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“Yes. So is Mrs. Khan.”
This was getting better and better. Jason considered. “Hm. Minerva. There was a famous 19th century female escape artist called Minerva the Handcuff Queen.”
“I don’t know about that, but Minerva Khan was a professional magician in Vegas before she married. She still does occasional shows for charity. Michael Khan is a regularly employed magician, if there is such a thing. He’s known as the Kubla Khanjurer.”
The name meant nothing to Jason. “Quaint.”
“In fact, Khan’s other theory is that his collection—and he does insist the collection belongs to him and is not community property—could have been stolen in reprisal.”
“Reprisal for what exactly?”
“The Kubla Khanjurer is primarily famous for going around exposing the secrets behind other magicians’ magic tricks.”
Jason’s gaze went automatically to a poster lavishly decorated with tombstones and dancing skeletons holding scythes. “I see. Like the Masked Magician.”
“I guess so. I hate magic shows, so I have no idea.”
She was probably too young to remember those TV specials of the 1990s where illusionist Val Valentino had incurred the wrath of his peers by revealing “Magic’s Biggest Secrets” during prime time. Supposedly he’d received several death threats.
“That would breed a lot of hostility from the magic community,” Jason agreed. “Even so, you have to know what you’re doing to pull off a heist on the scale of this. Someone had to be aware the Khans would both be out that evening and that neighbors would not be unduly interested in a moving van being parked outside for a couple of hours. Also, the unsub would have to know where to fence the articles. You can’t just list them on eBay or take them to a local pawn shop. These are valuable items, but the market for them is interest-specific. It’s not like unloading a Monet.”
That said, a poster featuring Houdini’s escape from his Chinese Water Torture Cell had sold for $114,000 in 2017, so it wasn’t like the art world was unaware of the value of such items.
Dreyfus said quickly, “Which is where I hope you can help, Agent West. Cheyenne PD is looking for direction, but this is not my field of expertise. I should be out helping my team search for our unknown bank robber.” Her tone was slightly aggrieved.
Jason didn’t bother to reassure her there would be no shortage of robberies in her career. He was eager to help. The sight of those gorgeous, arcane lithographs stirred him, triggered his boyhood love of both mystery and the mysterious. Absolutely he wanted in on finding and recovering those posters.
“It’s possible, but not probable, that your unsub will try to sell the items locally. The most likely scenario is to break up the collection and try to move it through the larger auction houses. Provenance should be more of an issue than it often is. Anyway, I can help you with that. I have the contacts and the resources.”
She brightened. “That would be terrific!”
They discussed a few other aspects of the case; then Dreyfus left copies of the insurance photographs and forms, the police report, and the initial interviews with the Khans and their neighbors, prettily thanked Jason in advance for all the help she knew he would be, and departed, ponytail bouncing jauntily as she headed for her unmarked GOV sedan. Jason watched her go. Dreyfus was nearly skipping in delight at having handed off a case she clearly detested.
He shook his head, closed the door, and returned to the dining room to gather up the reports and interviews.
He was already pretty sure one or maybe even possibly both of the Khans—depending on their insurance policies and whether they did really end up getting divorced—were behind the burglary and theft. One of his first lessons on the ACT had been how depressingly common insurance fraud was. Or at least attempted insurance fraud.
If Michael Khan was behind the theft, the entire collection was probably sitting safe and sound in a storage facility somewhere in Laramie county.
If the wife was behind the theft, there was a greater chance the collection would be broken up and sold for parts. That was the way spousal revenge tended to work. He didn’t buy the story of the lady magician with such a bad memory that she couldn’t remember a couple of security codes. He was also skeptical of the uncompromised front door.
Or were they really supposed to believe another magician had broken in?
That had been Michael Khan’s other theory, right? A disgruntled colleague was paying him back for revealing the secrets of the International Brotherhood of Magicians.
Colorful and dramatic, but insurance fraud was a lot more likely, especially when divorce was part of the equation.
Jason settled on the tufted beige sofa with a heating pad for his back and a stack of pillows for his ankle, and began to read through the police report.
Routine stuff except for a little handwritten notation in the margin. JDLR. Copspeak for Just Doesn’t Look Right. Meaning something not quite adding up, in the detective’s opinion, nothing the officer could put a finger on, but meriting a second look.
Jason wanted to talk to that investigator. Except…he was consulting on the art angle, not investigating the theft. So unless he could make a case for why he needed to involve himself in the ongoing investigation, he was liable to have Sam breathing down his neck.
Not that Sam breathing down his neck couldn’t be a pleasurable thing…
Jason blinked a couple of times and raised his head, realizing he was on the verge of nodding off. Despite a good night’s sleep, he was still tired from his recent ordeal. The warmth of the nearby fireplace, the dryness of police reports had a soporific effect.
From down the hall he heard a door close and footsteps coming his way. He sat up, spilling papers onto the wooden floor.
