The Amazing Harvey (34 page)

Caldwell said, “Three and a half minutes.”

I reached into my pocket and took out a clear plastic package with a spoon that said
Burbank.
“Here. This is for your collection.” I nodded toward the rack of city spoons on his living room wall.

He looked at the spoon, then up at me. “This your idea of a joke?”

I went into his living room and put the spoon on his coffee table. “It seemed right to bring you something, since I'm about to ask you for something.”

“What do you want?”

“I figured out why you think I look familiar.”

His mouth twisted into a smirk. “Me, too. You came around here to see Sherry; then you killed her.”

“You know I didn't.”

Caldwell's eyes narrowed. His left eye twithed. “You saying I'm a—”

“I look familiar because we met when I was seven years old, Mr. Caldwell. You were my bone-marrow donor.”

Caldwell took a half step back. His eyes widened.

I said, “We met at City of Hope's annual donor picnic when I was a kid.”

He stared hard at me.

I said, “See, when you gave me your bone marrow, you also gave me something else. Because of the transplant, we have identical DNA.”

“That's ridiculous.”

“It's a scientific fact. The cops found your semen in Sherry Allen and thought it was mine.”

He shook his head. “I never slept with Sherry Allen.”

“The police have e-mails saying she was involved with an older man. Right before she was killed, you found her in bed with her boyfriend, Kevin. Sherry's dog barked a couple of times, then stopped. That's because the dog knew you. You called Sherry a slut, stormed out, then came back the next night and strangled her.”

Caldwell's chest rose and fell in deep breaths. His hands formed into fists.

I forced myself to hold my ground.

He suddenly leapt forward, grabbed me, and groped my chest and back. “You wearing a wire?”

“No, no. Search all you want. When you hear the rest of what I have to say, you'll know why I'm not wearing a wire.”

He shoved me backward. I scrambled in awkward steps to keep from falling.

Caldwell said, “Face the wall. Hands up, feet apart.”

I went to the wall and put my palms against it. He methodically patted me down.

Caldwell backed up and said, “Now strip.”

I turned around. “What?”

“In case you're wearing some fancy new device. Strip.”

“You just searched me.”

He went into the kitchen, opened a drawer, and took out a shiny butcher knife that flashed as it caught the light. As Caldwell came toward me, it looked like a six-foot scimitar. “Strip.”

“Okay, okay.”

Keeping my eyes on the knife, I unbuttoned my shirt and took it off. Caldwell, still clutching the knife, held out his free hand and wriggled his fingers in a “Hand it over” gesture. I gave him the shirt.

As I took off my undershirt, he felt all through the shirt's fabric, then dropped it on the floor.

I said, “I told you I'm not wearing a wire.” My bare skin bristled in the humming blast of the air-conditioning vent.

Caldwell took my undershirt, checked it, and threw it on the floor. “Keep going.”

“Keep going?”

He held up the knife.

I undid my belt, let my pants drop, stepped out, and handed them over. He emptied the pockets, then felt all through the fabric. “Drop your shorts.”

“C'mon…”

“Drop 'em and turn around in place.”

Memories of stripping in the jailhouse flashed back. My hands shook as I hooked my thumbs in the elastic band of my undershorts, dropped them to my ankles, turned around in small steps, then pulled them back up.

Caldwell said, “All right. Now what's this about?”

“I want to get dressed first.”

He looked at me, then nodded.

I picked up the pile of clothes and stepped back from him. I grabbed my undershirt from the tangle and pulled it quickly over my head so I could keep my eyes on him. I then picked up the shirt, stuck my arms through the sleeves, and started buttoning. Why is it so difficult to work a goddam shirt button?

Caldwell said, “Talk.” He twisted the knife in his hand.

I let out a breath, still feeling humiliated from the strip search, and spoke as I kept buttoning the shirt. “I can get you out of all this.”

Caldwell narrowed his eyes. “What's that mean?”

“When Sherry was killed, I wasn't in Los Angeles. I told that to the cops, but they didn't believe me, because of the DNA.”

I grabbed my pants and stepped into them, missed one leg, and did a couple of jumps as I worked my foot through the pant leg. “When I found out that you and I have the same DNA, I was on my way to tell the cops. Since I can prove I wasn't in Los Angeles, that leaves you holding the bag.”

He shifted his weight.

I zipped up my pants and fastened the belt buckle. “But I haven't gone to the cops yet. I had a better idea. See, I need some money. So I don't have to sell this magic trick that I've spent years developing.”

“Huh?”

“I'm a professional magician. My career depends on having an original trick. Anyway, I thought to myself, maybe you and I can make a business deal.”

He squinted at me.

I said, “If you play ball with me, I'd be willing to say I was in Los Angeles after all. Then, with both of us having DNA at the crime scene, they can't convict either of us.”

Caldwell wrinkled his forehead. “That's what would happen?”

“Yeah. I checked it with a lawyer.”

He slightly loosened his grip on the knife. Didn't he?

Caldwell furrowed his forehead. “So you're saying, if I give you money, you'll tell the cops you were here and neither of us gets convicted?”

“Exactly.”

“How much money?”

“Twenty-five thousand dollars.”

He staggered back a step, like he'd been shoved in the chest. “I don't have that kind of money.”

“You can pay me over time. Say a few thousand now, then a thousand a month.”

Caldwell shook his head. “This sounds like blackmail.”

“That's because it is. Look, either way, I'm skating the murder charge. I can either leave you to the wolves or give you a pass. Your choice.”

He stared at me. “I can think of something else. Maybe you came here and threatened me, trying to get me to cover up your murder. When I refused, you attacked me and I slit your throat in self-defense.”

My heart thudded in my neck. I swallowed.

I said, “I suppose you could try that. And since you're better at these things than I am, you might kill me. But then you've got two murders on your hands. This one will be right in your apartment, 'cause I'm not going out to some remote location with you. Think about it, Mr. Caldwell. Killing me doesn't exactly make you look like a pacifist, now does it? Besides, why would you want to take that kind of chance? I'm offering you a risk-free Get Out of Jail card.”

Caldwell started pacing.

The air conditioner hummed.

Still pacing, he said, “How … how would I know you'd keep your word?”

“Once I tell the cops I was in town, I can't go back on it. I'm more worried about you keeping yours. I'm thinking I want something in writing.”

He stopped pacing. “NO. Nothing in writing.”

I shrugged. “Then I need more money up front.”

“I haven't got it.”

“Borrow it.”

He dropped the knife on the coffee table with a clunk, then fell back on his couch, as if he was out of breath. “I need to think about all this.”

“Twenty-four hours. Then I'm getting my ass outta this mess. Come along or don't. Up to you.”

I started for the door.

Caldwell said, “How much would you need up front?”

I turned around. “How much you got?”

“Maybe five grand.”

“Borrow another five. Ten now, a thousand a month, and we got a deal.”

Caldwell pulled himself up to a standing position. His face looked weary. “Maybe I could do seventy-five hundred now, then a grand a month.”

I smiled. “All right. Done.” I stuck out my hand.

He didn't take it.

I softened my voice. “You know, I'm not just doing this for the money. I wouldn't feel very good about letting a killer stay on the streets if I didn't think you were a decent guy who just got provoked.”

He narrowed his eyes in a “What are you up to?” look. “You don't know anything about me.”

Oh shit. Did I go too far?

I said, “I do know something about you. You donated bone marrow. That's a painful thing to do, especially for a total stranger.”

He kept staring at me.

I said, “My mom told me it was because of your sister. She had leukemia, too, huh?”

His eyes teared. “Yeah. Poor little Angie. I felt so … hopeless. It was before they had bone-marrow transplants. Leukemia was a death sentence.” As he looked away, his eyes reflected the light.

“I do know you. You've got a good heart.”

He quickly wiped at one eye with his index finger.

I said, “On top of that, I met that kid Kevin. The one you caught her with. Hard to believe she'd fall for someone like that.” I gave him a sympathetic look.

He turned his head back toward me.

I said, “I've certainly had times in my life that I wanted to strangle people, and just like you, I'm no killer. I can't imagine how you felt, walking in on the two of them.”

He let out a sigh. “I didn't mean to k—” He looked up at me. “You're right. I've never done anything like that before. And never will again.”

I nodded. “I appreciate your saying that. It makes me feel a lot better about all this.”

“That'd make you the only one.” His face was hardening again.

I walked to the door of his apartment and opened it, to reveal Morton, Dupont, and Hannah standing in the hall.

Morton, wearing a white plastic earpiece with a twisted wire that led into his shirt pocket, stepped inside. “Mr. Caldwell, you are under arrest for the murder of Sherry Allen. You have the right to remain silent—”

Caldwell's eyes shot to me. “What is this?”

Morton said, “We got a recording of your admission, Mr. Caldwell.” He tapped the listening device in his ear.

Caldwell's eyes burned into me. “There was no wire. I … I checked you.”

I went over to his coffee table, grabbed the packaged
Burbank
spoon, and held it up. “The basis of all good magic. Misdirection.”

“You son of a bitch!” He started at me.

Morton grabbed him. Dupont came around behind and snapped handcuffs onto his wrists.

Morton finished reading Caldwell his rights.

*   *   *

Outside the building, I watched Morton put his hand on Caldwell's head as he guided him into the backseat of the police car. Morton shut the door with a metallic slam.

As soon as they drove off, Hannah and I walked down the street.

She said, “Good job in there.”

“Thanks. I wasn't sure he'd buy the ‘out of L.A.' bit. I guess he was desperate enough.”

“You made him desperate enough. And you handled his death threat really well. I thought we'd have to crash in before you got the admission.”

I felt my face flush. “Um, thanks.”

A few steps later, I clapped my hands, startling her. “This deserves a celebration. I know another jazz club—”

She shook her head. “I don't think so. I—”

I hurried ahead, making a gesture for her to follow. “C'mon. Do something for fun besides a Mensa puzzle.”

Hannah stepped in front of me, forcing me to stop. She said, “If you had shut up, you'd have heard me say, ‘I don't want to go to a jazz club. I'd rather take one of your other suggestions.”

She grabbed the handle of her car door and said, “Let's go ride the bumper cars at the Santa Monica pier.”

 

AUTHOR'S NOTE

 

If you're standing in a bookstore, don't read this, because it will spoil the book.

You should, however, buy the book, then read this at the end.

 

I come by magic legitimately. It's been my serious hobby (on and off) since I was six years old and watched Mark Wilson's magic show on local TV in Dallas, Texas. When I was little, my mother would leave me at Douglas Magicland, the local store, for hours at a time. I would talk to the staff and dream about tricks I couldn't afford. I was always appreciative that Mom let me hang out there for so much time. It didn't occur to me until years later that she was using the store as a free babysitter.

When I got older, I became a magician member of the very real Magic Castle that's described in the book. That meant I had to pass a performance test, which made me incredibly nervous.

Incidentally, all the tricks that Harvey does are real.

It is scientifically accurate that a bone-marrow transplant changes the recipient's DNA. If you don't believe me, look it up on the Internet. However, it only changes the DNA of the recipient's bloodstream. That's why Harvey's blood sample in the DNA database matched the donor's semen. Had they taken a cheek swab from Harvey, his DNA wouldn't have matched Caldwell's. That would have gotten Harvey off the hook, but it wouldn't have convicted Caldwell—he would have claimed that he'd had sex with Sherry but hadn't killed her. Thus, Harvey's getting him to confess was crucial to hanging Caldwell (though Mrs. Caldwell might have administered her own form of justice after learning about the other woman).

The City of Hope is a wonderful hospital, with one of the most successful bone-marrow-transplant programs in the world, and I'm grateful for the hospital's assistance. Its motto, which sums up the spirit of its environment, is quoted on the iron gate described in the text: There Is No Profit in Curing the Body if in the Process We Destroy the Soul.