Shell Game

by Carol O’Connell

  The small room was at the end of the hall, far from the traffic of office workers in this firm which bore the Halpern name. The walls were decorated with a collection of drawings by Paul Klee and Max Ernst. The desktop was clear of paperwork, and the Times crossword puzzle had already been completed and discarded in the wastepaper basket.

  „I’m sorry this happened.“ Mallory set a cup of tea on the desk blotter in front of Mr. Halpern. His face was still spotted with red blotches from scrubbing off the paint splatters. His coat had taken the worst of the assault, and only a few spots were visible on his pale gray suit.

  Again, she said, „I’m sorry,“ knowing there were not sorries enough to cover this kind of damage. She could not forget the look in his eyes when the spray gun fired. She should have been able to protect him.

  Another screwup.

  He reached over and rested his hand on hers. „Not your fault.“ His skin was cool and dry, and his thin hand was like a delicate covering of wrapping paper. She wondered how much time he would have left to draw his pictures.

  In the hall outside the office door, Mr. Halpern’s son was speaking with a uniformed officer.

  „Detective Mallory, tell me about this little fellow with the paint gun,“ said the elder Mr. Halpern. „Was it my fur hat that made him angry? One of the animal-rights people spat on me a few months back.“

  „No, he was one of the antismoking people.“ And now Mallory was envisioning tomorrow’s headline: ‘Puppy-shooting Cop Assaults Political Activist.’ „Your cigarette set him off. His father died of a heart attack, and he blames it on secondhand smoke.“

  „But – out of doors?“

  „The freak always works on the street. Easier to hit and run. He’s done this to a lot of people, usually women. He’s never splattered anyone big enough to put a fist through his face. Detective Rodriguez said you must have turned around at the wrong time. He usually gets his victims in the back. Then he lectures them on smoking and runs away before they find out they’ve been hit.“

  „So the other officers knew who he was before – “

  „Times Square is his favorite spot.“ And now she confirmed the old man’s suspicion. „The arresting officers were waiting for him this time.“

  Fifteen cops had been assigned to one vandal. God forbid the spray gun should splatter an out-of-towner and upset the mayor’s tourism promotion. Meanwhile, she had to cheat and lie to get a fraction of that manpower on a homicide case.

  She turned to look at the officer waiting in the hallway. „When you’re ready, that cop will drive you home to Scarsdale.“

  „No, Detective Mallory. I’m fine, thank you. My son wouldn’t understand if I – “

  „He will when I get through with him.“ Did the old man’s face tense up slightly? In a softer voice, more reassuring, she said, „Any kind of assault leaves people a little shaky, even if it’s just a shouting match on the street. I’ll explain that to your son. He’ll understand.“

  „Is there time for the rest of the story? I want to tell you my theory – how Louisa and Malakhai got away.“

  „Sure.“ She had given up the idea of getting to the auction in time for the opening bids. So far, this had not been a profitable day.

  „I told you, the first time I saw Malakhai, his shirt was buttoned up and the sleeves rolled down. I think the clothes covered up – “

  „A German uniform?“

  „Yes, yes.“ He smiled and slapped his hand on the desk. „Malakhai’s clothes were hiding a uniform.“ He seemed so pleased with her, as if she were his promising student. Or perhaps he was only gratified that she had been paying attention. That would be a rare event on any day spent in this office, this nicely decorated holding cell.

  „That was the surest way to evade the soldiers checking the cars and jamming the sacks with their rifle butts,“ said Mr. Halpern. „Malakhai must have been the soldier who searched the mail car before the train pulled out.“

  „Good idea,“ said Mallory. „So you think Malakhai was in the German Army?“

  „Oh, no. It was definitely a disguise. He only said a few words to me that day. He had a child’s grasp of the language, and the accent was no good at all. I’m German-born. I promise you, he was not.“ He leaned toward her in the spirit of collaboration. „I believe he knew what was going to happen when the train made the next stop to drop off mail.“

  Mallory nodded. „He probably cased the whole route.“

  „So the train stopped. The car door opened for the mail drop, and Malakhai was standing there in a German uniform. He was the soldier who unloaded the mail sack with Louisa inside. As I said, he had a poor command of the German language. Yet there he was, a young boy carrying an escaped prisoner in his arms – surrounded by all those soldiers. It’s always been much more than a puzzle to me. This was a love story.“

  Mr. Halpern sat back in his chair, frowning now. „Ah, but I’ll never know if I got it right.“

  „You didn’t ask him? That night at Rabbi Kaplan’s house – “

  „Malakhai didn’t remember how he stole Louisa from the camp. He said I had waited too long to ask. He has strokes, small ones that destroy his memories. It’s been going on for about a year. He said they happen all the time. Bits and pieces of his life are missing every other morning. So I’ll never know how he did his best trick – if I got it right or not.“

  „It works for me.“ Mallory turned to the door, where the uniformed officer was waiting to carry Mr. Halpern home.

  „Will I have to testify against the little man with the paint gun?“

  „No, I don’t think so,“ she said. „The arresting officers have more than enough complaints to nail the freak. He’s criminally nuts.“

  „That’s your perception today, Detective. Things change – and so quickly. A few years from now, when you think back on this business with the paint gun – you’ll remember me as the criminal who smoked a cigarette.“ He smiled as he patted her hand. „Not your fault. Things change.“

  She motioned for the officer to come in. „He’ll take you home now. Maybe you should stay there? Just draw your pictures and forget about this place. You don’t want to be here anyway.“

  „Ah, but my son.“ His sweet smile reminded her that there were loving lies to be maintained. Every day he would return to do work of no consequence. Father and son would go on pretending that he was needed here.

  And now the younger Mr. Halpern was entering the old man’s office.

  „Things change,“ said Mallory.

  Chapter 10

  Detective Riker’s head lolled on the back of the velvet theater seat. He was staring up at the chandelier. A million sharp crystal shards dangled from a giant ball of light, and he had the sense that it might fall on him at any moment.

  The fear of falling objects was common in the hazard zone of Manhattan, where pedestrians were routinely flattened by crumbling gargoyles and cornices. This lottery of city life brought out the sporting nature of New Yorkers, who kept score on direct hits – disparaging near misses and nonfatal glancing blows.

  This chandelier was on much too grand a scale for a theater with only three hundred seats. Piss-elegant was the term he was looking for. Though, according to Nick Prado’s press release, it was an exact replica of the original fixture from Faustine’s.

  Oliver Tree had spent a fortune re-creating his grandmother’s theater. The grand opening was three days away, and the construction work was not yet complete. The air had the smell of fresh plaster and paint.

  Riker looked at his watch.

  Where is she?

  If Mallory didn’t arrive soon, she would miss the main event, the bidding on the platform.

  He looked up at the stage, where men and women were inspecting long tables decked with magic props. During the intermission, the auctioneer had left his podium on top of the platform. The man from Hollywood was favored to make the high bid, and then Mallory’s precious evidence would be on its way to the West Coast.
He wondered if the auctioneer had been nervous standing in Oliver Tree’s place and looking down at the crossbows.

  Nick Prado gave Riker a friendly wave as he walked down a short flight of steps at the side of the stage. For the past hour, this man had been exuding professional charm and warmth, presuming the role of a dear and close friend. But Riker preferred the distance of a suspicious acquaintance. He disliked Prado’s wide smile that said to everyone he met, Love me. Ah, but then how could you not?

  Now the man was coming toward him, swaggering up the long green carpet. And green was the color of the theater seats, the walls and their high balconies, and the long drapes gathered in golden ropes at the sides of the stage.

  Prado hunkered down by Riker’s aisle seat. „Well, what do you think of the place?“

  „So this is what the inside of an avocado looks like.“

  „You can blame the decor on Oliver’s grandmother. Actually, it’s Federal green, the color of American money. Faustine loved tourists. That’s why she spelled out the name in English. She wasn’t sure Americans were bright enough to work out Theatre de Magie.“

  Emile St. John stood at the edge of the stage, hailing his friend. Prado excused himself and walked back toward the auction crowd.

  When Riker had gotten past his fear of the chandelier, he admired the ceiling fresco of characters from famous plays. None of the actors’ roles were detailed in Prado’s handout sheet, and the only one Riker could identify was the long-nosed figure of Cyrano de Bergerac. This was an obvious departure from the original painting, circa 1900. But was it a joke or a tribute? Apparently, decades had passed since the old man and the younger one had met, for Cyrano was portrayed as a teenage Charles Butler.

  Riker left his chair and turned to face the lobby door.

  Where is she?

  Though Mallory carried a pocket watch, he knew she only consulted it for show, a prop of normalcy. She was guided by an interior clock wired directly into her brain, and she was never, never late.

  He walked down the center aisle and climbed the steps leading up to the stage. When he was past the lengths of heavy green curtains, he looked up again.

  Oh, more things to fall on him.

  Space expanded upward for twenty feet beyond the curtain valance. A narrow suspension bridge spanned the length of the stage. This catwalk of wooden planks was none too stable, swaying high in the air as a workman stood at its center, testing the rigging that held massive backdrop screens in place over Riker’s head.

  He turned his eyes down to the less hazardous display tables and made a rough head count of thirty bidders examining the remaining auction items. A small group was clustered around the base of the platform, and a lone magician stood behind the auctioneer’s podium. Franny Futura was the new target of the crossbow pistols.

  For the second time this afternoon, Riker stopped by each of the pedestals and checked the weapon magazines to be sure they were empty of arrows. And still it made him edgy to see the old man standing in the crosshairs of four pistol sights.

  The white-haired magician walked to the edge of the platform and caught the eye of Nick Prado on the stage below. Futura made a rolling motion with his hand. „Nick, come up here. Come up and look at this.“

  Prado shook his head and turned away.

  „Still afraid of heights?“ Futura said this with great glee, as if scoring a point. „It’s only nine feet. Not that much of a – “ His words faltered as Prado’s body went rigid, then slowly turned back toward the platform.

  „Franny, may I remind you that I live in a penthouse – a very high penthouse?“

  Riker counted a double-point score in Prado’s favor. A fear of heights did not square with an apartment in the sky. And Futura did not have the means to live as high as Prado did, not according to Riker’s credit reports on both men. Futura’s face took on the humble aspect of a timid man, the poorer man, a mere ground-dweller. He moved back from the edge with some fear of his own. Perhaps he was seeing the crossbows for the first time and feeling vulnerable. Cautiously, he made his way down the platform staircase.

  Prado was staring at the lobby doors and smiling.

  Riker looked over his shoulder to see his partner walking down the aisle. Mallory’s eyes took in the chandelier and the painted ceiling, then traveled over the green walls and the balconies. She had the look of – what? Recognition? Had she been here before? No, that was not quite it, for she was obviously surprised by her surroundings.

  As she climbed the short flight of stairs stage left, Riker made an exaggerated point of looking at his wristwatch, relishing this rare opportunity to rag her about punctuality, to inform her that she was tardy by a full forty minutes. This chance might never come again.

  But now a familiar giant in a three-piece suit was running down the center aisle toward the stage, and Mallory called out to him, „You’re late, Charles.“

  Riker ceased to look at his watch.

  „Sorry.“ Charles Butler paused by the front row to catch his breath. „I was down in the basement and lost track of the time. Thought I’d have another look at the posts on the platform. You know, there is a fracture line – “

  „So now you believe me.“ Mallory turned away from him. „Riker, who bid on the platform?“

  „Nobody yet. The auctioneer called a time-out.“

  Charles was staring at the ceiling. He had found himself in the painting of Cyrano. Yet he was smiling, playing the good sport, as he walked up the stairs toward Mallory. „You want me to have a look inside the platform now?“

  „You can’t. It’s sealed.“ Riker pointed to the security guard posted by the platform staircase. „The door stays shut till the lawyer has the cash in his fat little hand. I talked to the movie producer. He’s a sure thing for the high bid. After the auction, he’ll let us have a quick look inside before he ships it out to the Coast.“

  „Not good enough,“ said Mallory. „That platform’s not going anywhere till I have time to – “

  „Hold it.“ Riker put on his let’s-be-reasonable face. „You can’t impound it, and there’s no search warrant. We don’t even have an open homicide case. The new owner can ship it to the moon if he wants to.“

  Charles was distracted by a table of magic props. He read one of the authentication tags, then held up a round silver object that Riker had taken for a covered cake plate. „This dove load is over a hundred years old.“

  Mallory drifted toward another table, finding the firearms more interesting. She glanced at each tag as she made her way down the length of the table.

  Shopping?

  As if she didn’t own enough weapons. But none of these should appeal to her. What good was a gun that could not fire bullets? Riker had already checked them against the auction list in the will and read the tags identifying their different functions. The old muskets only fired smoke. One Luger could be loaded with lines and darts, and several revolvers looked as deadly as anything Mallory carried, but these starter pistols were just for noise.

  Franny Futura was standing at the foot of the platform staircase when Mallory approached him from behind. „I had dinner with Malakhai last night,“ she said. „I know what happened at Faustine’s.“

  Futura turned around to face her, his hands opening and closing in nervous fidgets. „I don’t – “

  „It’s all right, Franny.“ Nick Prado appeared at the foot of the staircase and smiled at Mallory. „Emile and I had brunch with Malakhai this morning. I wonder why he didn’t mention that conversation.“

  „Well, his memory isn’t what it used to be.“ There was an unmistakable subtext in Mallory’s voice, but Riker could not follow its meaning. She was clearly disappointed in Prado’s response when the man shrugged it off.

  As she moved closer to Futura, the man’s head was backing away, comically attenuating his skinny neck, while his feet remained rooted to the floor.

  „Malakhai didn’t tell me how you got rid of the body,“ said Mallory. „What did you d
o with her?“

  Riker felt sorry for Mallory’s target, but he knew she was onto something. Futura’s mouth hung open – stunned speechless.

  Nick Prado answered for him. „We buried her in the cellar.“

  Futura nodded with a sickly smile. „It’s not as if we killed the old lady.“

  It was Mallory’s turn to be surprised. „Old lady?“

  Prado grinned to show her every tooth he owned. „Oliver’s grandmother, Faustine. I can assure you she died of natural causes.“

  „And that’s why you hid the body in the cellar?“ Mallory waved one hand in the air. „Of course.“

  „Well, we did neglect to inform the authorities when she died.“ Prado’s tone was casual, as if covert burials were an everyday thing with him. „We needed her pension money to pay rent on the theater. She was Oliver’s grandmother. If he didn’t mind, why should you?“

  „Fine, I don’t care if you had the old woman stuffed and mounted. Let’s talk about Louisa.“ She was speaking only to Futura, and now the man got control of his feet and stepped back. Mallory moved a step closer. „I’m betting you were the informer, the one who turned her in.“

  Riker shook his head. This bluff was miles too obvious, not Mallory’s style at all.

  „I wouldn’t give odds on that bet.“ Nick Prado stepped between Mallory and Futura. His smile was easy and affable. „You’d have a fifty-fifty chance of being right. At least half of Paris was collaborating with the Germans.“

  Riker repressed a smile. Nick Prado had just confirmed Louisa Malakhai’s status in the scheme of war. Mallory had pegged this man right, the ultimate egoist. He would never miss a chance to play a fast round of one-upmanship.

  „That’s right,“ she said. „But the Germans didn’t kill her.“ Mallory was still looking at Futura, or what she could see of him behind Prado’s back.

  Then Futura straightened his spine and held his head a bit higher, braver now that another man had joined them. The larger, more placid Emile St. John rested one massive hand on Futura’s slight shoulder, playing the role of protector.