"Don't mention it," the man said coolly.

They hung up. Rhyme said to Bell, "Not much else I can do, Roland, until we get that information."

A glance at the break-in report. Fibers and backwoods militiamen…

Mysteries. But at the moment they'd have to remain somebody else's. Rhyme had his own enigmas to unravel and not much time in which to do so: the notations on the evidence chart about the broken watches reminded him that they had less than three hours to stop the Conjurer before he found his next victim.

THE CONJURER

Music School Crime Scene

Perp's description: Brown hair, fake beard, no distinguishing, medium build, medium height, age: fifties. Ring and little fingers of left hand fused together. Changed costume quickly to resemble old, bald janitor.

No apparent motive.

Victim: Svetlana Rasnikov.

• Full-time music student.

• Checking family, friends, students, coworkers for possible leads.

• No boyfriends, no known enemies. Performed at children's birthday parties.

• Circuit board with speaker attached.

• Sent to FBI lab, NYC.

• Digital recorder, probably containing perp's voice. All data destroyed.

• Voice recorder is a "gimmick." Homemade.

• Used antique iron handcuffs to restrain victim.

• Handcuffs are Darby irons. Scotland Yard. Checking with Houdini Museum in New Orleans for leads.

• Destroyed victim's watch at exactly 8:00 A.M.

• Cotton string holding chairs. Generic. Too many sources to trace.

• Squib for gunshot effect. Destroyed.

• Too many sources to trace.

• Fuse. Generic.

• Too many sources to trace.

• Responding officers reported flash in air. No trace material recovered.

• Was from flash cotton or flash paper.

• Too many sources to trace.

• Perp's shoes: size 10 Ecco.

• Silk fibers, dyed gray, processed to a matte finish.

• From quick-change janitor's outfit.

• Unsub is possibly wearing brown wig.

• Red pignut hickory and Parmelia conspersa lichen, both found primarily in Central Park.

• Dirt impregnated with unusual mineral oil. Sent to FBI for analysis.

• Black silk, 72 x 48". Used as camouflage. Not traceable.

• Illusionists use this frequently.

• Wears caps to cover up prints.

• Magician's finger cups.

• Traces of latex, castor oil, makeup.

• Theatrical makeup.

• Traces of alginate.

• Used in molding latex "appliances."

• Murder weapon: white silk-knit rope with black silk core.

• Rope is a magic trick. Color-changing. Not traceable.

• Unusual knot.

• Sent to FBI and Maritime Museum – no information.

• Knots are from Houdini routines, virtually impossible to untie.

• Used disappearing ink on sign-in register.

East Village Crime Scene

Victim Two: Tony Calvert.

• Makeup artist, theater company.

• No known enemies.

• No apparent connection with first victim.

• No apparent motive.

Cause of death:

• Blunt-object trauma to head followed by postmortem dismemberment with crosscut saw.

• Perp escaped portraying woman in her 70s. Checking vicinity for discarded costume and other evidence.

• Nothing recovered.

• Watch smashed at 12:00 exactly.

• Pattern? Next victim presumably at 4:00 P.M.

• Perp hid behind mirror. Not traceable. Fingerprints sent to FBI.

• No matches.

• Used cat toy ("feke") to lure victim into alley. Toy is untraceable.

• Additional mineral oil found, same as at first scene. Awaiting FBI report.

• Additional latex and makeup from finger cups.

• Additional alginate.

• Ecco shoes left behind.

• Dog hairs found in shoes, from three different breeds of dog. Manure too.

Profile as Illusionist

Perp will use misdirection against victims and in eluding police.

• Physical misdirection (for distraction).

• Psychological (to eliminate suspicion).

• Escape at music school was similar to Vanished Man illusion routine. Too common to trace.

• Perp is primarily an illusionist.

• Talented at sleight-of-hand.

• Also knows protean (quick-change) magic. Will use breakaway clothes, nylon and silk, bald cap, finger cups and other latex appliances. Could be any age, gender or race.

• Calvert's death = Selbit's Cutting a Woman in Half routine.

• Proficient at lock-picking (possibly lock "scrubbing").

In 1900 Manhattan 's horse population was over 100,000 and, space being at a premium on the island even in those days, many animals were housed in high-rises – at least that's what their second- and third-story quarters would have been considered at the time.

One such elevated stable can still be found in the borough, the well-known Hammerstead Riding Academy on the Upper West Side. Still in its original structure, built in 1885, the academy features hundreds of stalls above the ground-level arena, which is the site for both private riding lessons and shows.

A large, busy stable like this seems an anomaly in a city like Manhattan in the twenty-first century until you consider that Central Park 's six miles of well-tended bridle paths are only a few blocks away.

Ninety horses reside in the academy, some privately owned and some for rent, and one of these latter variety was now being led down a steep ramp from his stall by a groom, a redheaded teenage girl, to a waiting rider.

Cheryl Marston felt the same thrill she did every Saturday at this time of day when she saw the tall, feisty horse with the mottled rump of an Appaloosa.

"Hey, Donny Boy," she called, her pet name for the animal, whose real name was Don Juan di Middleburg. A ladies' man, she often said. A joke but true enough: under a male rider the animal would shy and whinny and resist from the git-go.

But with Marston he was putty.

"See you in an hour," she told the groom, swinging up onto Donny Boy, gripping the supple reins, feeling his astonishing muscles beneath her.

A touch to the ribs and they were on their way. Out onto Eighty-sixth Street, moving east slowly toward Central Park, the shod feet clopping loudly on the asphalt, drawing everyone's attention, as they examined both the gorgeous animal and, high atop him, the thin-faced, serious woman dressed in jodhpurs, a red jacket and black velvet helmet, out of which dangled a long blonde French braid.

Crossing into Central Park itself, Marston glanced south and saw in the distance the office building in Midtown where she spent fifty hours a week practicing corporate law. There were a thousand thoughts that might have overwhelmed her now about the job, projects that were "front-burnered," as one of her partners said with irritating frequency. But none of these thoughts intruded at the moment. Nothing could. She was invulnerable to everything when she sat here, on one of God's most magnificent creations, feeling the sun-warmed, loam-scented air on her face as Donny Boy trotted along the dark path, surrounded by early jonquils and forsythia and lilacs.

The first beautiful day this spring.

For a half hour she circled the reservoir slowly, lost in the rapture of that unique connection between two different, complementary animals, each powerful and smart in its own way. She enjoyed a brief canter and then slowed to post in a trot as they came to the sharper turns in the deserted northern part of the park, near Harlem.

Completely at peace.

Until the worst happened.

She wasn't sure exactly how it occurred. She'd slowed to make the turn through a narrow gap between two stands of bushes when a pigeon flew directly into Donny Boy's face. Whinnying, he skidded to a stop so fast that Marston was nearly thrown off. Then he reared and she almost went backward over his rump.