CHAPTER TWENTY
Paige had to admit, she hadn’t realized that there was quite so much money in magic. She could only stare at Mark Zint’s Las Vegas mansion with a kind of awe as she and Christopher pulled up in front of it. It looked as if someone had seen the Palace of Versailles and told the architect to recreate it on a scale that would fit in the city.
The cars outside were just as expensive. Paige saw a Maserati and a Ferrari, along with a number of other sleek black cars. Too many, she thought, for one man, although maybe Mark Zint just kept a collection of them so that he could pick one according to his mood.
“Looks like Mr. Zint has guests,” Christopher said.
“Do we come back later?” Paige asked. Trying to question someone while they had people there sounded like a recipe for conflict.
“Not when we have a killer who has murdered so many people in a short time,” Christopher said. “If we waste any time now, we might lose the chance to stop him before he kills again.”
Paige nodded. That made sense, but she suspected that it wouldn’t make any of this easy.
“How does a magician make this much money?” Paige asked.
“Mark Zint was pretty big,” Christopher said, with the certainty of someone who must have watched his shows. “But it wasn’t just the TV specials or the stage shows. He also came up with the Zint Method.”
“The Zint Method?” Paige asked with a frown.
“It’s a mentalism technique for forcing the selection of particular objects or numbers,” Christopher explained. “He says that it builds on fundamental psychological principles to nudge people towards the choices he wants. It’s become one of the most reliable methods. I think he even teaches courses to business leaders these days.”
Fundamental psychological principles? As someone with a Ph.D. in criminal psychology, Paige found her interest piqued.
“So how does it work?” she asked.
Christopher shrugged. “I wasn’t quite interested enough to pay the hundred and fifty dollars to find out. I’m more of a card tricks on the internet for free kind of guy.”
Clearly, though, plenty of people were interested in whatever secrets Mark Zint had to impart.
The two of them went to the door, and found themselves met by a genuine, old-fashioned butler, complete with fake British accent. Paige found herself wondering if he was an actor employed for the afternoon, or if Mark Zint really did keep a butler around.
“Yes?” he said.
Christopher showed his badge. “FBI. We need to speak to Mr. Zint.”
“I will just see if he’s available, sir,” the butler said. He turned and walked into the house.
Paige looked across to Christopher. “Should we follow him?”
“You know we can’t,” Christopher said.
That was frustrating. Because they didn’t have a warrant, they had to tell a suspect in their murder case that they were there and wait to see if he would deign to see them. That meant that he had all the time in the world, if he wanted, to try to make an escape.
Paige was left watching the interior of his hallway, which had a grand double staircase leading up, and some, frankly, strange decorations. It was very red, with drapes and carpets all in that color, while a chandelier hung with diamond cut crystals above. A painting hung at eye level of a woman in a diamond necklace. Paige got the feeling that Mr. Zint was trying to set up some kind of trick with subliminal messaging, trying to get his guests to think of the queen of diamonds. If that was the level at which he worked, Paige wasn’t impressed.
The butler came hurrying back. Paige half expected him to say that Mark Zint wasn’t prepared to speak to them, which would mean they would need to get a warrant to do it. Based on what they had, particularly the death threat, they might be able to do it, but it was by no means guaranteed.
“Mr. Zint will see you now,” the butler said, to Paige’s surprise. “He is entertaining guests, but would be happy for you to join them.”
The butler led the way through the house, over parquet flooring that made her shoes click against it. Taxidermy animals decorated many of the walls, while the artwork in between looked expensive, but also featured so many scantily clad women that Paige was sure that was the reason it had been chosen, rather than anything to do with it being painted in the classical period.
They arrived in a large lounge with huge windows on one side so that it was halfway to being a conservatory. Bookcases stood around the walls, although they had at least as many magical props on them as books. A large aquarium stood among the shelves, with turtles swimming back and forth. It seemed that Mark Zint had experience in dealing with sea creatures.
There was classical music playing in the background, while five men were clustered around a table, playing cards with drinks set out in front of them. One of them looked over as they approached, thirty something, dark haired and dark eyed, with a bright smile that didn’t quite reach those eyes.
Paige recognized Mark Zint from pictures of him online. They all kept playing for a couple of hands, leaving the two of them standing there waiting. Paige guessed that it was a game designed to assert some kind of authority over her and Christopher, and she had to resist the urge to just interrupt. She suspected that wouldn’t get answers. She found herself watching Zint and his expressions, watching the way tension flickered over his face, how his eyebrow raised a fraction later.
Finally, Zint deigned to talk to them.