Crimes of Magic: The Witch's Artifact

  Chapter 9

  I was left standing alone in my kitchen with my head spinning. Rachel had only eaten half of her sandwich, but I had yet to see her finish a meal, so I had to be satisfied as a host.

  The Coriolis, duct tape and rope were easy to find and I threw in some string for good measure. Then I thought, We’ll need food! We don’t know how long this will take. I went to my refrigerator and pantry and began packing food into a large duffel bag. I also packed a couple of items from off of the counter. I went to my bedroom and threw in some underwear, a change of shirt and some comfortable slip-on cargo pants. My toothbrush and toothpaste were next. I really needed more time to pack for a stakeout, or an ambush.

  Rachel returned with a duffel bag similar to mine. She was wearing her usual black tights, black skirt, white tee shirt, gray wool coat and running shoes. I was wearing jeans, a flannel shirt, hiking boots and my leather jacket. It seemed like stakeout attire to me. We got into Fred and headed back to Moonstone.

  Rachel dropped me off at the curb with the two duffel bags, and she drove down the block to park unobtrusively. When she returned on foot, she unlocked the store and we went in. We went straight to the computer and breathed a sigh of relief that it was still there. Rachel bent over the desk and examined the mouse.

  “Nobody has touched the computer,” Rachel said. “I put the mouse lined up exactly with the front edge of the computer, and it’s just as I left it. Now let’s get set up.”

  “What do we do?” I asked.

  “Well, he’s either going to pop into this room or he’ll walk through that door after popping up somewhere else. The thing for us to do is to set up somewhere so no matter how he comes in, we’ll see him before he sees us.”

  “I just got a brainstorm,” I said. “I know where he’ll pop in.”

  “Where? And how do you know?”

  “Here’s my thinking: Fact number one: The first time the thief teleported into the store, at least that’s what I think he did, he was following the magical ping the artifact sent out, at least that’s our theory.

  “Fact number two: The second time he returned as a killer, something Beth had done also tripped his magic alarm, according to our theory, and he followed that signal.

  “First deduction: I think that it’s important when invoking the teleportation exploit, that you uniquely identify the place you want to go. You can’t just say ‘I want to go to the bad guy’s secret hideout.’ It’s like a GPS; the system has to have a unique destination for the exploit to work precisely.

  “Hypothesis: Suppose he wanted to be able to come back to the store later. You know, revisit the scene of the crime, as criminals always do in mystery stories. He would need something unique from this store to identify his teleportation location. So, after he killed Beth, he used the bloody athame to carve off a piece of the cabinet leg. Just as no two snowflakes are alike, no two randomly carved-off pieces of furniture will be alike. He was covering his bases in case he needed to return. The piece of cabinet leg will act like a homing beacon. I think, also, that the magic circle on the floor of the meeting room will act like a helicopter landing pad guiding him in to a location near the homing beacon. Therefore, he will teleport back into the meeting room into the center of the magic circle. Q.E.D.”

  “Q.E.D. Professor?”

  “Quod erat demonstrandum. That’s what you put at the end of a math proof. It’s Latin for ‘That which was to be demonstrated.’”

  “Well let’s get your Q.E.D. going on the QT and plant our asses in the meeting room,” Rachel declared.

  “We should set up in the bedroom and watch through the door into the meeting room,” Rachel said. “That way we’ll be relatively hidden, and we can get the jump on him.”

  I brought in a stacking chair from the closet and put it and the bedroom chair against the wall opposite the door to the meeting room. While Rachel took some of her gear out of her duffel, I set up the Coriolis. This time I was prepared—I had packed my banana holder. The curved wooden stand was meant to hold a bunch of bananas from its stalk, but it was ideal for attaching the string from the Coriolis pendulum.

  I used a pair of pliers, which I had also packed, to detach the metal hook that would have held the bananas. The hook might have had some iron in it, and I wanted to be sure the Coriolis would be as sensitive as possible.

  I used my charcoal pencil to inscribe the symbol on the Coriolis that activated it, and I tied its suspending string to the top of the banana holder and set it on the floor. It was perfect. The Coriolis began making small slow clock-wise circles. The clockwise rotation indicated that there was still some residual magic from the previous night’s intrusion. The circles were small and slow, however, so I thought the detector would still work.

  Rachel turned out all the lights in the bedroom and then turned on a lamp in the meeting room so we could see the meeting room without too much light spilling into the bedroom.

  In the dim light, we could see the Coriolis making its slow circles. “It’s like a perpetual motion machine isn’t it,” I said. “That pendulum will just keep making circles without any visible force keeping it going.”

  “Just keep an eye on it,” Rachel said as she checked the charge on her stun gun. Then she pulled her pistol out of the bag and cocked a round into the chamber. “We’re ready now. Bring it on, Buster.”

  “When do you think he’ll show up?” I asked.

  “I think he’ll show up tonight. This guy is no dummy. It won’t take him long to figure out that the pictures came from a computer somewhere. I can’t see this guy popping in and out in broad daylight when people might be around, so tonight’s the night.”

  “Have you ever had to use that gun?” I asked.

  “I’ve used it, but I’ve never shot anybody with it. On those rare occasions when I’ve needed it, a couple of warning shots did the trick. I’m not a cop. I don’t usually solve crimes. I find people and things. I uncover facts and secrets. I don’t usually do apprehensions.”

  “I’m sure you’ll be spectacular,” I said.

  “I am a pretty good shot, though,” Rachel said. I go to the shooting range several times a year. At a distance of twenty yards or less, I’m a crack shot.”

  “I’m not surprised,” I said.

  “What about you, Professor? Do you shoot?”

  “I’ve never fired a gun in my life.”

  “You’re kidding. You should learn to shoot for self defense. I’ll take you out to the range and teach you to shoot.”

  “I’d like that,” I said. Actually, I’d like spending time with Rachel doing anything. I wasn’t really all that keen on learning to shoot.

  “How often do you go on a stakeout?” I asked.

  “Pretty often, really. There’s a lot of waiting in my line of work. I’m not usually sitting in a dark room, though. Usually I’m in a bar or coffee shop or in my car. That’s why I drive a silver CR-V. There are hundreds of silver CR-Vs in Portland. Nobody notices Fred.”

  “Who do you stake out?”

  “Husbands, employees, teenage kids, plaintiffs, witnesses, you name it.”

  “Is that how you spend most of your time?”

  “Stakeouts are time-consuming all right, but most of the time I’m talking with parties of interest or doing research on the Internet.”

  “How much time do you spend in your office?”

  “Not much, really. I mainly have an office to see people by appointment. Most clients don’t want to meet at their home, like Mrs. Overgarden did. They want to meet someplace private where they won’t see any friends or family. I have to have an office, but it’s for clients, not for me to work in, usually. If it weren’t for the meetings, I could work from home. I don’t publish the address of the office, so I don’t get walk-in business. They have to call.”

  “Being in the Pearl, your office rent must be pretty steep.”

  “Not real
ly, it’s the ground floor spaces that are spendy, and my building isn’t on a very popular street. It’s convenient, though, because it’s not far from the Goose. I can take side streets to get there.”

  “I’m glad you live at the Goose,” I said.

  “It’s very comfortable and anonymous. I get all my mail at the office. The mailboxes are on the ground floor in the back. The Goose is more homey than a regular apartment, and I like the free high-speed Internet you put in.”

  “Gotta have the web,” I said. “You wouldn’t want to buy your own house would you?”

  “No way, too much work and no landlord to complain to. Besides, how much space do I really need? I couldn’t afford the down payment anyway, not unless I lived in the ‘Couv’.”

  “Heaven forbid you lived across the river in Vancouver,” I remarked. “Who wants to live in Washington, anyway?”

  “I have my standards,” Rachel declared.

  “Where do your parents live?”

  “They’re still in Atlanta. I think that after my Dad retires, they’ll move back to Jersey, or maybe Florida.”

  “They wouldn’t move to Florida, would they?”

  “Some of their friends have, and my parents are pretty traditional. Moving to Florida is just what they expect retired folks to do.”

  “It’s awfully hot in Florida.”

  “A lot hotter than Portland, that’s for sure, but it’s hot in Hotlanta, too. The older you get, the less it bothers you. You’re retired, Professor, have you ever thought about moving to some place warmer?”

  “No, I like the cool weather. I even like short, rainy winter days.”

  “At least we don’t have snow like back in Jersey. You know New Jersey gets a bad rep. Most of the state is really pretty. It’s called the Garden State, you know.”

  “I thought that was a joke.”

  “No, it’s not a joke. Jersey is famous for its vegetables. You won’t find a better tomato than the Jersey beefsteak tomato. You just have to get away from the Turnpike, that’s all.”

  “Sounds like you would like to move back to New Jersey.”

  “No, I don’t think so. I like the West Coast, and California has too many people.”

  “How did you like living in Atlanta?”

  “Atlanta is a hoot. It’s a big city with small-town people. It’s very friendly, but I didn’t fit in very well.”

  “Why not?”

  “It’s just a different culture, and I don’t look like a Southerner.”

  “You don’t?”

  “No, I look like I’m from Jersey.”

  “Where were you born?”

  “Asbury Park on the Jersey shore.”

  “Home of The Boss.”

  “Yeah, Springsteen is the Elvis of Asbury Park. Where were you born, Professor?”

  “Portland.”

  “So you’re a SNOB.”

  “That’s me. I’m a member of S.N.O.B., the Society of Native Oregon Born.”

  “You’re one of the few SNOBs I’ve met. It seems like most people here are from California.”

  “That’s what it seems like to me, too.”

  “What do you think about the California invasion?”

  “They drive too fast, and they’ve driven up home prices too much. They sell their expensive homes in California, and think they have to put all that money into homes here. Portland used to be more affordable.”

  “You talk about Californians the way Georgians talk about Yankees.”

  “Well, I am a SNOB; but seriously, I actually like all the Californians that I know personally, including those at SimBiotic Arts. Californians are primarily responsible for the growth of the high-tech industry here. Timber isn’t king anymore. The Californians have boosted Oregon’s standard of living. Ward Thompson is a Californian.”

  “I guess you have to take the bad with the good, Professor.”

  “That’s life, isn’t it?”

  After about three hours of waiting, I realized that I should have brought coffee. We had shed our coats, and we were trying to stay both comfortable and awake.

  “Look!” Rachel whispered as she pointed to the Coriolis.”

  The Coriolis was swinging more rapidly now, and the clockwise circles were getting larger.

  “Here he comes,” Rachel said. “Get ready,” and she stuffed her pistol into the back of her skirt and picked up her stun gun and handcuffs.

  It was at that point that I realized that I didn’t know what was actually involved in “getting ready.” I had planned my part in this caper up to the point of the Coriolis detecting some magic, but after that I didn’t know what I was supposed to do. I didn’t have a weapon, not even a butterfly net. Then I remembered Rachel had said something about tying the killer up, so I got the long coil of nylon rope out of my duffel and sat at the ready.

  Now the Coriolis was making wide, rapid clockwise circles, and Rachel stood up with her back to the wall. I followed suit, and we saw a shimmering in the center of the circle in the meeting room. It was like one of those mirages in the movies where the hot air makes waves and the things on the other side lose their focus. The room got colder and there was a flash of light. There stood a man in baggy black pants, gathered at the ankles, and a baggy black shirt gathered at the wrists. He was wearing a black brimless cap, sort of like a fez. He was facing away from us so I couldn’t see his face. He appeared to be short, stocky and bald with pale skin.

  The shimmering started to subside, and Rachel ran through the door with her stun gun and yelled “Hold it right there, Buster!”

  Buster’s head quickly turned and he fixed his eyes on Rachel. Then he slowly turned so that his body was toward her. I was still standing in the bedroom against the dark wall, paralyzed with indecision.

  “And who are you?” Buster asked in accented English. The air was still shimmering.

  “I’m the bitch that’s going to bust your ass, that’s who,” Rachel said as she brought out her cuffs with her left hand and held the stun gun in her right.

  “Looks like you have me, ‘busted’ as you say,” and the intruder held his fists straight out in front of him as if to facilitate handcuffing. Rachel walked up to him, and in one smooth quick motion, the intruder reached out, grabbed Rachel’s right hand and pulled her toward him. With some sort of judo move, he threw her to the floor. Then he hit Rachel’s right hand with his fist, and the stun gun popped free and slid across the floor coming to rest against the wall. Suddenly, there was another flash of light and both of them disappeared. The pistol and handcuffs fell to the floor.

  “Iron,” I said. “That explains why he left Beth’s murder weapon behind.”