The Vanished Man

is . . .
    She turned away to see a guard approaching, looking over her uniform. “Help you, Officer?”
    Sachs asked to see the manager. The man explained that he was away but did they want to talk to an assistant?
    Sachs said yes and a moment later a short, thin, harried woman—dark, gypsylike—arrived.
    “Yes, I can help you?” she asked in an indeterminate accent.
    After introductions, Sachs said, “We’re investigating a series of crimes in the area. We’d like to know if you have any illusionists or quick-change artists appearing in the show.”
    Concern blossomed in the woman’s face. “We have that, yes, of course,” she said. “Irina and Vlad Klodoya.”
    “Spell those please.”
    Kara was nodding as Sachs wrote down the names. “I know about them, sure. They were with the Circus of Moscow a few years ago.”
    “Right,” confirmed the assistant.
    “Have they been here all morning?”
    “Yes. They rehearsed until about twenty minutes ago. Now it is they are shopping.”
    “You’re sure this’s the only time they’ve been away?”
    “Yes. I supervise myself where everyone is.”
    “Anyone else?” Sachs asked. “Maybe somebody who’s had training at illusion or magic? I mean, even if they’re not performing.”
    “No, nobody. Those are only the two.”
    “Okay,” Sachs said. “What we’re going to do is have a couple of police officers parked outside. They shouldbe here in about fifteen minutes. If you hear about anyone bothering your employees or the audience, acting suspicious, tell the officers right away.” This had been Rhyme’s suggestion.
    “I will tell everyone, yes. But can you please to tell me what is this about?”
    “A man with some illusionist experience was involved in a homicide earlier today. There’s no connection to your show that we know of but we just want to be on the safe side.”
    They thanked the assistant, who offered a troubled farewell, probably sorry that she’d asked the reason for the visit.
    Outside, Sachs asked, “What’s the story on those performers?”
    “The Ukrainians?”
    “Yeah. Do we trust ’em?”
    “Husband and wife team. Have a couple of children who travel with them. They’re two of the best quick-change artists in the world. I can’t imagine they’d have anything to do with the killings.” She laughed. “See that’s who gets jobs at Cirque Fantastique—performers who’ve been pros since they were five or six.”
    Sachs called Rhyme’s phone and got Thom. She gave him the Ukrainian performers’ names and what she’d learned. “Have Mel or somebody run them through NCIC and the State Department.”
    “Will do.”
    She disconnected the call and they started out of the park, walking west toward a slash of livid clouds, like striations of bruise, in the otherwise brilliant sky.
    Another loud snap behind her—the bannersagain, flapping in the breeze, as the playful Harlequin continued to beckon passersby into his otherworldly kingdom.
    •   •   •
    Refreshed, Revered Audience?
    Relaxed?
    Good, because it’s time now for our second routine.
    You may not know the name P. T. Selbit, but if you’ve been to any magic shows at all or seen illusionists on television you’re probably familiar with some of the tricks this Englishman made popular in the early 1900s.
    Selbit began his career performing under his real name, Percy Thomas Tibbles, but he soon learned that such a mild name didn’t suit a performer whose forte wasn’t card tricks, vanishing doves or levitating children but sadomasochistic routines that shocked—and therefore, of course, drew—crowds throughout the world.
    Selbit—yes, his stage name was the reverse of his surname—created the famous Living Pincushion, in which a girl was apparently skewered with eighty-four needle-sharp spikes. Another of his creations was the Fourth Dimension, a routine where audiences watched in horror as a young woman was seemingly crushed to death under a huge box. One of my favorites of Selbit’s was a routine he introduced in 1922. The title says it all, Revered Audience: The Idol of Blood, or Destroying a Girl.
    Today I’m delighted to present to you an updated variation of Selbit’s most renowned illusion, one that he presented in dozens of countries and that he was invited to perform at the Royal Command Variety Performance in the London Hippodrome.
    It’s known as . . .
    Ah, but no . . .
    No, Revered Audience. I think I’ll keep you in