Hot Trick (A Detective Shelley Caldwell Novel)

by Patricia Rosemoor

  Another “photograph” that I would take to the grave with me.

  “What are you doing standing out here?”

  I started when I realized Mike Norelli was standing next to me. “Waiting for you.”

  “You couldn’t come in?”

  “Is there something I need to see that I can’t see from here?”

  Norelli glanced through the glass. He frowned and shook his head. For a brief moment, I recognized that he was as affected by the sight of the dead woman as I was. Wow. Norelli was human, after all.

  “So what did you get?” he asked.

  “Humboldt Park.” I handed him the slip of paper with Sebastian’s address on it. “How about you?”

  “I got us a judge.”

  “The Martin woman is…was…a judge?”

  “Not her. Her older brother. Bobby Rafferty.”

  “Judge Bobby Rafferty?” My mind roiled at the information. We had a heater on our hands.

  “I got it from the neighbor. Apparently the husband is out of town on business until tomorrow.”

  “Were you able to confirm that?”

  “At this time of night—what do you think?”

  So we would have to do that during business hours. Once we found out what business Joseph Martin was in.

  “This can’t be a coincidence.” Dreading what was to come, I locked my gaze with Norelli’s. “Rafferty was the judge on the Hernandez case.”

  “Where does the ‘not a coincidence’ part come in?”

  “Sebastian Cole collects donations for his performances. The donations go to help people who have been denied justice. Last night’s donations went to Benita Rivera, sister of Hernandez’s victim, so she could pursue the case.”

  “Well, then, let’s see what Cole has to say about that.”

  We walked out to the parking lot together, but when I headed for my Camaro, Norelli said, “You can ride with me.”

  Oh, hell. The last thing I wanted was to leave my car at the morgue. “I think I’ll drive myself.”

  “What, you got a problem with my driving?”

  “It’s not that.” I glanced over my shoulder at the building.

  “Ah, superstitious, huh? Okay, follow me out and we’ll find some place to leave your vehicle.”

  Arguing wouldn’t score me any points with Norelli, so I simply nodded and got into my car. The jumpy feeling was back. Instinct made me take a good look around, but I didn’t see anything out of place.

  I followed Norelli to Ashland Avenue where he headed for the north side. Just after passing the Chicago Avenue intersection, he pulled over to the curb. I pulled right behind him, next to an empty meter, and locked up. Ironic since, when he let me off later, I’d be close to home but wouldn’t have the chance to get there. I’d be working the homicide late into the night.

  After climbing into his car and settling down, I said, “We have another complication.”

  As Norelli took off, I explained about the attempted robbery earlier that evening, how the offenders had been taken off in a paddy wagon only to escape, with one showing up at the murder scene.

  “You’re sure it was the same guy?”

  “Hey, I would recognize Snake Eyes anywhere.”

  “Good,” he said, turning west, “because chances are he has a record and we have his mug.”

  “I figured I would take a look as soon as I got back to the office.”

  “So the same guy who tried robbing the donations then shows up at a crime scene of a murder having a peculiar similarity to Sebastian’s escape?”

  “It could be a coincidence.”

  “What’s your gut tell you?”

  “The same as yours. Not a chance in hell.”

  “You got potential, Caldwell.”

  As close to a compliment as I probably would ever get from Mike Norelli.

  “This Sebastian guy…sounds like he’s got a lot of explaining to do.”

  Uh-oh. “You don’t think he’s guilty though, right?” I didn’t think the escape and murder similarities were coincidence, but I also didn’t think that necessarily made Sebastian a murderer.

  “If it walks like a duck and quacks like a duck…”

  I glanced at his profile. His features had hardened as if he’d convinced himself that Sebastian was indeed guilty. My stomach knotted.

  What if Norelli looked at Silke as an accomplice?

  Chapter Twelve

  Five minutes later, we pulled up in front of the Humboldt Park address. The once commercial four-story building had been converted into living space. Still, not a fancy address for someone with such fame and money. The neighborhood was slowly being gentrified, but it was mostly occupied by working poor and students and artists. And gangs. Several buildings had been tagged.

  Not Sebastian’s, though.

  “C’mon, let’s nail the bastard,” Norelli said.

  “Hey, wait a minute. I never meant Sebastian did anything himself. Just that there was a connection between his performance and the murder. He might know information of value, yes,” I agreed, “but let’s not leap blind and make assumptions about the guy.”

  “Don’t get soft on me now, Caldwell. Let’s go.”

  What could I do?

  His mind was set.

  Like a mule.

  The good thing about Norelli was that he didn’t make an arrest unless he was certain he had a strong case that could be successfully prosecuted. That gave me some comfort.

  We left the car double-parked and went inside the small lobby. No security guard, but I quickly noted we were on candid camera. I found Sebastian’s code on the directory, lifted the handset and dialed.

  Two rings and he answered.

  “Why, Shelley,” he said before I could speak, “to what do I owe this honor? Surely you’re not following up on the robbery attempt at…well, almost two in the morning.”

  I spoke directly to the camera, the only possible way he’d known who was responsible for waking him up. “We have a different situation we need to talk to you about.”

  “Yes, I see you’ve brought a friend.”

  “This is Detective Norelli.”

  “Come on up. I’m on three.”

  He buzzed us in. A tiny, near-claustrophobic elevator sat opposite the entry door. Norelli was too close for my comfort, as if trying to read me. I feared that one of these days he would succeed.

  “So it’s Shelley,” he said. “You and Sebastian Cole are on first-name terms.”

  “That’s how Silke introduced me.” I couldn’t help sounding defensive.

  A moment later, we were face-to-face with the man himself. Sebastian awaited us in his open doorway. Dressed in black jeans and a T-shirt, he was barefoot and his long dark hair was pulled back into a ponytail. He wasn’t wearing stage makeup now, but his eyes still had an unsettling effect on me.

  “Come in.”

  I passed him first and my own eyes widened as I checked out his place, a loft of tremendous proportions. The living area held a couch and four upholstered chairs grouped together around a low table, all crowded near the open kitchen.

  A chair and one end of the couch were occupied by a wine-glass-wielding couple, who seemed to be at odds. The tension between them was palpable, stretching across the room all the way to me. I’d seen them before. The man had introduced Sebastian and his escape. The woman, a stunning brunette with short, spiked hair and wearing a body-hugging red dress, had called him away from me earlier.

  “This is my producer/manager Conrad DeGroot and my publicity diva Tanya Janicek.”

  So the tension was probably work related, I thought.

  I nodded at them, then, allowing the barest inflection of a question in my voice, said, “It seems we’re interrupting.”

  “Just going over the performance and making plans for the next one,” DeGroot stated, his voice sharp.

  Norelli nodded. “If there is a next.”

  That brought Sebastian up short. But if disturbed by the inti
mation, he covered fast. “Please, sit. Can I get you a drink? Wine, perhaps?”

  “We don’t drink on the job,” Norelli informed him.

  He sat, but I let curiosity get to me. The rest of this floor was either a private museum or the workshop where Sebastian designed and practiced his escapes. I passed a desk and drawing board that held several neatly executed sketches. At the far end of the room trunks, coffins and cabinets stacked against the walls adjoining the windowed wall.

  For a moment, I thought I saw movement outside one of the windows, but when I blinked…nothing. Still, I moved closer to make sure. No balcony or fire escape. Either a bird had flown by in the dark, or my imagination was deceiving me.

  I turned and took in the props. Chains, handcuffs and leg shackles hung from the metal spiral staircase.

  Though Sebastian appeared amused at my interest, he didn’t act on it. “So, what’s the nature of your early morning visit, Detectives?”

  “Do you know a woman named Julie Martin?” Norelli asked, his tone level.

  “Never even heard the name before.”

  My gaze explored every corner of the room then up to the bedroom loft. A weird feeling seared me and I realized Sebastian was staring at me with open amusement. Feeling myself flush, I wandered back to the seating area and took the chair opposite Norelli. Sebastian remained on his feet, making us look up at him. On purpose, I was sure.

  “Julie Martin is dead, Mr. Cole,” Norelli said, his voice hardening. “Drowned in the Chicago River…tied up and stuffed in a trunk.”

  Tanya gasped and DeGroot nearly dropped his wine, catching it before the red liquid sloshed over the edge of the glass.

  Even Sebastian seemed unsettled by the news. “I beg your pardon?”

  I reminded myself that acting was part of his job. “The Martin woman died within an hour or so of your performance.”

  “You’re saying it’s some kind of copycat?”

  I nodded. “Looks like. The difference being she died of course, and her trunk was attached to a car.”

  “So what do you know about it?” Norelli asked, looking from Sebastian to the others.

  “Why would I know anything about a murder?” Sebastian asked.

  Either he was a good actor or he was telling the truth.

  “You people can’t make any kind of a connection just because the river was involved.” Sounding indignant, DeGroot set his wine glass on the table. “This is harassment.”

  “Well, we do have some coincidence,” I said. “Because Julie Martin was Judge Bobby Rafferty’s sister.”

  “Rafferty?” Sebastian echoed.

  DeGroot’s jaw clenched and Tanya avoided looking at me. At least they weren’t pretending not to get the connection.

  “Exactly.”

  Norelli pulled out his notepad and pen before asking, “Mr. Cole, where were you tonight after your performance?”

  I sat back and let my partner take over while I watched the escape artist and his employees for their reactions. The guilty weren’t usually relaxed.

  “I went out to eat with Conrad and Tanya. We’ve been together all night.”

  “Employees who will both vouch for you.”

  “Of course,” DeGroot said. “Your intimation that we would be lying is ridiculous, Detective Norelli.”

  “So you being on his payroll has nothing to do with giving your employer an alibi?”

  Sebastian jumped in. “I don’t need an alibi if I’ve done nothing wrong. And I haven’t.”

  “Sebastian is an honorable man who feels his work is not just entertaining but informing,” Tanya said, shifting into public relations mode.

  Norelli gave her an uh-huh look and then ignored her. “Where did you eat, Mr. Cole?”

  “Several blocks from where I performed my escape. A place called Lola’s.”

  Norelli’s eyebrows shot up. “And the staff would be able to verify you were there…how long?”

  “Until about midnight. Does that put me out of the time frame of your murder?”

  “Just. If it checks out. Then what did you do?”

  “We came straight home. I opened a bottle of wine and tried to relax while we talked business.” Sebastian indicated the half-full glasses on the table. “My escapes take more out of me than you can know.”

  Sebastian was playing it straight—innocent and only slightly put off that anyone would think otherwise. He smiled at me now. A smile that put a chill down my spine.

  I turned away and caught another flash of movement at the now-distant window. This time I was sure. I wasn’t imagining it. What would a bird be doing at Sebastian’s window? In the dark?

  “What was your server’s name?” Norelli asked.

  “I don’t recall. She was a short, pert young woman with blond hair.”

  “Cynthia,” Tanya said.

  Sebastian frowned. “You can’t seriously think I’m involved, Detective.”

  “Are you?”

  DeGroot spoke up in Sebastian’s defense. “If you knew anything about him, you’d know he’s all about getting justice for others.”

  “There’s more than one way to see that justice is served,” Norelli said.

  Sebastian’s visage darkened. “I work to get justice as you do, Detective. I’m offended that you consider me a suspect. Perhaps you should be looking for the bastard who copied one of my escapes to murder an innocent woman.”

  “We don’t let murderers get by in this town, Mr. Cole.” Norelli gave Sebastian an intent look. “We’re all about getting justice for the victim, too.”

  “Oh, as in the Hernandez case?”

  My case. I had a sore spot about how that one turned out, but decided to cut the tension between the two men. “Sebastian, did you know the offenders who tried to rob the audience tonight were never brought in?”

  He frowned. “You let them go?”

  “Not me. But someone did.” I watched his frown deepen and wondered if it was real or all part of the act. “They escaped—kind of like you did.”

  “Are all the police in this town incompetent?” DeGroot demanded, his face reddening.

  Sebastian held up a hand to silence him. “What do you mean, like I did?”

  “The men bringing them in passed out,” I offered, “and when they regained consciousness, the would-be thieves were gone and the paddy wagon door was open—no signs of force. You know, like magic.”

  “If you’re intimating I had anything to do with it—”

  “Did you?” Norelli asked.

  “You’re assuming that I even knew about it before now.”

  “I don’t think you should say anything more until I find you a lawyer,” his manager said.

  “I don’t need a lawyer because I’ve committed no crime.”

  “I hope that’s true,” I said, “because one of the escaped thieves showed up at the scene of the murder.”

  Whatever Sebastian felt about that, he quickly internalized it. “So you think I set up the theft and therefore must have something to do with the murder?”

  “We never said that.”

  I quickly switched directions yet again. “Do you have any enemies?”

  “Detectives,” Tanya said, in her best PR voice, “Sebastian is a well-loved performer—”

  “Everyone has enemies,” Sebastian cut her off.

  “One who would want to frame you for murder?” I asked. “What about Edmund Fox?”

  “Edmund Fox is a charlatan,” Tanya said, leaping to her feet. “You can’t trust a word that bastard says. He could be guilty of anything.”

  My, Tanya had some hate-fest going on with Fox, making me wonder if the derision was personal. What had the debunked magician done to Tanya to get such a heated response?

  “Fox does have reason to hate me,” Sebastian said. “I stopped him from bilking little old widows who wanted to be reconnected with their dead husbands.”

  “And took away his living.”

  “A dishonest one. I have no re
grets.”

  “Do you think he might have reason enough to murder someone and make you look guilty?” I asked.

  “I wouldn’t have any idea. How would be the question, considering I don’t broadcast what I’m going to do or when until mere hours before the event when we send out word over the internet. I have my permits. I make arrangements for whatever I need in secret. The only people who knew what escape I would perform last night didn’t get much of a head’s up. Less than a day…and two of them are sitting right here with us. My assistants—including your sister—would be the other two.”

  I knew he was trying to get to me by mentioning Silke. He stared at me again and I got a weird, skin-crawling reaction, sort of like I did when Silke was trying to communicate with me twin-style. I recognized the flash as one I’d had earlier after I’d stopped Snake Eyes from running off with the donations.

  “Well, then,” Norelli said, “that gives us more suspects, doesn’t it?”

  “How dare you,” DeGroot thundered, rising from the couch. “We don’t need to stay here to be insulted, Tanya. Let’s get out of here.”

  The manager motioned to the publicist, who seemed more than happy to do his bidding. She rushed to the door ahead of him.

  DeGroot cleared his throat. “Sebastian, if I were you, I wouldn’t say another word until we get you that lawyer.”

  “Thanks for the advice, Conrad, but I’ll handle this myself.”

  As the door slammed behind his employees, Sebastian focused on me, his expression intent. My neck tingled and my head throbbed. He was trying to get inside my mind! To what end? An expert at keeping Silke out, I did the same with him.

  His eyebrows arched and he smiled at me before turning his attention back to Norelli. “Detective, I want to find this murderer as much as you do.” Tension flowed from his features into a gaze that seemed to pin Norelli in place. Sebastian’s voice lowered, became mesmerizing. “But you can’t think I’m a murderer. Surely not,” he emphasized. “Surely you’ll keep an open mind.”

  Norelli blinked and snapped his head as if he’d been asleep, bringing himself to attention. “We have to keep an open mind, of course.”