Spiced to Death (28 page)

Gabriella gave a hiss of annoyance. “It’s so simple.”

“All stage illusions are,” Monty said. “The simpler the better. You know Siegfried and Roy?” Gabriella did but I didn’t. “Well, they’re German but they’ve made their name over here—Las Vegas mainly, where they’ve made seven-hundred-pound Bengal tigers disappear right there in the MGM Grand Hotel.”

“They’ve done tricks with lions and black panthers too, haven’t they?” Gabriella asked.

“They sure have. They did it with a cheetah too once—it was a benefit performance before Princess Grace and Prince Rainier. They made it disappear. Then, when it reappeared, it got away and strolled through the audience.”

“Well, we don’t have animals in the illusion we’re facing,” Gabriella said. “Just people.”

“Let’s go talk about this,” Monty said, and led the way backstage where we went into an empty dressing room. He pulled up chairs.

“Now,” he said, “tell me about it.”

I ran through the story from our arrival at JFK. I included as much detail as I could recall. He asked an occasional question, then when I had finished, Gabriella gave him a brief rundown on the activities of the police.

Monty leaned back in his chair. “A nice trick—if you can do it. And somebody did.”

He asked more questions. Finally, he looked at Gabriella. “Need to look at the scene of the crime, kiddo.”

G
ABRIELLA’S EXPERT DRIVING GOT
us to JFK airport in barely an hour. The journey was lightened by Monty’s reminiscences of his life creating magic and mystery. He told us some of the secrets of Kreskin, the mentalist—“not a hypnotist,” Monty said firmly; of Doug Henning and his Magic Boxes, which contain four different parts of his female assistant; of Johnny Thompson, “the Great Tomsoni” and his tricks with doves and bowling balls; and of the great Channing Pollock and Jimmy Grippo, “the magician’s magician.”

It was Karl Eberhard’s day off but Gabriella said it didn’t matter, we only wanted to spend some time in the hangar where the Ko Feng was brought in. Eberhard’s deputy handed over keys and directed us. Gabriella drove the Isuzu through the maze of buildings until we came to hangar BLS 12.

The smell of burning jet fuel, typical of modern airports, hung heavy in the air. Aircraft were taking off and landing but there was no activity in the area around our hangar. Gabriella unlocked the side door and we walked in.

The hangar was empty and it looked bleak and cheerless. Monty studied the interior carefully, saying nothing. Finally, he turned to me.

“Okay, from the beginning. From the time you came in here, tell me exactly what happened.”

I went through it, step by step. At the end, Monty pointed to the bays.

“Which one were you in?”

“This one.” I led him into it. Monty was looking everywhere, his eyes never still. Gabriella followed, silent.

“So you were in the second one from the left. And the others?”

“Sushimoto Electronics were in the first one, on that side of us. The next one—the one on the other side—was empty except for a big black limo.”

“What about the other shipment that came in?”

Gabriella was flipping through her notebook. “That was the Chicago Museum of Oriental Art, right?”

“That’s right. They took the fourth bay.”

“So you parked your truck just outside the bay?” asked Monty.

“Right.”

“Where exactly?”

I showed him.

“Oh… a few feet.”

“There was never anyone in that third bay?”

“No.”

“Okay,” shrugged Monty. “Now, the tables in here all had this lab equipment on them right?”

“Yes, all of them.”

“And where were you all standing?” I thought carefully then showed him.

“The equipment—where did it come from?”

“Rented for the day,” said Gabriella.

“By—”

“Renshaw listed what he needed, Cartwright ordered it.”

“Now, what was the timing?” Monty asked, and as near as I could remember I ran through the sequence of the testing.

“Where was the sack all this time?”

“Sitting here.” I pointed.

“And when you’d finished?”

“Cartwright tied up the sack and took it out to the truck, put it in the chest, locked everything up.”

Monty looked at Gabriella. “You checked the chest, of course.”

“I know what you’re thinking,” she said. “But no, it was the same one. There was no switch.”

“Okay,” said Monty, turning back to me. “All the time you were here, did anyone come over from the next bay?”

“Their customs man came over to ask our man a question. He answered him right away and he went back.”

“The Chicago Museum people … Have any contact with them?”

“None at all.”

Monty nodded again. He walked in circles, looking, musing and asking a few more questions. Gabriella and I answered them and finally Monty snapped his fingers.

“Got it?” asked Gabriella in surprise.

“Nearly got it,” said Monty. “I’ve gotta get back and rehearse an escape from a tank full of water. I can give you what I’ve got right now. Purely an opinion, of course, you can take it or leave it—and I wanna make one thing plain. I’m telling you what I think from an illusionist’s point of view. Beyond that is up to you.”

“Go ahead,” said Gabriella.

“The most likely scenario is that one of these three guys did it,” he told Gabriella but he looked directly at me. “Either you—or this Renshaw—or that Cartwright guy.”

“Now, wait a minute—” I began hotly.

“Hold on,” said Gabriella. She could be very authoritative when she chose. “Let Monty finish.”

“Finish nothing!” I said furiously. “He’s named three suspects and one of them is dead! I’m the third one—what does that suggest?”

“Let. Him. Finish!” rapped Gabriella. “Go on, Monty.”

“From what you’ve told me, it must be Cartwright,” Monty said, giving me a placatory grin, “and he had an accomplice.”

“Cartwright!” I echoed, astonished. “Why would he steal his own merchandise?”

“Hey, come on,” Monty said with a grin. “Didn’t I say anything beyond the illusion is the problem of Miss Gaby here?”

She gave him a withering look but all she said was, “Keep going, Monty.”

“Okay, here’s the way I see it. This guy Cartwright wraps up the sack after he’s done with all that testing stuff. He puts it on the barrow and takes it back out to the truck. He locks it up. Then—unseen by you other guys—he hides the keys outside in an agreed place. The accomplice is hiding in the vehicle which is only a few feet away from the truck. He gets the keys, removes the sack and puts the keys back. He gets back into the other vehicle.”

He paused, watching us.

“Wasn’t he taking a chance on being seen?” Gabriella asked.

“Sure,” said Monty, “so he needed a diversion.”

“The timer bell that went off…” I said.

“Right—it was also a signal to the accomplice to go into action.”

Gabriella turned to me. “And then there were some wrong numbers on a form, you said. Did everybody get involved in that?”

“They did, you’re right,” I said. “When Simpson said, ‘This is wrong,’ we all crowded around. That would have given a person in the vehicle time to get the sack of Ko Feng, transfer it, return the keys and get back.”

“I checked on the vehicle in the next bay,” Gabriella said slowly. “The limo—it had been there for some time. Nobody knew if it still ran.”

“It just looked like a big black car to me,” I said. “I didn’t pay it that much attention.”

“Bet you a dollar to a doughnut that vehicle was out of here as soon as you guys left in the truck,” said Monty.

Gabriella picked up a phone from one of the benches.

“Security?” She identified herself. “A vehicle was here in hangar BLS 12 the day the Ko Feng arrived. Would you check your traffic log? I want to know what time it went out.” She waited a couple of minutes. “Okay, thanks.”

When she hung up, she read off the time. “Twenty minutes difference. The limo left just twenty minutes after you left.”

She picked up the phone again. “DMV? I want to trace a vehicle …” She gave her identification and listened. She hung up with an irritated sigh. “The license is a phony.”

“I wonder who made all the arrangements for this,” I said speculatively, waving a hand to the contents of the bay. She picked up the phone again and when she put it down, she said, “Cartwright. He was out here twice, making sure everything was arranged and picking a place to leave the keys.”

“And probably putting chalk marks on the floor so he could put the truck just where the space between the limo and the truck couldn’t be seen from where you guys were standing,” said Monty. “Another thing—who prepared the documents that had had the wrong numbers on them?”

“They were the receiving documents,” I said. “Must have been Cartwright. And,” I added, “he had had goods come in through Simpson before. He would have known what a stickler for details he was. He could have been sure that Simpson would spot the errors right away.”

“You done good,” said Gabriella. “Thanks, Monty.”

“Any time,” he grinned. “Well, that’s to say any time after I make sure that I can get this guy out of the sealed tank of water every performance. I keep telling him four out of five is pretty good for an act this tricky but he won’t go along with that. Wants to keep practicing.”

We went back into the maelstrom of New York traffic and dropped Monty at his theater. It was just past noon.

“I can see that lunch look in your eye,” said Gabriella.

“Something simple?” I suggested.

“And quick.”

“Any ideas?”

We went to a tapas bar, which Gabriella told me had become a recent craze in New York. The deliciously tempting little appetizer dishes that are such a tradition in Spain had now caught on here and were ideally suited to the fast food market. We had marinated mushrooms, stuffed mussels and vegetable croquettes. One small dish of each between us was satisfying without being too filling, though we had to pass on the huge triple-decker sandwiches that any tapas bar in Bilbao serves as well as the batter-fried shrimp of Gijón and the savory chorizo pies of Galicia. The Vina Sol from Penedés was the only white wine from Spain on the list, the remainder being Californian but its dry, lemony character went well and a glass each was marginally enough for a quick meal.

“Sorry I blew up back there,” I said.

Gabriella smiled. “It would have been suspicious if you hadn’t. Now, if Monty is right, that’s the way the theft was pulled off.”

“Which means that only Cartwright could have done it. I must admit that I have been thinking of him as owner of the Ko Feng and therefore not likely to be stealing it. But, of course, he isn’t the owner—Marvell is.”

“This fits in with what we heard from Selim Osman.”

“Right. It means that Marvell was planning on selling the Ko Feng to the restaurant people. Cartwright realized that there was a far wealthier market out there which would pay much more—the research people who want it for life extension, better health and fitness and”—I was thinking of Gloria Branson—“other advantages.”

“That’s why the Ko Feng hasn’t shown up for sale yet. The research people are naturally reluctant to buy a stolen property—not for reasons of scruples but because they are suspicious of who has it and they want to be sure it can be assured of being genuine.”

“And the accomplice?” I asked Gabriella.

“Well, we’re a step closer to that person—whoever it is.”

“In the meantime, you can interrogate Cartwright, knowing that he is almost certainly guilty.” I stopped myself just in time—I was about to add that I was sure now that Cartwright had been the one who had tried to eliminate me in the Marvell laboratories but I remembered I had not shared that incident with Gabriella. I went on quickly. “Gives you an advantage, doesn’t it?”

“It certainly does.”

“And as for Don Renshaw’s murder, evidently Don remembered the earlier theft of the birds’ nests and in some way tied it to Cartwright.”

Gabriella nodded. “We’ll be able to confirm that too. Well, that’s eliminated a number of blind alleys.”

“Coming back to the people who want to buy the Ko Feng,” I said. “As I told you on the phone, I’ve spread the story that phony Ko Feng is being offered and hopefully given the impression that the only way any buyer can be sure of getting the real thing is to have me authenticate it for them.”

“Hm,” she said, spearing a remaining solitary mussel, “I’ve been thinking about that. You’re making quite a target out of yourself, aren’t you?’

“Just doing my best to contribute,” I said modestly.

“Just don’t contribute a third corpse,” she said, looking in vain over the table for something else to eat.

I told myself it was New York humor and that she really was concerned about me.

G
ABRIELLA DROPPED ME OFF
at the hotel, but this time no one was clamoring for me. I was pondering my next move when the phone rang. It was Peggy. She spoke fast and her voice was high pitched and excited.

“That woman—the one you saw here—you know, the one you described to us? Well, she just came in! Maisie saw her too and she agrees it’s the same one. What should I do?”

“Keep her talking, don’t let her get away,” I said urgently. “I’ll be there as fast as I can.”

“What if she wants to leave?” wailed Peggy. “How can I stop her?’

“Lock the doors, say you’ve lost the key, tell her it’s an emergency—do anything you have to do but keep her there!”

One of the desk clerks had told me that on the corner of the block was a suite of doctors’ offices which had a steady flow of taxis. It was the best place to catch one, he said, and he was right. I got one almost immediately and I was lucky enough to have a driver who was incredibly not only American but a New Yorker. After congratulating him on being the only one of his kind, I offered him an extra twenty dollars if he got me to the Spice Warehouse fast.

He narrowly avoided losing paint at least three times and left a trail of curses, shaken fists, screeching brakes and terrified pedestrians but he earned his twenty and I dashed into the Spice Warehouse. The door wasn’t locked, several customers were there and I couldn’t see any signs of struggle or commotion.