Cawelti glared at Gunther for a second, shook his head and looked at Blackstone who sat in front of him. The set-up was makeshift: two rows of chairs, four chairs in the first row, three in the second. It was a small meeting room in the hotel, rearranged quickly for Cawelti’s show.
A huge cop named Brian Alexander stood at the door to the room. He was a good guy, considered the toughest man in the Wilshire station, and we all knew he was there for one reason, which was to protect Cawelti from my brother. Alexander didn’t look comfortable.
It was Cawelti’s show, and he was going to play it out, trying to make us all squirm. It was his moment of triumph. It would be a very short moment.
In the ballroom, police lab guys were looking at Ott’s body. In another room, the magicians were being interviewed by four detectives. All of them were coming up with the same story that pointed to our client as a murderer.
Blackstone sat in the first row of chairs with me on one side of him and Phil on the other. Gunther sat next to me. In the second row sat Shelly, Pancho, and Jeremy.
“Ott threatened you,” Cawelti said, pointing at Blackstone.
Blackstone nodded his agreement.
“You all heard the threat,” Cawelti said, looking at each of us. “Right?”
We all nodded, except for Shelly who said, “right.”
“So you killed him before he could nail you,” said Cawelti, looking at Blackstone.
“Incorrect,” said Blackstone.
“Come on,” said Cawelti, folding his arms again. “No one was within twenty feet of the victim but you. Lights go off. Lights come back on. How long were they out? A second? Two?”
No one answered.
“Not enough time for anyone to stand, let alone get up on that stage and stab Ott,” said Cawelti. “Not enough time for anyone to do it but you. Right?”
He pointed again at Blackstone, who was lost in thought.
“Pardon me,” said Blackstone, looking up. “What did you say?”
“I said you killed Ott,” Cawelti shouted.
“No,” said Blackstone. “It was an illusion.”
“It didn’t happen,” said Cawelti. “That what you’re telling me? We walk back in that ballroom and Ott is alive? That what you’re telling me?”
“No,” said Blackstone. “He is dead. The ultimate trick designed to create the illusion that I was the only one who could have killed Ott.”
Cawelti looked at the ceiling and then at the carpeted floor.
“If you’ll give me a little time, I’ll figure out how it was done,” said the magician.
“Like Sherlock Holmes?” asked Cawelti.
“Something like that,” said Blackstone, straightening the lapels on his jacket.
“And Cunningham, you didn’t kill him in that dressing room?” Cawelti hammered.
“I was onstage before more than a thousand witnesses,” Blackstone said. “I didn’t know the man and there are witnesses who saw the real killer.”
“You could have …” Cawelti began.
“Show’s over,” said Phil, standing.
Cawelti’s eyes turned toward my brother and then to Alexander at the door.
“Charge him, book him, and tell the reporters you arrested him,” said Phil. “And when we prove he didn’t do it, we tell the reporters that you are a pisshead which they already know.”
“I need to use the bathroom,” Shelly said behind me.
“Suffer,” said Cawelti, trying to stare Phil down.
“I am,” whined Shelly.
“Something was different,” said Gunther.
We all looked at him.
“Something was different?” Cawelti repeated, looking at Gunther. “What the hell does that mean?”
“The dead man,” said Gunther. “He did not look the same when we came back after chasing that young man. Something had changed.”
“What?” asked Cawelti.
“I’m not certain,” said Gunther. “But I am certain that something was different.”
“Very helpful,” said Cawelti.
I looked at Blackstone. He was looking at Gunther and I could see that the magician was beginning to get an idea.
“I’ve got to pee, really, “ said Shelly. “Now.”
“Oh for Chrissake,” said Cawelti with a sigh. “Go pee and get your ass back here in one minute flat.”
Shelly got up. So did Pancho.
“Where the hell are you going?” Cawelti asked.
“With him,” said Pancho.
“Sit down.”
Pancho sat as Shelly waddled toward the door. Alexander took a step to one side to let him pass.
“John,” I said.
“Detective Cawelti,” he corrected.
“I thought we were friends,” I said.
“Cut the shit Peters. Your client is burnt toast.”
“Why would he turn out the lights-and kill Ott, knowing that when they came back on he’d be the only possible suspect?” I asked.
“He didn’t know the lights would come back on so fast,” said Cawelti. “He pulled the lights-off trick earlier to be sure it would work. This time it didn’t work. Somebody turned the lights back on too fast.”
“Somebody?” I asked. “Who?”
“What’s the difference?” Cawelti said, looking at Blackstone again. “Who turned them out the first time, when you did that trick about getting across the room?”
“A young man in our show,” said Blackstone.
“How did you get across the room and back in less than a second?” asked Cawelti.
“If I tell you, the illusion is spoiled.”
“Fine,” said Cawelti. “You can tell it to a jury if it gets that far.”
“Unlikely,” came a voice from the open door behind Alexander.
Martin Leib, the best lawyer money can buy, filled the doorway. Marty was immaculately dressed in the best suit his clients’ money could buy.
Before Cawelti had shown up, I had called Marty’s number. He hadn’t been there, but his wife had taken the message and said she would find him.
Now Marty moved past Alexander gracefully, briefcase in hand, and said, “From what I’ve been able to gather, no one saw my client commit the crime.”
“No one else could have,” said Cawelti.
“That remains to be seen,” said Marty, moving to the table against which Cawelti was leaning.
He placed his briefcase on the table, opened it, and pulled out a cigar box. He held the box up, opened it, showed it to Cawelti and to all of us, closed the box, and handed it to Cawelti.
I thought I heard Blackstone let out a small chuckle at my side, but he said nothing.
“Open it,” said Marty.
“What the hell are you …?”
“Indulge me,” said Marty, adjusting his jacket.
Cawelti opened the cigar box. A white dove flew out and almost hit him in the face. The dove flapped its way around the room and came to rest on a small table at the back of the room.
“I can put you on the stand and make you swear the box was empty,” said Marty. “But, given what you have just seen, all you could honestly say is that you thought the box was empty.”
Marty looked at Blackstone, who nodded his approval.
