I stood a few feet away from Blackstone, watching him.
“Ah,” he said. “I have it.”
The lights went out.
Someone gasped. The lights came back on.
Blackstone was slumped over, face on the table, knife sticking out of his neck.
“There he goes,” Pete Bouton shouted. “He killed my brother!”
The ballroom door was open. Someone ran out. Pete ran for the door shouting, “Don’t let him get away!”
People started to rise. Pete stopped at the door, turned, and held up a hand to keep the first pursuers from exiting.
I took four quick steps to Blackstone, who suddenly sat up and said, “The illusion is complete. Please return to your seats.”
Blackstone reached up, pulled down the collar of his sweater. He snapped a white band and pulled it off of his neck and held it in front of him. A knife handle and an inch or two of blade were attached to the band. Blackstone placed the device on the table.
“When the lights went out the other night,” said Blackstone, “Calvin Ott pulled something very like this from his satchel, snapped it on his neck, and put his head on the table just as I did now.”
Phil and I looked at each other. Ott had come to our office not to make a sincere bet but because he wanted to establish why he would be carrying the black satchel at the testimonial dinner.
Blackstone looked around the room and continued, “I think he planned to be sitting here when we all returned from our wild goose chase. I think he had something ready to say about having fooled me with his illusion, but … someone else had the perfect conclusion to Calvin Ott’s illusion.”
“The killer, who was part of Ott’s scheme, came to the podium as he was supposed to do, stood behind Ott, and when the device was removed, stabbed Ott in the neck. The victim had inadvertently participated in his own murder. The killer dropped the device with the fake knife into the satchel and ran.”
“Where?” asked one of the magicians. “Who is he?”
“Some of you know Melvin Rand,” said Blackstone.
There were murmurs around the room.
“Melvin Rand was a waiter that night,” said Blackstone, looking at the ballroom door.
Jimmy Clark, who had turned out the lights at Blackstone’s cue and then run through the door, came back into the ballroom. Blackstone smiled and nodded at him. Jeremy said something, and then Jimmy went back out the door.
“Rand killed Ott?” asked someone.
“And Rand is now dead. There was a suicide note, a confession,” said Blackstone, looking at Cawelti who stood impassively, arms still folded. “The case appears to be closed. The illusion revealed. The show is over.”
The magicians applauded and rose. Some headed for the door, including Leo Benz. Others went up to congratulate Blackstone.
“Too easy,” I heard one lean man say.
“Best illusions always are when you find out how they’re done,” said the tall man to whom he was talking.
The congratulating of Blackstone went on for about ten minutes. Cornel Wilde also made his way to Blackstone, who reached out to shake the actor’s hand.
When almost everyone had cleared the room, Cawelti shook his head, went through the door, and disappeared. Phil, the Butlers, Shelly, Gunther, and I stood in a half circle in front of Blackstone and his brother.
“Something is missing,” said Blackstone. “Something doesn’t feel right, but.…”
Blackstone shrugged and picked up the satchel. I went with Wilde to the door.
“Thanks for coming,” I said.
“I enjoyed it,” said Wilde.
“Well,” I said. “Too bad he wasn’t here, the man who was with Rand at Columbia.”
“He was,” said Wilde.
“Wait,” I said. “When everyone was inside the room and the doors were closed, you let me know he wasn’t here.”
“He didn’t come through the door,” Wilde said.
Besides Blackstone and his brother no one had been in the room except….
“Jimmy?” I said.
“The young man with the limp,” said Wilde. “That’s Jimmy?”
“Yes,” I said.
“It was him,” said Wilde, looking at his watch. “I’ve got to hurry. As I said, I enjoyed it.”
He shook my hand and was gone. I hurried over to Phil to tell him what Wilde had said. I then turned to Pete Bouton and asked, “Do you know where Jimmy is?”
Before he could answer, Jeremy said, “I do.”
Phil and I looked at him.
“He’s babysitting Natasha,” said Alice.
“I thought you said Violet was watching Natasha,” I said.
“Until Jimmy could relieve her,” said Jeremy. “She had to catch the last red car home at nine.”
Okay. I had choices to make and fast. Did I just turn and run the three blocks to the Farraday Building? Did I tell Jeremy and Alice what was happening? Maybe nothing was happening. Did I have time to explain it to Phil?
I motioned to my brother as I moved fast across the floor and out the door. The phones were in the lobby on a wall to the right near the registration desk. I fished for a nickel as I reached for the phone.
“What’s going on?” Phil asked behind me.
I held up a hand for him to wait while I called Jeremy’s apartment.
“Toby?” Phil insisted. “What the hell’s wrong with you?”
The phone rang.
“Jimmy Clark was with Rand when he went to Columbia to try to blackmail Cornel Wilde,” I said.
The phone rang.
“Jimmy was backstage when Cunningham was murdered,” I said. “Jimmy was handling the lights here when Ott was murdered. Jimmy …”
Someone picked up the phone and said, “Hello.”
“Why the hell …?” Phil started, but I said,
“Juanita?”
“Toby?”
“What are you doing there?” I asked.
“I was working late,” she said. “The Scoufas sisters wanted an emergency session, get in touch with their dead brother, you know. So I said to myself, they’re good Greek ladies. How can it hurt if I give them a little support, though, in truth, I can no more talk to the dead than I can turn myself into Rita Hayworth or …”
“Juanita, is Natasha there? Is a kid named Jimmy Clark there? He’s supposed to be sitting with Natasha.”
“Nice kid,” Juanita said. “He saw me going down the elevator and asked if I could sit with Natasha for a little while. He had to do something. How do you say no? Know what I mean?”
“Where did he go?” I asked, looking at Phil who stood with his fists clenched and his feet apart.
“Who knows? Am I a mind reader?” Juanita snapped, with a distinct return of her New York City roots.
“Yes, you are,” I said.
“No, I’m a seer, a clairvoyant, I beg your pardon. I don’t know what people are thinking,” she said. “I’ve told you all this before. There was something I felt about that young man. Something was heavy on his mind. You didn’t need special gifts to see that.”
“Where’s Natasha?” I asked.
“Asleep in bed I guess,” Juanita said.
“You guess? You haven’t seen her?”
“No, I’m sitting here listening to Big Town on the radio, playing a little solitaire.”
“Juanita,” I said calmly. “Go look at Natasha and come back on the phone and tell me she’s alright.”
Something in my voice got through to Juanita. She said “Sure,” clunking the phone down on the wooden coffee table in the Butler apartment as she went to check.
“Where’s Clark staying? What hotel?” Phil asked.
I told him, and then Juanita came back on.
“Toby, she’s not there!”
Chapter 18
Take a piece of paper. Fold it evenly in thirds. Write the name of three people in the room on each third. Tear the paper along the creases. Have someone fold the sheets in half and drop them into a hat. Have someone say one of the names in the hat. Reach in, pull out a folded sheet, open it, and show the name chosen. Solution: Simply remember where the paper is torn. If the piece with the name on it is the centerpiece, it will be torn on top and bottom. For the other two, be sure that when you make the tear on one that you very slightly nip it off in a corner so that you can feel where you made the nip.