Magic Lantern. Alex Archer
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“It’s Annja Creed. I’m sorry to be calling so late.” Annja glanced at the clock on the wall behind the counter. The young Indian male working the counter watched her, though whether he just liked looking or was suspicious she couldn’t say.
“Ah, Annja.” She heard fumbling noises over the line. “It’s very late, isn’t it?”
“Or very early, depending on your point of view.”
Gaetano chuckled. “Yes, it is. Are you all right?”
“I am, but I’m afraid something’s happened to Edmund. He’s not with you, is he?”
“No. Why would he be with me?”
“I was just hoping he was there because he’s not at home.” Annja quickly brought Gaetano up to date on her attempted kidnapping and Edmund’s probable abduction.
“Oh, dear. You’ve gone to the police?”
That required a further explanation.
“I see.” Gaetano sounded thoughtful and more awake. “I could, as Edmund’s friend, insist that something be done to find him. You said this inspector’s name is Westcox?”
“Yes. But I was hoping you might be able to help out a little more.”
“How so?”
“What do you know about the magic lantern Edmund bought from the auction house?”
“Only what he’s told me, but I can find out more. I have a number of contacts throughout the city. I’ll try to uncover what I can.”
“That would be awesome.”
“What about you? Are you safe?”
“I think so.”
“But you can’t go back to your hotel, can you?”
“Not without a forced audience with DCI Westcox. And he might be successful in putting me on the first plane out of London.”
“Well, we won’t let things go that far. However, it’s plain that you can’t do anything else until we know more, and you require safe habitation while we look. Would you feel comfortable coming here? There’s an extra room in my quarters, and I don’t mind putting you up.”
Annja almost sighed in relief. Being on the run in London, which she was partially familiar with as a tourist but definitely not as a fugitive, sounded horrible. Her chances of getting caught by the police grew exponentially the longer she stayed on the streets. The trip to London wasn’t turning out the way she’d expected it to.
“You don’t mind?”
Gaetano laughed. “One of my neighbors is an old spinster who is convinced that—because of the magic—I am in league with the devil. I can’t wait for her to catch a glimpse of you arriving at all hours.”
Annja didn’t much feel like laughing.
“Meet me here at the shop. I’ll put on some of that terrible coffee that you Americans treasure so much. And try not to fret about Edmund. He’s a resourceful lad and a skilled escapologist. I’m sure he’s handling himself just fine.”
Even though she wanted to believe that, Annja didn’t hold out much hope. Escapology was all about knowing the traps inside and out. It wasn’t about escaping from people determined to kill you.
* * *
FIFTEEN MINUTES LATER, ANNJA stood in front of the entrance to Carlini’s Magic Bullet Club. The morning had grown colder and the fog had gotten more thick.
Less than a minute later, it opened with the same theatrical creak as before. The weak light in the corridor flared to life as the door closed behind her. For just a moment as she stood there, alone, Annja felt nervous.
Her chances of getting out of the corridor if this turned out to be a trap weren’t good. Just as she felt ready to explode, the door on the right opened and Gaetano stuck his head through. He wore a colorful bathrobe over flannel pajamas.
He waved her forward. “Come on, then.”
Annja walked through the door. As she’d noticed earlier, all the doors actually led to the foyer outside the dining area. The puzzle was that in name only. Of course, a guest could still be wrong, but he or she wouldn’t be turned away.
“You haven’t heard from Edmund?”
Gaetano shook his head as he led the way back into the dining room. “No. I’ve tried some of the friends we have in common. Woke them up and worried them, as well.”
“Then he is missing.” The news hit Annja hard. She’d hoped that the break-in at his flat only signified that his home had been violated and that he might yet be free.
“Yes. I’m afraid so. Please. Sit.” Gaetano gestured to the table he’d set up with a coffee and tea service.
Annja slipped out of her coat and draped it over a chair. She sat in the chair Gaetano pulled out for her, then watched as the man took a seat across from her. He poured coffee and pushed the cup and saucer across.
“Would Edmund call you if he was in trouble?”
Gaetano poured a cup of tea for himself. “About something like this? Something involving magic?” He nodded. “Of course he would. In addition to knowing a lot about legerdemain and the art of illusion, I also know a great number of people. Like, for instance, the auctioneer that worked the estate sale where Edmund picked up Anton Dutilleaux’s magic lantern.”
Gaetano poured milk into his tea before continuing. “There was nothing special about the sale. Merely a descendant of a collector getting rid of items no one else cared about.” He set the creamer down and looked at Annja.
She blew on her coffee and waited. She wrapped her hands around the cup to absorb the welcome heat.
“In the case of Dutilleaux’s magic lantern, there was another interested party, but he learned of the sale too late to bid. This is where it gets interesting. And, perhaps, more troubling.” Gaetano laced his fingers. “Have you heard of a man named Jean-Baptiste Laframboise?”
From the way Gaetano said the name, Annja knew the person wasn’t a good man. She missed having her computer and a ready internet connection. In seconds she could be infinitely more knowledgeable than she presently was. “No.”
“Neither had I, but the auctioneer told me about him. As it turns out, Laframboise is a black marketer. One of those chaps who can—no matter how difficult or how illegal it is—get it for you. For a price.”
“Laframboise deals in antiquities?”
“Not as a regular field of operations, no. In fact, the auctioneer inquired after Laframboise to a policeman friend of his. A man in Scotland Yard who deals with forgeries and the like. According to the detective at the Yard, he’s made quite the name for himself in the drug trade and human trafficking.”
“Then why is he after Dutilleaux’s magic lantern?”
Gaetano shook his head. “I have no earthly idea. The auctioneer went on to tell me that Laframboise was quite distraught when he discovered the magic lantern had been sold.”
“When did Laframboise find out?”
“He talked to the auctioneer two days ago.”
“When was the sale?”
“A few weeks ago.”
“Laframboise just found out about it?”
Gaetano shrugged. “Evidently. The auction was a small thing. I remember that Edmund was worried someone might snatch up his prize. Professors don’t make a lot, you know.”
Annja nodded. She knew. That was one of the reasons she didn’t teach full-time. But the main reason was because she’d rather be at a