Magician (5 page)

“And you know how to do that stuff?”

“Well, no. I was only an amateur. But I had my big trick, like all magicians do. I could get out of a pair of handcuffs pretty easy. Sometimes even ropes, if they were tied a certain way. I used to do the handcuff escape thing, when I was younger, at F.O.P. fund raisers. Drove the other officers crazy. They all kept trying to find where I hid the key.”

“How did you do it?”

Tiller smiled and shook his head. “Abracadabra.”

“You’re going to give me that line about a good magician never revealing his tricks?”

“Not at all. Many tricks, most people just can’t do. They require manual dexterity most people just don’t have.”

I looked at Tiller like I thought he might be just a little crazy. “So, what do you mean? This guy is just sneakier than other people?”

Tiller leaned back and looked into the infinite. He didn’t look too comfortable with the suggestion that he himself might also be sneaky. “I’ll put it this way. I think that maybe there might be someone out there who is very good at not being seen.”

“Like someone who can hide in plain sight.”

“I’d say. Something like that. Most of us don’t look at each other too closely anyway. There are reasons for that. The man you’re looking for—and incidentally I do agree with the profiler’s assessment that it was a lone male—perhaps he’s developed the art of being nondescript to such a degree that no one gives him a second glance.”

“So you’re saying he’s an unremarkable looking guy?”

“Didn’t say that. He could wear an eye patch and have a peg leg. But maybe he’s just learned to give people the cue, ‘you aren’t interested in me.’ Maybe it’s a gift. Ted Bundy used to walk into department stores and walk out with a brand new stereo without paying for it. Nobody stopped him. You know how he did that? Nobody noticed him.”

“That’s quite a theory.”

“Yup.” Tiller sighed. “Only one that fits, though.”

Tiller sauntered out, disappearing into the gloom of his own private underworld.

I sat staring after him, and then shook myself. I pulled a thick file from the stack in front of me, and took out a binder. I opened it to the first page. The title read:

Comprehensive list of persons present at 66 Park Place Avenue, Wednesday, 1st June.

The list was indeed comprehensive. It detailed guests, servants, caterers and entertainers, as well as the gardeners, delivery people, and such peripheral persons as the mailman and meter readers. Their times of arrival and departure to the Champion’s home were noted, as were their reasons for being there in the first place.

One could compare the times of each person’s presence on the premises with the estimated time of Georgia’s disappearance. From there, it was elementary police work to deduce certain people could not have been involved. Or was it?

“Misdirection,” I murmured to myself.

No one
knew
for certain when Georgia had disappeared. It was the assumption of the investigators that persons unknown had been lurking in an upstairs bedroom, waiting for Georgia to excuse herself to go to the upstairs bathroom. She did this around 2:00 in the afternoon.

The Birmingham Police Department’s theory was stated explicitly in the case file:
A person or persons unknown made their way into the Champion house unseen, abducted Georgia, and made their way back out, the child in tow, all without being observed by anyone.
 

There were many holes in this theory, besides the obvious glaring one, that it was impossible. For one, Georgia may have come back downstairs after her trip to the bathroom. A boy claimed to have witnessed this. If his story was true, it blew the police theory out of the water. The problem with his story was that he alone had seen her. The boy had stated that Georgia had come back downstairs. He further stated she was wearing a red dress, and that told him it was time to cut the cake. If his statement were true, the boy was the last person to see her alive.

The boy went on to state that he had immediately gone into the dining room, where the rest of the party guests were gathered. He had urged Mrs. Champion to cut and serve the cake. She had planned to do this a little later, but relented when the child repeated what Georgia had allegedly said to him.

It was at this time that Mrs. Champion had sent the maid, Marguerite, to fetch Georgia. The maid hadn’t been able to find her. Neither had anyone else. And the rest was history. But could the history be wrong, at least in part? The detectives on the case, though duly noting the boy’s statement, seemed to discount it, since it disagreed with their own version of events. The police thinking was simple on that score.

First of all, the police profiler suggested that the abductor was a white male, late twenties to early thirties, with a police record of some sort. He was skilled at breaking and entering, an effective speaker, and probably physically strong.

Their theory of the abduction itself was simple: Georgia was abducted when she went upstairs. Someone had gained entry to the house and had lain in wait in her room. This was evidenced by the writing on the wall. The police felt that it was left by the abductor. In addition, the official theory pointed to the girl’s shoes being left behind. The detectives figured that the abductor did this so that Georgia could not injure him by kicking. The boy, therefore, couldn’t be telling the truth about encountering her on the stairs.

Their theory rested on certain facts, whereas the boy’s story was hearsay. For example, in the video taken at the party, Georgia was wearing a blue dress and black shoes. The shoes had been discovered in the upstairs hallway, but the blue dress had never been found. The investigation had seemingly avoided the issue of the shoes. My intuition was that there was a lead in those shoes, somehow. In all likelihood, the shoes had driven some poor police detective nearly crazy already.
 

There they were, another seemingly ambiguous set of pieces in the puzzle. But there was a second question that the police theory didn’t ask. This question was also raised by the weird staircase encounter. There was another bathroom downstairs, and at the time, according to the other guests, it was unoccupied. Was there another reason Georgia wanted to go upstairs? Taken in this light, it almost seemed as if Georgia had been
caught sneaking
downstairs by the boy. She may have thought he was in the kitchen with the other guests.

Maybe she had excused herself to go to the bathroom as a ploy. Maybe she had told the boy that it was time to cut the cake, even though it really wasn’t,
in order to get rid of him.
 

I sat back for a moment and looked at the small ocean of photographs, statements, and other paperwork. It was an interesting theory, but it was a curiosity, like Tiller’s magic trick. And, like his trick, it raised questions, rather than answered them.

Look for more assumptions. If the detectives made a mistake, that’s where they made it.

I thumbed through the statements again; there were about fifty in all. If the detectives discounted the boy’s statement a bit too readily, wasn’t there an equal chance that they took someone else at their word, just as easily? Maybe the follow-up on the statement of one of these individuals wasn’t as thorough as it might have been.

Who here seems above suspicion?

There was a list beside the Table of Contents, detailing the names, ages, and occupations of everyone whose statements were contained therein.

I looked through the occupations on the list: maid, caterer, meter reader, ice cream salesman, clown, clown, clown . . . three clowns? That seemed a bit excessive. Of course the whole party was excessive. He remembered his own birthdays as a child. There were no clowns. Of course, birthdays in the Westmoreland housing projects were a little different.
 

I looked at the statements of the clowns. They were quite lengthy. According to what was written there, they were all accounted for at 2:00 p.m.

That was important, since that was the supposed time of Georgia’s disappearance. Also in the dining room at the time were the two caterers, the maid, Mrs. Champion, and almost every one of the guests. All except one—the boy who said he’d seen Georgia. Why had he wandered out into the main hall? As far as I could tell, no one had ever asked him that question. His statement had been taken, filed, and ultimately discounted.

I looked at the name on the statement; Kenneth Edward Joiner, III.

Time to go ask Kenny that question.

Chapter 5

Kenny Joiner’s parents had cheerfully agreed to allow me to interview him. All of the families who knew the Champions had agreed to do whatever they could to help find Georgia. The Joiners had given me directions to their home, which was modest compared to the Champion’s, but still big enough to house an infantry platoon.

Mrs. Joiner, a lovely woman in her early thirties, had greeted me as I walked down the hallway. She had long blond hair and blue eyes so bright they were arresting.

“Well, Mr. Longville. It’s nice to meet the man who’s going to get to the bottom of this mess at last.” She extended a slender hand. Pianist’s hands, I noted, taking it lightly in my own much coarser one.

“I’ll bet you say that to all the private eyes. I hope I am. I appreciate you folks letting me talk to Kenny.”

“Any reason you chose to talk to our son? The police didn’t seem to give his story much weight.”

“I’m impressed by his story, despite what the police think. In my experience, children usually see more than adults, not less. I just want to get his story straight from him.”

“He is quite the little scholar. He’s also totally comfortable talking to adults. Don’t let his size fool you.”

“Well, I thank you again.”

“Oh, Mr. Longville.”

“Ma’am?”

“What do you think happened to her?” She lowered her voice and moved a step closer. “Georgia, I mean.”

“That’s what I hope Kenny can tell me.”

Kenny Joiner smiled when I entered the sunny kitchen. He stood and greeted me with a casual handshake and charming smile. He was a small boy, blond like his mother. He had also inherited his mother’s bright eyes.

“Hi, Mr. Longville. How are you?”

“I’m fine, Kenny. Call me Roland. Okay?”

“Yes, sir . . . Roland.”

“Do you know what I’d like to talk to you about?”

“Sure—what happened to Georgia. I remember talking to the police about it.”

“Do you remember much about that day? The things that happened, and the way they happened?”

“Sure. A lot of people didn’t believe me, but I saw Georgia right before she disappeared. Is that what you wanted to talk to me about?”

“Well, that’s part of it. But the whole story is what I need. Can you tell me everything you remember about that day?”

“I’ll try. My parents took me over to the Champions in the early afternoon. All of us kids were sitting so that we faced out through the patio doors.”

“Do you remember what was visible through the doors?”

“A few minivans belonging to the caters and the clowns. The driveway was full.”

“What kind of day was it?”

“It was a sunny day. We had all been outside, playing, and then Mrs. Champion had called us inside.”

“To cut the cake?”

“No, she wanted us to watch a video of the other birthday party.”

“Another birthday party? One for someone else?”

“No, Georgia’s, from the year before. So we could all see ourselves from then. And to get everybody settled down, I guess. So we went into the day room and watched the video. After it was over we played a few games. It was then that Georgia excused herself and went upstairs. I remember it was right after that, Mrs. Champion said that we should all head into the dining room, so we did.”

“Were all of the adults in the room with you at that time?”

“Um, well, I remember two of the clowns were outside, but that was right before then. After that, they were all in the dining room with us.”

“What did the clowns do outside?”

“One went out to get something, and he was gone while we watched the video. The other one came in through the side door to the day room, while we were watching the video. He just walked through.”

“Do you remember how the clowns were dressed, or made up? Anything that stands out?”

“The one that came through the dayroom was dressed in light blue. I remember, because it was the same color as my baseball uniform from school.”

“Kenny, I’d like you to try to remember something else for me. It’s probably something minor, but it might be important. So take your time before you answer, okay?”

“Sure.”

“You were standing by the staircase when Georgia came down, right?”

“That’s right.”

“Now, you just said that Georgia’s mom told you all to go into the dining room. You said all of the kids did, right?”

“Yes. That’s right.”

“So tell me this, Kenny. Why were you standing by the stairs when she came down?”

“Oh, yeah, I remember that. Well, I never went into the dining room.”