CHAPTER TWENTY FIVE
It was getting dark as Paige went back out to the car, determined to find out about any magician with a link to beauty spots. She sat in it with her computer, trying to find answers that she could bring back to Christopher.
Presumably, he was still in the interrogation room, trying to get answers out of Mark Zint. Certainly, he hadn’t called her so far, or messaged her to find out what she was doing. Was that because he was so caught up in the interrogation that he hadn’t had a chance? Did he simply trust Paige to deal with it? Or did he not care enough to communicate?
That last possibility hurt, even though Paige knew that she had no right for it to hurt. Christopher wasn’t obliged to be there with her. He certainly wasn’t obliged to care. He was just trying to do his job, and Paige had to do hers.
Once she had enough, she could take it to him, and then they would bring down the serial killer, together.
First, though, Paige had to prove the connection. To do that, Paige had to find a magician with an assistant who had a beauty mark like the ones on Clarissa, Mylene, and Sienna’s faces.
The trouble was that searching for that on the internet didn’t bring up any immediate results. If there had been such an act, they hadn’t been big enough for the information to make a big splash, or they’d failed so thoroughly that it had all ended up buried under the rest of the internet. It meant that Paige found herself having to skim past site after site dedicated to skincare or surgical mole removal.
If there was an answer here, then it was buried pretty deep. Paige knew she had to keep searching, keep trying until she found something, but how long would that take? There had to be a faster way.
Paige tried started trying other searches, looking into the history of magic, specifically around Las Vegas. That brought up a lot of general articles, talking about famous magicians of the past, but it also brought up something more interesting, something that had Paige clicking on it instantly.
The Museum of Las Vegas Magic, dedicated to the history of stage magicians in the city, was only a few blocks off the strip. Paige checked the opening hours. She would have to hurry, but she might still be able to make it.
Throwing the car into gear, she started to speed through the Las Vegas traffic, weaving in and out. They’d trained Paige in the basics of pursuit driving at the FBI academy, but this was Paige’s first time putting them into practice, hitting the lights and siren of the car the field office had supplied so that she could move faster through the streets without crashing into anyone.
She had to get to that museum before it closed. This might be her last chance to identify the killer before he was able to strike again.
There was an art to this kind of high-speed driving. It was about thinking ahead, trying to predict what people would do. Most of those there on the street got out of Paige’s way, but not all, and that meant that she had to swerve around them, gripping onto the wheel tightly as the car lurched from side to side with the effort of dodging around the traffic.
Paige did everything she could to keep it on course, but it was a struggle. She skidded around a limousine taking people to some kind of party, then darted in between a bus and a truck. Paige made up time along the strip, driving as fast as she dared with people around. This might not be a chase, but it was still life or death if she couldn’t get to the museum before all the staff left for the day.
Paige saw it ahead and pulled up in front of it, not caring that she had to more or less abandon the car in the street to do it. The windows were filled with magic paraphernalia, including a display of top hats and masks from down the ages, while posters were stuck everywhere advertising shows around the city.
Steel shutters were rolling down over the doors, and Paige hammered on them, hoping that someone would hear her.
“We’re closed!” a voice called from inside.
Paige pressed her badge up against the glass of the door. “FBI! Open up! I need your help!”
For a moment or two, the shutters kept descending, and Paige had to jerk her hand back to avoid being caught by them. Then, though, the shutters reversed direction, a man coming to the door and opening it.
He was perhaps fifty, bald, but with a graying triangle of beard, and multiple earrings in one ear. He wore a tuxedo, presumably in imitation of great magicians of the past, and he was currently looking at Paige as if he expected this whole thing to be some grand hoax at his expense.
“What’s all this about?” he demanded.
“I’m Agent Paige King, with the FBI,” Paige said, showing her badge again. “Who are you, sir?”
“I’m Herman Weber. I run the museum here.”
“Have you heard about the murders in the last couple of days, Mr. Weber? The ones that have copied magical routines?”
“Of course I have,” Herman replied. “Everyone in the business has been talking about it.”
“I’m working the case, and I need information,” Paige said. “Information about magic acts in the city. Is that something you might be able to help with?”
“Well, yes, I suppose so,” Herman said. “You’d better come inside.”
The interior of the place was filled with glass boxes, each holding what appeared to be props from magic tricks. It looked a little like the workshop where Zane Caister had worked in that respect, only with considerably more order to it.
Herman gestured to a couple of armchairs in one corner. They appeared to be exhibits, but he didn’t seem to have any problem sitting in one of them, with Paige opposite him.
“Did you know that these chairs were once used by the amazing Malfini Sisters for their transmogrification effect? For years, people searched for some secret to it hidden in the chairs, but I’m relatively confident at this point that they are just comfortable chairs.”