Chapter One
The American Bar Association decided to hold its
annual convention at the Theodore Roosevelt Hotel
in downtown Washington, D.C. On Wednesday
evening, a who's who of the most powerful men
and women in the country circulated at a cocktail
party hosted by Rankin, Lusk, Carstairs and White.
Charles Benedict was a minor leaguer in the power
and influence department but even in this elite com-
pany he stood out because he was strikingly hand-
some and charismatic, the person toward whom the
eyes of not only women but men were drawn when
he entered a room.
Benedict was six feet two inches tall, with a culti-
vated tan. His salt- and- pepper hair was cut short and
his trim, athletic build, ramrod posture, and chiseled
features brought to mind the Special Forces heroes
in action movies. When Benedict moved, it was easy
to imagine a field of force emanating from him, and
there was no question that his physical presence con-
tributed to his success as a trial attorney, although
more sinister factors sometimes came into play.

4 Phillip Margolin
Benedict was charming a partner from a Chicago
firm when he was distracted by Carrie and Horace
Blair, who were carrying on a whispered argument
in a corner of the ballroom. It was rare to see the
Blairs together, but Rankin, Lusk handled Horace's
legal work, and that was an obvious explanation for
the presence of the businessman, who was not a
member of the bar.
Carrie Blair was wearing a charcoal- black Gucci
suit, and her natural honey- blond hair flowed over
its shoulders. She had translucent gray- green eyes
that could paralyze the most misogynist male, her
nose was the type all the dissatisfied society women
begged their plastic surgeons to copy, and her skin
was tan and smooth. If someone were to ask what
Carrie Blair did for a living, many people would
guess that she was a television news anchor and
none would peg her as the prosecutor in charge of
the Narcotics Unit in one of Virginia's most popu-
lous counties.
Carrie's millionaire husband looked every bit the
southern gentleman, but he was many years older
than his wife, and a stranger would not be faulted
for assuming that he was Carrie's father. Horace
was gripping Carrie's arm. His face, red from anger,
contrasted sharply with his snowy white hair. Carrie
wrenched her arm from her husband's grasp and
walked out of the ballroom just as Charles Bene-
dict's cell phone vibrated.
“I've got to take this,” Benedict said, abruptly

Sleight of Hand 5
ending the conversation with the Chicago attor-
ney. Her expectant smile changed to a frown. She
was attractive, rich, and powerful, and was not used
to being dismissed like some hired hand. Had she
known more about Benedict, she would have un-
derstood why he'd ditched her without so much as
an apology. The woman was just another potential
notch on Benedict's gun, whereas the caller was
going to pay an excessive fee for a highly specialized
ser vice that Benedict provided.
“Yes,” Benedict said when he was alone in a
side hall.
“He's at the tavern,” the caller said.
Benedict left the hotel and jogged to a parking
garage a few blocks away. He'd boosted a dull- green
Chevrolet earlier in the evening. After switch-
ing the plates, Benedict had stashed the car on the
third floor of the garage. The attorney got into the
backseat and took off his yellow- and- blue- striped
Hermès tie, his gray Armani suit, and his silk shirt.
Then he pulled sneakers, a hooded sweatshirt, and
a pair of faded jeans out of a duffel bag. As soon as
he'd changed clothes, Benedict drove out of the lot
toward Virginia.
Norman Krueger's life, which had been on a down-
ward spiral since birth, had recently gotten worse,
something that hardly seemed possible. Norman
had been born to a drug- addicted prostitute who

6 Phillip Margolin
had no clue as to the identity of Norman's father.
His childhood had ricocheted between physical
abuse, sexual abuse, and neglect. The lessons in
school, when he attended, were incomprehensible to
someone with Norman's limited IQ and attention
span. Gangs were not the answer, because he was
too puny and frightened to be of use where violence
was involved, and too stupid to be trusted with any
task that might require guile.
Norman got by on a combination of public as-
sistance and low- paying jobs, from which he was
frequently fired for incompetence or absenteeism.
Recently, much of his pay had gone toward support-
ing a drug habit. The origins of his addiction were
confusing to Norman. They had sneaked up on him
like some sort of controlled- substance ninja, but
drugs were now the focus of his miserable life.
Norman's girlfriend, Vera Petrov, was as ugly
and hapless as Norman, but she was capable of
maintaining steady employment. She was also a
second cousin of Nikolai Orlansky, a major player
in the Russian Mafia, whom she'd prevailed upon to
give Norman a job sweeping up in one of his many
taverns.
Norman was the type of person no one noticed,
the human equivalent of a sagging armchair that has
been stored in a dusty corner of a side room. Evil
things happened around Norman all the time and
no one seemed to care that Norman had witnessed
them. But Norman had eyes and ears and a memory,

Sleight of Hand 7
which, weak as it was, still retained the sights and
sounds of startling events involving murder and tor-
ture, especially when he was the person assigned to
clean up the gore.
Never in a million years would Norman have
considered informing on his employer. He had seen
what happened to those who crossed the Russian.
Then he came to the attention of an undercover
federal agent who befriended Norman and listened
intently to everything Norman said when he was
under the influence of