave him an exasperated look. He shared her frustration. At the minimum, being barred from including Khan’s homicide in their investigation reduced their access to potentially helpful information gleaned at the murder scene. He’d have to wait for Sam’s return to know what, if anything discovered at Vedauwoo, related to their case.

  Sam.

  His heart warmed in anticipation of that eventual homecoming. To distract himself, Jason said, “I wonder why Boz panicked the instant he saw we were federal agents.”

  “That should be obvious!”

  “Maybe. But we didn’t have anything on him. According to him, there’s nothing to have. At least as far as the Khan investigation is concerned.”

  Dreyfus said, “That reminds me. I spoke to George Cohen, Khan’s agent, and Khan did show up for their dinner Friday night. He didn’t leave until around nine thirty.”

  “Then regardless of whether Khan set up the burglary, we know he wasn’t actually on the premises when it occ
urred. What about the security footage from the neighbors? We want to keep on top of that. It’s our best bet for getting a look at who showed up in the moving van.”

  “I’ll check with Detective Ward at Cheyenne PD.”

  Jason nodded. “I’ve got a few calls in to people. I heard back from Arlo Presley at Potter & Potter, and he says no one has contacted them about the collection.”

  “That makes sense if Khan stole his own collection. He wasn’t planning to sell anything. He was just going to sit on it until the divorce was over and he thought it was safe.”

  “Maybe. The thing is, I don’t think it’s a coincidence the Khan collection disappeared right before this magic convention.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Everyone I’ve spoken to seems to agree the magic community is the obvious and best customer for those stolen items. This convention means a bunch of potential consumers are about to arrive on the scene.”

  “Uh-oh.”

  “Uh-oh is right.”

  Dreyfus sighed. “It’s almost five. Too late to tackle Elle Diamond tonight. You want to try to interview her tomorrow?” She gazed at Jason hopefully with her one good eye.

  “Sure. Okay.” After today’s performance he was not leaving Dreyfus on her own to sort this thing out. His heart had nearly stopped when he’d seen that pistol turn her way. Not on his watch. He’d rather be shot himself.

  “We could grab some dinner and keep talking over the case?”

  Jason sat up straight. “Oh, hell,” he exclaimed. “I’ve already got a dinner date—and I’m going to be late.”

  * * * * *

  “I was beginning to think you weren’t going to make it.” Ruby pushed wide the back door to the kitchen, and Jason waded through the flock of poodles.

  “Sorry I’m late. I needed to shower.” He felt a little off-balance. He couldn’t help wanting to make a good impression with Sam’s mom. Not only was he late, he should have picked up flowers or a bottle of wine, but Dreyfus had been kind enough to give him a ride, and he hadn’t wanted to ask her to make an extra stop.

  “Don’t you worry about it. You’re here now.”

  “It smells wonderful in here.”

  It did. The smell of roasting meat and simmering vegetables filled the warm, cheerfully lit room.

  One of the poodles suddenly screeched, and Jason jumped, afraid he had stepped on it.

  “Adele! You stop biting Remy. You bad girl. They get overexcited,” Ruby informed Jason. “What would you like to drink?”

  “Anything.” Wait. He didn’t want to sound like a raving alcoholic. “Beer?”

  “Sure. Or I’ve got Canadian Club, if you like it. It’s what Sam drinks. Same as his Uncle Jim.”

  “That’s fine too.” In fact, the idea of Canadian Club was kind of comforting—or maybe that was just the thought of Sam. Jason asked, “Do you have a lot of family in Wyoming?”

  “Not a lot. Jim’s living in Florida now. Our folks are gone. I’ve got a bunch of cousins, nieces, and nephews, but we’ve never been that close.”

  “Right.” He remembered that she’d been an unwed mother at sixteen. What had that been like nearly fifty years ago in rural Wyoming? Probably not a whole lot of fun.

  “I hope you’re hungry. We’re having leg of lamb for dinner. That used to be one of Sam’s favorites when he was a boy.”

  “I’m starving,” Jason said, which was true. He hadn’t had much for breakfast, and there had been no time for lunch.

  One of the poodles nipped his ankle, and he jumped again. “Ow!”

  Ruby spun away from the counter. “Esme, what have I told you about that?” She handed Jason his drink and shoveled up the dogs in one scoop. They were already howling protest before she closed the laundry room door on them.

  “Usually dogs like me.” He was chagrined her dogs regarded him with such suspicion.

  “Don’t take it personal. Those hooligans don’t like anyone. I guess they’re spoiled, but then they’re the only grandkids I’m going to get, I guess.”

  Jason sipped his drink and said nothing. He wasn’t about to touch that one.

  “Mashed potatoes and gravy okay?”

  “Sounds great,” Jason answered honestly. He squatted down to inspect the framed photos on the corner shelf of the island. He smiled faintly at the towheaded second-grader Sam. “What did Sam want to grow up to be when he was this age?”

  Ruby threw the photo an indulgent look. “Not a policeman. He wanted to be a very rich rancher.”

  Jason laughed.

  “It’s the truth. Not just a rich rancher. A very rich rancher.” Ruby snorted at that long-ago memory.

  “He doesn’t seem like the ranching type.”

  “Not anymore.” Ruby began to whisk the gravy using juice from the meat, honey, and a lot of whisky. She said after a moment, “I wasn’t like the other moms in the PTA.” Her chuckle was derisive. “It used to make him mad that people thought they were better than us. Better than me.” She smiled. “Back then he thought being rich would change that.”

  It got to Jason in a funny way. The idea of that little, long-ago Sam feeling humiliated and scorned by a bunch of small-minded hicks, wanting to defend and protect his young mother by getting rich and…well, however the rest of that childhood fantasy played out.

  “It seems like you’ve done okay for yourself.”

  “Oh yeah,” Ruby said, still smiling. “You’re damned right I did. And Sam did too.”

  They chatted briefly about Jason’s day—Jason leaving out the more interesting parts—while Ruby finished preparing the meal, then moved to the dining room and the nicely set table.

  Fine china and crystal stemware. Jason was flattered. Plus, the food was very good. He saw where Sam got his knack for cooking.

  Jason listened to Ruby talk about her involvement in various community projects and participation in clubs and committees. Clearly, she was a wealth of information, but it was innocuous stuff. He realized she was not as indiscreet as he’d originally thought.

  “Sam likes me to stay involved,” she said a little sardonically—yet again reminding Jason of Sam. “He thinks I need to stay busy so I won’t get lonely.”

  “Well…”

  “Like I don’t have enough to keep me busy.” She shook her head.

  Ruby drank quite a bit. She wasn’t drunk, but she was always talkative, and the alcohol made her more so. Sam liked to drink too, but drunk or sober, he had not inherited Ruby’s loquacious streak.

  Although Ethan’s name was mentioned in passing, there were no revelations over dinner, and Jason relaxed. Nothing was said that Sam would care about, and Jason was now sure that Ruby had not been trying to make some point when she had first spoke to him about Ethan.

  Jason was drinking too, though, because when they finally reached the stage of freshly baked cowboy cookies and coffee (spiked, naturally, with still more booze), he heard himself asking, “When did Sam and Ethan meet?”

  It was as though she’d been waiting for him to bring up the topic. Ruby said at once, “Second to last year of high school.”

  He immediately regretted opening that line of conversation. He sincerely believed it would be a mistake to know too much about Ethan. He wanted to understand how losing Ethan had affected Sam, but he did not want to become preoccupied with Ethan himself—and that would be all too easy to do.

  “They were the original odd couple.”

  “Ah.” Jason tried to think of a way to change the subject.

  “Sam always knew where he was going and what he wanted. Ethan was a dreamer. He tended to let things drift. It used to drive Sam crazy.”

  “I bet.”

  “Maybe it’s the artistic temperament.”

  “Maybe.”

  “He just always figured everything would work out. And things did mostly work out for him. Until that last summer.”

  No, he really did not want to hear this. Did not want to know. “Does Sam have other frien
ds still living in Cheyenne?”

  “One or two, I guess. Charlie Reynolds. They go back a ways. Sawyer Hunt. Sam was always, well, choosy about his buddies.”

  Was that a nice way of saying Sam had always been a loner? But then, he hadn’t been a loner. He’d had Ethan. And one or two friends who still lived locally.

  When they finished dinner it was nearly ten. Ruby insisted on leaving the dishes, and Jason tactfully avoided yet another final drink, and walked back to the guest house.

  The floodlit stretch of yard between the main and guest house seemed a long, windy walk. The shadows were deep, the silence profound. Common sense told him he was a lot safer in the middle of nowhere than his own high-crime neighborhood, but he still had a creepy-crawly feeling down his spine as he let himself into the guest house.

  He’d left the lamps on in his hurry to shower and change, and the bright light and warmth were welcome. He slipped off his jacket and went into the kitchen for a drink of water. The stars outside the window over the sink were dazzlingly large and bright. Beyond the stars there didn’t seem to be another light for as far as he could see.

  He drank his water, set the glass in the sink.

  He felt homesick—and he missed Sam. Ruby’s reminiscences of Sam’s boyhood had dissolved some of Jason’s doubts, made him feel affectionate toward and protective of that long-ago Sam.

  He checked his phone. Ten thirty and still no message. He was disappointed, but not worried. It would have been nice to hear Sam’s voice before he turned in for the night, but okay. Knowing Sam, he was still working.

  As he turned to go down the hall to the bedroom, he noticed the closed door of Sam’s office.

  Something about the way Sam always kept that door so firmly shut suddenly struck him. Maybe it wasn’t odd, but…well, yes. It was odd.

  Why? Why was that door always closed tight? Even when Sam stepped out to use the john, he closed the door completely behind him.

  Maybe it was second nature. His job required him to routinely deal with a lot of sensitive information and disturbing materials, and it was natural that he would be careful about keeping his office locked. Restricting access to his office was probably automatic. But this wasn’t Quantico. Jason wasn’t support staff or a civilian. They were sharing a house. They were sort of a couple now.