Sleight of Hand: A Novel of Suspense (Dana Cutler) (6 page)

“Yes.”

“Your Honor, I’d like Officer Wing to examine what Officer Bosh brought to court and give his opinion on whether he can use these chemicals and paraphernalia to test the white powder in Exhibit Six to see if it is really cocaine.”

“Objection,” Maguire said.

“What are your grounds?” Gardner asked.

“I . . . he already tested it.”

“Out of the presence of the jury, Your Honor,” Benedict said. “If the prosecutor really believes that there is cocaine in Exhibit Six she should encourage Officer Wing to confirm his
conclusion
.”

Gardner was quiet for a moment. “I’m going to allow the retest. This is legitimate cross-examination.”

As soon as the jury was back, Benedict began to question the witness.

“Officer Wing, I had some items delivered to you from the crime lab. Is this everything you need to retest Exhibit Six to see if this white powder is cocaine?”

“Yes.”

“Then why don’t you retest the sample and explain to the jury what you’re doing.”

Wing turned to the jury. “I’m going to perform what is known as the Croak, or Scott, test.”

He showed the jurors a small glass vial containing an amber substance marked DEA-II.

“This vial was prepared by the Drug Enforcement Administration and it contains cocaine hydrochloride, or ninety-nine-percent pure cocaine. Before I test the powder in Exhibit Six I’ll test this standard to make sure my reagents are working correctly.”

Wing uncorked a small test tube partially filled with red liquid and poured a sample of the standard into it. Then Wing corked the test tube and shook it gently.

“I’m now mixing the standard with cobalt thiocyanate and glycerin, my reagents.”

“Ah,” Wing smiled as the extract turned a vivid blue. “The change from red to bright blue indicates the possible presence of cocaine, but we’re not through yet,” Wing said.

“When I add hydrochloric acid to the mixture the solution should turn pink.”

When it did, Wing added chloroform and shook the mixture gently. A blue color appeared in the chloroform layer. Wing smiled triumphantly.

“The change of color from red to vivid blue to pink, then back to blue in the chloroform layer, tells us that cocaine is present.”

“Why don’t we see what happens when you test Exhibit Six?” Benedict suggested.

The bailiff handed Wing the ziplock bag. The forensic expert opened it and used a small stainless steel rod with a flattened end to spoon out a tiny mound of powder from the baggie. Then he uncorked another test tube that was partially filled with reagent and poured the powder into it. He recorked the tube and agitated the contents.

“Something wrong?” Benedict asked when Wing looked blankly at the weak blue color of the mixture. Mary Maguire, the judge, and all of the jurors leaned forward.

“Er, um, the color is a little pale, but . . .”

Wing poured in the acid. The mixture fizzed.

“What’s going on, Officer Wing?” Benedict asked.

Wing shook his head and stared dumbfounded at the bubbly mess in the test tube. He added the chloroform but no blue appeared.

“This . . . this shouldn’t be happening,” Wing stuttered.

“What shouldn’t?” Benedict asked.

“It’s reacting like baking soda,” Wing said in disbelief.

“What!” Maguire shouted.

Gardner rapped his gavel. “Are you saying that the powder in Exhibit Six is not cocaine?” he demanded of the witness.

Wing looked as if a piano had just landed on him. “I swear, Judge. This tested positive for cocaine in the lab.”

“Where no one could see the test,” Benedict told the jurors. “But when there are witnesses present we get baking soda, don’t we, Officer Wing?”

Wing opened his mouth, then shut it quickly.

What Benedict didn’t say was that he had memorized everything about Exhibit Six and taken a photo of it with his cell phone when he’d viewed it in the property room. Then he had created a duplicate baggie filled with baking soda, which he’d switched for the real exhibit during Kyle’s outburst.

“He did this,” Maguire shouted, pointing an accusing finger at Charles Benedict.

“Ridiculous,” Benedict protested.

Gardner banged his gavel. “George, take the jurors to the jury room,” he told his bailiff.

As soon as the jurors were out of the courtroom, the judge glared at the lawyers.

“Both of you, in my chambers, now! And I want to see Officer Wing, too.”

Benedict led his client to the judge’s chambers. Mary Maguire followed with Justin Wing in tow. They found Gardner sitting behind his desk. He did not look happy.

“We’re going to get to the bottom of this,” the judge said.

“I certainly hope so,” Benedict said. “I for one would like to know why Mr. Ross was forced to go through the agony and expense of a trial for possession of baking soda.”

The prosecutor turned to the judge. “Justin Wing is as honest as the day is long. If he swore that powder was cocaine, it was cocaine.”

“Everyone makes mistakes,” Benedict said magnanimously. “I have no idea how or why Officer Wing screwed up, but it’s obvious that he did.”

“Wing didn’t screw up. You had something to do with this,” Maguire insisted.

“Enough,” Gardner said. “Officer Wing, how do you explain this?”

Wing looked thoroughly befuddled. “I can’t, Judge. That powder tested for cocaine in the lab. The only way it could test as baking soda is if it was switched.”

“And how was that accomplished?” Gardner asked.

“I have no idea,” Wing said. “I put it in our vault after I tested it. Then I brought it to court.”

“There was no break in the chain of custody?” Gardner asked.

“I guess someone could have gone into the vault and switched the cocaine. That’s the only thing I can think of.”

Gardner looked upset. Maguire looked like she wanted to say something but couldn’t think of a thing to say. But Benedict could.

“Judge, I believe it would be appropriate to dismiss the charges against Mr. Ross.”

“Miss Maguire?” the judge asked the prosecutor.

“I . . . I’ll have to talk to Mrs. Blair. I’ve never had anything like this happen.”

Gardner turned to his bailiff. “George, tell Carrie Blair she’s wanted in my chambers ASAP.”

Judge Gardner read his mail and signed documents while everyone waited for Carrie Blair. Ten minutes later, Blair was ushered into the judge’s chambers and Gardner explained why he had summoned her.

“It’s obvious that your case has fallen apart,” Gardner concluded. “The question is, what do you intend to do about it? Unless you can suggest something that will keep it afloat, I will entertain a motion to dismiss if Mr. Benedict makes it.”

“May I confer with Mary and Officer Wing?” Blair asked.

Gardner nodded and Blair led Maguire and the witness into the hall. She glared at Benedict as she passed him. The defense attorney didn’t react. Fifteen minutes later, Blair, Maguire, and Wing reentered the judge’s chambers.

“In light of what happened with the retest, my office has no recourse but to dismiss the case,” Blair told Gardner. She looked furious.

“May I assume there will be an investigation conducted to try to discover how this fiasco occurred?” Gardner said. He sounded as upset as Blair.

“Yes. I’ll get the ball rolling as soon as I get upstairs.” Blair looked at Benedict, who smiled blandly. “And I assure you that the investigation will include a talk with Mr. Benedict.”

Chapter Nine

Carrie Blair stormed upstairs, with Mary Maguire and Justin Wing following close behind. As soon as they were in her office, Blair slammed the door.

“What the fuck happened, Justin?”

“Honest, Carrie, I have no idea. Hurley gave me the baggie at the lab. It tested positive for cocaine.”

“Could you have made a mistake?” Carrie asked.

“There is no way the powder could have tested for cocaine if it was baking soda. You weren’t in court. The powder fizzed.”

“So what’s your explanation?”

“The only one that makes sense is that someone switched the cocaine for baking soda.”

“When could that have happened?”

“It had to have been after I tested it at the lab. Either someone got into the vault or it happened in the courtroom, because I put the baggie in the vault and I took it out of the vault and I had it in my possession until I gave it to the bailiff.”

“Tell me everything that happened in court with the ziplock bag,” Carrie said to Mary Maguire.

The young prosecutor walked Blair through her examination of Officer Wing and the beginning of Benedict’s cross. Then she told her supervisor about Kyle Ross’s outburst.

“Wait!” Blair said. “Where was the baggie when Kyle started shouting?”

“Charles Benedict had it.”

“Go step by step from the time Benedict got possession of the exhibit.”

“He . . . he took it. Then Ross jumped up and . . .” Maguire paused. “I was watching Ross so I don’t know what Benedict did. I know he handed the baggie back to the bailiff. I saw him do that. He only had it for a few seconds. Then he calmed down his client.”

“What happened after Ross calmed down?”

“Benedict asked the judge for a recess so Ross could compose himself.”

“And the judge called a recess?”

“Yeah.”

“Where was Benedict during the recess?”

“He . . . he talked to his client. Then . . . I stayed in court and I think . . . yeah, he left the courtroom.”

“Fuck!”

Blair grabbed her phone and called the head janitor. “This is Carrie Blair. I’m the head of the narcotics section in the commonwealth attorney’s office. I think someone flushed cocaine down one of the toilets in the fifth-floor men’s room. Where would the coke go if that happened?”

Blair listened for a few minutes. “Shit!” she swore the moment she hung up.

“You think Benedict switched the dope?” Maguire asked.

“I know he did, but we’ll never be able to prove it.”

“But how? The bailiff had the baggie, and Benedict only had it for a few seconds.”

Blair put her head in her hands. She knew exactly what had happened. She’d seen Benedict pull one of his sleight-of-hand tricks in the bar at the Theodore Roosevelt. She was certain another magician could explain the disappearance of the cocaine and how Benedict had substituted the baking powder.

“Justin, can you look in the toilets and pipes in the men’s room and tell if the cocaine was flushed down it?”

“I might be able to find traces if no one used the toilets or sinks after it was flushed but there’s probably a lot of traffic in that restroom.”

“Get a crew up there. I’ll have the janitor close the room.”

Wing left and Blair called the janitor again.

“What do you want me to do?” Maguire asked.

“Go home. This isn’t your fault.”

“But I—”

“Stop. You are not to blame yourself, do you hear? I know who’s to blame.”

Seconds after Mary Maguire and Justin Wing left her office, Carrie’s cell phone rang.

“Yeah,” she said distractedly.

“It’s me, Charlie.”

“You son of a bitch . . .”

“Calm down. I know you’re mad, but we have to talk.”

“There’s nothing to talk about unless you want to confess.”

“It’s about your prenup.”

Carrie froze. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she said.

“I know all the details but I don’t want to discuss this over the phone. Drive to my condo at eleven tonight. Go down the back alley and park in my garage. I’ll leave the garage door up.”

“I’m not going to your house.”

“Then I’ll have to show Horace the DVD.”

“What DVD?”

“Tonight, eleven o’clock. Don’t be late.”

Chapter Ten

Less than an hour after the case of
Commonwealth v. Ross
disappeared, Devon Ross deposited a hefty bonus in an offshore account Charles Benedict kept for income resulting from special illusions such as the magic tricks that had led to the mystifying disappearance of things like Kyle’s cocaine and the late Norman Krueger. Benedict celebrated at his favorite restaurant with a fine wine, a foie gras appetizer, and a steak that melted like butter the moment it touched his tongue.

The attorney arrived home a little after ten and parked in his garage, leaving space for Carrie Blair’s Porsche. Then he got a DVD from the safe in his bedroom and slipped a snubnose .38 revolver into his pocket. Carrie was rumored to have a bad temper and he wanted to be prepared.

Promptly at eleven, Benedict heard a car drive into his garage. He opened the door that led from the garage to the first floor and pressed a button to close the garage door. Carrie Blair stomped up the stairs and pointed an accusing finger at him.

“You used Kyle Ross’s outburst to distract everyone’s attention. Then you switched the cocaine for baking soda.”

“Whoa,” Benedict replied calmly as he held up his hands in a mock defensive gesture. “That’s too many negative vibes for such a mellow hour of the evening.”

“You think you’re so clever. You just had to show off with those sleight-of-hand tricks at the Theodore Roosevelt, knowing I’d remember what you’d done when the coke disappeared. Tomorrow I’m going to find a magician who will show me how you pulled the switch, but right now I’m having the plumbing in the fifth-floor men’s room examined, and you know what we’re going to find?”

“I would assume feces and urine.”

“We’ll see how funny you are when I have you perp-walked out of your office with as many TV crews as I can get to film
every
moment.”

“I’m sorry you have such a low opinion of me.”

“It was always low, but this stunt . . .”

“There wasn’t any stunt, and I don’t appreciate being accused of dishonesty. Besides, you and I have more important things to discuss than Kyle Ross. Would you like a drink?”

“No. Now get to the point.”

“You have a prenuptial agreement that is supposed to be a secret between you and your hubby. You stand to lose a fortune if you tell anyone about the agreement or if you have an affair before it terminates.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Carrie, you told me all about the agreement the evening you stayed here.”

“What?”

“You were pretty drunk, so you probably don’t remember what you said.”

“If such an agreement existed I would have nothing to worry about because I haven’t cheated on Horace since we were married.”

“Actually, you have. Remember when I told you that nothing happened between us the evening you were here?” Benedict cast down his eyes shyly. “I lied.”

“You what!”

“I have a—what do they call them on those celebrity news shows?—a sex tape. It shows a naked Carrie Blair in several intimate positions on my bed. It’s pretty risqué.”

“You drugged me!”

“Of course not. You were horny, we felt a connection.” Benedict shrugged. “These things happen between soul mates.”

“You bastard,” Carrie said as she fought to keep from panicking. “You gave me a date-rape drug.”

“That would be illegal.”

“That’s why I don’t remember what happened. They cause amnesia.”

Carrie was filled with rage but she forced herself to stay calm.

“Assuming you actually have this DVD,” she said, “what do you want for it?”

“Two hundred and fifty thousand dollars should do it.”

“Are you crazy?”

Benedict’s features hardened. “Don’t fuck with me, Carrie. You told me exactly how much money you’ve salted away during your marriage. And you’re going to be a very rich woman when the prenup terminates. A quarter of a million dollars will be chump change then. Get cheap with me and I’ll sell Horace the DVD. Then you’ll be out in the cold without a penny. Just be thankful that I’m not greedy.”

Carrie felt sick. “Let me see it,” she said.

“Have a seat,” Benedict said, pointing to a couch that faced a forty-six-inch TV. He turned on the set, inserted the DVD, and pressed
PLAY
. There was no sound track. On the screen, Carrie Blair was being embraced by a man. The man’s face was hidden but Carrie’s face was easy to make out, as was the fact that she was naked. Carrie’s fists knotted. The son of a bitch had set her up; he’d drugged her and raped her and now he wanted her to pay for the privilege.

On the screen, the man kissed Blair and lowered her to the bed. She fell back and the man mounted her.

“It goes on like this for a while,” Benedict said. “Then we do it doggie style, and there’s a little oral sex thrown in. Shall I pause the entertainment?”

Carrie showed no emotion. Benedict stood up and crossed to the TV. When he turned his back and bent over to eject the DVD, Carrie grabbed a vase and rushed at him. Benedict stood and threw up a hand. The vase crashed against his forearm. Benedict jumped back and fell against the TV. Carrie flew at him and stabbed at his face with a shard. As he spun away, Benedict pulled the .38 out of his pocket. Carrie was so intent on stabbing Benedict that she didn’t see the gun. They crashed together and there was an explosion. Carrie’s eyes went wide and she stopped her assault. Benedict jumped away from her. Carrie stared at her stomach. Blood was spreading across the inside of her blouse, dying the white fabric red. She stumbled backward and slipped to the floor.

“I’m shot,” she gasped. “You shot me in the stomach.”

Benedict had killed people but not in his apartment. He stared at the blood and was suddenly afraid. Blood had DNA in it, and DNA would tell the crime lab that Carrie Blair had been bleeding on his floor.

Benedict rushed into the bathroom and grabbed a thick towel. He gave it to Carrie and told her to hold it against the wound. He wanted her to think that he was helping her stop the bleeding, and he was, but not to save her life. He just didn’t want any of her blood in his apartment.

“Get me to a hospital,” she wheezed as she struggled for air.

Benedict’s mind was swirling. If he took Carrie to the hospital there would be an investigation. What would she say? The sex tape would come out. She would accuse him of blackmail, and he’d shot her with his gun.

Did Carrie tell anyone she was coming here? Fear flooded him. By now, everyone at the courthouse would have heard about the disappearing coke and how angry Carrie was at him. He’d told her to tell no one she was visiting him, but did she tell anyone? Twenty million dollars was at stake, so she had probably kept her mouth shut, but Carrie was unpredictable. Her attack was proof of that.

And there was the Porsche in his garage. What if a neighbor saw her drive in? He had to get rid of the Porsche.

Benedict forced himself to calm down. Carrie moaned pitifully. It took all of his willpower to tune her out and focus on his problem. Suddenly an idea occurred to Benedict and a bizarre plan formed in his mind. It might not work. He didn’t have time to think it through now. He would figure out if it made sense after he’d given the idea an objective, unemotional analysis, but there were some things he would have to do now if it was going to work.

“Please, Charlie, I’m dying,” Carrie managed. “Take me to the hospital. I won’t tell what happened.”

“I’m so sorry. I’m going to help you.”

“Thank you.”

Benedict looked around until he spotted Carrie’s purse. It was lying on the couch. He opened it and found the key to her Porsche and a ring that held many more keys. Benedict dangled the key ring in front of Carrie’s eyes.

“Which key opens your front door?”

“What?” Carrie asked dully. She was having trouble focusing.

“We’re going to the hospital, but you have to tell me what key opens your front door so I can help you.”

Carrie stared at Benedict. He wasn’t making sense, but she was also finding it hard to think clearly. She pointed to her house key.

“Are any of these other keys for a car Horace drives?”

“Jesus, it hurts.”

“Focus, Carrie. Are any of these keys for a car Horace drives?”

Carrie started to gag but she forced herself to point to a key.

“What car is this key for?” Benedict asked.

“Bentley,” she gasped.

“Good girl. Now let’s take care of you.”

Benedict picked up the wounded prosecutor. She was heavy, and it was a struggle to get her down the steps to the garage. He opened the Porsche’s trunk and dropped her in it.

“Oh, God!” Carrie shouted.

Benedict grabbed the towel, rolled it in a ball so that Carrie’s blood was on the inside, slammed the lid of the trunk, and raced upstairs. As he climbed the stairs he could hear Carrie pounding on the inside of the trunk. It was unnerving, but Benedict forced himself to ignore the sound. The farther he got from the garage, the more distant the thump-thump-thump became until the sound disappeared completely by the time he entered his kitchen.

Benedict found a Tupperware container and put the rolled-up towel in it. He sealed the lid, opened the freezer, and stashed the container in the back of the compartment. Then he grabbed some ice cubes and closed the freezer. His heart was racing. He dropped the ice cubes into a glass and fixed a stiff drink. He pressed the cold glass to his forehead and took deep breaths until he was calm. As he relaxed, Benedict remembered how Carrie’s naked body had looked when he maneuvered her so the sex would look real in the DVD.

“What a waste,” he thought as he surveyed his living room. He’d have to clean up the pieces of the broken vase. He didn’t see any blood, but there might be hair or fibers on the couch where Blair had sat when she viewed the DVD. He’d have to do something about that. His Dustbuster came to mind.

The alcohol he was drinking started to have the desired effect. When Benedict was calmer he began to fine-tune his plan. It was no secret that the Blairs’ marriage was on the rocks. He wondered how many people at the Rankin, Lusk cocktail party had seen them argue. But many married couples argue without resorting to murder to settle their differences. What made the Blairs’ situation different was their prenup. Had Carrie lasted until the end of this week, it would have cost Horace Blair twenty million dollars, and twenty million dollars was an excellent motive for murder. While Carrie was bleeding out in his living room it had occurred to Benedict that no one would suspect him of killing Carrie if Horace Blair was sent to prison for murdering his wife.

Charlie was very good at developing his own magic tricks. Plotting Horace Blair’s downfall was a lot like storyboarding a large illusion, like the one David Copperfield had created when he made the Statue of Liberty disappear. Benedict got a legal pad from his home office and started writing an outline. He’d have to get rid of the body, and he’d have to leave clues in the grave that would point to Blair. One clue would be the bullet that killed Blair’s wife. It would be found during an autopsy.

Of course the police would need the murder weapon to make the match, and they would have to find it where it would implicate Blair. That’s why he’d asked Carrie about the key to Horace’s Bentley.

Working on his illusion relaxed Benedict, and he was totally calm by the time it was complete. He had a good idea of where to bury Carrie. He’d had a brainstorm about a clue he could leave in the grave shortly after he’d given her the towel to stop the bleeding. Making this part of the plan work would be tricky, but tricks were a magician’s stock-in-trade. He checked his watch. It was only one a.m.—hard to believe that so little time had passed since he’d shot Blair.

Benedict reviewed his notes. He would have to wait until the stores in the mall opened in the morning before he could start to create his illusion. Benedict took a deep breath. He felt in control of the situation. He would sweep up the shards from the vase, use the Dustbuster to vacuum the hairs from the couch, and then get a good night’s sleep.

An hour later, when his head touched his pillow, Charles Benedict slept like a baby.