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speak to the man, who finally twisted his body, extended one leg and placed a foot back on the catwalk. For the first time he faced the detective who was trying to help him. Then he let himself be helped to the ladder, and the two men climbed down carefully from the catwalk. On the other side of the tape the three bystanders clapped.
    His hand firmly on the other man’s upper arm, Pizzarelli led him to where Cheri stood. Robert Digbee looked considerably older than she remembered. He’d be in his late-sixties now, she thought. He hadn’t lost his handsome joie . He was dressed completely in black, which made his thick white hair stand out like luminescent silver, though it was dotted with blood. His shirt, slacks, and the ruddy complexion of his face were also covered with splatters of blood.
    Though she recognized him, she had to be procedural. “Are you Robert Digbee, the technical coordinator for the escape?”
    The man straightened his shoulders, as if his feet touching the ground again had returned him to reality. “Yes.”
    “I’m detective Raymer and this is detective Pizzarelli. We need to know what happened up there.”
    Digbee stared at her face. She stared back into his mesmerizing, steel blue eyes. She gave him her best gentle, yet professional look. “Can you tell us what happened?”
    “Everything was planned so well.” Digbee’s tone was intense and authoritative. “I designed this escape. I know what I’m doing. Wind resistance, friction of the wheels against the steel track, all affect speed. Friction is affected by surface pressure—the lighter the object, the less friction. The only thing that remains the same is the force of the earth’s gravity, measured as one G.”
    He spoke as if he were giving a college lecture, in a voice edged with controlled hysteria.
    “I spent two entire days with a stop watch timing how long the run takes, from the time the car leaves the station, climbs the first hill, passes each section. The acceleration of the roller coaster is determined by its mass and the strength of the force pulling it down the curve of the track. I had the same people in the same seats. I timed again two hours this morning. The laser light worked fin e⎯ “
    “What laser light?” Pizzarelli asked.
    Digbee pointed to a white unmarked van near the track. Above its Nevada license plate the rear doors were open, revealing what looked to Cheri like a maze of shiny high-tech equipment dotted with red and blue lights and l.e.d. screens. The kind of thing that would fascinate Tom for hours. The van was positioned so that its back end was out of view of TV cameras and spectators in the VIP stands.
    “The signal to let Maxwell know where the coaster was on the track, measured in seconds,” Digbee said. “It pulsed amber. He wasn’t to jump until he saw it pulse red. That was exactly seven seconds before the coaster hit, so when he jumped the effect would be more impressive. He’d still be in the air as the car passed where he’d been.”
    Pizzarelli rolled his eyes. “Entertainers. What happened to just doin’ this stuff on a regular stage?”
    “What went wrong?” Cheri asked.
    Robert Digbee held his body rigid. His blue eyes darted in every direction without any movement of his head. He’s thinking carefully about his answer, she thought. Was he thinking about how much magic information he could depart to the two detectives without violating that code all magicians followed about sharing their knowledge with outsiders?
    “We don’t divulge every detail to the press,” she said. “I remember you from Jubilee! when you were ‘Robert the Great.’ I know you all like to protect your professional magician secrets about how you do this stuff, but we’ve got dead people her e⎯ ” in a broad gesture she wavedher hand to indicate the staging area “⎯ and we need to know as much as possible about what happened in order to do our jobs. We could really use your help.”
    “I