Free Magician by Timothy C. Phillips Page A

rata tat-tat of Broom’s keyboard, and after a minute there was a grunt from the big detective.
    “Good news and bad news.”
    “Give me both.”
    “The good news is, your boy does indeed have a criminal record.”
    “And the bad?”
    “It’s sealed. Apparently, he did his real screwing up as a juvenile—the stuff he got caught for, anyway. As you well know, Juvenile records aren’t available for perusal, even by dashing homicide detectives like myself.”
    “How about the names of his parents?”
    “Looks like the father, Robert Fain, was dead at the time of the last hearing. Both parents are listed on the first file, only the mom on the second. Mrs. Eileen Fain.”
    “Great. Well, thanks anyway, Les.”
    I turned my phone off, and shook my head. Strike two . Another dead end. So far, Samson Fain had proved that he knew one trick, and knew it well—how to disappear.

 
    Chapter 9
     
    I climbed the stairs to my office, and plopped down behind the desk. This one is a case for Hercule Poirot.
    I leaned back in my chair and thought for a moment. Sealed by the court. ThenI leaned forward again and opened a desk drawer and took out a telephone book. I flipped through the pages until I reached the F section.  
    I had never known a court order to quiet relatives. I found the number, still listed under Robert Fain, and dialed it. A young woman answered. “Fain residence.”
    “Hello. My name is Roland Longville. I’m an old school friend of Samson’s. Can you tell me how I could get in touch with him?”
    “Samson? Oh, my goodness. Hang on. I’m Sarah, Mrs. Fain’s nurse. I don’t really know how to get in touch with him.”
    “Could you ask Mrs. Fain for me, Sarah?”
    The voice became suddenly rigid and professional. “Mrs. Fain has advanced Alzheimer’s, sir.”
    “That’s terrible; I’m so sorry. I had no idea. I haven’t seen the family in years. Weren’t there a couple of aunts living in the area?” I stuck his tongue in my cheek.
    There was a pause. The woman on the other came to a decision, and spoke again. “Yes, that’s right . . . what did you say your name was?”
    “Longville. Roland Longville.”
    “Well. Mr. Longville, Mrs. Fain does have a younger sister. I don’t know if you ever met her, her name is Anelda. She might know how you could get in touch with him, but I don’t really know if I should give out her telephone number.”
    “I understand completely. Feel free, then, to give her mine.”
    The nurse took down the number. “I can promise you that I’ll give it to her. She’s a very nice lady. I’m sure if she has any information about Samson, she’ll share it with you.”
    I was still sitting there a few minutes later, considering the dubious likelihood of getting help from a relative, when the phone rang.
    “Mr. Longville?” A woman asked in a voice that was both genteel and self-assured.
    “Speaking.”
    “This is Anelda Ames, answering your call. I’m the aunt of Samson Fain.”
    “Ms. Ames. How very nice to hear from you.”
    “Mr. Longville, I need to know one thing.”
    “Yes ma’am.”
    “Just who are you, really?”
    “Why, Ms. Ames, what do you mean?”
      “What I mean, Mr. Longville, if that really is your name, is that you are no friend of Samson Fain’s.”
    “Begging your pardon, but how would you know that?”
    “Because Samson Fain doesn’t have any friends, and he never did.”
    “I’m afraid that you have me there, Ms. Ames. I’ll come clean. My name really is Roland Longville. But you’re right, I’ve never met Samson. I’m a private investigator.”
    There was a pause while she took this in. “And just what do you want to talk to me about?” There was caution in her voice, but something else, something that I had heard before. Samson Fain’s name had struck a chord in the woman on the other end of the line. I threw out a little information to see how she would react.
    “I’m looking into a matter for a family, Ms.