The Vanished Man by Jeffery Deaver

website about Jasper Maskelyne, the British magician who created a special military unit in World War Two, which used illusionist techniques against the Germans in North Africa. He was writing it from memory, without any notes or research; that was one thing about David Balzac—his knowledge of magic was as deep as his temperament was unstable and fiery.
    “You hear that the Cirque Fantastique’s in town?” she called. “Opens tonight.”
    The old illusionist grunted. He was exchanging his glasses for contact lenses; Balzac was extremely aware of the importance of a performer’s image and always looked his best for any audience, even his customers.
    “You going to go?” she persisted. “I think we should go.”
    Cirque Fantastique—a competitor to the older and bigger Cirque du Soleil—was part of the next generation of circuses. It combined traditional circus routines, ancient commedia dell’arte theater, contemporarymusic and dance, avant-garde performance art and street magic.
    But David Balzac was old school: Vegas, Atlantic City, The Late Show. “Why change something that works?” he’d grumble.
    Kara loved Cirque Fantastique, though, and was determined to get him to a performance. But before she could pitch her case to convince him to accompany her the store’s front door opened and an attractive, redheaded policewoman walked in, asking for the owner.
    “That’s me. I’m David Balzac. What can I do for you?”
    The officer said, “We’re investigating a case involving someone who might’ve had some training in magic. We’re talking to magic supply stores in town, hoping you might be able to help us.”
    “You mean, somebody’s running a scam or something?” Balzac asked. He sounded defensive, a feeling Kara shared. In the past magic has often been linked to crooks—sleight-of-hand artists as pickpockets, for instance, and charlatan clairvoyants using illusionist techniques to convince bereaved family members that the spirits of their relatives are communicating with them.
    But the policewoman’s visit, it turned out, was prompted by something else.
    “Actually,” she said, glancing at Kara then back to Balzac. “The case is a homicide.”

Chapter Seven
    “I have a list of some items we found at a crime scene,” Amelia Sachs told the owner, “and was wondering if you might’ve sold them.”
    He took the sheet she handed him and read it as Sachs looked over Smoke & Mirrors. The black-painted cavern of a store in the photo district, part of Manhattan’s Chelsea neighborhood, smelled of mold and chemicals—plastic too, the petrochemical body odor from the hundreds of costumes that hung like a limp crowd from racks nearby. The grimy glass counters, half of them cracked and taped together, were filled with card decks and wands and phony coins and dusty boxes of magic tricks. A full-size replica of the creature from the Alien movies stood next to a Diana mask and costume. ( BE THE PRINCESS OF THE PARTY! a card read. As if no one in the store even knew she was dead.)
    He tapped the list and then nodded at the counters. “I don’t think I can help. We sell some of this, sure. But so does every magic store in the country. A lot of toy stores too.”
    She observed he hadn’t spent more than a few seconds looking it over. “How about these?” Sachs showed him the printout of the photo of the old handcuffs.
    He glanced at it quickly. “I don’t know anything about escapology.”
    Was this an answer? “So that means you don’t recognize them?”
    “No.”
    “It’s very important,” Sachs persisted.
    The young woman, with striking blue eyes and black fingernails, looked at the picture. “They’re Darbys,” she said. The man glanced at her coolly. She fell silent for a moment then: “Regulation Scotland Yard handcuffs from the eighteen hundreds. A lot of escapists use them. They were Houdini’s favorites.”
    “Where could they’ve come from?”
    Balzac rocked impatiently in his