I looked at the puffed-up bandage and gauze covering most of my right shoulder. The skin was a sickly yellow around the bandage. "Something bad got into my blood. I'm okay now, though. I'm coming back." But I remembered what Irwin Snyder had said: You're one of us.
Chapter 56
I was able to make it downstairs for dinner that night. Nana rewarded my appearance at the table with chicken, gravy, and biscuits, and a homemade apple crisp. I made an effort to eat, and I surprised myself by doing pretty well.
After dinner, I put little Alex to bed. I went back up to my room around eight-thirty, and everybody seemed to understand that I was tired, not myself yet.
I didn't sleep once I got up to my room, though. Too many bad thoughts about the murders were buzzing in my head. Right or wrong, I felt like we were getting close to something. Maybe I was just fooling myself, though.
I worked for a couple of hours on the computer, and my concentration was fine. I was pretty certain that something had to link up the cities where the murders had taken place. What was it, though? What was everybody missing?
I looked at anything and everything. I studied the schedules of airplane carriers that flew into each of the cities, then bus companies, and finally railroads. It was probably just busywork, but you never know, and I had nothing better to do.
I checked out corporations that had main or branch offices in the cities and found there were a lot of matches, but it wasn't likely to get me anywhere. Federal Express, American Express, the Gap, the Limited, McDonald's, Sears, and JC Penney were just about everywhere. So what?
I had at least one travel book for each of the cities where murders had taken place, and I pored over them until it was almost midnight. Nothing came of it. My arm was throbbing again. I was starting to get a headache. The rest of the house was quiet.
Next, I checked on traveling sports teams, circuses and carnivals, author tours, rock and roll groups — and then I hit on something in the entertainment area. I had been ready to call it a night, but here was something interesting. I tried not to get excited, but my pulse quickened as I checked the West Coast information first. Then the East Coast. Bingo. Maybe.
I had found the kind of pattern that I was looking for — an entertainment act that worked winters and early spring on the West Coast, and then came east. Their tour cities and the murders were matching up for now. Jesus.
They had been touring for fifteen years.
I was almost certain I'd found some kind of connection to the killers.
Two magicians who called themselves Daniel and Charles.
The same ones Andrew Cotton and Dara Grey had seen the night they were murdered in Las Vegas.
I even knew where they were scheduled to perform next. They were probably already there.
New Orleans.
I called Kyle Craig.
Chapter 57
Eleven years of unsolved murders had come down to this.
New Orleans, Louisiana.
A nightclub called Howl.
A pair of magicians named Daniel and Charles.
I still couldn't travel, so I remained in Washington. I hated not being in New Orleans. I was missing an important time, but Kyle was there. I think he wanted to make this bust himself, and I couldn't blame him. This could help make his career, no doubt about it. The case was huge.
That night in New Orleans a half dozen FBI agents circulated through the crowd that had turned out for Daniel and Charles's early performance. Howl was located in the warehouse district, off Julia Street. Usually it featured musical acts, and even tonight zydeco and blues reverberated from the mortar-and-redbrick walls. A few tourists tried to bring "geaux" cups from Bourbon Street into Howl. They were denied admission "for life."
The used Cressidas and Colts and a few sport-utility vehicles in the parking lot were a tip-off to the presence of Tulane and Loyola college students packed inside. Smoke lay thick over the noisy and restless crowd. Several in the audience looked underage, and the club had been cited for serving minors. The owners found it easier to buy off the New Orleans police than to effectively regulate the club.
Suddenly, everything went quiet. A single voice punctuated the silence. "Holy shit! Look at this."
A white tiger had walked out onto the stage, which was covered in layers of black velvet.
There was no leash on the cat. No trainer or handler was anywhere in sight. The formerly raucous audience remained silent.
The big cat lazily raised its head and roared. A girl in a hot-pink tank top screamed in the pit seating area. The cat roared again.
A second white tiger walked out and stood beside the first. It glared down at the crowd and roared. The pit audience was situated directly in front of the stage. Men and women seated there scrambled away, grabbing their beer bottles.
An unmistakable tiger roar now came from the back, behind the audience. Everyone froze. How many cats were loose in the club? Where were they? What the hell was going on?
The lights onstage made the peripheral space a dark void. Any retreat to either side of the room was a gamble. There was a shift of the stage lights — left to right, then right to left. The lights were powerful, almost blinding. The lights created the visual illusion that the entire stage had moved.
The crowd's gasp was audible. Panic was in the air.
The tigers were gone!
Two magicians in shimmering black-and-gold suits now stood at the center of the stage where the tigers had been just a heartbeat ago. They were both smiling; they almost seemed to be laughing at the jittery audience.
The taller of the two, Daniel, finally spoke. "You have nothing to fear. We're Daniel and Charles, and we're the best you will ever see! That is a promise I plan to keep. Let the magic begin!"
The crowd inside Howl began to clap and cheer, and then to howl. There were two shows that night. Each was scheduled to last an hour and a half. FBI agents had infiltrated the crowd. Kyle Craig was inside. More agents were posted outside on the street. Daniel and Charles concentrated on several tricks, which they called "Homage to Houdini." They also performed Carl Hertz's "Merry Widow."
The audience response to the shows was highly favorable. Nearly everybody left the club in awe, vowing to come again, to tell friends to come. Apparently, it happened everywhere that Daniel and Charles played, coast to coast.
Now came the real work for the FBI. After the second show, Daniel and Charles were whisked away to a silver limousine idling in a sealed-off alley at the stage door. There was a lot of noise and confusion backstage. Daniel and Charles were screaming at each other.
Once the silver limousine finally exited the alley, a team of FBI cars followed through the usual crowds in downtown New Orleans, then out toward Lake Pontchartrain. Kyle Craig was in radio contact for the entire trip.
The limo pulled up in front of an antebellum mansion where a private party was in full rage. Loud rock and roll music, Dr. John, blared across spacious lawns marked by two— and three-hundred-year-old, oaks. Partygoers had spilled onto the lawns that sloped down to the dark, glimmering water of the lake.
The limo driver got out and opened one of the back doors with a theatrical flourish. As several FBI agents watched in disbelief, two white tigers jumped out.
Daniel and Charles were not in the limousine. The magicians had disappeared.
Chapter 58
Daniel and Charles had arrived at a small, private club inside a house in Abita Springs, Louisiana, about fifty miles outside New Orleans. This particular club had never been written up in the entertainment section of the Times-Picayune, or in any of the glossy-covered guide magazines available in the lobbies of just about every large and small New Orleans hotel.