The Vanished Man

by a shrug. “I won’t be there long.” She paused in the doorway. “You know, I have that show in the afternoon. But I’ll come back tomorrow morning if you want.”
    “We’d appreciate it,” Rhyme said. “Though we’ll try to nail Weir’s ass before lunch so you won’t have to stay long.”
    Thom walked her into the corridor and out the front door.
    Sachs stepped into the doorway and inhaled thesmoky air. “Phew,” she exhaled. Then disappeared up the stairs. “I’m showering,” she called.
    Ten minutes later Rhyme heard her walk downstairs. But she didn’t join him in the bedroom right away. From different parts of the house came thuds and creaks, muted words with Thom. Then finally she returned to the guest room. She was wearing her favorite pajamas—black T-shirt and silk boxers—but she had two accoutrements that were atypical of her sleep gear. Her Glock pistol and the long black tube of her issue flashlight.
    She set them both on the bedside table.
    “That guy gets into places too damn easy,” she said, climbing into bed next to him. “I checked every square inch of the house, balanced chairs on all the doors and told Thom if he hears anything to give a shout—but to stay put. I’m in the mood to shoot somebody but I’d really rather it wasn’t him.”

II
    METHOD

    Sunday, April 21
    “A magical effect is like a seduction. Both are built through careful details planted in the mind of the subject.”
    —S OL S TEIN

Chapter Twenty-nine
    Sunday morning passed in frustration as the search for Erick Weir stalled.
    The team learned that after the fire in Ohio the illusionist had remained in the burn unit of a local hospital for several weeks and then left on his own, without officially checking out. There was a record that he sold his house in downtown Las Vegas not long after that but no public record of buying another. In that cash-fat city though, Rhyme supposed, one could easily buy a small place in the desert with a stack of greenbacks, no questions asked, no public filings involved.
    The team managed to find Weir’s late wife’s mother. But Mrs. Cosgrove knew nothing of Weir’s whereabouts. He’d never contacted them after the disaster to send his condolences about their daughter’s death. She reported, though, that she wasn’t surprised. Weir was a selfish, cruel man, she explained, who’d become obsessed with her young daughter and virtually hypnotized her into marrying him. None of the other Cosgrove relatives had had any contact with Weir.
    Cooper compiled the remaining information from the computer searches on Weir but there wasn’t much. No VICAP or NCIC reports. There were no other detailson the man, and the officers tracking down Weir’s family found only that both parents were deceased, that he was an only child and that no next of kin could be located.
    Late in the morning Weir’s other assistant, Art Loesser, returned their call from Las Vegas. The man wasn’t surprised to learn that his former boss was wanted in connection with a crime and echoed what they’d learned already: that Weir was one of the world’s greatest illusionists but that he took the profession far too seriously and was known for his dangerous illusions and hot temper. Loesser still had nightmares about being his apprentice.
    I said “hurts.” I meant to say “haunts.” He still haunts me.
    “All young assistants’re influenced by their mentors,” Loesser told the team via speakerphone. “But my therapist said that in Weir’s case we were mesmerized by him.”
    So both of them are in therapy.
    “He said being with Weir created a Stockholm syndrome relationship. You know what that is?”
    Rhyme said he was familiar with the condition—where hostages form close bonds with, and even feel affection and love for, their kidnappers.
    “When did you last see him?” Sachs asked. The assessment exercise over, she was in soft clothes today—jeans and a forest-green knit blouse.
    “In the hospital, the burn unit. That was about three years ago. I’d go visit him regularly at first but all he’d talk about was getting even with anybody who’d ever hurt him or who didn’t approve of his kind ofmagic. Then he disappeared and I never saw him after that.”
    But then, the former protégé explained, Weir had called out of the blue about two months ago. Around the same time, Rhyme reflected, he’d called his other assistant. Loesser’s wife had taken the call. “He didn’t leave a