But maybe Sissy had seen something else in the Dresser’s glove compartment. Now that she’d left town, there was no way of knowing, and in frustration he backed out of his parking space. Driving away, it suddenly occurred to him that he was wrong. There was a way of finding out, and it was a phone call away.
He returned to the lot and searched for some change. He’d tapped himself out, and finally found a dime under the floor mat. He called his house from a payphone.
“Better hurry. Dinner’s in the oven,” Lois said.
“I need to ask you a question about the Summer of Love,” he said.
“Tony, I’m trying to forget about that.”
“I’m sorry, but this is important.”
“Can it wait until you’re home, after dinner?”
“No.” The line went silent, and he said, “I think I’m onto something.”
“Oh, all right, go ahead.”
“The three guys whose dressing room was next to yours. You said one was a juggler, the other a comedian. You said the third had a funny name, but you couldn’t remember what his act was.”
“That’s right,” Lois said.
“Could he have been a magician?”
There was a short silence as his wife gave it some thought.
“You know, I think he was,” Lois said.
Valentine broke the speed limit driving to the station house, and did double-time up the two flights of stairs to Banko’s office on the third floor. It got his heart going in a way that reminded him why he liked his job. Sabina was still at her desk, and informed him that Special Agents Fuller and Romero were in the next room, plus four homicide detectives who Banko had brought in to work the case.
“They’re not to be disturbed,” Sabina cautioned him.
“Did they find the killer?”
“No, but I think they’re getting closer.”
There was a look of hope in her eyes. He was about to make their job a lot easier, and he said, “Why don’t you go to the cafeteria and get a drink. That way, it will look like I barged in when you weren’t here.”
“You’re going to disturb them?” she said disbelievingly.
“Afraid so.”
“But Banko will fire you.”
“I’m willing to take my chances.”
“Tony, please don’t do that.”
It sounded like something his wife would say. Sabina looked into his eyes and saw she was dealing with a lost cause. She grabbed her purse off the desk.
“Good luck.”
He waited until she was gone, then entered Banko’s office without bothering to knock. The room was choking with cigarette smoke and foul body odor. Seven men were huddled over Banko’s desk, reviewing a map of the island and a long suspect list. Next to the list was a picture of Mona. Romero and Fuller glanced up from the map, and looked embarrassed to see him. Banko came around the desk, looking mad as hell.
“What are you doing here, Valentine?”
“I need to talk to you,” Valentine said.
Banko was surprisingly fast for a large man. He pushed Valentine toward the door, then put his hand on the knob, and jerked it open. “Go home.”
“No.”
“Tony, for once in your life, listen to me. You’ll be in trouble if you don’t.”
“Give me a chance.”
Banko grimaced.
“I deserve a chance.”
Banko pointed at the open doorway.
“Sir,” he added.
“Jesus Christ,” Banko said under his breath. “Say it.”
Valentine produced a sheet of paper from his pocket, and unfolded it. Uncle Al had given him the names of twelve magicians who lived in the Atlantic City area who’d been performing for over twenty years. He handed the list to his superior.
“The Dresser is one of the guys on this list,” he said.
Banko snatched the sheet out of his hand, his eyes racing down the page.
“You’re absolutely positive about this?”
“He’s a magician. I called Lois, and she confirmed it.”
The rage melted from Banko’s face. He grabbed Valentine by the sleeve, and pulled him over to the desk where the others were huddled.
“You guys need to hear this,” Banko said.
Chapter 55
All twelve magicians on Uncle Al’s list were listed in the Yellow Pages. The list was copied down and Xeroxed, then divided into three groups, which were split between Fuller and Romero, and the other two pairs of detectives. The men left, and Banko gave Valentine a fatherly slap on the shoulder.
“This is a nice piece of detective work. Good going.”
“Guess I haven’t lost my street smarts,” Valentine said.
Banko gave him the slow burn. “Giving you the casino job still stings, doesn’t it?”
“Did I say that?”
“I was born late, but not late last night.”
“Yes, it still stings,” Valentine admitted.
“Do you know why I put you in the casino?”
“Because I got shot, and you didn’t think I was fit for the street.”
“You’ve always been fit for the street.”
“Then why did you do it?”
“Because I knew you wouldn’t be corrupted by all that money,” Banko said. “I needed the squarest guy in Atlantic City to run that place, and you were the best choice.”
Sabina popped her head in. “Still got a job?” she asked.
“Looks like it,” Valentine said.
Sabina looked to her boss for assurance.
“Yes,” Banko said.
She said goodnight and left. Banko picked up one of the Xeroxed lists, and handed it to Valentine. “Make yourself useful, and run a background check on these suspects.”
“Does that mean I’m now working the case?”
“Don’t be a wise ass,” Banko said.
Valentine then went downstairs to the records room, and began looking through the files of men who’d been arrested in Atlantic City over the past twenty years. There were several thousand names, with many not in proper alphabetical order. He had heard that one day, all of the department’s records would be computerized, whatever the hell that meant. In the meantime, every search had to be painstakingly done by hand.
It took an hour and a half to see if any of the twelve suspects had ever been arrested. Of the group, three of the men had criminal records.
The first was Lester Clay, aka The Amazing Foodini. Lester had been arrested for carping checks, and done hard time in Rahway State Penitentiary. Valentine found his parole officer’s name on the sheet, and called him at home. From the officer he learned that Lester lived alone, and had few friends. The parole officer had called Lester a social misanthrope. Valentine hated labels, and said, “What does that mean?”
“He’s a real prick,” the parole officer said.
The second suspect was Martin Hollis — stage name Farky — who’d been arrested for sticking a frozen pepperoni pizza down his pants in the A&P supermarket. Farky had been in his magic costume — top hat, tails, and a walking cane — and acted like he didn’t know where the stolen food had come from when the arresting officer had pulled it from his pants. The arresting officer had not been amused. Hollis’s crime was not considered serious, and he’d been released with a warning.
Johnny Martin — Martin the Magic Man — was the third suspect to run afoul of the law. Johnny had pulled his car up to a street corner one night, and solicited a policewoman posing as a prostitute. The Magic Man had also been wearing his magic costume — a pink bunny outfit with a Styrofoam tail and floppy ears — and had been legally drunk. Martin had wisely thrown himself upon the mercy of the court, and was currently on parole. Valentine called his parole officer as well, and got no answer.