The Vanished Man

think that was what he talked about the most. He was obsessed with it. There was an illusion he mentioned. The . . . right, the Burning Mirror. That was it. Flames all over the stage, I think. The illusionist has to escape from them. He turns into the devil. Or somebody turns into the devil.”
    Both Rhyme and Sachs glanced at Kara, who was nodding. “I’ve heard of it. But it’s rare. Takes a lot of setup and it’s pretty dangerous. Most theater owners won’t let performers do it nowadays.”
    “He kept going on about fire. How it’s the one thing you can’t fake onstage. How audiences see fire and they secretly hope maybe the illusionist’ll get burned. Wait. I remember something else. He—”
    “Go on, Rhyme, you’re on a roll.”
    “Don’t interrupt me,” he snapped. “I told you he was acting as if he were giving a performance? He seemed delusional. He kept looking at the blank wall and talking to somebody. It was like, ‘My something audience.’ I don’t remember what he called them. He was manic.”
    “An imaginary audience.”
    “Right. Hold on. . . . I think it was ‘respected audience.’ Talking to them directly, ‘My respected audience.’ ”
    Sachs glanced at Kara, who shrugged. “We always talk to the audience. It’s called patter. In the old days performers would say things like ‘my esteemed audience,’ or ‘my dear ladies and gentlemen.’ But everybody thinks that’s hokey and pretentious. Patter’s a lot less formal now.”
    “Let’s keep going.”
    “I don’t know, Sachs. I think I’m dry. Everything else is just a big blur.”
    “I’ll bet there’s more. It’s like that one bit of evidence at the scene. It’s there, it might be the key to the whole case. You just have to think a little differently to find it.” She leaned closer to Rhyme. “Let’s say this is your bedroom. You’re in the Flexicair. Where was he standing?”
    The criminalist nodded. “There. Near the foot of the bed, facing me. My left side, closest to the door.”
    “What was his pose?”
    “Pose? I don’t know.”
    “Try.”
    “I guess facing me. He kept moving his hands. Like he was speaking in public.”
    Sachs stood and took up a position. “Like this?”
    “Closer.”
    She moved in.
    “There.”
    Her standing in this pose did in fact bring back a memory. “One thing. . . . He was talking about the victims. He said killing them wasn’t anything personal.”
    “Nothing personal.”
    “He killed . . . yes, I remember now. He killed them because of what they represented. ”
    Sachs was nodding, scribbling notes to supplement the tape recording. “Represented?” she mused. “What does that mean?”
    “I didn’t have any idea. One musician, one lawyer, one makeup artist. Different ages, sexes, professions, residences, no known connection to one other. What could they represent? Upper-middle-class lifestyles, urban dwellers, higher education. . . . Maybe one of those is the key—the rationalization for picking them. Who knows?”
    Sachs was frowning. “There’s something wrong.”
    “What?”
    She finally said, “Something about what you’re remembering.”
    “Well, it’s not fucking verbatim. I didn’t exactly have a stenographer handy.”
    “No, that’s not what I mean.” She considered for a minute. Then she nodded. “You’re characterizing what he said. You’re using your language, not his. ‘Urban dwellers.’ ‘Rationalization.’ I want his words.”
    “Well, I don’t remember his words, Sachs. He said he didn’t have anything personal against the victims. Period.”
    She shook her head. “No, I’ll bet he didn’t say that.”
    “What do you mean?”
    “Murderers never think of the people they kill as ‘victims.’ It’s impossible. They never humanize them. At least a pattern doer like the Conjurer wouldn’t.”
    “That’s hogwash from police academy psych 101, Sachs.”
    “No, it’s the real world. We know they’re victims but the perps always believe they deserve to die for one reason or another. Think about it. He didn’t say ‘victim,’ did he?”
    “Well, what difference does it make?”
    “Because he said they were representative of something and we have to find out what. How did he refer to them?”
    “I don’t remember.”
    “Well, he didn’t say ‘victim.’ I know that. Did he talk about any of them specifically? Svetlana, Tony. . . . How about Cheryl Marston? Did he call her the blonde