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Brent stuck his head out dutifully. “Yes, sir?”
“Can you print those nutty emails that Marvell sent me for the detectives?”
“It would be my pleasure, Mister Shaut. It’s about time someone took that man seriously.”
“Yeah, I don’t need the commentary, just do it!” Shaut barked and turned to his monitor. Pro and Chu could hear a laser printer hum to life in the next room.
“Mister Shaut, while you’re doing that, can you print up the emails you sent to Albert Floss as well?” Chu coaxed.
“Ain’t that something you need a warrant for?” Shaut asked, suspicious again.
Chu stood and leaned across the desk. “Not if you’re willing to volunteer them. If not, and I have to get a warrant, I assure you, we will also search the entire house for anything suspicious.”
Flustered, Shaut conceded. “Okay, okay. Brent!”
“I am on it, sir. I heard the detective.”
“Good, good,” Shaut responded then added snidely, “the last thing I would want to do is inconvenience the NYPD.”
Pro pulled out her notebook. “And where were you yesterday between ten and eleven in the morning, sir?”
“Me? Why are you asking me?”
“It helps us eliminate people,” Chu claimed.
“I was here, right here at this desk.”
Pro made a note in her book. “You have anyone to verify that?”
“Brent, was I here yesterday between ten and noon?”
“Sorry, Mister Shaut, it was my half-day,” Brent replied from the other room. He walked in. “However you did call me at about 10:30 to make an appointment in your online calendar and check the availability for that French magician in July.”
Shaut grumbled. “Okay, well Friday is when I send out my email flyer for the next Monday’s performance. I have to write it up.”
“I can verify that, detectives,” Brent said helpfully. “When I came in at noon, the schedule had been finished. I just added the graphics and sent it out. It had not been ready when I left the previous night.”
“Is there anyone else in this building?”
Shaut shook his head. “No, it’s just Brent and me, and he doesn’t live here.”
“Really?” Pro demanded. “And how did a man who runs a magic show end up owning a brownstone in Manhattan?”
“Not that it’s any of your business, detective,” Brent grumbled defensively, “but Mister Shaut is a renowned software developer.”
“Calm down, Brent, they have to ask. Yeah, I sold out my company to Google years ago and decided to pursue my passion for magic. I have an entire workshop in the basement where I create my own effects.”
Undaunted, Pro said, “When you’re not stealing from Max Marvell?”
“Mister Shaut would never steal an effect,” Brent spat haughtily. “He pays for them.”
“Hey, I wanted to know how it works, that’s all. I don’t know if I would actually build the damn thing. I saw Max do it in Vegas. You’re his kid; you’ve seen it.”
Pro folded her arms. “Max and I have been estranged for years, so no, I haven’t.”
“Really? Well, let me tell you, girlie, this was the most amazing thing I ever saw. He is out there, on a stage, pretty much empty, except for a couple of glass whatchamacallits, like triangle shapes but flat on the ends.”
Brent piped up, “It’s a polyhedron with a triangular base.”
