Magician (9 page)

“How about the names of his parents?”

“Looks like the father, Robert Fain, was dead at the time of the last hearing. Both parents are listed on the first file, only the mom on the second. Mrs. Eileen Fain.”

“Great. Well, thanks anyway, Les.”

I turned my phone off, and shook my head.
Strike two
. Another dead end. So far, Samson Fain had proved that he knew one trick, and knew it well—how to disappear.

Chapter 9

I climbed the stairs to my office, and plopped down behind the desk.
This one is a case for Hercule Poirot.

I leaned back in my chair and thought for a moment.
Sealed by the court.
Then
I leaned forward again and opened a desk drawer and took out a telephone book. I flipped through the pages until I reached the
F
section.
 

I had never known a court order to quiet relatives. I found the number, still listed under Robert Fain, and dialed it. A young woman answered. “Fain residence.”

“Hello. My name is Roland Longville. I’m an old school friend of Samson’s. Can you tell me how I could get in touch with him?”

“Samson? Oh, my goodness. Hang on. I’m Sarah, Mrs. Fain’s nurse. I don’t really know how to get in touch with him.”

“Could you ask Mrs. Fain for me, Sarah?”

The voice became suddenly rigid and professional. “Mrs. Fain has advanced Alzheimer’s, sir.”

“That’s terrible; I’m so sorry. I had no idea. I haven’t seen the family in years. Weren’t there a couple of aunts living in the area?” I stuck his tongue in my cheek.

There was a pause. The woman on the other came to a decision, and spoke again. “Yes, that’s right . . . what did you say your name was?”

“Longville. Roland Longville.”

“Well. Mr. Longville, Mrs. Fain does have a younger sister. I don’t know if you ever met her, her name is Anelda. She might know how you could get in touch with him, but I don’t really know if I should give out her telephone number.”

“I understand completely. Feel free, then, to give her mine.”

The nurse took down the number. “I can promise you that I’ll give it to her. She’s a very nice lady. I’m sure if she has any information about Samson, she’ll share it with you.”

I was still sitting there a few minutes later, considering the dubious likelihood of getting help from a relative, when the phone rang.

“Mr. Longville?” A woman asked in a voice that was both genteel and self-assured.

“Speaking.”

“This is Anelda Ames, answering your call. I’m the aunt of Samson Fain.”

“Ms. Ames. How very nice to hear from you.”

“Mr. Longville, I need to know one thing.”

“Yes ma’am.”

“Just who are you, really?”

“Why, Ms. Ames, what do you mean?”

 
“What I mean, Mr. Longville, if that really is your name, is that you are no friend of Samson Fain’s.”

“Begging your pardon, but how would you know that?”

“Because Samson Fain doesn’t
have
any friends, and he never did.”

“I’m afraid that you have me there, Ms. Ames. I’ll come clean. My name really is Roland Longville. But you’re right, I’ve never met Samson. I’m a private investigator.”

There was a pause while she took this in. “And just what do you want to talk to me about?” There was caution in her voice, but something else, something that I had heard before. Samson Fain’s name had struck a chord in the woman on the other end of the line. I threw out a little information to see how she would react.

“I’m looking into a matter for a family, Ms. Ames.”

“Concerning?”

“As you are probably aware, I can’t really divulge any details about a case—”

“—Come now, Mr. Longville. I don’t really care who these people are. But can’t you at least tell me the nature of the matter you are looking into?”

She sounded pretty anxious. That was interesting.

“It concerns their daughter, a young girl who is missing. Mr. Fain’s name, um, came up.”

There was another pause, this one more marked. When she spoke again, Anelda Ames voice was quick, decided. “I’ll give you my address. Come over and I’ll answer any questions that you might have, Mr. Longville.”

She hung up without another word. I stared at the phone for a second. Ms. Ames apparently had some information that she wished to share, and some private reason driving her desire to do so. Something about the nature of the case had decided the issue for her. Maybe she had waited a long time to tell whatever was on her mind.
 

Outside, the rain hissed over the windows. I got to my feet and went back out into the cold.

* * *

White Oak Lane was a cul-de-sac in the midst of an enclave of upper middle class houses. It was very suburban and quiet. Ms. Ames home was a split-level brick arrangement, with an immaculate yard. Tiny oriental style lighting fixtures adorned a cobble-stone walkway that led to the front door.
 

I rang the doorbell and stood back. Inside, the chimes played the opening chords to
Pirates of Penzance.
After a moment, the door opened. A trim, fit lady in her late 40’s greeted me with a quiet smile. She was still quite lovely, and smartly dressed in a light gray blouse and skirt. A single strand of tiny pearls adorned her graceful neck. The pearls matched a streak of white in her otherwise still sandy brown hair. Her bright green eyes regarded me intently, but her smile was friendly and open.

“Mr. Longville?”

“That’s right. Ms. Ames, I presume?”

She nodded slightly. “Please do come in.”

I stepped inside. She gestured politely toward a recliner before seating herself on the couch. She was possessed of a very refined air. Like a ballerina, I decided. When she was younger, and perhaps not all that much younger, she must have been a very beautiful woman, I thought. I wasn’t so sure she still wasn’t.

“So, Mr. Longville. Whatever is the mystery that’s brought you out on a day like this?”

“How women are staying so young-looking nowadays.”

The flesh around her nose crinkled in a girlish smile.

“Do go on, Mr. Longville.”

I had decided to change my stratagem. It wasn’t anything that would win an award at the Private Eye convention, but something about Anelda Ames’ reaction to my questions on the phone had convinced me to tell her the details of the case I was working on. In short, I thought I could trust her.

“Well, it’s like this. On my way over here, I decided to level with you, Ms. Ames. My services have been retained by the Champion family of Mountainbrook. They have hired me to investigate their daughter’s disappearance. Of course I’m reviewing the evidence. It’s all been gone over before, but I have been looking at some . . . older evidence. Samson’s name came up. No one is accusing him of anything. I was just hoping to talk to him about it.”

“Oh, I see.” A strange expression came over her face, “The little girl. I suppose it
was
really me that you needed to talk to all along.” Her tone was questioning in a way, but carried a strange weight.

“Actually, until today, Ms. Ames, I had no idea you existed. In the course of investigation, I’ve uncovered a couple of facts that were overlooked by the police. It might amount to nothing.”

“You found out about his past, didn’t you.”

I felt the hairs on the back of my neck beginning to rise.

“His past?”

She gave me a dazzling smile. It reduced her apparent age by ten years.

“Oh, then maybe I spoke too soon.” The smile suddenly vanished, like the sun going behind a cloud. Her voice became lower, her tone more serious. “To tell the truth, I never cared much for him. My sister knew it, too. We were always close, Eileen and I. Samson was never what I would call normal.”

“Could you please elaborate on that, Ms. Ames?”

“I was wrong to assume you read the police reports? And call me Anna.”

“His records were sealed. Juvenile records usually are. And please, Anna, call me Roland.”

“You are indeed an honest man, Roland. I know his court records were sealed. I remember that much. But even if you had found a way to see them, they wouldn’t have told the whole story. There are lots of things that never make it into police reports.” She flashed me another million-dollar smile. I returned one of my own, which looked like it was worth about thirty bucks, I figured.

“Can you tell me what he was in trouble with the law for?”

“No, his parents would never discuss it. In any case, by that time I could not have cared less.”

“I take it that you suspected there was something strange about Samson, early on?”

“I didn’t just suspect, Roland. I found out the hard way. You see, although I live here now—my parents left me this house—I used to live in Chicago, and Atlanta. For many years, I taught ballet.”

Boy, Roland, you ought to be a detective
.

“I was married, once. It ended in divorce. Neither of us were meant for marriage. At any rate, after the divorce, Samson’s parents, Robert and Eileen, invited me to stay with them for a while. I had decided to pursue a master’s program, and some of the colleges in the area had made attractive offers.”

She paused, and pressed her hand to the nape of her neck.

“It was during this time that young Samson developed an . . . infatuation . . . with me.” She looked away. It was a full minute before she spoke again.

“It wasn’t normal,” she said finally, in a distant voice. I gave her another minute. She collected herself and went on.

“It started in a harmless enough way. I suppose that I might even have encouraged him, unintentionally, by saying nice things to him. But he was such a shy boy. I felt sorry for him. This was twenty years ago, and people were a bit different, but still he was a late bloomer. He was, I don’t know, fourteen, fifteen? By that age most boys are chasing girls. I thought I had done a good thing. It seemed so, at first. In the beginning, he brought me flowers.”

“Guess he wouldn’t be the only kid who thought he was in love with his beautiful aunt.”

Anna Ames blushed slightly, and shook her head.

“Thank you. No, there was more to it. You see, one night, I found him peeking through my keyhole. I was . . . nude, you know. Brushing my hair after a bath, in front of the mirror. I heard a noise, and when I cracked the door, he was out there, in the hall.

He was terribly embarrassed. I was shocked, outraged at first. But he was, after all, still just a boy. A big boy, but still so young . . . I mentioned it to Eileen, and Robert talked to him. I supposed that they would discuss matters with him; they were both such kind parents.”

“So that was the end of it?”

“I certainly thought so. I had believed that maybe he just needed to know the facts of life, so to speak. I thought he would never dream of doing anything like that again. But I was very, very wrong.” She leaned forward, but without looking me in the eye. Her voice dropped to a whisper.

“You see, the next time, he was in the room
with me.
”

For perhaps the third time in one day, a man I’d never met made my skin crawl.

“I awoke and he was standing over me. He was naked, and . . . you know. Excited. He had taken my gown
completely off
. I hadn’t felt a thing. He must have been very painstaking. It must have taken him an hour.” She shuddered visibly.

“Samson, as I have said, was a large boy, and I am a small woman. He got on top of me. He put his hand over my mouth, and with his other he was . . . touching me. It seemed to go on forever. Finally, I managed to turn my head, and scream. I woke the whole house up. The neighbors too, I might add. He was over two hundred pounds, even then. If he had been one year older, though . . . ” She shook her head and shuddered again. “He’s a
monster
.”

I started to say something, but she held up her hand.

“When I think about it, it makes me ill. How many times was he out there, looking at me while I bathed? Or how many times before had he come into the room with me, while I slept . . . ? Naturally, I moved out immediately.”

“Is that the last you saw of him, Anna?”

“No. I saw him one more time, about two years ago. We were both at his father’s funeral. We didn’t speak.”

“So, would you have any idea where Samson is currently staying?”

“Heavens, no. Nor do I ever care to know.” She rose from her seat, and on her face was a look of inspiration.

“Wait right here. I’ll bring you something.” She went into a back room. She moved like a much younger woman, I noticed. Presently, she emerged with a picture, which she was removing from the frame.

She held it out to me, and for the first time, I saw the unpainted face of Samson Fain. A smiling, chunky young man of about twenty years beamed out at me. He wore thick glasses and had dark brown hair, in a bowl haircut.

“He doesn’t wear glasses any more. He had corrective lens surgery. And he has lost his hair. He’s quite bald. His head is rather bullet shaped.”