The Ambitious Card (An Eli Marks Mystery) by John Gaspard Page A

whatever they’re using nowadays.
    “Should we lock him up in some special way?” The uniformed officer in charge of processing me had addressed the question to Homicide Detective Fred Hutton, but he included a sidelong glance in my direction.
    “What do you have in mind?”
    “I don’t know. He’s a magician, right?”
    Homicide Detective Fred Hutton responded with a disgusted grunt. “So they say.”
    “Well, I see these guys break out of jail cells all the time on TV. I’d hate to have something like that happen on my watch.” The young cop stole another glance in my direction. “These guys are tricky.”
    He held out a large manila envelope and gestured that I should turn my pockets out and drop my belongings into the packet.
    “I don’t think we’re dealing with Houdini here,” Homicide Detective Fred Hutton said as I deposited my wallet, iPhone, keys, forty cents in change, and the deck of cards I always carry into the envelope.
    “I think the worst he might do is fill the holding room with balloon animals.” He chuckled at his own joke, but I refused to give him the satisfaction of a smile. Then I checked one last pocket and found three sad, flaccid balloons. I wordlessly added them to the envelope.
    They put me in a small, airless room that held a table, two chairs, and a wooden bench that sat along one wall. For some reason, the room smelled of cheese, and old cheese at that. A digital audio recorder was permanently attached to one corner of the table. Homicide Detective Fred Hutton’s partner, a vertically-challenged troll of a man who introduced himself as Homicide Detective Miles Wright, was handling the questioning while Homicide Detective Fred Hutton sat in the corner, glaring at me. Instead of Good Cop/Bad Cop, I was apparently stuck with Tall Stupid Cop/Short Angry Cop. Just my luck.
    “So, Mr. Magician, how well did you know the victim?” Miles asked after flipping on the recorder and stating the time, date, place and participants involved in the interrogation.
    “Not well enough to stab him through the eyes,” I said, figuring what did I have to lose.
    “So you know how he was killed? Interesting,” he said, almost deciding to sit in the chair opposite me. He changed his mind at the last second and started a slow, circular trek around the table.
    “Yeah, your partner told me all about it. I believe you were standing behind him at the time, but I wasn’t sure if it was you or one of the neighborhood kids. He’s a big guy.”
    Miles ignored this jab and continued. “You haven’t answered my question. How well did you know him?”
    I shrugged. “I’ve seen him around. I know him by reputation more than I know the man himself.”
    “And what was his reputation?”
    “Depends who you ask.”
    “I’m asking you.”
    I leaned back in my chair and glanced over at Homicide Detective Fred Hutton, who was staring at me with an intensity that made me think he looked more confused than focused. “He was a fake psychic, a fraud, and not a nice guy. He made a lot of money being that way. I didn’t know him well, but if I had I’m sure I would have thought even less of him.”
    “You have any reason to kill him?”
    I shook my head. “Actually, it’s just the other way around. After what I did to him last night, he had plenty of reason to want to kill me.”
    “Why’s that?”
    “Because I did a fairly good job of taking his act apart, piece by piece, and exposing him for the fraud that he is.”
    Miles didn’t reply. He sat down and took a large, official-looking envelope out of the file folder he’d brought in with him. From that envelope he took a small, sealed clear plastic evidence bag. The label on the front of the bag, which was filled in with an illegible scrawl, blocked the contents of the carrier from view. Generating as much drama as he could muster, he slowly swung the bag around, revealing the contents.
    “Can you identify this?”
    Once the bag had made its