Jeffery Deaver - The Vanished Man

Her name turned out to be Jaynene and she was a nurse working at the aging care facility where Kara's mother lived.

The woman glanced knowingly at Rhyme, who'd cast her a wry look at this description, and said, "Whoops. D'I really say that? Meant to say 'old folks home.'"

"I'm a graduate of a 'TIMC,'" the criminalist said.

The woman furrowed her brow and finally shook her head. "That's a new one on me."

Thom said, " Traumatic Incident Mitigation Center."

Rhyme said, "I called it the Gimp Inn."

"But he's deliberately provocative," Thom added.

"I've worked spinal units. We always liked the patients best who gave us crap. The quiet, cheerful ones scared us."

Because, Rhyme reflected, they were the ones who had friends slip a hundred Seconal into their drinks. Or who, if they had the use of a hand, poured water onto the pilot lights of their stoves and turned the gas up high.

A four-burner death, it was called.

Jaynene asked Rhyme, "You C4?"

"That's it."

"Off the ventilator. Good for you."

"Is Kara's mother here?" Sachs asked, looking around.

Jaynene frowned briefly and said, "Well, no."

"Does she ever come to see her?"

The woman said cautiously, "Her mother's not really involved with Kara's career."

Rhyme said, "Kara told me she's sick. Is she doing better?"

"A bit, yes," the woman said.

There was a story behind this, Rhyme sensed, but the woman's tone said that it wasn't for the nurse to go into confidential matters with strangers.

Then the lights dimmed and the crowd fell silent.

A white-haired man climbed up onstage. Despite the age and the signs of hard living – a drinker's nose and tobacco-stained beard – his eyes were keen, his posture erect and he floated to center stage with a performer's presence. He stood next to the only prop on the platform – a wooden cutout of a Roman column. The surroundings were shabby but the man wore a well-tailored suit, as if he had some rule that whenever you were up onstage you looked the best for your audience.

Ah , Rhyme deduced, the infamous mentor, David Balzac. He didn't identify himself but looked out over the audience for a moment, his eyes settling on Rhyme's for longer than most others'. Whatever he was thinking, though, remained hidden and he looked away. "Today, ladies and gentlemen, I'm pleased to present one of my most promising students. Kara has been studying with me for over a year now. She's going to treat you to some of the more esoteric illusions in the history of our profession – and some of my own as well as some of hers. Don't be surprised" – A demonic look that seemed directed at Rhyme himself – "or shocked at anything you see today. And now, ladies and gentlemen… I give you… Kara."

Rhyme had decided to pass this hour by being a scientist. He'd enjoy the challenge of spotting the methods of her illusions, noting how she did the tricks, how cards and coins were palmed and where her quick-change costumes were concealed. Kara was still several points ahead in this game of Catch the Moves, which she undoubtedly didn't know they were playing.

The young woman walked out onstage, wearing a tight black bodysuit with a cutout in the shape of a crescent moon on her chest, under a shimmery, see-through drape, like a translucent Roman toga. He'd never thought of Kara as attractive, much less sexy, but the clinging outfit was very sensuous. She moved like a dancer, swift and smooth. There was a long pause while she examined the audience slowly. It seemed that she looked at each person. The tension began to build.

Finally: "Change," she said in a theatrical voice. "Change… How it fascinates us. Alchemy – changing lead and tin into gold…" She held up a silver coin. Closed it in her palm and opened it an instant later to reveal a gold coin, which she flung into the air; it turned into a shower of gold confetti.

Applause from the audience and murmurs of pleasure. "Night…" The houselights suddenly dimmed to blackness and a moment later – no more than a few seconds – came back up. "… becoming day." Kara was now dressed in a similar, clinging outfit, except that it was golden and the cutout pattern on the front was a starburst.

Rhyme had to laugh at the speed of the quick change.

"Life…" A red rose appeared in her hand. "… becoming death…" She cupped the rose in her hands and it changed to a dried yellowish flower. "… becoming life." A bouquet of fresh flowers had somehow replaced the dead stalk. She tossed them to a delighted woman in the audience. Rhyme heard a surprised whisper: "They're real!"

Kara lowered her hands to her sides and looked out over the audience again with a serious expression on her face. "There's a book," she said, her voice filling the room. "A book written thousands of years ago by the Roman writer Ovid. The book is called Metamorphoses . Like 'metamorphosis' – when a caterpillar becomes a…" She opened her hand and a butterfly flew out and disappeared backstage.

Rhyme had taken four years of Latin. He recalled struggling to translate portions of Ovid's book for class. He remembered that it was a series of fourteen or fifteen short myths in poetic form. What was Kara up to? Lecturing about classical literature to an audience of lawyer moms and kids thinking about their Xboxes and Nintendos (though he noticed that her tight costume held the attention of every teenage boy in the audience).

She continued, " Metamorphoses … It's a book about change. About people becoming other people, animals, trees, inanimate objects. Some of Ovid's stories are tragic, some enthralling but all of them have one thing in common." A pause and then she said in a loud voice, "Magic!" With a burst of light and a cloud of smoke she vanished.

For the next forty minutes Kara captivated the audience with a series of illusions and sleight-of-hand tricks based on a few of the poems in the book. As for catching her moves, Rhyme gave up on that completely. True, he was lost in the drama of her stories. But even when he pulled himself back from her spell and concentrated on her hands he couldn't spot her method once. After a long ovation and an encore, during which she quick-changed into a tiny elderly woman and back again ("Young to old… old to young"), she left the stage. Five minutes later Kara emerged in jeans and a white blouse and stepped into the audience to say hello to friends.

A shop clerk laid out a table of jug wine, coffee and soda, cookies.

"No scotch?" Rhyme asked, looking over the cheap spread.

"Sorry, sir," the bearded young man replied.

Sachs, armed with wine, nodded at Kara, who joined them. "Hey, this is great. I never thought I'd see you guys here."

"What can I say?" Sachs offered. "Fantastic."

"Excellent," Rhyme said to her then turned back to the bar. "Maybe there's some whisky in the back, Thom."

Thom nodded at Rhyme and said to Kara, "Can you transform dispositions?" He took two glasses of Chardonnay, slipped a straw in one and held it out for his boss. "This or nothing, Lincoln."

He took a sip then said, "I liked the young-old ending. Didn't expect it. I was worried you were going to become a butterfly at the end. Cliché, you know."

"You were supposed to be worried. With me, expect the unexpected. Sleight of mind, remember?"

"Kara," Sachs said, "you have to try out for the Cirque Fantastique." The woman laughed but said nothing.

"No, I'm serious – this was professional quality," Sachs insisted.

Rhyme could tell that Kara didn't want to pursue the issue. She said lightly, "I'm right on schedule. There's no hurry. A lot of people make the mistake of jumping too fast."

"Let's get some food," Thom suggested. "I'm starving. Jaynene, you come too."