Once Bitten, Twice Dead Read online

  “I wasn’t ever going to check up on my birth family, but a few months ago I got curious. I discovered that both of my natural parents had died, and I knew I had a brother, Mark, living in New York—I was going to see him, but you were closer so I thought I’d start with you. I guess I’ll end with you, also, because you said Mark was dead. How did he die?”

  “He was murdered.”

  “Oh. I guess you being a detective, have dealt with a few murders yourself.”

  “Yes, I have, and also being a detective I can easily check on the authenticity of what you’re telling me.” The only thing that gave me a hint that he was telling the truth was that my mother loved English romance novels, so that’s maybe where the name Trevor came from.

  Trevor then went on to say that he had the limp because he was born with one leg shorter than the other. He was quick to add, “I don’t think that’s why they put me up for adoption. It stopped me from playing sports, but it didn’t stop me from studying. I got a scholarship to M.I.T. Now I work for the Navy, doing research on explosives.”

  I thought back to when my apartment blew up. No, I’d better not be thinking that my own brother tried to kill me. Of course there was the inheritance.

  That just hit me. If Trevor was really my brother, he was entitled to part of it, maybe half of it.

  Almost as if Trevor could feel me thinking this, he said, “I’m not contacting you for any gain on my part. As I said, I was just curious. I wanted to meet you. After all, you are my sister.”

  Wow. This was greater magic than the show I had been going to see.

  We spent the next hour talking, and then we went out for an early dinner. Trevor did tell me that his explosives research mainly dealt with wartime weaponry: firing distances, long-range capabilities, and damage control. He seemed to have much expertise. If he had been the one who had set the bomb off in my apartment, he probably would have blow half the block apart. The person who had tried to kill me then seemed more like an amateur because he failed. I didn’t think Trevor would have missed.

  Toward the end of dinner, I did tell Trevor about the inheritance, but he said he wasn’t interested in it at all. “I make a good salary, and the government isn’t going to go out of business—although with these financial times being the way they are, lately I do wonder.”

  He did think that for me it probably was exciting being a detective, and I did say that it had its moments, but also there was a lot of tedious surveillance and methodical tracking down of people and gaining step-by-step interviews. Trevor replied, “I suppose every job gets boring: lately when I see gigantic explosions I barely blink an eye.

  All in all, we had a nice conversation. I found we both liked chocolate cake for dessert. As we parted, Trevor said, “This was so satisfying, meeting you. Here’s my cell number—if you need anything just call. I could probably get you some used golf balls.” Again he smiled that nice smile. “I now have a greater knowledge of where I came from.”

  As he walked away, I think I was still in shock. I had lost a brother and gained a brother. With my new feeling of independence I didn’t think I would need Trevor so much, but connecting with him had made me feel even more grounded. Also knowing that my parents were careless like I sometimes am, made me feel I could go into my future being quite imperfect.

  CHAPTER FORTY NINE

  As I left the Porta Bella restaurant, I saw there was still time to catch the evening show with that magician. In the next couple hours that guy performing might do some good tricks, but nothing could top a brother appearing out of nowhere.

  I got settled in my seat just as The Great Quintana came on stage. For ninety minutes he dazzled us with his sleight of hand and objects seeming to move through space unaided. One of the descriptions in the newspaper had talked about Quintana doing the death-defying feat of catching a bullet in his teeth. Just like with the other tricks, I knew this would also be a trick, but it was the most fun to not know how it was done because I could then imagine it was really happening.

  It was time for the grand finale. Quintana positioned himself at one end of the stage, and stood straight and proud, as if he were ready for the firing squad. He had told the audience that he had placed a small metal cylinder between his teeth, within which he would catch the bullet. He said he had only three tenths of a second to react. Was this guy really going to catch a bullet fired from a gun? I didn’t think so, but like the rest of the audience I was going to jump into the illusion of it.

  Quintana turned his head slightly toward us. “It is important that I stay perfectly still and do not flinch. Please, no one in the audience make any sound—I cannot be distracted.” It was all quite dramatic, but I did know it was all part of the act.

  The entire crowd hushed as Quintana’s assistant, Lily, at the other end of the stage, raised the pistol. Even though I knew it was all theatrical, I began to worry, hoping that Lily was a good shot. I looked around the rows of people. There were many tense and anxious faces.

  Quintana gave his final words. “Lily will count to three and fire. I will not speak anymore.”

  “One. Two. Three.” As the shot reverberated throughout the room, I jumped. I’m sure other people in the audience did also. I hadn’t realized it, but at the count of three I had looked away from Quintana as if he really was going to get shot. Now when I looked back at the stage I was horrified. Quintana was still standing, but blood was gushing out of one side of his face. Then he fell forward right on that face. If this was part of the act, it was pretty convincing.

  However, I was now hearing a scream from the stage. It was Lily. She was running toward the fallen Quintana. “Geraldo. . .Geraldo. . .speak to me.”

  I was sitting in the fifth row. In two seconds I was up on that stage. “I’m a private detective. Let me look at the body.” And that’s all Quintana was now, a dead body—he had no pulse. I didn’t have my cell phone. Going out with my new brother I hadn’t wanted to be bothered by any crime business. But that was a laugh—apparently we can’t get away from crime; it’s all around us. “Has anyone called 911?” I asked.

  “Yes, I did.”

  I turned to a very obese man wearing jeans that looked like a tent. His yellow striped T-shirt practically lit up the stage. “Who are you?” I wanted to know.

  “I’m Jackson. Jackson Cramer. I’m Geraldo’s prop man.”

  “What went wrong, Jackson?” The crucial question.

  “I don’t know. Let me see the gun, Lily,” Cramer said.

  “I dropped it after Geraldo fell. It’s back at the other end of the stage.”

  “Don’t touch it,” I said. This entire stage is now a crime scene.”

  Lily got up and turned to a gaunt-faced man who had the longest sideburns I’d since since Elvis. She buried her face into his chest and began sobbing.

  By this time the ushers had helped the entire audience file out. Of course some of them wanted to stay and gape, but death doesn’t really need an audience.

  I walked over to the sobbing Lily and addressed the Elvis man. “Who might you be, sir?”

  “I’m Geraldo’s brother, Jesus. And who are you? Why are you taking over like this?

  “I’m a private detective, Raven Stolle. I was just here to enjoy the show.”

  “The show sure turned into a bummer, didn’t it?” Jesus said. He did not seem overly upset that his brother had just died in front of his eyes.

  “Why are you here, Jesus?”

  “I come to almost every show. He’s my brother—I’ve always supported him. He was doing great lately. He just got a two week gig in Reno. He was starting to go up and up.”

  “He’s not even getting up anymore.”

  “That is true.” Jesus got a mournful look on his face. It seemed forced.

  “What do you do for a living, Jesus?”

  “I’m an actor. All I’ve gotten is bit parts—part of the crowd, or the person who walks in with a message. I’m still trying to break into a hit movie.”<
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  If he’s an actor, I thought to myself, he could just be acting sad right now, trying hard to look sad at his brother’s death.

  Another person hopped onto the stage. He was wearing a dark suit, light blue tie, and very highly polished shoes. The fuzz had arrived.

  There is a gigantic myth that law enforcement agencies are all in competition with one another, and that each one resents any outside help. I’ve rarely found that to be true. In fact, the opposite is usually the case. There is so much crime to deal with, especially in big cities, that any agency in the business welcomes professional assistance.

  Tonight was no exception. When I spoke to detective Hoskins, the guy in the spiffy suit, explained who I was and offered to help he said, “Sure. I saw you talking to some of the people here on stage. Why don’t you interview them, and I’ll deal with the forensics people when they come. Just jot down what those people say and email it all to me. Here’s my email address. I’ll file your report and name you as a witness and assisting officer. Include what you saw also. I have two other calls to answer—another homicide, and a truck accident on the expressway. I appreciate your help.”

  I knew I was doing some of Hoskins work for him, but I didn’t care. I hadn’t worked for awhile, and I was eager to get back into the fray.

  I asked Lily, Jackson, and Jesus to each take an audience seat in the now empty room, and I would call them up one by one. I got a table and two chairs from the wings that Quintana had used earlier for one of his tricks. I set up shop just off to the side of the stage. Jackson gave me an extra writing pad and pen he had in his briefcase. I was ready.

  I called Lily up first. She seemed the most shook up, so I thought if we could get this interview over with she could go home and rest. But, like I always say, crime never sleeps, and maybe I wasn’t going to get much of that shuteye either tonight.

  When Lily came up to my table she had composed herself, and her powdery face had dried out. She looked like every blonde long-haired assistant for every magician I had ever seen. The pretty girl on stage is part of the misdirection the magician needs for his tricks. However, Lily looked better at a distance: now that she was closer, I could see that her nose protruded a little too far, and when she kept brushing her hair back I could see that her ears were a little too big.

  I wrote down her full name as she told it to me: Lillith Frances Booker, and then I began the questioning. “Lily, I have to burst one of my childhood bubbles, by saying that I know a person cannot catch a bullet between his teeth—it’s a trick. Tell me how it was supposed to work.”

  “We probably had done the trick fifteen times. Geraldo, before he comes on stage had mouthed a bullet and pushed it sideways into his cheek. As I fire the gun, hardly anyone looks closely at Geraldo because there is so much fear that things won’t go right, and the magician will be injured. When I fire the gun Geraldo’s great talent is that he could push that bullet that was in his cheek up toward his lips and into the metal jacket he already had between his teeth. I’d seen him do this tongue acrobatics many times in rehearsal—it was amazing. He could flip the bullet into that metal cylinder in a split second. You probably noticed that the gun makes a loud sound. We’ve always used a louder sounding gun as part of the audience distraction so they stop staring at Geraldo. And of course the gun I use shoots blanks so nothing actually goes through the air. By the power of suggestion the audience thinks that the bullet went so fast that they just didn’t see it.”

  “What went wrong tonight?”

  “It was a real gun. I shot a real gun at Geraldo—and killed him.” Lily broke into more tears. She looked back up at me. “I don’t know how I was actually able to hit him. I’ve never fired a real gun in my life.”

  “Yes, you killed him with one shot.”

  “During rehearsal I always did really aim so that to the audience it would look authentic. I guess my aim was pretty good.”

  “Definitely, Lily. You hit the target.”

  This produced more crying. I had better go easy. However, my next question wasn’t soft. “Lily, would you ever have any reason to want to harm Geraldo Quintana?”

  “Of course not. I’ve been Geraldo’s assistant for six years. We had a great friendship.”

  “Did that friendship every get to be something more?”

  “I’ve been happily married for eight years. I have two children. There was nothing illicit about the bond that Geraldo and I had. It was purely professional.”

  Somehow when anyone said the word, “illicit,” to me it always sounded illicit. Truly Lily didn’t seem to be the murdering type, but again what exactly was that type? Could that frail little lady actually be a killer? Yes, she could if she had been the one to substitute the real gun.

  My second interview was with “Jackson J. Cramer, Jr.,” he told me.

  “Now, Mr. Cramer,” I said, “it seems that the gun with blanks was replaced with a real gun with real bullets. Since you are the prop man, could you have been the one who did the substituting?”

  “That’s preposterous. Mr. Quintana has always been good to me. He hired me five years ago, and even in these tougher money times, he has continued to employ me without any drop in pay.”

  “That’s a nice speech, Jackson, but I wonder why you would want to hang onto a job like this. It doesn’t seem like much advancement is possible unless you’d want to take over as the magician himself. Did you want to replace Quintana? The easiest path to that goal would be to eliminate him.”

  Actually I couldn’t imagine this huge man on stage gracefully going from trick to trick, but I did have to ask.

  Jackson answered me firmly. “I would never want to be the center of attraction like Mr. Quintana was. I’m just where I want to be, behind the scenes. I don’t want to be seen. Sometimes in rehearsals, if Geraldo was late, I would substitute for him so that Lily could practice her part. And even though there was no audience I would still get nervous. If I were ever out there for a real show, I’d be scared to death that I’d mess up. I’m just glad to be an assistant.”

  My third interview was with Quintana’s brother, Jesus.

  I tried to figure out how Jesus really felt about his brother. “You told me earlier that you come to most of Geraldo’s shows?”

  “Every now and then I’d miss one, but probably I’ve been here for 90% of the performances.”

  “Doesn’t that get boring because it’s the same show every night?”

  “No, I enjoy it every night.”

  “Did you ever want Geraldo to mess up?”

  “Not at all. Why would I want him to fail? I was very glad for his success.”

  Jesus sounded too good to be true. Even caring siblings fight and have their differences. Mark and I sometimes had very strong squabbles.

  I was getting nowhere, so I didn’t try to ask any further questions. I gave each of the three people my card and told them if they thought of anything else that was connected to Geraldo to give me a call. I then filed my report to Detective Hoskins and thought I was done with it all. However, life is not a straight line, but a boomerang.

  What boomeranged back to me was none of those three people, but a woman named Kim Nestor. She came to my office the next day looking a little like the pin-up pictures I had seen of Farrah Fawcett. Her plain clothes, though, had no flair to them, as if she was paying homage to the era when Farrah was in her heyday, the early 70’s. Hippies at that time had rejected any kind of elegant style.

  “I’m here, Detective Stolle because Lily Booker told me you’re investigating the death of Geraldo Quintana.”

  “The death and murder of the man. I’m not the investigator, but I’ll see to it he gets your information.”

  “That’s why I’m here. For the last six months I’ve dated Jesus Quintana, Geraldo’s brother. One of the reasons I liked Jesus was that he was very open with me. He especially told me about his problems with his brother.”

  “Problems?”

  “Jesus is two ye
ars older than Geraldo. In their growing up period, Jesus was always the better athlete and student. And, according to him, Geraldo was a kind of con man.”

  “A con man?”

  “Those were the words Jesus used. He always felt that Geraldo’s fascination with magic was just an extension of his desire to trick people.”

  “But Ms. Nestor, when I talked to Jesus, he seemed to support his brother. He told me he went to nearly every performance of Geraldo’s.”

  “He wanted to see him fail.”

  “Why all the animosity? Was it about Geraldo’s professional success?”

  “Jesus told me that the magic success was just a small part of it. Jesus himself told me a month ago that his dislike of his brother was mainly due to Geraldo’s success with women. All his life, starting in high school Geraldo had taken away every girlfriend Jesus ever had. It was the only way Geraldo could be competitive with his brother since, like I said, Jesus was so much better in sports and the academic world. I thought maybe Jesus was exaggerating when he told me this, but when I challenged him, he quickly named five girls that Geraldo had stolen from him. Jesus said he was telling me this because he didn’t want me to be the sixth one. He told me to be on my guard.

  “Everything was going well until two weeks ago when I was at a party with Jesus, celebrating Geraldo’s signing a contract for ten shows in Reno. During that party I had a little too much to drink, and I spent most of the time talking with Geraldo instead of Jesus. When Jesus drove me home, he was furious. He called me a whore, a slut, and every bad name he could think of.”

  “I told him there was nothing wrong about my talking to Geraldo. That’s all we were doing—talking. But Jesus said that’s how Geraldo always began, and soon he would be seducing me. I did agree that it hadn’t been right for me to spend so much time that night with Geraldo, while ignoring Jesus. Jesus did finally calm down, and I thought his anger was finished, but the next night at dinner the party was still on his mind. He said that Geraldo was going to keep doing this “date stealing” his whole life. Then Jesus said, the only solution was to stop Geraldo permanently. That’s what he said: ‘permanently.’ So after Geraldo died, I knew Jesus had done it.”