"What's your name?"
"Kara--it's my stage name but I use it most of the time." A pained smile. "Better than the one my parents were kind enough to give me."
Sachs lifted a curious eyebrow.
"We'll keep that a secret."
"So," Sachs said, "why'd you give me that look back at the store?"
"David's right about that list. You can buy those things anywhere, in any store. Or on the Internet in hundreds of places. But about the Darbys, the handcuffs? Those're rare. You should call the Houdini and Escapology Museum in New Orleans. It's the best in the world. Escapism's one of my things. I don't tell him, though." Reverent emphasis on the third-person pronoun. "David's kind of opinionated. . . . Can you tell me what happened? With that murder?"
Normally circumspect about what she gav
e away on an active case, Sachs knew they needed help and gave Kara an outline of the killing and the escape.
"Oh, that's horrible," the young woman whispered.
"Yeah," Sachs replied softly. "It is."
"The way he disappeared? There's something you ought to know, Officer--Wait, do I call you 'officer'? Or are you like a detective or something?"
"Amelia's fine." Enjoying a brief memory of how she'd aced the assessment exercise.
Bang, bang . . .
Kara sipped more coffee, decided that it wasn't sweet enough and unscrewed the top of the sugar bottle then poured more in. Sachs watched the young woman's deft hands then glanced down at her own fingernails, two of which were torn, the cuticles bloody. The girl's were perfectly filed and the glossy black finish reflected the overhead lights in exact miniature. A jealous twinge--at the nails and the self-control that kept them so perfect--flared momentarily and then was put quickly to sleep by Amelia Sachs.
Kara asked, "You know what illusion is?"
"David Copperfield," Sachs replied, shrugging. "Houdini."
"Copperfield, yes. Houdini, no--he was an escapist. Well, illusion's different from sleight of hand or close-in magic, we call it. Like . . ." Kara held up a quarter in her fingers, change from the coffee. She closed her palm and when she opened it again the coin was gone.
Sachs laughed. Where the hell had it gone?
"That was sleight of hand. Illusion is tricks involving large objects or people or animals. What you just described, what that killer did, is a classic illusionist trick. It's called the Vanished Man."
"Vanishing Man?"
"No, the Vanished Man. In magic we use 'vanish' to mean 'to make disappear.' Like, 'I just vanished the quarter.' "
"Go on."
"The way it's performed usually is a little different from what you described but basically it involves the illusionist getting out of a locked room. The audience sees him step into this little room onstage--they can see the back because of a big mirror behind it. They hear him pound on the walls. The assistants pull the walls down and he's gone. Then one of the assistants turns around and it's the illusionist."
"How does it work?"
"There was a door in the back of the room. The illusionist covers himself with a large piece of black silk so the audience can't see him in the mirror and slips through the back door just after he walks inside. There's a speaker built into one of the walls to make it sound like he was inside all the time and a gimmick that hits the walls and sounds like he's pounding. Once the illusionist's outside he does a quick change behind the silk into an assistant's costume."
Sachs nodded. "That's it, all right. Could we get a short list of people who know the routine?"
"No, sorry--it's pretty common."
The Vanished Man . . .
Sachs was recalling that the killer had changed disguises quickly to become an older man, recalling, too, Balzac's lack of cooperation and the cold look in his eyes--almost sadistic--when he was talking to Kara. She asked, "I need to ask--where was he this morning?"
"Who?"