Sleight of Hand

CHAPTER Twenty-Five

Horace Blair’s panicked call to Charles Benedict had come in right on schedule. Benedict was certain Blair would call him as soon as the police followed up on the anonymous tip he’d phoned in to Stephanie Robb, and he was not disappointed. The ability to steer a mark toward a particular choice was a critical skill for a magician, and Benedict had perfected it. After he gave Blair the DVD, Horace had offered him a drink, and the two men had engaged in a lengthy conversation about Carrie and other topics, including Benedict’s vast experience in criminal law. Normally, Blair would call upon one of his corporate attorneys when he had a legal problem, but Benedict had been certain that his emphasis on his criminal-law specialty would subliminally influence Blair’s choice of an attorney when the police came calling, and he had not been wrong.

Benedict spotted Santoro and Robb when he stepped out of the elevator and into the Homicide Division.

“Hey, guys, what’s happening?” he asked.

“What are you doing here?” Robb snapped.

Robb disliked Benedict because he’d skewered her during cross-examination in an armed-robbery trial involving muscle for the Orlansky mob. Benedict took Robb’s bad manners as a compliment.

“Mr. Blair asked me to drop by,” Benedict said.

“How do you know Blair?” Robb demanded.

“Uh-uh,” Benedict answered as he wagged his finger at the detective. “Attorney-client confidentiality and all that.”

“You’re looking prosperous, Charlie,” Santoro said.

“I can’t complain.”

“Not with clients like Horace Blair,” Santoro said. “We’d like to talk to him.”

“About what?”

“About some stuff we found in the trunk of his Bentley.”

“Oh? What kind of ‘stuff’?” Benedict asked.

“Blond hairs, blood, a gun, stuff like that. The lab is testing the hairs and the blood to see if they belong to his wife.”

“What made you think to look in the trunk of Horace’s Bentley?” asked Benedict.

“We got a tip.”

“Did the tipster give a name?”

“No, it was anonymous.”

“What was the tip exactly?”

Santoro smiled and shrugged his shoulders, trying hard to look sheepish.

“We’d like to tell you, but you know how it is early in an investigation. I’m afraid we have to keep it confidential as of now.”

Benedict returned the smile, letting Santoro know that he was too polite to tell the detective that he was full of shit.

“Did you have a search warrant for the car?”

“Didn’t need one. Mr. Blair gave us permission to look in the trunk. He was very cooperative.”

“I don’t suppose you Mirandized him or suggested that he speak to a lawyer?”

“There was no need. Mr. Blair wasn’t a suspect.”

“Then he’s free to leave?”

“No, Charlie. We found a handgun in the trunk with the serial numbers filed off. That’s a violation of the penal code. If we talk to him, he might clear up our confusion about the gun.”

“I’ll ask Mr. Blair what he wants to do.”

Santoro led the way down a short hall and stopped on the other side of a holding cell in front of a metal door with a window three-quarters of the way up. Benedict peeked in and saw Horace Blair waiting in a narrow, claustrophobic room with stained white walls. He was seated in an uncomfortable wooden chair, leaning his elbows on a scarred wooden table. When the door opened, Blair looked up. He started to say something but Benedict shook his head sharply. Then the lawyer handed Santoro a letter.

“This is a formal demand that you not listen in or tape our attorney-client conference or speak to my client unless I’m present. So please turn off all of your recording devices.”

“We don’t have any on.”

“Good. That means you won’t have any trouble complying. And now I’ll speak to my client alone.”

Santoro shut the door and Benedict sat opposite Blair. The millionaire was dressed in an expensive suit, but it was rumpled. He looked furious.

“Do you know what the f*ck is going on?” Horace snapped.

“Unfortunately, I do. The police have taken advantage of you, Horace. Robb and Santoro knew they couldn’t get a warrant to search the Bentley because they didn’t have probable cause, so they tricked you into letting them look in the trunk of your car.”

“But they said it would help find Carrie.”

“Your cooperation may help the detectives send you to jail,” Benedict said in hopes of frightening Blair. The more Blair panicked, the easier he would be to manipulate. “If the hairs and blood they found in the trunk of the Bentley turn out to be Carrie’s, they may arrest you for murder.”

“That’s ridiculous.”

“I know Stephanie Robb. She has tunnel vision. Once she fixes on a suspect you can’t reason with her.”

“I can’t be arrested. I have businesses to run. I have meetings scheduled in Europe and Japan.”

“Robb won’t care, but I do, and I’ll do my best to make sure that you make those meetings. You were wise to call me.”

“I should have done it before I let those lying bastards search my car.”

“Don’t beat yourself up. You were worried about Carrie and that kept you from being cool and objective, the way you are when you make business decisions. Most people want to cooperate with the police, especially if they haven’t done anything wrong.”

“I haven’t, and I have no idea why Carrie disappeared or where she is.”

“Have they accused you of being involved in Carrie’s disappearance?”

“No, but they’ve been acting like I’m a suspect ever since they searched my car. How can they arrest me? Don’t they have to have evidence?”

“Unfortunately, the handgun they found in the trunk of the Bentley had its serial number filed off. That’s illegal.”

“I have nothing to do with that gun!” Blair shouted. “I’ve never seen it before!”

Benedict held up his hand. “Okay, relax. You have every reason to be upset, but before we talk about what they found in your trunk or Carrie’s disappearance there are a few matters we need to get out of the way.”

“Such as?”

“Do you want me to act as your attorney in this matter?”

“Yes. I need an expert in criminal law.”

“Okay, then. If I’m going to be your attorney I’ll need a retainer. Fifty thousand dollars will be adequate for now.”

“That’s fine.”

“You understand that the fee will be much more if they charge you with murder.”

Blair nodded.

“Good. Now you need to know some of the rules involving the attorney-client relationship.”

“My corporate attorneys have told me about that.”

“I’m sure they have, but I want to go over the rules again in the context of a criminal matter. Anything you tell me is confidential. I am forbidden by law to reveal the information to anyone, and no judge can ever force me to reveal it, even if you tell me you killed Carrie.”

“I did not kill Carrie.”

“Of course. I never thought you did. I’m just making a point. And another point I want to make is that no other person may have this same relationship with you. If you talk to a friend, your secretary, a member of your board of directors, and you say something that can be used by the police, those people can be subpoenaed by a grand jury and forced to reveal what you told them, no matter how much they like you and want to protect you. So, from now on, think of me as your protector and your shield. Do not speak to anyone about anything to do with this matter without consulting me first. Do you understand?”

“I understand completely.”

Benedict smiled. Horace Blair thought the smile signified Benedict’s satisfaction in knowing that he understood the information Benedict had just imparted, but Charles Benedict was smiling for a different reason. From this moment on, Horace Blair would be isolated from all outside influences and would do anything Benedict told him.

“Let’s get down to business. The detectives want to interview you. I advise you very strongly to refuse to let them. But it’s your decision.”

“After the way they’ve treated me, the last thing I want to do is talk to those two. I’m a friend of the chief of police and I have a good mind to call him about their conduct.”

“That might be a good idea somewhere down the line, but let’s hold your contacts in reserve. Now, let’s you and I discuss strategy.”



“Is your client ready to talk?” Stephanie Robb asked as soon as Benedict stepped out of the interrogation room.

“Absolutely not,” Benedict said. “And you two should be ashamed of yourselves for tricking Mr. Blair.”

“Oddly, I’m not,” Santoro said.

“I assume you’re going to let my client leave now,” Benedict said.

“You assume wrong, Benedict,” Robb answered with a smirk. “He’s going to cool his heels tonight. Maybe after a taste of jail, your fat-cat client will be a little more cooperative.”

Benedict was delighted. This was exactly what he’d hoped for.

“What’s the charge?” he asked.

“We’ve got him dead to rights on the thirty-eight, Charlie,” Santoro interposed so Robb would have a chance to cool down. “We’re treating Blair no differently than we would any other person in the same situation.”

“All right, Frank, but don’t put him in the general population. Put him in isolation while I arrange bail.”

“Why should we?” Robb asked belligerently.

“I’m doing this for you two,” Benedict said. “You have no idea how well connected Mr. Blair is. I’m pissed at you for tricking him into opening the trunk, but I know you well enough to know that you thought you were doing the right thing. If this blows up in your face, it could jeopardize your careers.”

“Is that a threat?” Robb demanded.

“No, it’s me trying to help you.”

“He has a point, Steph,” Santoro said. “And Blair will be out on bail soon, in any event. There’s no sense putting him in danger.”

Santoro turned to Benedict. “I’ll arrange for a cell in the isolation wing.”

“Thanks, Frank. I’ll let Mr. Blair know how considerate you were.”

As soon as Benedict left, Robb turned on her partner.

“Why are you kissing Blair’s ass?”

“There’s a lot of evidence against Blair, but it’s not enough for an indictment. We can’t even prove that Mrs. Blair’s dead. Blair’s going to be furious anyway, but his lawyers will go ballistic if he gets hurt in population.”

Robb calmed down long enough to see that Santoro was right.

“Okay, call the jail and get him a cell in isolation. But the gloves come off the minute we have probable cause to arrest Blair for killing his wife.”



Charles Benedict was in a terrific mood when he left police headquarters. Everything was going according to plan. Carrie Blair’s Porsche had been dismembered in one of Nikolai Orlansky’s chop shops. Its parts were scattered across the United States, thus eradicating any evidence that it, and not the Bentley, had been used to transport Carrie’s body.

Carrie’s shallow grave was seeded with evidence that would lead to Horace Blair’s conviction for murder at a trial in which he would be defended, for a hefty fee, by the very individual who was framing him for the killing. Only one thing remained to be done. The police had to find Carrie’s grave, and that would be taken care of very soon.

Benedict looked at his watch. It was a little after eight p.m. His timing was just right. Nikolai Orlansky had a man on his payroll at the jail who could guarantee that Horace Blair would spend the night in a cell next to Barry Lester. Benedict would take his time arranging for bail to be posted. By the time Blair was back on the street, his fate would be sealed.