Wild Card

Chapter 54

It was called a thumb tip, and had been used by magicians for centuries. The key to wearing one, Uncle Al said, was for the magician to forget he had it on.

Valentine sat behind the wheel of his car and played with the thumb tip he’d just bought, wondering if this was what Sissy had seen in the glove compartment of the Dresser’s car. It was not far-fetched to think that the Dresser might have used magic tricks to get his victims to drop their guard. He had read in the newspaper about a serial killer named John Wayne Gacy who was a magician. Gacy liked to pick up runaway boys, and show them how he could escape from a pair of handcuffs. When the boy would try the cuff on, Gacy would strangle him. He had killed thirty kids that way.

But maybe Sissy had seen something else in the Dresser’s glove compartment. Now that she’d left town, there was no way of knowing, and in frustration he backed out of his parking space. Driving away, it suddenly occurred to him that he was wrong. There was a way of finding out, and it was a phone call away.

He returned to the lot and searched for some change. He’d tapped himself out, and finally found a dime under the floor mat. He called his house from a payphone.

“Better hurry. Dinner’s in the oven,” Lois said.

“I need to ask you a question about the Summer of Love,” he said.

“Tony, I’m trying to forget about that.”

“I’m sorry, but this is important.”

“Can it wait until you’re home, after dinner?”

“No.” The line went silent, and he said, “I think I’m onto something.”

“Oh, all right, go ahead.”

“The three guys whose dressing room was next to yours. You said one was a juggler, the other a comedian. You said the third had a funny name, but you couldn’t remember what his act was.”

“That’s right,” Lois said.

“Could he have been a magician?”

There was a short silence as his wife gave it some thought.

“You know, I think he was,” Lois said.

Valentine broke the speed limit driving to the station house, and did double-time up the two flights of stairs to Banko’s office on the third floor. It got his heart going in a way that reminded him why he liked his job. Sabina was still at her desk, and informed him that Special Agents Fuller and Romero were in the next room, plus four homicide detectives who Banko had brought in to work the case.

“They’re not to be disturbed,” Sabina cautioned him.

“Did they find the killer?”

“No, but I think they’re getting closer.”

There was a look of hope in her eyes. He was about to make their job a lot easier, and he said, “Why don’t you go to the cafeteria and get a drink. That way, it will look like I barged in when you weren’t here.”

“You’re going to disturb them?” she said disbelievingly.

“Afraid so.”

“But Banko will fire you.”

“I’m willing to take my chances.”

“Tony, please don’t do that.”

It sounded like something his wife would say. Sabina looked into his eyes and saw she was dealing with a lost cause. She grabbed her purse off the desk.

“Good luck.”

He waited until she was gone, then entered Banko’s office without bothering to knock. The room was choking with cigarette smoke and foul body odor. Seven men were huddled over Banko’s desk, reviewing a map of the island and a long suspect list. Next to the list was a picture of Mona. Romero and Fuller glanced up from the map, and looked embarrassed to see him. Banko came around the desk, looking mad as hell.

“What are you doing here, Valentine?”

“I need to talk to you,” Valentine said.

Banko was surprisingly fast for a large man. He pushed Valentine toward the door, then put his hand on the knob, and jerked it open. “Go home.”

“No.”

“Tony, for once in your life, listen to me. You’ll be in trouble if you don’t.”

“Give me a chance.”

Banko grimaced.

“I deserve a chance.”

Banko pointed at the open doorway.

“Sir,” he added.

“Jesus Christ,” Banko said under his breath. “Say it.”

Valentine produced a sheet of paper from his pocket, and unfolded it. Uncle Al had given him the names of twelve magicians who lived in the Atlantic City area who’d been performing for over twenty years. He handed the list to his superior.

“The Dresser is one of the guys on this list,” he said.

Banko snatched the sheet out of his hand, his eyes racing down the page.

“You’re absolutely positive about this?”

“He’s a magician. I called Lois, and she confirmed it.”

The rage melted from Banko’s face. He grabbed Valentine by the sleeve, and pulled him over to the desk where the others were huddled.

“You guys need to hear this,” Banko said.