Sleight of Hand - By Phillip Margolin Page 0,88

the lawyer on his stomach and cuffed his hands behind his back. The pain in his broken wrist and arm was excruciating and he screamed. Dana knelt down and whispered in Benedict’s ear.

“The wrist was for setting Gregor Karpinski on me, and the arm was for Tiffany Starr. I can think of a lot of other things I’d like to do to you but cops are here to take you into custody, so you’re lucky.”

Moments later, Frank Santoro, Stephanie Robb, and four uniformed police officers ran up.

“Good work,” Robb said.

“It was my pleasure,” Dana said as she took off the wig and glasses she’d worn to play the role of Myra Blankenship. Then she spread back her overcoat and looked at her torso. A tear in her shirt revealed a Kevlar vest.

“You were right, Frank,” Dana said. “Benedict used his knife in the same way he used it on Brodsky and Starr.”

“I was pretty certain he wouldn’t change a successful MO.”

“My wrist!” Benedict gasped. “Take off the cuffs. It’s broken.”

“You should have thought of that when you tried to kill Ms. Cutler,” Santoro said.

“Who is Cutler?” Benedict asked.

“Tiffany Starr knew her as Loren Parkhurst and you thought she was Myra Blankenship, but she’s the person who figured out how to nail you, Charlie.”

Dana drove to police headquarters and gave a statement. She was finishing up when Robb and Santoro walked in.

“Really good work, Dana,” Santoro said. “If you ever want back on the force, you’ll get a letter of recommendation from me.”

Dana smiled. “Right now, all I want is a good night’s sleep.”

Santoro laughed. “I hear you.”

Dana grew somber. “It dawned on me as I was driving here that everything I’ve done in this case has been for Carrie Blair, but I only met her when she was pretending to be Margo Laurent. What was she like?”

“She was tough,” Robb said. “Dedicated.”

“She loved putting bad guys away and she hated to lose,” Santoro added.

“What was she like off the job?”

“I didn’t know her in that way,” Robb said. “When she married Horace Blair she became ‘The Society Prosecutor.’ It put a lot of people off and made a lot more uncomfortable. Most of us make a decent living, but none of us can even dream of being in her tax bracket.”

“I think she buried herself in her work because she was unhappy,” Santoro said. “From what I hear, the marriage hadn’t worked in a long time. Of course, I got that from the gossip columns and wagging tongues in the prosecutor’s office and the cop shop.”

“I feel sorry for her,” Robb said. “She got what most of us can only dream of getting—the money, the mansion, the fancy cars—but it didn’t seem to make her happy.”

Dana wondered if she and Carrie would have gotten along. She guessed they might have, but she’d never know now.

“I’m really beat,” Dana said. “Do you need me anymore?”

“Go home and get some sleep,” Robb said. “And thanks again. We’d never have gotten Benedict if it wasn’t for you.”

“Remember, you don’t have him yet,” Dana said. “He is one tricky bastard. Don’t let your guard down for a minute.”

Chapter Fifty-Seven

Frank Santoro had tried to question Benedict when they drove out of the hotel parking lot. Before the first word was out of the detective’s mouth, Benedict asked for a lawyer and demanded that he not be questioned. The detectives drove in silence to the closest hospital, where his broken wrist and arm could be treated. The last thing they wanted was a motion to dismiss for police brutality.

Charles Benedict had never taken an IQ test but anyone with near perfect SAT scores had to have a hefty amount of brain power. He began tapping into every bit of it during the drive to the hospital. By the time he arrived, Benedict had devised two plans.

For Plan A to work, Benedict had to get out of custody. Magicians were experts at disappearing. Benedict had disappeared from Kansas City with half a million in drug money and had never been found by the Mexicans or the Kung Fu Dragons. He had planned for another escape years ago. If he could get out of jail, he would vanish into thin air. Stashed in safe places were disguises, documents that would establish false identities, and offshore accounts that would let him live in luxury.

Plan B was his backup. It involved asking for witness protection and spilling his guts about Nikolai Orlansky’s operations. That plan could pose serious problems for