The Wonderful World of Wintermutt

Smoke and Mirrors October 18, 2007

Posted by wintermutt in Fiction.
Tags: Cafe Writing, Fiction, mystery, www.cafewriting.com
4 comments

This is my first piece of fiction for www.cafewriting.com a writing website a friend of mine (the wonderful MissMeliss) just started. She offers a handful of writing projects each month for people to riff on. This is for the October fiction goal: “Let some things remain mysterious. It’s October, so mystery and intrigue are in the air. Write a story – flash-fiction (under 500 words) is fine, but go longer if you’re so moved, involving mystery.” This piece ended up being much longer than I thought it would (it’s way over 500 words) – dialogue will do that for you. Now, without further ado…

Smoke and Mirrors

I walked into the auditorium, sipping tentatively from the paper cup. I fought the urge to wince, the coffee was still too hot, and failed. Also, it was crap – foul and bitter, much like my mood. But the place was on my way to the crime scene and I’d needed something to keep me going. I’d worked an early shift and they’d called me in again. Not a good sign. If they’re calling me in after my shift, it’s a bad one.

The auditorium was swarming with uniformed officers, also a bad sign. And to complete the trifecta of goodness, the uniforms were quite obviously trying to avoid the stage as much as possible. The few that had to be close, looked pale. A handful of plainclothes detectives stood on the stage, backs to me. The body language, while subtle, wasn’t good. A couple of forensics techs in those spiffy white suits scurried around like worker ants, collecting evidence.

When one of the younger detectives suddenly hunched over and threw up, I really started to worry. It takes a lot to gross out a homicide cop, even a rookie. But I’ll give the rook credit, he managed to turn his head away from the crime scene. Trust me, nothing will ruin your day worse than contaminated forensic evidence.

With another sip of my so-called coffee, I made my way through the throngs of uniforms. Most of them seemed to be actively avoiding looking at me, or anyone else for that matter. Bad beat cop, no cookie for you. If you didn’t look up and see the badge hanging around my neck on a chain, how would you know I wasn’t some brazen paparazzo looking for the sweet shot to retire on?

Finally, made it onto the stage and skirted the rook’s addition to the scene. I took in the faces of the detectives. Most of the precincts homicide division, some of them looking like I felt – tired and wishing they were at home enjoying time off before their next shift. One figure clearly stood out though, wearing a nice suit and with nicely styled gray hair. He had probably spent more on his appearance for tonight than I had on my whole wardrobe. But then again, I’m not much of a fashionista. I like my clothes comfortable, long lasting and cheap – and I wear ‘em ‘til they holes in ‘em. Then I buy more of the same.

I nodded my head politely. “Evening Chief, didn’t know you were a fan of magic.”

The Chief grimaced, ruining the carefully constructed image he had prepared for the evening. “Not really, Detective.” He directed a small nod out towards where the audience had sat, until recently. “But the wife was.” Was. Past tense. Well, this kinda thing will curdle the stomach. “What do you think, Detective?”

With a sigh I took one last, long pull of the repugnant swill, crumpled the cup and tossed it behind me – away from the scene. Then I took the full scene in. Props for a magic show were arranged across the stage. They weren’t arranged in the neat manner you would expect from a professional show. “It happened towards the end of the show?” I wasn’t asking anyone in particular, just the assembled group as a whole, I guess.

Rabowitz looked up from the file and nodded, “It was the grand finale of the act.” Typical. Out of the dozen or so detectives here, the file had gravitated to Rabowitz. The man liked his paperwork. I, on the other hand, detested paperwork and much preferred being on the scene doing my thing. Yin and Yang. Maybe that’s why we made great partners.

I nodded and stared at the bloody mess on the stage. “A guillotine? Sheesh…” I stared at the victim, dressed in a suit – nice, but not as fancy as the Chief’s.  And not a tux. “The vic wasn’t part of the act, was he? A volunteer from the audience?”

Rabowitz chewed his bottom lip as he mulled his answer. “Well, yes and no.”

That pulled me up short. I looked back at him. “Rab, that was a yes or no question. How did you manage both answers?”

Rabowitz cleared his throat awkwardly. “Well. He was from the audience, but he didn’t exactly volunteer.”

I furrowed my forehead, as a slight frown flitted across my face. “What, did they haul him up here against his will?”

“No. He was ‘volunteered’ by the audience, though he did walk up on stage under his own power.”

I took another look at the body. Post decapitation, it was hard to tell – what with all the blood and all. “Was he a celebrity?”

Rabowitz chewed his lip again. “Not exactly a celebrity, but well known in certain circles.”

I sighed. “Are you going to tell me who this guy was, or would you rather play twenty questions all goddam night?” I flicked my eyes over to the Chief. “Sorry about that, Sir.”

The Chief waived off the apology and answered my question with a question, “Are you familiar with Josh Garrett?”

I paused for a moment in thought, before shaking my head. “Can’t say the name means anything to me, Sir.”

“He had a career as a minor stage magician ten or fifteen years ago…” I could see that Rabowitz wanted to tell the Chief how long ago, it was in his precious file, but he was smart enough to let it go. So, he can be taught. “Finally decided he wasn’t going to make the Vegas circuit, so he retired. But he kept the passion, so he’d go see other magician’s shows. About a year into his retirement, he saw a really bad show – and began to heckle the poor guy on stage. And the crowd seemed to get into it, which encouraged him to continue – eventually spilling how this guy was doing his tricks and illusions as he was doing them. The crowd loved it. Garrett had found his calling – he became a professional skeptic.”

“A what?”

Rabowitz stepped in smoothly. “A professional skeptic. He did some interviews for basic cable shows debunking whatever was hot that week – Bigfoot, UFOs, Atlantis, whatever. Then he took that money and made a series of public dares to magicians…. Well, more like bets. A bet that no magician could stump him with a trick.”

I raised a skeptical eyebrow. “Rab, you mean to tell me that you can make a living at that?”

Rabowitz nodded. “Yeah. Not a great one, but comfortable enough – if you’re smart.”

“And this Garrett was good?”

“Oh yeah. No one ever stumped him. Well, not until The Great Moroni that is.”

Ah. Now the plot thickens. If you haven’t guessed by now, the magician on stage had been The Great Moroni. “So how did the audience know about Garrett? There can’t have been that many magicians in the audience.”

Rabowitz smiled slightly. “Moroni pointed him out at the beginning of the act.” He paused slightly as he reviewed the file. “That wasn’t unusual. Garrett had allegedly become a little obsessed with Moroni’s act and surfaced at a lot of the shows.”

My face twitched in a smile of it’s own. “The one fake he couldn’t expose.” The smile slipped as I looked at the mess on stage. My stomach was being pretty queasy tonight. Obviously the bad coffee, a crime scene hadn’t gotten to me since I was a rook. Yeah. “So, I’m guessing an accident has been ruled out, with all of us standing here?”

Rabowitz nodded. “The illusion has multiple safety features – none of which tripped. The final one being that the blade was a carefully designed fake. It probably would cause a bruise at worst.”

Now it was my turn to nod slowly. “So, Moroni gets wind that Garrett’s going to be at the show ahead of time. He points out the skeptic to the audience and lures him onto stage for the grand finale – which he’s rigged to kill the man. Clearly an accident, so no one’s to blame. The carefully designed safety features didn’t work. He might lose some future ticket sales, but he’s gotten rid of a thorn in his side.” As I said it out loud, I frowned deeply. It just didn’t make any sense. Murder is always a nasty thing. It makes little to no sense from a rationale mindset. But if you dig, there’s always a reason – no matter how twisted or insane. But this just felt… wrong.

Rabowitz shook his head. “Nope. Advance ticket sales for the rest of Moroni’s tour have gone up.” He shrugged his slight shoulders. “They always say that no press is bad press… Besides, Moroni is distraught. He looked at Garrett as a challenge – he treated the rivalry like a friendly game of chess.”

“Well, can I talk to Moroni?”

“Not so much, they had to sedate him to get him off the stage. He’s that messed up.” Rabowitz paused, looking up from the file. “If he’s faking it, he’s the best actor I have ever seen.” A chorus of nods from the other detectives sorted that. A gifted actor might con a detective or two – but not a dozen. Someone would see through the act. I think Abraham Lincoln said something to that effect.

I nodded and pulled a pair of latex gloves from my pocket. After a while in homicide, you learn to always keep a pair or two handy. Always. I caught the eye of one the forensics techs. “We good?”

The tech nodded. “As long as you use gloves, yeah. Coroner should be here soon.”

I slipped the gloves on and carefully closed on the body. I stooped and checked Garrett’s pockets. I produced a set of keys, a ticket stub for the show and a much abused leather wallet. Opening the wallet I checked it over once. Frowning, I checked it over again. Rabowitz squatted next to me, “What’s wrong?”

“No credit cards, no debit or ATM cards, no checkbook and…. One, two, three, four, five, six dollars?” Now it was my turn to worry my bottom lip. Apparently Rabowitz wasn’t the only one learning from this partnership. “You’d think he would have more money on him than this. For concessions here in the auditorium. A souvenir. Maybe a burger on the way home.” I stopped abruptly.

“What?” Rabowitz was giving me an odd look.

“Car keys on the key chain.”

“Yeah, so?”

“Have we determined that he drove himself here? Have we located his car?”

“Yeah, it’s in a parking ramp down the block. Why?”

“I need to see it now…”

“There’s nothing untoward in there.”

“I still need to see it.”

Rabowitz shrugged, a resigned look on his face. “Ok. Let’s go.” Good, he was learning to trust my apparent leaps of logic.

*  *  *

The parking ramp was your usual. Bare concrete with no decoration beyond stenciled numbers on the parking spots and the occasional bit of graffiti. This one was pretty well-maintained – litter kept to a minimum. Garrett’s car was obvious – the old white Ford Escort surrounded by cops. A bored looking forensics tech was carefully placing the contents of the car into evidence bags. I eyed the bags, a little smile crossing my lips, as I nodded to my partner. “Three questions and we’re done here.” I turned to the tech. “Have you found any money in the car?”

The tech shrugged. “Some pocket change.”

I gave Rabowitz an apologetic look. “Ok, four questions. My bad.” I turned back to the tech, “How much change?”

The tech read the label on an evidence bag. “Umm.. a dollar thirty-six.”

I nodded. “Mmmhmmm.” I turned back to Rabowitz. “You said that Garrett made his living being a professional skeptic. Did he ever supplement his income with other jobs?”

Rabowitz frowned. “Not that we’re aware of. Why?”

The small smile blossomed on my face. “Trust me, Rab.” The smile widened even more at Rab’s pained expression. He knew this look. I’d solved the case. I turned back to the tech. “Last question…” I nodded to three evidence bags lying on the ground amongst a dozen more – one containing bundled blue cloth, one containing a small box of sinus medication and the other what looked, from a distance, like a driver’s license. Only it wasn’t, because his driver’s license was in his wallet a block away. “Can I grab these briefly? I need to show the detectives and the Chief at the scene and I’ll bring ‘em right back.”

The tech frowned, his eyes darting between the evidence and my badge. “Well, this isn’t normal procedure…”

My smile widened. “I’ll log the evidence out and promise that I won’t damage it in any way. Hell, I don’t plan to take the evidence out of the bag.”

The tech wasn’t happy with this, but luckily I have a bit of a rep in the precinct – and that helps in these sorts of situations. Though it does tend to have negative impact on my private life. A day off is not always a day off. After some thought, the tech allowed me to sign out the bags, after dire threats about what would happen to us both if the evidence was damaged.

*  *  *

Back at the auditorium, I returned to the stage carrying the evidence bags. With a knowing grin, I nodded to the Chief. “Sir, I’m pretty sure I know who killed Josh Garrett.”

The Chief blinked. Reputation or not, he wasn’t expecting this – the case solved already? He hid it pretty well though. A heck of a poker face. “Well, Detective? Don’t keep us in suspense.”

I nodded. “Josh Garrett was killed by…” I couldn’t help it. They always pause meaningfully in those Agatha Christie stories Rabowitz tried to get me to read. Until I kept solving them about a third of the way through, every time. “Josh Garrett.” As I thought, there was about a second of stunned silence, followed by an inarticulate chorus of confused detectives.

I raised my hand to silence the confusion. “The man was obsessed with debunking Moroni, the one magician that he could never beat. And we all know that obsession can lead to darker things.” Hell, it’s behind most of our cases in one form or another.

Rabowitz nodded, “But suicide? In front of an audience?” Good old Rab, always asking the right questions at the right time.

I nodded. “A suicide that looked at first glance like murder. A murder with Moroni as the most likely suspect. And even if Moroni evaded the murder rap, his ticket sales would be ruined.” I held up my hand to stall Rabowitz’s retort. “I know his sales went up, but most people would have guessed the opposite. I did. Anyway, either way – Moroni would be ruined. A little payback from beyond the grave. As I said, obsession can be a scary thing if it festers long enough.”

The Chief frowned. “Nice theory. But I’d prefer a few facts, Detective.”

I nodded and continued. “Chief, if you don’t mind me asking – you and your lovely wife drove to the show tonight?”

The Chief nodded. “Yes, we parked at a ramp about two blocks over – attached to the hotel. It’s the ramp we always use when we’re downtown – it’s clean, safe and cheaper than most.”

“Do you mind if I ask how much you paid for parking tonight?”

“Eight dollars…”

I hammed it up, inhaling sharply. “A bit spendy for a few hours, don’t you think?”

The Chief chuckled. “Hardly. The rates always go up when there’s a show. Event parking they call it. Charge a flat fee for the evening.”

I nodded. “Yeah, I know. Most ramps in the area charge ten dollars, so you did find a good deal.”

“And this is relevant how?”

“Garrett had six dollars on him and another dollar thirty-six in his car. He wasn’t so good at picking his ramp and was going to have to pay ten to get out.”

“So, he’d hit an ATM on the way there.”

“No.” I shook my head. “Remember he didn’t have a card? All he had was the cash. And it wasn’t enough to leave. And as a regular to these kinds of shows, he should have known that. It’s almost like he didn’t plan to leave…” I shrugged. “Also, I’ll wager that when you check his financial records you’ll find he’s broke, or close to. He made his money by being a skeptic – but he’d been following Moroni’s tour. Money was probably going out much faster than it was coming in.” I shrugged. “So that covers motive pretty well, don’t you think?”

Rabowitz shook his head in disbelief. He knew I’d done it again, but he didn’t yet see it all. “But how did he do it?”

“Well, as a former stage magician himself – he probably had an idea on how the trick was done – at least on the mechanical side. And if he didn’t, I’m sure he would read up on it and make some educated guesses. After all, it was the same stunt every show…”

“How do you know that?”

I shrugged. “Logic, with a bit of educated guesswork of my own. It’s a flashy stunt with a lot of apparent danger. Plus it looks like he had invested a lot of time into the trick and money into the guillotine. You don’t do that and then stop using the trick after a month. This would have been Moroni’s signature trick.”

Rabowitz nodded slowly. “Ok. But how did Garrett get a chance to sabotage the guillotine?”

I held up two of the evidence bags. “With these.” I held out the larger bag first. “A blue jumpsuit with an embroidered nametag. Looks like it says ‘Aaron’.” Then I held out the smaller bag. “One ID card for an Aaron White, union stagehand. I’m going to guess that either the card is a forgery or that Josh Garrett resembles Aaron White enough to pass muster. With these he could of gotten full access to the stage area before the show. He would just have had to bide his time until he was alone and could disable the safeguards and replace the blade.”

Rabowitz frowned. “But how could he guarantee getting up on stage? Even if he volunteered, he couldn’t know he was going to be selected.”

“True. This is where the plan gets a bit shaky. He would know, from previous shows, that Moroni would point him out to the audience. He would have to trust in his ability to manipulate the crowd and/or Moroni himself to get up on stage for the finale. But, even if he didn’t get selected – the trick would still go horribly wrong. In this case an innocent audience member would be killed. Moroni wouldn’t have to worry about the murder rap, but Garrett could still trust in dwindling ticket sales to destroy Moroni’s career. And, in all likelihood, a lawsuit or two.”

“Wow. I can’t believe he could actually put himself into that situation willingly.” Rabowitz shook his head. “Even as obsessed as he was.”

I smiled and held up the third evidence bag. “Over the counter sinus medication… drowsy formula. An odd thing to be left in a man’s car, this time of year – don’t you think? Too late for hayfever and too early for flu season.” I shrugged. “I’ll bet if you run a tox screen during the autopsy you’ll find a fairly healthy dose of these meds in his system – probably in some sort of cocktail with other meds, like a depressant or sedative – maybe valium.” I paused. “An insurance policy. Wouldn’t want to ruin his little trap with cold feet now, would he? The trick would have been to find a level high enough to stop last minute panic, but not to visibly impair him. If he tipped his hat by staggering or collapsing, the gig would be up.”

The Chief shook his head. “But wouldn’t he expect a tox screen?”

I shrugged. “Why? His death was either accidental or murder. Either way, he had no apparent influence over the operation of the guillotine. Why would the Coroner waste time and money on a pointless test? And even on the off chance that a tox screen was run, so he was meds – so what? Still has no impact on any investigations into his death – unless you connect the other dots.”

I sighed. “Any other questions?” I waited for a few heartbeats before continuing. “This wouldn’t hold up to an inquest, right now… but with a little investigation, I’m sure we will find solid evidence to confirm my theory. Now, I doubt we’re going to find any more evidence tonight. Let’s let the Coroner do his thing, and we can continue the investigation tomorrow. Because I don’t know about you, but I’d like to get back home and spend some quality time with my husband. Any problems with that plan?”

The Chief shook his head. “You did good, Detective Rabowitz…” Then he turned to Rabowitz. “And I mean both of you. Go on home. But I’ll expect to see you in bright and early to prove this cockamamie theory.”

My husband and I both smiled.. “Yes, Sir.”

As we turned to leave, Rab whispered in my ear. “Don’t forget to return that evidence, Hon.”