The Magician's Daughter

by Judith Janeway

  I sank back into my chair. “I’m going to get my stuff back today, aren’t I? My belongings?”

  “Sure. Just give me another minute, okay?” He turned to Inspector Springer. “What did you turn up?”

  She pulled out a notebook and opened it. “He was on the passenger list for United flight 662 which arrived at eight this morning. Booked into the Four Seasons. We have a query in to the Cleveland PD. Haven’t heard back yet.”

  Lopez turned to me. “You know him. What’s your take on the guy? What does he want?”

  I shrugged. “I know what you know. I assume you were watching and listening after you left me in here to do your work for you,” I gestured toward the two-way mirror. “If you’d waited a few more minutes, he might’ve told me why he’s been trying to find her.”

  “You’re right. I jumped the gun there. I just wanted to see what he was going to show you. Afraid he’d put it away before I’d get a look at it. But you know the guy from when you were a kid. So, what’s he like? What’s your best guess about what he’s up to?”

  “He’s just what he looks like. Elizabeth always targeted men like him. Older. Not overly attractive. A little socially challenged but wealthy. Widowed and no children. His wife arranged all their social life, and he just had to show up. When she died, there went his social circle, until Elizabeth managed an accidental meeting, and suddenly he’d found the cure for loneliness and the fountain of youth all in one easy-to-swallow pill.”

  “Okay. That was then. What about now?”

  I shrugged. “I already told you—I have no idea. Can I have my things now?”

  “Sure, sure,” Lopez said without making a move to stand up. “Just one more thing. Hunsinger said something about your trying to knock him down. You had to be pretty young. What was that about?”

  “One of Elizabeth’s ‘husbands’ coached kids in boxing at a local gym. Everyone called him Rocky. When some kids at school beat me up, he taught me how to fight. He said I was a natural. He was a really great guy.” My voice got husky. I stood up abruptly. I often thought about Uncle Rocky, the only one of my many uncles who really deserved the title, but I hadn’t talked to anyone about him since Aunt June had died. “Where do I go to get my gear?”

  “Inspector Springer will take you there.”

  “Sure, I’ll help you with that,” she said. “But could you finish the story first? Why did you try to knock this Hunsinger down? What did he do?”

  “Nothing. I was just demonstrating my boxing prowess, because I was proud of it. I expected him to spar with me, the way Uncle Rocky did.”

  “You were a little kid and hit him with your fists? I thought he meant that you brained him with something,” Springer said.

  “He didn’t want to admit it, but I actually flattened him with one punch. He has a glass jaw. Went down like a felled tree.”

  Springer stared at me in disbelief.

  Lopez spoke up. “She could slow down guys who don’t have glass jaws. She’s a helluva fighter. Wait till you see the recording.”

  Chapter Eight

  Luckily for me, Lopez didn’t show Springer the ghastly rerun of Dwayne killing the FBI agent. He had her take me to another floor to reclaim my gear, which of course couldn’t just involve the simple act of the property officer handing me my duffle. First we had to go through the drill of verifying I was who I said I was, which involved a call to Lopez, my identification being what it was—or, in their eyes, what it wasn’t. Then I endured the protracted process of going through each item and agreeing that they were giving me everything, and nothing was missing or damaged. In the end, my relief at finally regaining my worldly goods was attenuated by the embarrassment of having everything I owned, right down to my underwear, scrutinized by a stranger.

  Even once I’d hoisted my duffle over my shoulder, I still couldn’t simply slip away—although I nearly did. I’d just exited the building when Inspector Springer came hurrying after me, calling my name. I stopped and turned around.

  “I forgot to ask you where you’re staying,” she said.

  “Why don’t I give you my cell phone number? Then you can reach me whenever, wherever. Especially if you locate Elizabeth.”

  She agreed that a phone number would be a good idea, jotted it down in her notebook and promised to pass it along to Lopez.

  I walked to the side of the building to get out of the way of the constant flow of people going in and out. Lopez hadn’t had any information about Elizabeth, but maybe Phil did by now. And I hadn’t had a chance yesterday to ask Phil about what she had on Elizabeth to coerce her into cooperating with the FBI. Or pretend she was cooperating, anyway. I had to put my duffle between my feet while I pulled out my cell phone with one hand and fished Phil’s number out of my pocket with the other. She answered on the first ring with a curt “Philips here,” but warmed up when she heard my voice.

  “Any news of Elizabeth?” I asked.

  “Sorry, no. Where are you?”

  “In front of the police station. I picked up my stuff. And guess who came to town this morning? One of Elizabeth’s marks from fifteen years ago. Lopez tried to grill him, but no luck. Funny coincidence, huh?”

  “What? I need more details about this. Look, I’ll come pick you up. There’s something I want to ask you.”

  “Okay, what is it?”

  A seconds-long pause on her side, then “I’d rather wait till I get there. I’m just a few minutes away.”

  I pocketed my phone. A gray-haired woman in a stained raincoat walked by swearing viciously. I pressed back against the wall, but she wasn’t interested in speaking to me. Some unseen entity had invoked her wrath. Two men in suits passed in front of me, both talking at once. It took me a second to realize that they weren’t talking to each other but into their cell phones.

  I felt a prickling feeling on the back of my neck. I swiveled my head from left to right, scanning the immediate area. A woman across the street wearing a coat with the hood up, turned away when I looked her way. I was pretty sure she’d been staring at me. I got the barest glance at her face, but thought I’d seen her somewhere before. I closed my eyes for a second to try to picture her more clearly.

  “Valerie?” Uncle George’s tentative voice at my elbow.

  I snapped my eyes open and turned to face him. He’d startled me, but I hoped it didn’t show. “Hi again.”

  “I’ve been waiting to speak to you, but I didn’t want to interrupt you while you were on the phone. I was hoping for a chance to speak to you privately.” He paused, as if waiting for my reaction.

  I glanced briefly across the street, but the woman in the hooded coat was gone. I returned my gaze to Uncle George’s earnest face. Might as well get right to the point. “What do you want to talk about?”

  “Actually, I was wondering if we could go somewhere quiet. Maybe a nice restaurant? As my guest, of course.”

  “Thanks, but I’m meeting someone in a few minutes. Could we talk while I’m waiting?”

  “Certainly. I appreciate your sparing me some time. I’ve been looking for Betty for so long, and this is the closest I’ve ever come to finding her. I don’t know if you can understand that just seeing you is a significant occurrence for me. I’d like to know more about you. What your life’s like. What you’re doing.”

  “Why do you want to find Elizabeth? I’m pretty sure that Inspector Lopez is right. She can’t be prosecuted, and I doubt that there’s any hope of getting your money back.”

  “I know that. Not that they’d provide any more assistance in recovering it now than they did in the first place. Such hopeless incompetence.”

  “Then why are you here?”

  He gazed off into the distance for a moment. “It’s difficult to explain. I loved her so much, and of course I was very angry when I found out what she’d done. I tried to track her down. Not an easy task, I
’ll tell you. I followed her trail and ended up locating a number of the other men she’d deceived. She’s quite a chameleon. She becomes a different person with every husband.”

  I bit my lip but had to ask. “Did you meet Uncle Rocky?” I couldn’t keep the eagerness out of my voice.

  He frowned and considered. “No one by that name.”

  “It’s not his real name, just the only one I knew him by. He used to coach kids in boxing.”

  “Ah, yes.” Uncle George nodded his head several times. “Mr. Costello, Harold Costello. A very angry man. Extremely bitter. He particularly resented the fact that he’d been taken in by a child.”

  “I see,” I whispered before I could stop myself. Embarrassing to sound so dismayed.

  “I’m sorry, my dear. I tried to tell him that you had to have been too young to know what you were doing, but he was adamant in his feelings.”

  “It’s only natural.”

  He tilted his head to one side. “Do you think so?”

  I nodded. I didn’t really want to pursue this line of conversation. Where was Phil, anyway?

  When I didn’t say anything, he went on, “For my part, I think that forgiveness is a better path. That’s why I need to locate Betty.”

  I stared at him. “To tell her you forgive her?”

  “Yes. It’s an important step in the process. Do you know that there are parents who have forgiven the men who murdered their children? Seems impossible, doesn’t it? But it can happen. And it’s very healing. For everyone.”

  “Amazing.” I tried to put some conviction into my voice.

  “I can tell that you’re skeptical. That’s all right.” He waved his hand as if he could manually brush away my doubt. “Many people feel that way at first. That’s why I was hoping we could sit down together, perhaps over a meal, and have a quiet conversation. It would do us both good.”

  “You know, Mr. Hunsinger…”

  “I meant it when I said that you can call me Uncle George.”

  “The timing isn’t good right now.”

  “There’s always time for forgiveness, Valerie. You’re here. I’m here. And, Betty’s here, too, isn’t she? Somewhere nearby?”

  “She was here, but she’s probably gone now.”

  He did the head tilt thing again. “You wouldn’t lie to me about that, would you?”

  I stuck out my jaw. “I don’t lie,” I said slowly, giving equal stress to each word.

  “Please don’t take offense. It’s just that it’s been a long journey for me, spiritually, as well as physically. And I need to complete my journey.”

  Had he been this weird fifteen years ago? I probably had no basis for judging back then. I shifted my gaze to the curb. Phil had just parked in a space reserved for police cars. Uncle George turned his head and followed my gaze. “The person you’re meeting?”

  I backed away a step. “Yes. I have to go now. It’s pretty amazing to see you again after all these years.” I couldn’t bring myself to say I was glad to have seen him.

  He moved forward and closed the distance I’d tried to put between us. “If we can’t get together now, how about later on? Where are you staying? I have a car and could pick you up.”

  “I’m not sure what I’m doing later on. Maybe I could call you at your hotel?”

  “Certainly, that’s a possibility. Although, like you, I’m not there most of the time. I know, give me your cell phone number. That way, I can call you later and see if you’re free.” He produced a pen and a little address book from his jacket pocket.

  I hesitated. There was no way he was going to let me off the hook. How could I outright refuse? I gave him the number, while I watched Phil approach. For some reason, she’d taken her time getting out of her car. She looked different—haggard.

  “Hi, Valentine.” Phil flashed me her crooked grin, but let her gaze slip over to Uncle George. The way her eyes moved gave me the feeling that she was as good at noticing things as I was. “Hello,” she said to Uncle George. “I’m Eugenia Philips.” She held out her hand. He hesitated for a split second before shaking hands.

  “This is George Hunsinger,” I said by way of introduction.

  “I didn’t think you knew anyone in San Francisco,” Phil said.

  “I seem to be making friends pretty fast. But, actually Mr. Hunsinger’s from Cleveland. He’s here looking for Elizabeth, just like me.” I turned to Uncle George. “We have to get going now.” I backed away again, and this time Uncle George didn’t try to keep me there.

  “I’ll call you later. We really have to talk. It’s important,” he said to me, and, ignoring Phil altogether, turned and walked away.

  Phil watched him leave. He didn’t look back. She looked at me and lifted an eyebrow. “You’re going to tell me all about him, aren’t you?”

  “Sure, not that I know much. He’s weird, for one thing.” I followed Phil to her car. She opened the trunk, took my duffle bag from me, and dropped it inside. We moved in tandem to the two sides of the car and climbed inside.

  “Weird, maybe,” Phil said. “But more interesting was his reaction when he made me.”

  “He made you do what?” I fastened my seat belt.

  She laughed. “Sorry. It’s cop talk. I forget that you’re not a cop or a criminal. It means he recognized that I was in law enforcement.”

  “Were you trying to hide it? You’re parked in a cops-only parking space.”

  She looked at the sign. “Oh, right.” She rubbed her forehead with the tips of her fingers. “I guess it doesn’t matter. I’m no longer primary on the Kroy investigation, and they have a separate team tracking Eric’s killer.”

  “You’ve been demoted? That’s not fair. It’s all Elizabeth’s fault. You shouldn’t have to take the blame.”

  “No, not demoted. Just pulled back from the front lines, because…”

  I waited for her to go on.

  She drew a deep breath and let it out. “I was involved—romantically involved—with Eric.”

  “The agent who was killed?” No wonder she looked so haggard. She was grieving. “And it’s against the rules to get involved with another agent?”

  “No. There’s no policy against fraternization. But my boss thinks I should do research and desk work for now. He’s trying to be considerate. He didn’t say it specifically, but he thinks I wouldn’t be as effective in the field.”

  “I’m really sorry.”

  “Thanks. I appreciate that.” She started the engine.

  “You said you wanted to ask me something?”

  “I will in a minute. Why don’t you tell me about George Hunsinger first?”

  She drove, and I told her the whole story of Uncle George—from what I remembered of him in my childhood to his strange reasons for tracking down Elizabeth in the present. I’d just finished my story when Phil made a sharp left turn without signaling. Horns honked behind us. Before I could brace myself, she turned left again, drove two blocks and turned right.

  “Phil? What’s going on?”

  “I think we’re being followed.” She continued straight at faster than the speed limit and rolled through a stop sign.

  “Really?” I twisted around in my seat and looked out the back window. “Who is it?”

  “I don’t know. Two people. I couldn’t see their faces.”

  “Why don’t you let them follow and call your office? They could send some agents to follow them while they’re following us, right?”

  “I can’t. They…” she paused. I waited her out. “Might’ve been my own people.”

  I stared at her. “Why would they follow you?”

  “I think they have a hunch that I might not take myself out of the field, even though I’ve been ordered to.”

  “Are they right?”

  She didn’t answer me, just looked s
tone-faced and drove on in silence, checking her mirrors frequently. We passed through one commercial street and then it was all residential, mostly uphill. As we ascended, the houses we passed were grander and larger. The road narrowed and curved into a park-like area lined with pine trees. We ended up at the top of a hill with a view of the ocean and the Golden Gate Bridge. She parked by the side of the road and turned off the engine.

  “Where are we?” I turned in my seat to get a better look at the view.

  “We’re at the point of my disobeying orders, but only if you agree.”

  “It doesn’t involve lying, swearing, or fighting, does it?”

  “Nope.”

  “Then it’s fine by me. Will you get in trouble?”

  “That’s totally irrelevant to me at this point.”

  “Okay. So what are we going to do?”

  “Come on, I’ll show you.” We got out of the car. Phil opened the trunk and took out a pair of binoculars and handed them to me. “Let’s go up this way.” She headed up a trail that wound among pine trees. I’d expected the sharp tang of pine, but the air smelled musty and loamy. Where the path curved, the wind had blown leaves and needles against the base of the trees. We shuffled through these drifts, and a moldy odor drifted on the breeze. We stopped at a vista point and she gestured to the houses below us that lined the cliff above the ocean. “See that big modern house?”

  It was easy to spot—all glass and wood and sharp angles. It looked radically different from its staid palazzo-style neighbors. “Yes.”

  “That’s where Bobby Kroy lives.”

  I lifted the binoculars to my eyes and adjusted the focus. I could see one corner of the house that jutted out at an angle. Trees and foliage blocked my view of the rest of the house. I lowered the binoculars, but kept my eyes on the house. “You’re disobeying orders by showing it to me?”

  “Since my cover’s been blown, just being in the vicinity puts the operation at risk. But we’re shielded here and I won’t take you any closer. At least not on foot.”