Shell Game

by Carol O’Connell

  „I hope it hurts like hell.“

  Coffey switched off the set. „Mallory can go on working the case, but she’s not officially on the job. Maybe in a week or two, the city will settle the lawsuit to make it go away. But Mallory has to learn – “

  „Oh, screw the balloon. She says she didn’t pull her gun in that crowd. I – “

  „Yeah, right. She didn’t do it. I’d say that was a good joke, Riker. But I know Mallory has no sense of humor. And she didn’t deny shooting off her gun in the station house, did she? A stupid cowboy shot, and for what? A damn rat. Burns me up every time I think about it.“

  „I don’t think – “

  „It’s not up to you, Riker. It doesn’t actually matter what you think.“

  „Well, yeah, it does. But I’m sorry you feel that way, Lieutenant.“ Riker put his gold shield on the corner of the desk. „Give me the kid’s gun, or I leave my badge behind when I walk out the door.“

  „Riker, don’t take that personally. It’s the perception of the thing that matters. I have to worry about what those cops were thinking when she shot the – “

  „Those uniforms are all big boys. They’ve all lost pet hamsters. I’m sure they’ll get over the rat.“ Riker pushed his gold shield across the desk. „Lieutenant, I never bluff. I never will. It’s a religion with me.“

  As the weary detective emerged from the stairwell, carrying a paper sack heavy with the weight of Mallory’s largest gun, the desk sergeant called out, „Hey, Riker. You got a minute?“

  „Yeah, sure.“

  Riker ambled over and leaned one crooked elbow on the edge of the raised desk. It was more like a grandiose pulpit, and that fit well with the desk sergeant’s job of meting out rare blessings and more common penance to his patrolmen.

  „What’s the problem, Harry?“

  Sergeant Harry Bell was a beefy, red-nosed man in uniform. He and Riker had gone gray together over the past thirty-five years on the job. „You gonna see your partner before she gets back from vacation?“

  „Yeah.“

  „Well, you tell her she called it right on Oscar the Wonder Rat.“ Sergeant Bell leaned over the desk and handed down a fistful of currency in tens, fives and singles. „That’s four cops, ten apiece. We’re all square with Mallory.“

  „What?“ Riker stared at the money in his hand. „You guys made bets on a freaking rat?“

  „Riker, I told you about the rat. When you – “

  „No, Harry. You only said she shot it.“

  „Well, she said the rat was sick. That was the bet.“

  „Talk to me, Harry. ‘Cause Mallory never talks to me anymore, and I get real lonely. What’s all this crap about a sick rat?“

  „You’ve seen him. Fastest thing on four feet, right?“ Harry Bell made a quick darting motion with his hand. „But the other night, Oscar was movin’ real slow, tame as a stoned kitten. He was just sittin’ there on top of the candy machine watchin’ the world go by. So Pete Hong – “

  „The new recruit?“

  „Yeah. The kid’s real young. Comes from a nice quiet town upstate. I don’t think he ever saw a rat before. So he waves his nightstick at Oscar. No reaction. He gets closer, like he’s gonna pet that dirty little sacka fur. But before I can say anything, Mallory pulls rank and orders Pete to back away from the rat.“

  That’s my little diplomat.

  „So, Harry, how’d your boy take it?“

  „Not real well. Then Mallory says the rat’s sick, and even a rookie should know better than to touch it. Well, that stopped Pete cold for a second. I felt kinda bad for the kid – first week on the job, and your partner makes him feel like a fuckin’ idiot in front of two other cops.“

  „So then you had to back up your guy, right?“ Riker was nodding. He could guess the rest of it.

  „Damn right, I backed him up,“ said Sergeant Bell. „I can’t have one of my men look stupid in front of a damn homicide dick – no offense, Riker. So, I figure she’s right, but I say the rat’s just overfed, bloated – and that’s why he’s slow. Old Oscar’s been raidin’ our lunch bags for years, and he was a fat little sucker. So now the other two guys are goin’ along with my bloated-rat theory.“ The desk sergeant shrugged. „They know a sick rat when they see one, but – “

  „But backing up their guy is the main thing,“ said Riker, smiling.

  „Damn right. So your partner says, ‘Put up or shut up.’“

  „Mallory knows a good sucker bet when she sees one.“

  „Yeah, she does. So we all put money on it.“

  „Let me get this straight,“ said Riker. „You and the other two cops – you knew she was right, but you still made the bet? All of you?“

  „Yeah, it’d gone too far. And Pete Hong was the first one to lay his money down. Hey, what could we do? Ten bucks – not a big wad to save the kid’s face. Well, now we all got cash riding on the little hairball. So Pete doesn’t want Oscar to get away, but Mallory still won’t let him touch the rat.“

  „ ‘Cause the rat’s sick, maybe dangerous.“

  „Yeah, you never know with rats. So Oscar’s just about to take a slow dive behind the candy machine. That’s how he was gettin’ in. Damn hole in the wall, big as your fist. Just as the rat’s going into a roll, Mallory picks him off with one round. Nice clean shot.“

  The desk sergeant held a sheaf of paperwork out to Riker. „This is the lab report from the Board of Health. Came in this morning. Mallory was right – that damn rat was diseased. Now the city docs are comin’ in to do blood tests on everybody.“

  Riker scanned the sheets. They included a copy of the watch commander’s report. Less colorful than Sergeant Bell’s telling, it briefly described the lawful and necessary dispatch of a potentially dangerous animal.

  „Harry, I want you to send all this paperwork up to Special Crimes. Make sure Coffey sees it.“ Riker lightly slapped the desk. „Right now, okay?“

  „Sure thing. Did the lieutenant have something riding on the rat?“

  „Yeah, he did.“ Riker was grinning as he strolled toward the front door.

  Jack Coffey had been wrong about Mallory. She had a sense of humor. And he had been right about her, too. The kid truly was a monster. She had let the lieutenant run his mouth on deadly payback for gun-happy cops. And all the while, she had been patiently awaiting this official delivery of a world-class punch line from the Board of Health.

  What a setup.

  When the report hit Coffey’s desk, the lieutenant was going to implode or put his screaming head through a wall.

  Riker left the station house with one fist raised high in triumph.

  Mallory rules.

  Chapter 11

  In a bid to outfox the law, the restaurant had sectioned off one quarter of the room. Enclosed by glass from floor to ceiling, people relaxed at their tables, lighting cigarettes and cigars. Their smoke plumed upward into the slow swirling blades of a ceiling fan.

  Lest any illicit smoke escape the enclosure, an air-purification system was hard at work in the main dining room, vacuuming the atmosphere, suctioning out the aromas of wines and sauces, meats and pasta. In this odor-free section, nonsmokers observed the diners caged in glass as historical exhibits from the days before the sterilization of New York City.

  The maitre d’ stood behind a lectern, turning pages in his reservation book and pretending not to notice the people queuing up in front of him.

  A smiling waiter in a white dinner jacket walked toward the woman at the end of the line. „Detective Mallory? I recognized you from television.“

  The celebrity alert had been sounded, and now she also had the attention of the maitre d’, who was admiring her black leather trench coat, the wildly expensive running shoes and a slightly less pricey handbag from Cartier. In the waiting line, more heads were turning, flashing movie-star-hunting eyes in her direction.

  When she removed her coat, the black cashmere blazer and satin- trimmed jeans also passed inspe
ction. The maitre d’ mouthed the words, Oh, yes. The people in his waiting line wore more formal attire, but Mallory was dressed in money.

  The waiter took her coat and draped it over his arm. „They’ve been expecting you.“

  „They?“

  „Mr. and Mrs. Malakhai.“ He waved one hand toward the glass smoking section.

  „Right, the invisible woman.“

  Puzzled, the waiter looked toward the table where only Malakhai was seated. „His wife must be in the ladies’ room.“

  „You’ve seen her?“

  „Yes, of course.“

  This man was reinforcing every bad thing she believed about civilian testimony to gunshots never fired, events that never happened – and now ghosts. She followed him to the smoking section. „Wait,“ she said, to stop him from opening the glass door. „What color is this woman’s hair?“

  „It’s red. A bright fiery red.“

  Mallory pointed toward the table. „He told you the color of her hair?“

  „Well, no.“ The waiter seemed confused. „You mean it’s not real? But it looks so natural.“

  As Mallory entered the glass room, she noted three place settings at the small round table, and a glass of wine had been poured for the corpse in the bloody blue dress.

  Malakhai stood up as she set her new black handbag on the table beside the only clean wineglass. If her host had known her better, he would have been suspicious. She never carried a purse.

  „Good evening.“ He dismissed the waiter before the man could pull out her chair. Now Malakhai performed this service himself. „You’re right on time.“ As Mallory sat down, he glanced at his watch. „And I mean to the second.“

  In lieu of hello, she said, „You got a lot of mileage out of that German uniform. You wore it the day you took Louisa out of the transit camp – and again the night you shot her.“

  Malakhai calmly took his seat and moved the wine bottle to one side of the table, the better to see his dinner companion – the living one. „I missed you all day. I kept looking over my shoulder, but you weren’t there.“

  Back to that old game, simply ignoring what he did not want to deal with and diverting her to other things. Even his conversation was a magic act of misdirection. But tonight she had come prepared.

  „You’re sure I wasn’t there? I know you had breakfast with Prado and St. John. In the afternoon, you worked on your act.“ According to the stage manager at Carnegie Hall, Malakhai had spent hours rigging strings and small anchor loops of metal.

  „I gather you spent part of the day with Mr. Halpern.“ He blew smoke into the air. „And of course, your visit to the auction was on the evening news. Did you like Oliver’s version of the magic theater?“

  „No.“ It had not lived up to the vision Malakhai had created for her in the basement. Oliver’s theater was only a pale copy that lacked the drama of wartime, smoke and wine, perfume and soldiers with guns. Even the corpse in Oliver’s platform had suffered a bloodless wound, more like an imitation of violence.

  „About that uniform,“ she prompted him. „You were never in the German Army.“

  He signaled to the waiter and pointed to the empty bottle, then turned back to Mallory. „I remember it well – superb tailoring. It belonged to an SS officer.“

  „Did you kill that officer?“

  „No. Sorry to disappoint you, Mallory.“ He blew a smoke ring and watched it rise into the blades of the fan. „I stole the man’s bag at a railway station. A mistake – I meant to steal his orderly’s clothes, a private’s uniform. I wasn’t old enough to pass for an officer. But then I realized that no one ever looked at the faces of the Gestapo. They only saw the SS insignia.“

  She reached across the table and delicately plucked a hair from the sleeve of his dark suit. So this was the waiter’s evidence of a redhead. There was no root follicle for a DNA match. Even so, she made a show of folding it into a tissue and placing it in her purse. He followed this action with mild curiosity.

  „You’re getting careless, Malakhai. I guess there wasn’t time to change clothes – after you stuffed that body into Oliver’s platform.“

  „So his nephew had red hair. There were no pictures of him on the news.“ He set his cigarette in the ashtray next to one marked with Louisa’s lipstick. „I never met the boy. I can’t say I’m sorry he’s dead.“

  „You don’t remember hiding the body? Not surprising. I know about the strokes.“

  „Courtesy of Mr. Halpern? He was so upset when I couldn’t remember how – “

  The waiter appeared with a tray balanced at shoulder level. After unfolding a stand with his free hand, he set his burden down, then rearranged all the items on a tabletop barely large enough to accommodate three plates and silverware, glasses, a bottle, an ashtray and a purse. Mallory and Malakhai watched in silent fascination as the waiter altered the laws of physics to expand space, creating more room for a basket of bread, a candle, another wine bottle and a large plate of hors d’oeuvres.

  „I couldn’t have done that,“ said Malakhai.

  When the three glasses had been filled with red wine, and the waiter had departed with their dinner orders, Mallory slipped one hand into the open purse by her plate. Malakhai took no notice. He was staring at her face, not expecting anything out of the ordinary tonight, certainly no magic – not from her.

  „It’s an interesting problem,“ she said. „You have to get even for Louisa’s death before you forget who she was.“ Her blind fingers found the anchor loop inside the purse. The string was still in place. „What about the day Oliver died in Central Park? Do you remember where you were?“

  „At home, hundreds of miles from here. I watched it on television.“

  She teased a length of string from her handbag. „What time was that?“

  „There are no clocks in my parlor. I believe it was a live performance – whatever time the show went on that night.“

  „Night?“ said Mallory. „You didn’t notice the sun shining on the bandstand and the crowd?“

  „Not bright camera lights?“ He smiled to say that this was an honest mistake. Sorry.

  Yeah, right.

  „Oliver Tree was pronounced dead at three thirty-one in the afternoon.“ She liked to be precise about death. „But you watched the show at night.“

  Under the cover of her napkin, she moved the string toward Louisa’s place setting as she leaned forward. „Can you explain that?“

  „After a stroke, sometimes it’s all I can do to find the right decade. Mistaking night for day is one of my lesser errors in time.“

  „Or you watched Oliver’s show on a VCR. Maybe you taped it because you knew you wouldn’t be home that afternoon.“

  „I remember an alarm clock going off. It might have been ringing for hours. Perhaps I did tape the show – as a precaution against a stroke.“

  She left the napkin by Louisa’s glass. „So you have no alibi for that afternoon?“

  „No, I’m something of a hermit. Days can go by without my seeing another soul, and it’s been years since I asked anyone for the time of day.“

  „What’s your first name?“

  „Malakhai is the only name I have. My father abandoned my mother and never acknowledged me as his bastard. So Mother put his surname on the birth certificate. It drove his family wild. My mother had an interesting sense of humor.“ He was staring at the bulge of her blazer where it covered the shoulder holster. „The gun ruins the line of the jacket. Does that upset your tailor?“

  Other detectives had solved this problem by wearing the gun lower, but she liked the intimidation value.

  „Louisa had a better tailor,“ said Mallory. „Very expensive alterations. How much loot did you get after you buried Oliver’s grandmother in the cellar?“

  He laughed. That was not the reaction she wanted.

  „My compliments. I won’t ask how you pried that story loose. The only profit was Faustine’s pension. It was barely enough to cover rent on the
theater. Louisa’s clothes belonged to a boy who left the troupe. She remade all the costumes herself.“

  Mallory shook her head. „I know expert tailoring when I see it. And I know what it costs.“

  „My wife was a tailor’s daughter.“ When he turned to the dead woman’s chair, he was suddenly unsettled. Louisa’s plate held oysters and shrimp speared with bright-colored toothpicks, but he had not placed them there.

  „Why was Louisa in that transit camp?“

  When he turned his eyes to Mallory again, he was still disconcerted. „Oh, lots of people wound up there. Refugees were always being rounded up on the street in mass arrests, twenty at a time. They were sorted out later at the transit camp. Most of them were let go.“

  „There’s more to it,“ said Mallory. „I know the camp commandant questioned Louisa every day. She was more than a tailor’s daughter.“

  „She wasn’t a spy, if that’s what you mean. But her father was more than a tailor. He had a list of names that interested the Germans. They thought Louisa might know where he was.“

  „So you were working with the Polish underground.“

  „No, I was only a runaway schoolboy in love with Louisa. I’ve loved her since we were children.“ His head turned as Louisa’s wineglass moved, but not by his hand, not his strings. There was a grave disquiet in his eyes. But he showed no suspicion that Mallory was working his dead wife like a puppet.

  „So you risked your life for her, and then she cheated on you.“

  „Louisa didn’t ask me to get her out of that camp.“ Malakhai mashed his stub in the ashtray and stared at Louisa’s cigarette, burned down by half, dark and smokeless. „In Central Park, there’s a wide pedestrian boulevard. It leads away from the band shell. Very dramatic space, lined with statues and benches. Do you know it?“

  Mallory nodded. She had recently spent some time there, pacing between the long rows of trees that formed a canopy of overgrown branches.