"Your message said this was about Erick Weir?" Kadesky asked. His gaze was hawklike and imperious.
"Right."
"So he's still alive?"
That the man would ask the question was a disappointment to Rhyme; it meant that Kadesky probably knew even less than they did. Rhyme said, "Very much alive. He's a suspect in a series of homicides in
town."
"No! Who did he kill?"
"Some local residents. A police officer too," Sellitto explained. 'We were hoping you could give us some information that'd help find him." "I haven't heard about him since just after the fire. Do you know about
that?"
"A little," Sachs said. "Fill us in."
"He blamed me for it, you know.... It was three years ago. Weir and
his assistants were doing the illusion and quick-change acts in our show. Oh, they were good. 1 mean, astonishing. But we'd been having complaints for months. From the staff and from the audience. Weir scared people. He was like a little dictator. And those assistants of his-we called them the Moonies. He had them indoctrinated. Illusion to him was like a religion. Sometimes people got hurt in rehearsal or during the show--even audience volunteers. And Weir couldn't've cared less. He thought magic worked best when there was some risk. He said magic should be a hot iron; it should brand your soul." The producer laughed grimly. "But we can't have that in the entertainment business, now, can we? So 1 talked to Sidney Keller-he
was the owner-and we decided we had to fire him. One Sunday morning before the matinee 1 told the stage manager to let him go."
"That was the day of the fire?" Rhyme asked.
Kadesky nodded. "The manager found Weir rigging the stage with
propane lines for an illusion of his. The Burning Mirror. He told him what we'd decided. But Weir lost it-he shoved the manager down the stairs and kept right on rigging the trick. 1 went down to the stage. He grabbed me. We weren't really fighting, just scufRing, but a propane line was loose. We fell into some metal chairs and, 1 guess, a spark ignited the gas. He was burned and his wife was killed. The whole tent was destroyed. We talked about suing him but he snuck out of the hospital and disappeared."
"We found a case in New Jersey. Reckless endangerment. Do you know if he was arrested anywhere else?" Rhyme asked.
"No idea." Kadesky shook his head. "I shouldn't've hired him. But if you'd ever seen his show, you'd understand. He was the best. The audiences may have been terrified, they may have been, well, abused, but they bought tickets to see him. And you should've heard the ovations." The producer looked at his watch. The time was 1:45. "You know, my show starts in fifteen minutes.... 1 think it'd be a good idea to get a few more police cars over there. With Weir around and everything that happened between us."
"Over where?" Rhyme asked.
"To my show." He nodded toward Central Park.
"That's yours? The Cirque Fantastique?"
"Right. 1 assumed you knew that. You had the police car parked
there.... You do know that Cirque Fantastique is the old Hasbro and Keller Brothers circus."
"What?" Sellitto asked.
Rhyme glanced at Kara, who was shaking her head. "Mr. Balzac never told me that when 1 called him last night." "After the fire," Kadesky said, "we retooled. Cirque du Solei! was having so much success 1 recommended to Sid Keller that we do what they were. When we got the insurance money we started Fantastique." "No, no, no, " Rhyme whispered, staring at the evidence charts. 'What, Linc?" Sellitto asked.
"That's what Weir's doing here," he announced. "Your show's his target. Cirque Fantastique."
"What?"
Scanning the evidence again. Applying facts to the premise.
Rhyme nodded. "Dogs!" 'What?" Sachs asked.
"Goddamn dogs! Look at the chart. Look at it! The animal hairs and Central Park dirt're from the dog knoll! Right outside the window." A fierce nod toward the front of his town house. "He wasn't checking out Cheryl Marston on the bridle path; he was checking out the circus. The newspaper, the one in his Mazda-look at that headline: 'Ent_rtainment for Kids Young and Old.' Call up the paper-see if there's information about the circus in it. Thom-call Peter! Hurry."
, The aide was good friends with a reporter for the Times, a young man who'd helped them occasionally in the past. He grabbed the phone and placed the call. Peter Hoddins worked the International desk but it took him less than a minute to find the answer. He relayed the information to Thom, who announced, "The circus was the feature of the story. All sorts of details-hours, acts, bios of the employees. Even a sidebar on security."
"Shit," Rhyme snapped. "He was doing his research.... And the press pass? That'd give him access to backstage." Rhyme was squinting as he looked at the evidence chart. "Yes! I get it now. The victims. What did they represent? Jobs in the circus. A makeup artist. A horseback rider.... And the first victim! Yes, she was a student but what was her job? Singing and entertaining kids-like a clown'd do."
"And the murder techniques themselves," Sachs pointed out. "They
were all magic tricks." "Yep. He's after your show. Terry Dobyns said his motive was ultimately
revenge. Hell, he's planted a fuel bomb." "My God," Kadesky said. "There're two thousand people there! And the
show's starting in ten minutes."
At two in the afternoon....
"The Sunday matinee," Rhyme added. "Just like in Ohio three years
ago." Sellitto grabbed his Motorola and called the officers stationed at the circus. There was no answer. The detective frowned and placed a call on Rhyme's speakerphone.
"Officer Koslowski here," the man answered a moment later.
Sellitto identified himself and barked, 'Why isn't your radio on, Offi
cer?"
"Radio? Well, we're off duty, Lieutenant." "Off duty? You just went on duty."
"Well, Detective, we were told to stand down."
"You were what?"
"Some detective came by a half hour ago and told us we weren't needed anymore. Said we could take the rest of the day off. I'm on my way to Rockaway Beach with my family. I can-"
"Describe him,"
"Fifties. Beard, brown hair,"
"Where'd he go?"
"No idea. Walked up to the car, flashed his shield and dismissed us," Sellitto slammed the disconnect. "It's happening.... Oh, man, it's happening." He shouted to Sachs, "Call the Sixth, get the Bomb Squad there," Then he himself called Central and had Emergency Services and fire trucks sent to the circus.
Kadesky ran toward the door. I'll evacuate the tent,"
Bell said he was calling Emergency Medical Services and having bum teams established at Columbia Presbyterian. "I want more soft-clothed in the park," Rhyme said. "A lot of them. I have a feeling the Conjurer's going to be there,"
"Be there?" Sellitto asked.
"To watch the fire. He'll be close. I remember his eyes when he was
looking at the flames in my room. He likes to watch fire. No, he wouldn't miss this for the world,"
Chapter Thirty
He wasn't worried so much about the fire itself.
As Edward Kadesky sprinted the short distance from Lincoln Rhyme's apartment to the tent of the Cirque Fantastique he was thinking that with new codes and fire retardants, even the worst theater and circus tent fires proceed fairly slowly. No, the real danger is the panic, the tons of human muscles, the stampede that tramples and tears and crushes and suffocates. Bones broken, lungs burst, asphyxiation...
Saving people in a circus disaster means getting them out of the facility without panic. Traditionally, to alert the clowns and acrobats and other hands that a fire has broken out the ringmaster would send a subtle signal to the bandleader, who then launched into the energetic John Philip Sousa march, "Stars and Stripes Forever." The workers were supposed to take up emergency stations and calmly lead the audience through designated exits (those employees who didn't simply, of course, abandon ship themselves).
The tune had been replaced over the years by far more efficient procedures for the evacuation of a circus tent. But if a gas bomb detonated, spreading burning liquid everywhere?
The crowd would sprint to the exits and a thousand people would die in
the crush. Edward Kadesky ran into the tent and saw twenty-six hundred people
eagerly awaiting the opening of his show. His show.
That was what he thought. The show he'd created. Kadesky had been a hawker in sideshows, a curtain bitch at second-tier theaters in third-tier cities, a payroll manager and ticket seller in sweaty regional circuses. He'd struggled for years to bring to the public shows that transcended the tawdry side of the business, the carny aspect of circuses. He'd done it once, with the Hasbro and Keller Brothers show-which Erick Weir had destroyed. Then he'd done it again with Cirque Fantastique, a world-renowned show that brought legitimacy, even prestige, to a profession that was so often disparaged by those who attended theater and opera, and ignored by those who watched E! and MTV.
Remembering the wave of searing heat from the Hasbro tent fire in Ohio. The flecks of ash like deadly, gray snow. The howl of the flames-the astonishing noise-as his show had lumbered to its death right in front of him.
There was one difference, though: three years ago the tent had been empty. Today thousands of men, women and children would be in the middle of the conflagration.
Kadesky's assistant, Katherine Tunney, a young brunette who'd risen high in the Disney theme park organization before coming to work with him, noticed his troubled gaze and instantly joined him. That was one of Katherine's big talents: sensing his thoughts almost telepathically. "What?" she whispered.
He told her what he'd learned from Lincoln Rhyme and the police. Her eyes began to sweep the circus tent, just like his, looking both for the bomb and at the victims.
"How do we handle it?" she asked tersely.
He considered this for a moment then gave her instructions. He added, "Then you leave. Get out."
"But are you staying? What are-?"
"Do it now," he said firmly. Then squeezed her hand. In a softer voice he added, "I'll meet you outside. It'll be okay." She wanted to embrace him, he sensed. But his glance told her no. They were in view of most of the seats here; he didn't want anyone in the audience to think even for a moment that something was wrong. 'Walk slowly. Keep smiling. We're performers before anything else, remember." Katherine nodded and went first to the lighting man and then to the bandleader to deliver Kadesky's instructions. Finally she took up a position beside the main doorway.
Straightening his tie and buttoning his jacket, Kadesky glanced at the or
chestra, nodded. A drum roll began.
Showtime, he thought.
As he strode, smiling broadly, into the middle of the ring the audience
began to fall silent. He stopped in the direct center of the circle and the drum roll ceased. A moment later two fingers of white illumination targeted him. Though he'd told Katherine to have the lighting man hit him with the main spots he still gave a brief gasp, thinking for an instant that the brilliant lights were from the detonating gas bomb.
But his smile never wavered and he recovered instantly. He lifted a cordless microphone to his lips and began to speak. "Good afternoon, ladies and gentlemen, welcome to the Cirque Fantastique." Calm, pleasant, commanding. 'We have a wonderful show for you today. And to begin I'm going to ask your indulgence. I'm afraid we're going to inconvenience you a bit but I think the effort will be well worth it. We have a special performance outside the tent. I apologize.... We tried to get the Plaza Hotel inside here but their management wouldn't let us. Something about the guests not agreeing."
A pause for the laughter.
"So I'm going to ask you to hold on to your ticket stubs and step outside into Central Park."
The crowd began murmuring, wondering what the act might be.
He smiled. "Find space anywhere nearby. If you can see the buildings on Central Park South you'll be able to watch the act just fine." Laughter and excitement now in the seats. What could he mean? Were
daredevils doing high-wire acts on the skyscrapers? "Now, lower rows first, in an orderly manner, if you please. Use what
ever exit is near you." The houselights went up. He saw Katherine Tunney standing at the door, smiling and motioning people to leave. Please, he thought to her, get out. Leave! The audience was chatting loudly as they rose-he could vaguely see
them through the blinding lights. They were looking at their companions, wondering who should be the first to leave. Which way to go. Then they began to gather children, collecting purses and popcorn containers, checking for their ticket stubs.
