The room was surrounded by tall heavy-looking bookshelves, most of which were packed with hardback books. On one of the shelves was something that looked decidedly like a stuffed chicken. Jessica was going to ask if it was a chicken but figured she didn’t particularly want to know the answer.

Most living rooms had some kind of central point – people pointed their furniture towards a television or something like a fireplace or fish tank. This room seemed to have nothing like that, not that there was any furniture anyway. There was certainly no TV and the only thing potentially central was a large round white shaggy rug. The colour stood out sharply against the rest of the dark shades in the room.

The whole flat smelled faintly of a substance Jessica would assume was incense but certainly had the air of something decidedly more illegal. She figured she would let it go . . . unless this guy really annoyed her.

The magician literally jumped onto one of the beanbags and sprawled himself out, bobbing up and down before arranging himself into a cross-legged sitting position. Rowlands seemingly thought nothing of this behaviour and sat on another beanbag the other side of the rug. With little other option, Jessica sat on a different beanbag. It reminded her of Caroline’s flat at university when they first moved to Manchester with a distinct lack of furniture. There were beanbags then too.

Rowlands was smiling at her but Jessica didn’t want to admit she felt a tad out of her depth, so asked the obvious: ‘What’s your name then?’ She thought it was a simple enough question but the response made her less sure.

‘My actual name is Francis but you can call me Hugo.’ They had been there for less than two minutes but, not for the first time, Jessica figured she didn’t want to know the answer. How could those two names be in the slightest bit connected? As if reading her mind, he added: ‘Hugo’s my stage name.’

‘Are you on stage often?’

‘Life’s a stage, don’t you think?’

She tried not raise her eyebrows but could see Rowlands smiling out of the corner of her eye. She ignored Hugo’s response but shot the constable a look to let him know they would be having words later. ‘Okay then, erm, Hugo, Detective Constable Rowlands says you may have some information that could help our investigation?’

She wanted to add: ‘I personally doubt that very much, you mental case’ but held her tongue. It was as if he hadn’t heard her question anyway.

‘Can I show you something first?’

‘I’d rather you didn’t.’

Rowlands took that moment to chip in. ‘He’s good, y’know.’

Jessica rolled her eyes. ‘All right, whatever, go on.’

She was trying not to be sarcastic or obviously hostile but had felt her tone slip with that.

‘Okay, hold this,’ Hugo said, pulling an orange out from his pocket and tossing it towards her.

Jessica hadn’t realised what was happening at first but caught the piece of fruit one-handed. If she hadn’t, it would have smacked her square in the face. She shook her head but Hugo wasn’t looking. He had leapt to his feet, motioning for Rowlands to do the same. Jessica stayed sitting on the beanbag, feeling more and more uncomfortable.

‘Right,’ Hugo said to his friend. ‘How much money have you got on you?’

Rowlands fiddled through his pockets, pulling out his wallet. He opened one of the flaps and turned it upside down into his hands. A few coins fell out and he snatched a couple of notes out from the main part. He counted it all back into the correct place.

‘Thirty pounds and eighty-two pence,’ he said.

Hugo nodded along. ‘Good, good. And you, Miss, er, Detective Daniel?’

Jessica didn’t need to check. ‘I’ve only got a tenner.’ She didn’t bother with change and only ever kept notes and cards in her purse.

Hugo kept nodding. ‘Good, good.’ He turned back to Rowlands. ‘How much is that in total then, Dave?’

The magician’s friend obviously didn’t need much time to think. ‘Forty eighty-two, I guess.’

‘Hmm yeah, sounds about right,’ Hugo said, plopping himself back onto his beanbag before instantly leaping to his feet again. ‘Right, tea?’ he asked, looking from Jessica to Rowlands and then back again.

‘I’m fine,’ Jessica replied, clearly confused.

‘Me too,’ confirmed the constable.

‘I fancy some tea,’ said Hugo, making his way back out of the living room before either of them could object.

Jessica was still holding the orange but, with the magician out of the room, looked to Dave. ‘What are we doing?’ she asked.

‘I don’t know yet.’

She nodded towards the shelf. ‘Is that a real chicken?’

‘Probably. I told you, he likes taxidermy.’

Jessica continued to shoot her colleague dirty looks while looking around the rest of the bizarre room. She thought there was something that looked like a stuffed rat or mouse on one of the other shelves.

A couple of minutes later, Hugo re-entered carrying a tray. On it was a small metal teapot with steam coming from its spout and three china teacups on individual saucers. Each was white with a flowery pattern. Jessica thought it was the kind of set you might expect somebody’s grandmother to have. Hugo set the tray down in the middle of the white rug in between them. ‘Right, tea,’ he said.

Jessica started to remind him she didn’t want any but figured it wouldn’t do much good. ‘Okay,’ he added. ‘I like mine with a hint of orange. Have you ever had it like that?’ He was looking directly at Jessica.

‘No.’

‘Could you peel that for me?’ He was indicating the orange still in her hand.

‘Okay . . .’

Hugo threw her a handkerchief and Jessica started to peel the fruit, putting the pieces of skin into a nearby bin. As a kid she always tried to peel the skin off in one piece. Here she didn’t care, tearing small strips off and tossing them away. When it was complete, she glanced back at the magician who stared at her. ‘Can you squeeze a few drops into the pot?’

She was pretty much past caring what this obvious madman asked her to do. She got to her feet and went over to the tray. Hugo removed the teapot’s lid and she gently squeezed the fruit, allowing a few drops to fall into the pot. As Jessica did that, she noticed something solid in the centre of the orange. She looked at the magician sitting on the floor in front of her who had an expectant grin on his face. Jessica pulled the segments apart and could now clearly see something that looked like a small poker chip. She pulled it out and set the orange down on the tray. The chip was round and black but on it was imprinted a pound sign, four digits and a decimal point.

‘£40.82.’

She looked at Hugo, who was grinning smugly, and then at Rowlands, tossing him the piece of plastic. He caught it and looked at the number before exploding into laughter. ‘That is fan-bloody-tastic,’ he said.

Hugo didn’t say anything but continued to smile. Jessica had to admit it was impressive. ‘Pretty good. I’ve seen better,’ she said.

Rowlands was still laughing. ‘Love it, mate. Love it.’

Jessica let the mood settle. ‘Okay, can we do what we came here for?’

Hugo had a knowing smile on his face but nodded at her. ‘What would you like to know?’

Jessica didn’t want to go into too much detail about the case, while Rowlands was still giggling to himself and rolling the chip around in his hand. ‘What do you know about getting in and out of somewhere that is completely locked?’ she asked.

Hugo nodded, taking her question in. He looked straight at her and she noticed that he was quite a good-looking guy despite his frame and weirdness. His face was nicely symmetrical and his smile was appealing and kindly. ‘With any act of illusion, the obvious answer is almost certainly the correct one. Nobody can walk through walls or disappear from one spot and reappear in another. As an entertainer, my job is to make you think I can.’